Coming Up For Air...

My world has become very, very small these days. I wash fleece, I sleep. If I remember, then I eat something. Otherwise, it's all washing and sleeping. The whole cycle is occasionally broken up by a rousing round of Keep The Smaller, Less Fluffy Kitty Out Of The Drying Wool. That is something of a treat, really. Shakes things up a bit...

By necessity brought on by lack of space, I tend to wash fleeces in small lots. To get it done quickly and reduce the amount of Eau de Barn in the condo, I do this pretty much continuously until the job is done. And, as I have something of an uneasy relationship with lanolin, I generally don't do much sorting before washing. I get as much of the grease out as possible, then deal with the stuff that doesn't belong there.

But, after the first batch came out of the rinse water and was resting in the windows to dry, it became clear to me that I would need to change things up a bit. This wool did not come from a spinner's flock. It is mere happenstance that allowed so many of us to get our greedy little hands on this lovely stuff. As I looked at the washed wool, I thought to myself:

You know...this sheep didn't have a Mommy Sheep like I did. There was no one to tell her to wear her coat or stay out of the mud puddles. She roamed about essentially unsupervised and doing pretty much as she pleased. A simple bath is not going to do the trick here...

So, I broke out the flick carder. I rarely use this tool because I tend to get a little overenthusiastic and hurt my thumb. But, this really seemed to be the weapon of choice for this battle. And the difference was clear when the second round of fiber was spread out to dry. My path was set. Flick, sort, wash, dry. That was the determined sequence.

It'll save me a lot of work later. But has added hours to the washing time. I lasted until 1:00 this morning before fatigue brought everything to a crashing halt. It's been a while since I've had a whole fleece with which to play. I'd forgotten the amount of work that goes into the process. But, it gives the term, "labor of love" new meaning. It is worth every sore muscle or accidentally flicked finger.

And it puts other time-stealers into perspective, that's for sure.

The endless plying and detangling with the misbehaving skeins of the lamb/silk blend? Child's play!!!

I am nearing the end of the merino fleece. In fact, it is my sworn mission to wash the last lock before I rest my weary head on the pillow for the night. That will leave the Shetland lamb, which has been patiently waiting its turn and which, I suspect, will be an easier wash-up.

Good thing. Tomorrow night will be another night of the socialization training for The Sheep. I will wash the last remaining scent of the barn from my person and head over to the CamMad household for a fun-filled evening of dining and kid-wrangling. My cute little Nieces By Proxy will provide the entertainment and the Mom of the household will serve up the meal. Normally this is the Dad's duty at the CamMad house...but there was an "incident" of sorts which has left him couch-bound for a while. More on that later...it's a good story. Every mother who has ever told her children, "don't come running to me if you cut off your toes with the lawn mower" will feel highly vindicated.

Wear your coat...stay out of the mud puddles...don't play with the lawn mower...listening to Mom can really save a lot of time and trouble in the long run.

Back to washing the Motherless Merino.

SA

Bonding With My Window

You know those cartoon cat thingies with suction cups that people sometimes stick to their car windows? When you pass them on the highway, you are greeted by the sight of a panicked feline splayed against the glass looking for all the world like he is being kidnapped and taken to the vet for a procedure. You may think to yourself for a minute, "Gosh, I should rescue that poor creature!" Then you chuckle at your folly, for this is clearly the same cartoon kitty that greets you from the funny pages each morning...

High humor on the morning commute, frankly.

Well, if you switch out "cartoon cat thingie" for "Sheep" and "car window" for "second floor condo window," then you will have an image of what passers-by were privileged to see when they went out for their morning constitutionals near my house today. Of course my windows are open due to it being high summer and all. Thus, I was actually pasted against the screen so the softer, fattier parts of Sheep could squish through the little screen-squares. This added to the beauty of this pastoral scene. It was also rather hard to breathe, what with being all mashed up against the window, so I can imagine that there may have been some snuffly noises associated with the whole affair. I don't really know for sure because, you see, I was focused.

Highly focused.

I was waiting for a delivery. The Federal Express website assured me that there was going to be a visit today from a nice fellow in crisp shorts who would be bearing boxes addressed to The Sheep. To say I was looking forward to this delivery might be something of an understatement.

I did not waiver in my vigilance. I remained at my post for the duration. I ignored any and all hunger pangs or indications that my middle-aged bladder might not make it through this ordeal. I did not look at the television. I did not answer the phone. I did have to blink a few times what with that being an involuntary response and all, but I kept it to a minimum. Blinking and using the facilities was for later. This time was for waiting. And watching. And being ready.

It is a credit to the FedEx delivery guy that he braved the sight of a screen flattened and snuffling sheep in order that he might complete his designated delivery. Most impressive, really. I would imagine that tossing the boxes at the door and fleeing without looking back was probably the course of action that he would have preferred. But he was a true professional. He completed the transaction by bringing the boxes into my building and up the flight of stairs to my door. He is a credit to the fine history and tradition of package delivery. I cannot help but salute him for his bravery in the face of an excited fiber enthusiast who was fairly trembling in her attempts to not just leap upon him and claw the large boxes from his hands before he could hand them to her in a civilized manner as befits such a moment.

Rest assured, he left unscathed. Physically, at least. I would imagine that he might have a few emotional scars to deal with. But, it is my understanding that this company has an excellent insurance plan that includes coverage of mental health treatment.

After my morning of surveillance, there they were: The Boxes. A beautiful sight...

Aren't you impressed? They are really good lookin' boxes. Just the right size and shape for this:

That would be merino and shetland fleeces, people. That's right...merino and shetland. Please don't forget to breathe.

When Cathy sent out an email offering these beauties after having found the mother lode of wooly beauty on a little slice of heaven/ranch in the wild, wild west, I almost chose not to partake. After all, I have been on the receiving end of her generosity with the wool on several occasions of late. Thus, I opted to go to the end of the line and said that I would be happy to take any leftovers off her hands after the others on the emailing list had taken their pick.

I'm good that way...

Cathy is better. She emailed me back in just minutes to tell me that, for the mere cost of shipping, all this could be mine! I have been following their progress across the country ever since. My babies are home!!!

Living in a small space as I do, with nothing in the way of outside property, washing fleeces is an interesting, but necessary undertaking. It must be done quickly as the heady scent of barn and livestock is one that cannot be avoided in any room once it has settled itself in. After a little lunch and a brief nap, I began the process of making these bits of sheep covering more tolerable for those who are not as enamoured with the aroma of the natural sheep. This will probably take up a good portion of the next few days of my life. But I can't imagine a better way to spend a weekend.

And it sure beats clinging to the window screens.

SA

Still Weird...But Harmless

Well...today was the big day! I rolled myself out of bed, passed over the sweats that I have been wearing for three straight days, ran a brush through my hair and even wore shoes. I couldn't have been more excited if it had been Christmas, Easter and Free Chocolate For Sheep Day all rolled into one. I've been waiting for this most glorious of days for a month now. I was originally not scheduled to see this happy time for another month. But, to my utter delight, it came sooner! So excited was I that I may have readied myself a bit early for the main event. Once clad and properly coiffed, I ended up with several hours to spare. I sat on the couch to wait for departure time, vaguely aware of the television in the background and fairly vibrating with excitement.

At 1:00 in the afternoon, the moment had arrived. I leaped from the couch, said a fond, "Fare-the-well!" to my furry, feline roommates and scampered down to my waiting vehicle. I may have been giggling at that point. It may even have been something of an hysterical giggle...at least that's what the looks I got from my neighbors would indicate. I didn't care. For I had earned that giggle. Today was the day, people!

I was finally getting to see the dermatologist about the rash that my doctor, with all her medical type knowledge, saw fit to diagnose as a "Weird Rash." So confident was she in this diagnosis that she wrote it on my medical chart and subsequent referral to the dermatologist. In the event that I should ever lapse into some sort of unexplained coma or develop a tic that causes me to steal underpants, this is what will be read by the professionals who are attempting to review my medical history in the hopes of finding a cure.

Weird Rash, indeed...

At any rate, the rash has lived on my arm in various states of itchiness for two months give or take. Sometimes it is bright red and bumpy. Other times it is a more subtle shade of pink and less bumpy. It is frequently hot. Sometimes it is swollen. While observing the changes and pondering the possible causes has been great fun during those times when summer television program has been lacking, I am really ready to by done with it. I have treated it as little as possible with the prescription hydrocortisone; just enough to keep the itching from driving me utterly mad. Getting in to see the one dermatologist in the area isn't exactly easy. I wanted to have something interesting to chat about once I got in there. Plus, if it was some mutant form of leprosy that should never, ever be exposed to hydrocortisone, I didn't want to get yelled at by the nice people who run the leper colony for my mishandling of the whole situation.

After all the excitement surrounding this big event, the outcome was something of a disappointment. It still all comes back to a rousing, "I dunno..." from the medical professionals involved in my skin care. Near as anyone can fathom, I had a reaction to something. From there, my oh-so-delicate skin condition ( there is a name for it, but it is long, ends in "graph" and basically means that you can trace letters on my skin and then see them come up in nice red welts but I can't remember the whole word) did what it always does and became inflamed. I then scratched it to the point of no return.

At least that's the theory. And it makes perfect sense, really.

So, it's back to the hydrocortisone and antihistamines. I am leprosy-free. Nor do I have to live in a plastic bubble courtesy of some previously undiscovered skin condition. And yes. I actually asked about the bubble. The doctor said that it was highly unlikely that this would become necessary. He is also reasonably sure that, after two weeks of liberal application of both remedies, the rash will be no more.

Thank heavens I only have a $15.oo co-pay. This all seemed rather anticlimactic...but preferable to the bubble scenario. Or leprosy.

With that mystery solved, I must now attend to another. Somewhere out there is my Will To Knit. I don't really remember the last time I saw it. It's been a while. But, at some point, I lost it. I can't think of a single thing that I have the remotest interest in crafting from sticks and string. I'm rather half-heartedly poking along on a variety of projects, but none of them are giving my 'giddy" any "up." It seems to me that I may have over-reached a bit on my summer knitting plans. As I recall, I was really more into the whole thing last summer. Maybe I've just over-glamorized how much I really got finished last year. But, I'm willing to bet that it was more than what's come off the needles this summer.

But the spinning? I'm allllll over that! I seem to want to spin pretty much all the time. When I'm not spinning, I'm dyeing. Or blending. Or plying. It seems to me that I might actually be a little happier with my wool-related progress if I stopped trying to force the knitting and just went with what makes me happy.

This is making me happy. Very happy. The kind of happy where you have a big, sloppy grin on your face for much of the day.

So I ask you, if it's looking like I may just be creating my first ever two ply sock yarn and the prospect of this is making me all smiley, isn't it more likely that I will finish it? It isn't knitting, but a finished yarn is an FO in its own right, isn't it? Heck, I'm so all about the spinning that I finally figured out the whole Navajo plying thing last night on something of a caffeine-fueled whim! I'm thinking I should just spin!!!!! Then, when the knitting mojo returns, there will be yarn a-plenty with which to craft fine, fine socks and mittens!

Maybe I'll even whip out an ointment cozy of sorts for the nice, non-bubble prescribing dermatologist...

SA

Your Weekly Dose Of Random

And here we go! It is Wednesday and that means I don't have to think. I can just let off random brain burps and call it a post! Wheeeeeee!!!


*Anyone who has a Big, Fluffy Kitty in their lives is aware of the issues that come with pets who have fluffy bottoms. We, the fluffy pet owners, will often refer to those issues as, "Klingons" (because of the clinging nature of the problem) and need to accept that we will sometimes be brushing somewhat offensive objects out of the upper leg area. We can only hope that it is dry when we discover it. After a while, it isn't really that big a deal...

But what the heck do you have to feed a cat to be faced with this at 7:00 in the godforsaken morning???????

*I was up early this morning so that I could go to the Farmers Market. I'll just let you sit with that for a moment...

*Now that everyone is done picking themselves up from the floor and exclaiming, "But Sheep, that is where they keep the vegetables! We know of your distaste for that which grows in the ground...how could this happen???" I know. I was as shocked as anyone to find myself there.

The round thing is fresh goat cheese. To give you some perspective on the size of the produce, the cheese is about six centimers in diameter. Thems some big tomatoes 'n garlic!

*I also purchased three pounds of peas. I needed three pounds of peas because I remain firmly entrenched in my "End Of The World Is Nigh" phase and need to make dried soup mix in case something horrific should happen in the next few months. I have absolutely no idea why having dried soup mix on hand will help matters should we suddenly find ourselves in an emergency situation. I suppose I'm thinking that soup is comfort food and will lift my spirits while I wait out the nuclear fallout. Maybe distract me from the mutations...

*For the record, I don't really believe that any sort of life altering event is in the works. It just makes me feel all superior to be prepared for disaster.

*I have suddenly found myself hopelessly addicted to BBC America. How have I lived over forty years on this planet without such fine programming as "MI5" and "Hex?????" And there are vague promises that "Torchwood" is soon to be upon my viewing screen. I am over the moon here!!!

*Today at the Farmers Market, I described something as, "brilliant." I'm pretty sure there is a connection to my recent late-night viewing habits. I am eagerly awaiting the day that I find something so amazing that I can say it is, "bloody brilliant." In fact, I may even try to get out of the house more just to be faced with this possibility.

*My Smaller, Less Fluffy Kitty is horking up something vile on my carpet. She is not a delicate hairball-horker-upper. There is a great deal of hacking involved.

*After the whole matter of the kitty toy on the BFK's hindquarters this morning, I'm almost fearful to see what she is bringing up at this point.

*The plying of the lamb/silk blend singles remains an ongoing project. The end is in sight, though!

*The de-tangling of the skein that I dropped thus snarling it into an incomprehensible mess which requires the skill of a surgeon to restore it to its former skein-i-ness also remains an ongoing project. The end is nowhere in sight. Nowhere.

So that's a Wednesday in the life of this Sheep About Town. I now return to my plying, imported television and disturbingly large produce. With a little goat cheese on the side, it should be a rather pleasant evening!

SA

S.O.C.K.S...A Very Good Thing.

It is fortuitous that I have elected to enroll myself in the Summer Of Compensatory Knitting Socialization. This program forces me to leave the confines of my home, interact with other knitters in their natural habitat and perhaps increase my pathetic social skills to some degree. It was particularly good for me to exit Sheepie's House of Yarn Induced Stress today. There was something of a fiber related "incident" that has obsessed me since last night with its utter stupidity. I needed a distraction.

Not that there aren't one or two issues associated with traveling an hour or so in a southerly direction during tourist season in Maine. There are the forty-six million people, all clad in Capri pants and who don't live here, that want to cross the street simultaneously. I know that they don't live here because they are using the crosswalks. Don't get me wrong. Mainers really do like the crosswalks. We are always so pleasantly surprised when a clump of walkers all decide to helpfully stay within the painted lines. We are often heard to comment on how useful this is when navigating the streets during the summer seasons and wonder how long these things have been around. We debate whether to add a few more around the state. We really do like the crosswalks. We just don't necessarily believe that the rules around their use should apply to us, is all.

Wait...where was I? Oh, yeah. The yarn. The yarn which is currently suffering my displaced rage.

It all started with the skeining. I've been spinning for a number of years now and have skeined my share of yarn. It's not all that hard. I even have a skein winder in order that my delicate wrists not be overburdened with the winding action imposed by the niddy noddy. I take the yarn off the winder in its circular state after tying it off in four spots using contrasting, colorfast acrylic yarn. It then goes into its bath for twist-setting. Once the yarn is nice and dry, I clip the offending acrylic and tie the skein using a matching yarn and a pretty ribbon to gussie it up a bit. Not all that challenging. And I pulled it off last night without a hitch...

Except that it didn't look as neat as I liked. I could have just left it. But, in my state of skein-related confidence, I decided to do it again. Make it nicer. Make it neater. Make it perfect.

And I dropped it. There was nothing to hold it together. I tried to catch it. All I snagged were a few errant strands. It slithered to the ground in a clump of matted lamb and silk.

Did I mention that I was performing this act of yarn stupidity in front of a fan? A fan that was cranked up to full power in order that I might make as much of a mess of this as was humanly possible?

I stood there for a moment, the full import of this event eluding me. As the degree to which I had screwed up this simple operation began to slowly sink in, allowing the full horror of it all to ooze though each cell of my brain, I cried out. I cried out in overly dramatic tones usually reserved for the moment just after a homicide or bad dinner theater:

Dear God, what have I done????????


I then began the process of untangling the yarn clot that was my beautiful lamb/silk handspun. This led to the rage. It was a profound rage that meant I could not attend to this task for any length of time. I now work on the untangling for a while, then set it aside when the rage threatens to boil over. It is displaced anger. I know this. It was my mistake, not the yarn's. The sweet little lamb, who did nothing save give of her soft, soft wool, does not deserve it. And I don't even like to think about the sacrifice that the little silkworm made for this endeavor. I'm really mad at me, but it seems healthier to roar at the yarn periodically.

"Stupid yarn! Why couldn't you just stay in my hands? You are very, very bad yarn! You deserve to be in a big, ol' yarn clot! That's right! You heard me! You don't deserve the time and energy I am taking to painstakingly return you to a form that makes some sort of sense to a knitter's eye. You are not cooperative yarn and you think that because you are pretty that you are better than other yarn. You are not. You are very, very naughty!!!"

See what I mean? Getting out of the house was a good thing. Seriously...

SA

Need For Speed

I came perilously close to calling the United States Postal Authorities today. My hand hovered over the phone as I pondered whether this was a necessary course of action. Should I? Would I be taken seriously? Could I afford not to? How committed am I really to doing the "right thing?"

You see, on Friday the last, I placed an order with Sheila over at Tread Lightly Herbals. With the Weird Rash still flaring up at random intervals and preventing me from wearing tank tops or other appropriate summer-type garments, I was in need of some soothing herbal soaps for my dermis. Sheila makes wonderful products and has rescued me from my crusty self on more than one occasion. But, I have become concerned that she may have kidnapped one or more of her local letter carriers and is holding them hostage in her basement. It's hard to believe. She is such a sweetie.

But how else can one explain the arrival of my full order today?

My full order plus a few little extras for samplin'!

The US Postal Service is a fine organization who brings me packages full of all kinds of goodness. But they are not set up for this kind of speed! There was a Sunday in there for crying out loud. They don't even operate on Sunday! How does a package make it from Texas to Maine in such short order????? I am concerned. There is every reason to believe that Sheila has some sort of "hold" over the people at her local Post Office in order that she might continue in this amazing tradition of incredible customer service. I probably should intervene on behalf of the poor souls held captive and being forced to route packages according to her whims...

On the other hand, this course of action might affect the receiving of the soapy soothing goodness. What can I say? I took the low road. Bob The Letter Carrier is on his own. The Postmaster General will either have to pay the ransom or stage a daring rescue of some sort without my assistance. I like the speedy delivery.

I need the speedy delivery. Nothing else in my life is going at quite that pace. The lamb/silk blend plying continues. And continues. And continues. How is it that I can ply for hours and hours on end without coming any closer to being finished? Skeins are drying at differing rates in various nooks and crannies around my tiny abode. The air is humid with all the moisture being sent into the atmosphere.

Even hanging in the windows and obstructing my view of the world outside...I miss the world. I remain trapped at my wheel staring at twisting wool.

I am hoping that, with continued diligence, I can get this finished sometime in the next day or so. I am really quite pleased with the final product. It is soft and shiny. It is black in one light, soft purple in another. Just beautiful...but it would be even better in skeined and completed form.

I wonder if Sheila would be willing to loan me one of her captive mail carriers for plying assistance?

SA

HM Says...

"Eeeeeeeek!!!!!"

Hysterical Mind, the half of my brain that is responsible for 99% of my irrational behavior and fears, has declared that we are to stand perfectly still in the middle of the nearest closet and await the end of today's rather aggressive thunderstorms. She is not exceptionally thrilled to know that I have elected to do a quick post before the thunder-boomers start up again. Rational Mind, ever ready to keep things on a more even keel around here, has successfully distracted her with a black and white cookie, the size of which should allow me about five minutes of blogging time. After that, she will realize what is happening, begin a lengthy dissertation on the subject of electrocution and how being within twenty feet of any sort of appliance will result in certain death and frizzy hair. It is easier to just shut the computer down and go live like a cave dweller than it is to fight it.

So, quickly, here's what I have for you today:

I have knit not one stitch. Not a one. The needles remain in their various baskets awaiting their turn. Instead, we have been dealing with fiber in its more primitive state.

The Lamb/Silk blend is now in singles-form and in the process of being plied. This particular fiber took me quite a while to finish up, not because it is a particularly difficult spin but more due to my having been so easily distracted by other projects. However, after realizing that is is lovely, deserves to be yarn and that I can move on to other projects once it is completed, I was a bit more inspired:

As I ply, I can literally see the places where I lost interest in it. Fortunately, I am one who sees the beauty in imperfection. Yup...that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

More importantly, a little of the mixing and matching went on this morning. The Blend is done. It is wonderful, streaky, fluffy batts of fibery joy. I am simply beside myself with the pride!

And pride may goeth before a fall, but I goeth with a big, sloppy grin on my face!

This is the best picture of about three billion that I took in an effort to really show the color. My goal was for the plum Targhee to be dominant, while the natural brown Alpaca sort of complemented it. The sapphire silk was intended to really pop. Each color was to be distinct. I am not one who can always realize my vision. Don't get me wrong...I end up with some decent stuff, generally by accident. But this one was dead on. Exactly what I wanted!!!!! Yay!

I can see from the trail of crumbs leading from the kitchen that Hysterical Mind has finished her cookie. It is only a matter of time before she catches on to Rational Mind's distraction ploy. And, as the thunder is also beginning to rumble again, I suppose I should wrap this up. But, before I sign off, I'd like to give a little shout-out to Baby Brother Sheep who is now blogging his way across this great land of ours from the cab of a giant orange truck! (Everybody wave to BBS!) Safe trip, Baby Brother and I'll see you when you get back.

We haven't told Hysterical Mind about Baby Brother's job driving the big rigs. She has a lengthy list of things that can go wrong on road trips and is always looking for an audience. There's no way I'm telling her now.

I want that last cookie...

SA

Bananas And Blending

When last you left your intrepid Sheepie Fiber Arteeest, she was blue-handed and awaiting the drying of her lovely sapphire tussah silk. While she used a variety of strategies to get her hands back to a normal human kind of color, the silk did its thing in the sophisticated drying system:

That would be a net suspended on two tension rods in the bedroom window.

Meanwhile, the hour became late and The Sheep needed The Sleep. She tucked herself in for the evening and let her mind take a break from pondering fiber blends. Or did she?

She awoke the following morning with a start. There was but one thought in her mind. One overpowering impulse that could not be denied cried out for her attention.

"Alpaca!" she cried.

And, as luck would have it, there was Alpaca to be had. Many moons ago, she had traded for some recycled sari silk that didn't exactly "work out" and had received some of the desired fiber. And thus, the final element was in place for The Blend:

Lovely, no?

Now, if this story were to progress to its logical conclusion, I would have blended the fibers and be gloating over it by now. But for a variety of reasons, some logical, some not, this has yet to happen. What you see in the above picture is where I be with this fiber adventure at the moment. First, I decided to see if I couldn't get a bit further on the lamb/silk blend that has been slowly inching towards the finish line lo these many months. And I did actually make a bit more progress on that. I even hold out hope that there may be four bobbins of finished singles before I go to bed tonight. That's a pretty logical thing to have done, right? Finish one thing before you start another...good move.

The other problem is that I am fully in the throes of my End Of The World Is Nigh Shopping and I can't seem to stop. As I mentioned earlier, I have this "thing" about being prepared for catastrophe. Should my furry roommates and I be stranded in the condo for any length of time, I like to think that we have enough canned corn and kibble to see us through. I go through phases. Sometimes, they are reasonable phases which anyone might view as responsible behavior for an adult in these uncertain times where a conspicuous zit could keep a girl housebound for a while.

Other times I dry fruit.

What can I say? It makes sense when I'm loading up the dehydrator. I don't really care for fruits or vegetables. I'm not one of those people who gets all giddy during the summer growing months because there is so much of the garden-grown bounty to be had. I'm really more of the type who gets excited by a cookie. Thus, when I do buy fruit, I tend to eat less of it than my good intentions indicated at time of purchase. I have to preserve it or I'm suddenly doing battle with aggressive mold in the fridge. This could lead to a real End Of Days scenario and I don't want to be held responsible for that. Freezing works. But drying concentrates the sugars and I can almost call that, "candy." Almost...

Plus, I am now older and have little tolerance for any beings that are all dewy and youthful. I want to be surrounded by things that are as withered and crusty as I. I demand that my foodstuffs conform to my need to be the most most moisturized thing in the house.

So, in preparation for any sort of approaching apocalypse, I took some barely drinking aged bananas and strawberries and got them looking like they were ready for Social Security benefits:

The bananas didn't quite dry enough to conform to my rigid standards of wrinkly, but I kind of wanted to eat some so I declared them, "done."

So, to all and sundry who were checking their aggregators frantically and losing sleep as they awaited the unveiling of The Blend, I offer my heartfelt apologies. But a blend must be done right. It deserves my total and undivided attention. I can't be checking my bananas and attending to The Blend. This will not go well. We must, instead, patiently wait for my End Of The World Is Nigh phase to pass so that I can focus fully on the task at hand. Which might be something of a problem.

I keep eating the bananas.

SA

Preparedness

Before I share another fascinating tale from the experiences that make up my life, I should probably make sure that you all understand the following:

I am in full possession of all faculties, can sign any legal document without asking my mom, and have never once been discovered lurking outside the home of a minor celebrity claiming that the voices told me we were to be joined for life.

I do not eat packing peanuts nor do I count my toes compulsively.

I understand the difference between that which is considered "normal behavior" and anything that falls in the "other" category.

I am not the kind of person for whom the world crosses the street in order that they might avoid breathing my "crazy air."


I know that this seems like an odd way to start a conversation, but you'll see where I'm going with this in just a minute. It all started with the Index Cards. You remember the Cards? I wrote down all the stuff that I thought needed doing this summer while I was on vacation, called this sophisticated system The Index Cards Of Summer Organization and refer to them regularly in order to see what task it is that I need to avoid on any given day. One of those To-Do items was, "clean kitchen cupboards." They need it. They are actually collapsing under the weight of the stuff that is crammed in there. I've been puttering away at this little job for a few weeks now, diligently looking at expiration dates and throwing away things that might kill me. Some of the labels were a bit hard to read given that they were glued to cans that had bulged to the point of distorting the information, but I figured it was probably a safe bet that these contained things that might just be a bit past the point of edible.

This morning I looked at the now empty cupboards and realized that it was time for that little event that I like to call The End Of The World Is Nigh Shopping. I love EOTWINS with a passion that could easily be mistaken for crazy. Are we starting to see a little of the reasoning behind my intro?

I am not what anyone would call organized on any given day. And yet I have a genuine love for disaster preparedness. Should there ever be some sort of catastrophic event such as a natural disaster, zombie attacks, pandemic flu or a series of incredibly bad hair days, then I want to ensure that I have canned goods and other necessities to ride out the quarantine. It's my little back up system. And you just know that the day I let the system slip, all holy heck will break loose.

Laugh if you will, but when zombies are strolling the streets and munching on the brains of the citizenry, I will be happily ensconced in my condo eating canned corn and dancing to my battery powered CD player.

More seriously, I've actually had reason to break into the supplies on occasion. When you are a single gal and in a situation where you can't get out of the house, it is good to know that there is a little soup on hand. The Great Monkey Pox Event Of 2006 was one of those times where fever and general exhaustion meant that I was pretty much trapped. Cans were my friend.

So, I headed out bright and early this morning to begin the process of replenishing the stockpile. I found some delightful tortilla soup that may be a bit "festive" for the apocalypse. But, I went for it anyway. It's not like I'll be able to go out in public at that point. I can eat the spicy foods and not have to worry about the hot pepper breath. In fact, that will be the least of my worries at that point, right? The canned goods are on their way to being at Emergency Ready Levels. The next category to be dealt with is Stuff In Pouches. I rather like Stuff In Pouches. It has a lot of salt. And when you're dealing with the end of the world, water retention, much like the pepper-breath, isn't really much of an issue anymore.

See how much fun this can be? Next week I'm going to update the First Aid kit. I may swoon...

Anyone who hasn't fled the blog in total horror at this point will now be rewarded with some very pretty fiber. Aren't you glad you stuck it out? Yesterday I popped a couple of ounces of incredibly beautiful Targhee that came to me from Susie over at Perchance To Knit. I let it gently bathe in the soothing waters of the Crock Pot with a bit more of the Plum colored dye than one would think advisable for a few hours. It spent the night drying and, in the morning, it declared itself ready for its photo shoot.

Can you stand it? Seriously...is this not beautiful to the point of actually hurting a little bit?

My plan is to blend this with some silk. So a bit of that went into the same pot today with Sapphire Blue dye. I may have gone a bit overboard with that...after about a billion rinses, my hands are still kind of blue from handling it. I suspect that it is going to need a bath with the Synthrapol when all is said and done. But the blue is stunningly deep and rich. I'm waiting for it to dry before further processing. I think it's a winner, though!

What will I do with the resulting yarn? I'm not really sure. It could be a scarf. Maybe some nice handwarmers? A bag, perhaps...

Or how about some can cozies? You know...to keep my End Of The World supplies all safe and snuggly. The End Of Days doesn't necessarily mean we have to turn into savages, after all.

SA

WNBP: From Slothville

The Sheep stirs just long enough to bring you your Wednesday Night Bullet Post. It's a struggle, frankly. I have reached a new low in lazy at this juncture. Let's see if I can hold my head up long enough to finish this...

*Have you ever done so much of the "nothing" that you are actually more tired than when you started the day? I mean, I seem to recall it being ten o'clock in the morning...now it's after seven o'clock in the evening. Dunno how that happened. I meant to go to the post office today. Never made it.

*I was so sloth-like that I now have a headache. How does that happen?

*I roused myself from the various couches and chairs to find aspirin for my headache. I managed to locate a plethora of over-the-counter remedies for everything ranging from congestion to tummy troubles, but couldn't find an aspirin to save my soul. Being as I live in a very, very tiny condominium, there aren't all that many places to look. I gave up after fifteen minutes of fruitless searching only to discover the aspirin on the coffee table a mere two feet from where I have been sitting for much of the day.

*I stood up long enough to go sit at my spinning wheel. I actually spun for a rather long time since that doesn't involve standing and this seemed to be more along the lines of "playing to my strengths" today.

*I finally had to stop spinning because the creaking of the wheel was driving me utterly mad. And that takes energy. Of which I gots none. It is clearly coming from the treadles and is the screech of wood on wood. But I can't isolate it. For a brief period there, I actually had a screwdriver in hand in an attempt to adjust or maybe find something to lubricate. Didn't succeed. It's been doing it for a while now. I just need to wait until I can either find the squeak or learn to live with it again. Either way, I'm back on the couch.

*Back in 1987, I bought a Crock Pot. At the time, it seemed logical that a single gal might want to prepare meals that would feed up to ten. As time went by, I realized that this way lay madness. And a large bottom. Now I use it for other things.

Like dyeing Targhee. Targee is pretty. Targhee is now purple.

*Dyeing is cool because while it sits, The Sheep sits. We both sat for a long time.

*I did take time out of my busy day of sitting and thinking about how much I loathe creaking sounds to utterly screw up a dishcloth. I have apparently greatly overestimated my understanding of the Short Row. Or am the victim of poorly written directions. Since I sort of know how to do a short row, I'm going with the former. Meanwhile, the dishcloth is now the bottom of a bag.

*Please note, had I not been so utterly zombified, I would have in no way thought it a good idea to make a bag happen out of a dishcloth disaster. But it seems to be working. Good thing no one called to suggest sky diving or sword swallowing. I was too lazy to think anything through fully. Sometimes risks are good. You end up with a new bag. Other times, you are face to face with a cloud or a sharp object.

*I just sneezed 5 times in a row. I do not sneeze in odd numbers. Ever. This means that another one is coming. The suspense is killing me.

*Women of my age should not sneeze 5 times in a row. It scares the cats and puts one at great risk for bodily functions on lower levels that will ruin one's couch. There is a trick to sneezing after 40. You sort of have to tense-clench-sneeze-release. It takes practice.

*I still haven't let loose with that last sneeze. But I can feel it coming...

*For those who were concerned about my well-being last night, please don't fret. The kitties forgave me for the late feeding and seem to have forgotten about the whole nightmare. ("nightmare" would be the interpretation from their perspective) They actually seemed a bit exasperated by my decision to loll about their house today. Apparently I was in the way or something.

*I ate all the ice cream last night. Now I have no ice cream. I'm sort of wishing that I'd gone out today for ice cream. But it's probably for the best. I'm still trying to come back from eating all that pie over the weekend.

*I wish I hadn't thought of that. I just remembered that there is leftover pie in the fridge. Let's hope my desire for jeans that fit is stronger than my desire for pecan pie.

*Where the heck is that sneeze???!!! I can't stand it!!!

*Maybe I'll go spin for a while. Now that I'm all distracted by the imminent sneezing event, I can probably ignore the creaking.

That's it. I must now go prepare myself for a rousing evening of more sitting and such. I seem to be elevating it to an art form and don't want to disturb the creative process at this point.

Or I'm going to go eat the rest of that pie. It's going to be one or the other...

SA

Past My Bedtime

I know, I know. It's late. I should have posted this hours ago. I hope no one was worried. If any of you have formed some sort of "Save The Sheep" group, you may want to activate the phone tree and start letting people know that they can stop photocopying the fliers and trying to decide on the picture that will be featured on the "Have You Seen This Knitter?" posters. I'm fine.

Let's face it. I don't get out much, OK? I'm something of a homebody. I have one or two hermit-tendencies. So this is why I have elected to participate in the Summer Of Compensatory Knitting Socialization (SOCKS). This is an important step in my learning how to interact with other humans. You'll just have to bear with my Tuesday night tardiness while I enjoy my weekly knitting sessions with Noolie, Mel and the rest of the Knit Night folks who are assisting me with my socialization skills training.

It's also pretty good for sock progress...I am amazed at how much stockinette can be cranked out when there is neither television nor refrigerator within the range of my vision.

I also figured that, since I was out anyway, that I might as well hit the store and mingle with the other late night shoppers who suddenly realized that they were out of Lean Cuisine Pizza and that this is unacceptable since we'd all spent the weekend eating large amounts of baked goods. What can I say? It's not a school night for Sheepie. Sheepie can stay up past her bedtime if she wants to! No one is the boss of me!!

I'm pretty confident that you all can handle the changes in the schedule. You are probably even a little bit relieved to know that I don't just spend my days hunched over my laptop and giggling madly when my email signals that I've gotten a comment or message. Others, however, are not quite so comfortable with this. You might say that they are just a bit irked with me at the moment. It's hard to tell, really. But, if you look closely at the eyes, you can see a little of the "I'm put out with your suddenly thinking that you have the right to leave the house whenever the mood strikes" in there:

I was fed two and a half hours late. You do not rate my fully opened eyeballs. Feel the disdain, human servant!!!

I will probably have to break out the "good" kitty treats before going to bed tonight. It's that or sleep with one eye open, I'm thinking. Kitties don't care whether I have good social skills or not.

They are not contributors to the SOCKS program. They prefer the Every Animal Tended course of study.

(EAT)

SA

Blockage?

I am pleased to report that I am now less irked by the lack of "good job's," "way to go's," and "hey, sorry about the whole thing where we decided to close the agency but at least you don't have to come in to work today" messages enclosed with my final paycheck from Job #2. The fact that I spent the thirty seven dollars and change that represented my last wages earned from them on fun-fun knitty stuff took a bit of the sting out of that, I suppose.

And fear not, Dear Readers. This was not even close to my primary source of income. This was a job I took on a few years ago when I was desperately trying to cobble together a number of part time jobs in order to create something vaguely resembling a whole living. After I went back to full time teaching, the extra work wasn't needed. But I liked people and the chance to exercise a few different professional muscles. And the little bit of yarn money it brought in didn't hurt either.

But, over the past couple of years, I've come to appreciate the time to knit or spin or just sit and think about knitting and spinning more than the added cash with which to indulge in the extra yarn. Had I so desired, I could have moved over with the majority of the staff and continued working under a different logo. I was as surprised as anyone to discover that I didn't desire. I didn't desire at all, frankly. When the opportunity to leave presented itself, I took it faster than Lily Chin can crank out a single crochet stitch scarf. (and that's fast, people) I'm fine with it.

Doesn't mean I wouldn't have liked a "thank you." But I'm good. Now I can knit socks full time for the remainder of the summer. Isn't that nice?

Tah-Dah!!!!!!!

The Socks Of Summer are finito! (is that a real word?) Without a pesky job during the summer months, a Sheep can stay up way past her bedtime on a Sunday night and finish up the last few decreases. I started these socks as a way to prep myself for the upcoming school vacation. The yarn was purchased during the coldest days of February from the talented Samurai Knitter. The colorway is called Earth and is everything I think of when Summer comes to mind: green, green grass, warm dirt baking in the sun...everything but the ants! Nice, huh? They're even prettier in "real-life."

But, here's the thing. Now that I am a full-time sock knitter, I'm thinking that I need sock blockers. I'll admit it. I just wanna blog like the cool kids. And most of the cool kids have sock blockers. I've upgraded my camera in order that I might bring you better, clearer and more stunning photos of plain stockinette socks in a variety of colors. Should I not take the next step and get the sock blockers?

But, for the record, I don't think I will ever actually block a sock. Socks don't really need blocking. Once your foot gets all sweaty, doesn't it sort of block right there on your hoof? Don't we all already come with built-in blocking ability? It's all about the Blog Glamour Shots and I know it.

I'm open to suggestions. Because I believe in the sweat blocking method, I will not be needing the finest of sock blockers. Just a little something to fill out the socks for their photo shoots and to distract everyone from whatever boo-boos I may have made in the knitting process. You know what I'm saying... Does anyone have a recommendation for reasonably priced, visually distracting sock blockers? I'd like to go a step up from the homemade coat hanger variety but not quite reach the solid gold level of sock blockage. We must be reasonable about this.

I am, after all, a single income family now.

SA

When Good Pickles Go Bad

I had rather high hopes for showing off a nice FO today. But, I'm not quite there yet. Be patient with me. Perhaps tonight I can finish up that toe and graft those stitches for ya! Instead, how about I do a little public service announcement for business owners?

Now, in the interest of not being sued or having rotten fruit thrown at me in the streets for putting stuff in print, let's go hypothetical on this one. Say you own a business. For the sake of this discussion, lets call it a pickle factory. You went into the pickle business with all good intentions. You were probably all youthful and starry-eyed at the time. You just knew that you could change the world one pickle at a time. You decided that your pickle factory should be a non-profit pickle factory and should specialize in helping families with making better pickles in their own homes. You offered supervision of the pickling process as well as pickling courses. State agencies could refer families who need assistance to your factory and trained pickle professionals could be sent to assist them in making a better pickle. Your pickle business was just thriving. In light of this pickle-related success, you made the decision to open a satellite office in the southern part of the state. You may not be as invested in that branch of the factory being as it is further away. But, what the heck. You've expanded your empire and, if they don't get quite as many of the perks down there, then that's just the way it is. You are the boss of the pickle factory and a respected member of the pickle making community.

Now, let's fast forward a few years. This non-profit pickle business (we could even call it an agency at this point) is struggling a bit. State contracts have migrated to bigger pickle providers and families aren't able to be referred as easily. There are some who might suggest that the accounting going on at this point was not exactly stellar...but no one would say it out loud because that would be dangerous. As would saying that it might have been a good idea to explore some of the fifty million new programs that your staff suggested as other sources of revenue. Suffice it to say, your pickle business is doing badly. After limping along for a few years, sticking to your original pickle vision and continuing to steadfastly do business the way you did it back in the early pickle making days, you make the decision to close the satellite office in the southern portion of the state.

Now, here's the part where I offer a little suggestion. If you haven't already done so, it would be a nice touch to include in the envelope that contains your former employees' final checks a little acknowledgement. Not that the $37.49 isn't a fine reward for a job well done and all. I'm sure that this will be much appreciated. But, given the circumstances and the fact that there has been nothing in the way of a pat on the shoulder since the decision was made to close this "pickle factory," a thanks-for-all-your-hard-work-and-sorry-about-closing-the-factory note would be a nice gesture.

It's just a thought, really. Do with it what you will. I'm sure, though, that you are not the types of people who run doomed pickle factories. Maybe you could forward this to someone who is currently in the process of shutting down pickle production.

Meanwhile, I (purely coincidentally, mind you) find myself in possession of a check for thirty seven dollars and change. And a little extra time on my hands now that I don't have two jobs anymore. (again, that is a coincidence and has nothing to do with the previous pickle proverb) Also in the clump of envelopes that represent the mail I forgot to pick up for two days was a second check for my having attended a summer teacher training! Woot! Woot! This not only covered the cost of the camera upgrade, but left a wee bit left over for playing.

And so it was that The Sheep found herself wandering about her local JoAnn's craft store after a delightful lunch with Mommy, Daddy, Baby Brother and Future SIL Sheep. Frankly, I needed to walk around a bit. There was a disturbing amount of pie at this shindig. If you feel the earth shaking at any point, it's not some sort of seismic event. It's just me waddling about and taking my pie thighs for a stroll.

There wasn't a heck of a lot in the store. It was rather depleted, in fact. Dunno if this is a renovation situation or if the whole place is going away. But I persevered and found some cotton on sale that might like to become dishcloths. I also stocked up on a few of the circulars in the sizes that I always need but can never seem to find. And, somehow, a copy of Vogue Quick Knits ended up in the basket. I must have blacked out or something...but I had the extra checks this week so all is well and I can knit something Quickly without guilt.

I also found this little cutie:

Honest...it just followed me home.

It's not quite the same quality as my Lantern Moon sheep tape measure, but when your handle is "The Sheep," you can't pass up a novelty measuring device such as this. Particularly if it's also on clearance...

So with my Not-Pickle-Severance-Money well spent and a belly full of pie, I bid you good evening. I will knit like the wind and see if I can't have some socks to show for my efforts tomorrow. I really need to finish something soon here! The Index Cards Of Summer Organization that I am using to keep myself on track indicate that I am well behind schedule at this point.

You could say I'm in something of a pickle...

SA

Picture Perfect

Well....that may be something of an overstatement. But it is, at least, improved.

I awoke yesterday feeling somewhat strange. I couldn't quite put my finger on just what was different...but something had changed. Then it hit me: I wasn't sneezing. A quick blow of the nose confirmed that I was no longer leaking corpuscles from snout. I listened intently and detected no snuffly sounds nor did I hear that odd squeaking that has been coming from my overloaded sinuses. And when I checked outside, my truck, which has been dusted with a delicate coating of yellow pollen for the past few weeks, was blue again. Dare I even think it? Was I really allergy-free?

It seemed that I was! The rains of the past few days had made some of the nasty pollen go away and my snufflies were gone! I fairly leaped from the bed causing a rather amusing startle-reflex on the part of my furry feline sleep assistants (who were also not causing me to sneeze for the first time in I-don't-know-how-long). It looked like a good day for getting something done.

I'd been promising myself a camera upgrade for a few weeks and decided that this was the day to make it happen. There was a short period where the upgrade was of a significant and glorious nature. However, this plan was short-lived given that I need to replace a couple of tires and shocks on the truck. This was not unexpected given that I'm approaching the 100,000 mile mark and tend to put a lot of wear on any tire. I'd hoped to put it off for another couple of months, but I'm thinking that it needs to be done sooner rather than later. Thus, the camera upgrade was of a more reasonable sort. Still, a new toy is a new toy, right? And you, the blog-reading public deserve a better class of fiber photography. You are a fine group of people who have not complained once about the quality of the images to which you have been subjected. I like to think that I buy these things for you more than for me, really. I'm a "giver." A caring nurturer...I'm here for you, the knit blogging community.

Oddly, the first picture I have for you today is not of anything knit-related, though. It's of my other favorite thing: Food!

Specifically, a killer potato salad with fresh chives.

The Sheep family will be charring a bit more meat as part of their ongoing Independence Day celebrations. Baby Brother Sheep has returned home from his latest work related travel and, much like the Prodigal Son, is being welcomed back to the fold with a feast. So I made a 'tater salad. I'm pretty sure that's how they did it in the original story...although I'm guessing that they had to use a goat bladder or reed basket to carry it since reusable plastic containers weren't as readily available in biblical times.

Peeling potatoes does take some time out of a Sheep's day. But, I've still managed to get in a little of the fiber works. The combination of feeling better and a new camera must have just spurred me into action.

I've been spinning the lamb/silk blend like a woman possessed.

And I've finished making Cathy's Shetland into soft, fluffy clouds

And, of course, there have been many hours spent taking pictures of things. I had a sweet photo shoot going on that featured The Big, Fluffy Kitty. All was going well until I happened to take note of the fact that she has no neck to speak of. At least not one that is immediately visible to the naked eye. I then made the somewhat regrettable decision to say this in my "Outside My Head Voice." I didn't mean anything by it. It was just an observation. But the BFK didn't take it well. She stormed off the set and all I heard after that was the slamming of her trailer door followed by what seemed to be her wailing to someone on her tiny, little kitty cell phone. It was hard to make out, but I think she was saying something about needing an emergency meeting with her attorney and her plastic surgeon.

And her agent isn't taking my calls anymore. This one may take a while to work out. But, I'm sure it will be fine.

I'll send her a gift basket with some of the potato salad. She'll be back on set in no time!

SA

Witness Protection Program For Socks

Don't even talk to me about Monkey Socks. They are stupid. I hate them. Stupid, stupid Monkeys. I don't care what anyone says...they are nowhere near us on the genetic spectrum. Hate those Monkeys. They are in time-out.

That's not true. It's not the Monkey's fault. They did their best to please me. They gave me lots of helpful reminders regarding where and when to begin the pattern repeats. Like, for examples, miles of stockinette that represent the bottom of the foot part. All that stockinette is a hint of rather impressive proportions. Apparently, I am incapable of heeding those hints and, as a result, have to tink back yet again to reach a point where the foot of my Monkey Socks are unsullied. They aren't really in time-out. It's more like "protective custody." This particular program is not quite as all-encompassing as that of the federal government or anything. It's more like I hid them in the bottom of the knitting basket and stuck my tongue out at them for a full twenty minutes. But they are safe from me for the time being.

I opted to work on the nice, simple Socks Of Summer for a while. Their bland, boring and yet oh-so-soothing plainness is pretty much what I'm capable of right now. Once I have written out the words, "I will not knit the bottom of my sock in any sort of pattern even if it seems like the right thing to do at the time" 1000 times, then I might feel safe going back to the stupid Monkeys.

So, what else does a Sheep do to fill the hours once she has removed an offending Monkey from her line of vision? Well, she does something else that she doesn't actually love all that much: she breaks out the hand cards. Again, I tell a falsehood. I don't actually hate hand carding wool. I just sort of like the idea of hand carding more than the actual task. I can ponder hand carding for longer periods than I can perform it. Which is why this rather manageable amount of Shetland has taken me three weeks to get to this point:

Hey...at least you can't see a Monkey anywhere.

I probably could have drum carded this wool fairly easily. But, for some reason, it seemed to want to be done by hand. No regrets, really. I think it's the right choice. And it's not like I was going to be spinning it tomorrow or anything. I'll just keep plugging away at it in fits and starts and it'll get done. This is part of the fiber bonanza that came to me from Cathy and it deserves to be done right, dontcha think?

And I'm unclear on whether or not there is a any sort of program designed to keep nice, unspun fiber safe from these hands...best to work at a steady pace and not take any chances.

SA

An Independence Day WNBP

I have, once again, done something vile and unspeakable to the simple, can't-possibly-screw-this-up portion of my Monkey Socks. I have no projects that are approaching completion. My allergies are over the top and all the sneezing is scaring my Smaller, Less Fluffy Kitty. There are nosebleeds involved at this point. (note to self: stop picking nose with power drill) (second note to self: remember to tell people that this is a joke and that you don't really pick your nose with a power drill) And I am so full of the flame-grilled goodness after the cookout at Mommy and Daddy Sheep's house that my brain is clogged. Not conducive to witty blog posting.

Cursing Mama to the rescue!

She helpfully suggested that this meme might make a good Wednesday Night Bullet Post template. With little else on the docket, she couldn't have come forward in a more timely fashion. I mean, honestly! I didn't even get any traumatic vehicular news from the Other Dreamy Mechanic this morning after my oil change. (Regular Dreamy Mechanic wasn't there today...I hope he's OK) So here's a fill-in-the-blank version of WNBP:


1. I've come to realize that my last kiss was… less than memorable. A mere blip on the radar, really.

2. I am listening to...my Smaller, Less Fluffy Kitty purring loudly in anticipation of dinner time.

3. I talk… with great authority about things that I don't really understand fully. And I will continue to do so even after everyone else in the room has obviously figured this out.

4. I love… television. All television. And I'm not ashamed to admit it.

5. My best friends… don't always "get" me. But they still hang out with me. I suspect that they find me somewhat amusing.

6. My car… oh, c'mon!!! I've spent in excess of two thousand dollars on it this year. Haven't we all heard enough about this by now?

7. My love life…I'm sorry. I didn't hear the question.

8. I hate it when people ask… for directions. I can't give directions. Even if it is a route I travel every day and could drive in my sleep, I can't tell you how to traverse it. Google it...you're better off.

9. I want to… find a job that allows me to nap.

10. Marriage is… one of those things that looks good on other people.

11. Somewhere, someone is thinking… about cheese.

12. I'm always… breathing. Breathing is good.

13. I have a secret crush on...my Dreamy Mechanic. That's no secret, though. Other Dreamy Mechanic wasn't all that tough on the eyeballs this morning either.

14. I am not... enjoying my summer allergies. Nor is anyone who has to be around me while I am experiencing them.

15. My cell phone… is pink. Everyone who sees it says the same thing: "That's funny, I wouldn't have expected you to have a pink phone."

16. When I wake up in the morning… I am greeted by cats. They are always very excited to see me. There is great merry-making, purring and leaping about on the bed. I, on the other hand, am less impressed by being awake and am, as a result, not leaping about.

17. Before I go to bed I… read.

18. Right now I am thinking about… my Monkey Sock, the fact that I can't seem to knit stockinette and how stuff that's inside the shoe doesn't count anyway.

19. Babies are… not particularly good conversationalists.

20. I get on MySpace… but don't admit it.

21. Today I… went to a killer cookout at my parent's house.

22. Tonight I will… watch TV. I like TV. TV good...

23. Tomorrow I will… go camera shopping. Maybe...

24. I really want to… do a better job on my second Monkey Sock.

25. Someone who will most likely repost this… anyone who feels the need. Or is lacking good material. Or has good material, but risks legal action should they post it. Or is addicted to the "copy 'n paste" method of blogology.


The great thing about today being Independence Day is that you can say, "Happy Fourth of July!" and it applies to almost everyone! The readers in the U.S. will think, "Oh that Sheepie, wishing us a happy birth of our country like that! She's so darned thoughtful..." The folks from away will think," Oh that Sheepie, wishing us a happy and oddly specific day like that. She's so darned thoughtful..." The only difference is that the former are reading this while eating a hot dog and using illegal fireworks to blow up an old soup can. The latter will be assured of having all their fingers in place and fully functional tomorrow.

Happy Fourth of July everybody!!!

SA

Sheep On The Move

Such a busy Sheepie...so much so that I blog to you at this later hour. So much to do, so little time.

I was up at the crack of dawn in order that I might get in a little workout in full defiance of my recent lack of interest in this whole subject. I really haven't been so good about the whole fitness thing over the past month. And the jeans are telling the tale. It had to be done.

That finished, I braved the hordes at the grocery store who, in their typical horde-like fashion, did their level best to block every aisle and keep me from the few items that I needed to procure. Stupid hordes. They act like they are just stopping to admire the olive displays or tie their shoes. They pretend that they didn't notice me attempting to get past them. But I know better. I was fortunate enough to have gotten the "Creak/Klunk Cart today. You know the one I'm talking about. That cart that makes its presence known by shaking and thumping its way throughout the store. It has two wheels that seem to have a marginal interest in shopping. The other two would prefer to head back out to the cart corral and hobnob with their other cart buddies. The shopper, in this case your friendly neighborhood Sheep, must use inordinate upper body strength to keep this contraption (allegedly designed to make shopping easier) on a straight path. There was no missing me. If you couldn't see me, you could surely hear me. The hordes were just messing with me. It was really too early for this.

But, I survived the trip and made it home to the kitchen where I made up some Cheesy Bread and flavored butter for tomorrow's Fourth Of July Festivities. I even cleaned up the kitchen when I was done. Yeah. That's right. I cleaned the kitchen. A little bit... OK, I scraped the raw bread dough from the cupboards after the mixer saw fit to fling it there. That's cleaning, right?

After some home-based knitting and impressive progress on my Monkey Socks, you'd think I'd be done for the day. Perhaps ready for a quiet night basking in the glow of a job well done. Not so!

I hopped in the truck, pointed her south and headed for Chicks With Sticks night with the famous Noolie! I do love knitting with others. And what luck! The equally famous Mel was there as well! It was like knitting with the stars for this stitch-challenged Sheep. A good time was had by all...I even stayed on a bit afterwards for a little visit. A yarn shop after hours...it was like that dream we all have but don't admit to . And the progress I made on the Socks Of Summer has yet to be equalled even with all the teacher trainings and summer down time. There is hope for an FO before the school year starts up again if I can make a few more visits to Knit Night!

And now it is 11:00, I am winding down and getting ready for another early start tomorrow. I've been a bit neglectful with the oil changes and the nice people at the garage are going to allow me to come in on a holiday to rectify this situation before heading out to Mommy and Daddy Sheep's house for the traditional burning of the burgers. (note: Daddy Sheep doesn't really burn the burgers...or anything else he cooks on the grill. It just sounded good) I'm reasonably sure that, given my track record with the truck this year, they will find many, many horrible things wrong with my vehicle that are all life threatening should I drive it and cost many thousands of dollars to repair. I'm fully prepared to hear their diagnosis of the situation. I don't even blink in the face of vehicular adversity anymore. I nod a lot and make noises that imply understanding of the situation. I'll figure out a way to get it taken care of later. No time now, I'm afraid.

I got stuff to do.

SA

You Can't Fool This Sheep!

I know that I frequently endow various inanimate objects with stuff like feelings and the ability to exact revenge upon me. Remember back when I told you all about my misbehaving truck and the ungodly amount of money it cost me? But, I like to think that I do it just enough to be considered quirky rather than someone that might make a nice subject for a paper of some sort. There is a line with these sorts of things. You can't go overboard. If you do then you will surely find yourself discussing inkblots and dreams with a "caring professional." That being said...

I think that rash the doctor diagnosed as a "Weird Rash" can hear me.

I'm taking the chance that it can't read. My only hope for sharing my plight with the world is through the printed word. If the weird arm rash has figured out that certain symbols have meaning then it will have isolated me completely. This is how hostages are broken by their captors.

I lived with this stupid rash for a month. It took two visits to convince my doctor that it was "significant." She made a referral to a dermatologist who was unable to see me until August 24th. I made do with the prescription hydrocortisone ointment and hoped that it didn't spread further. Then, miracle of miracles, the dermatologist had an opening for July 19th! Not great...but better than waiting until the end of August! Yay for Sheepie! Tough noogies for Mr. Rash!

Except that it can hear me. It knows what's going on. And it has a strategy. I kid you not. I have been itching like a hound dog for thirty days and counting. I finally make some progress on the Finding-A-Qualified-Rash-Expert front and boom! The rash begins to fade. The itch subsides. It is retreating.

Some might celebrate this turn of events. Not I. I know when I'm being set up. Mr. Rash wants me to cancel my appointment. Then, when I have nowhere to turn for rash eradication, it will rear its ugly head with a vengeance unlike any other seen in rashdom's glorious history. I'm wise to this rash. I won't be fooled. In fact, I may not even sleep for the next few weeks. You know...just so I can keep an eye on it. The rash thinks I'm crazy. Sure. I'm crazy. Crazy like a fox!!!

Why are you backing away like that? I won't hurt you. You're my friends. Come on back! I'm a good person to know. I can talk to rashes and I knit, too! Look:

I'm making a Monkey Sock!

Now, shortly after taking this photo, I discovered an inexplicable hole in the heel. I can't find where the stitch was dropped and all attempts at repair have been for naught. Some people might jump to the conclusion that my sock is out to get me. They might think that it is deliberately misbehaving for some reason, perhaps to distract me from the rash's latest scheme. But I don't think that's the case.

That would just be crazy...

SA

Following Orders!

Oh, that Catsmum...she's certainly kept me hopping this weekend! Good thing, really. It keeps me off the streets and away from places of ill-repute. Or the mall...

First up, she tagged me to participate in the latest and greatest meme that's been making the rounds. All you need to do is go to Wikipedia and enter your birthday sans year. Then you record for all posterity the following: 3 events of note, 2 birthdays of note and 1 holiday. I followed the directions like a good little Sheepie and what follows are the fruits of my labor.

On May 17th, the world saw:

Aristide win the first Kentucky Derby in 1875

The US Supreme Court hand down a unanimous decision in Brown v. The Board of Education of Topeka, Kansas in 1954

Massachusetts become the first US state to legalize same sex marriage in 2004


My fellow birthday celebrants are:

One of my favorite authors, F. Paul Wilson (1946)

Sugar Ray Leonard (1956)

Trent Reznor of Nine Inch Nails (1965, which means that we are the exact same age!)


And the holiday that we should all be whooping it up over is:

World Telecommunications Day!!! Break out your WTD banners, hats and t-shirts! Woot Woot!!!

As always, I offer this experience up to anyone who might like to try it! Feel free to call yourself tagged. It's really rather fun. I actually learned a thing or two. On a weekend, no less!

That finished, I thought that I might be able to rest. But, no. Catsmum would also like to see a close up of my skulls, snakes 'n flames sneakers. But she always says, "please" so I am more than happy to oblige:

Not only are they very cool they are the most comfortable shoes I own these days. And none of that pesky shoe-tying to take up my valuable time...

Frankly, it's a good thing that I had some direction on today's post. My second pair of Monkey Socks are progressing nicely, but I hesitate to show them until I have successfully solved the heel issues that I had with the ill-fated pair #1. I think that you all deserve nothing but the finest in blog photography. I should have something for tomorrow. I'm extending the cuff by one pattern repeat just to get a bit more length to cover my shapely calves come the winter months. I'm guessing that I'll be finishing up the heel tonight. Hopefully I will end up with a heel that isn't so large that I could lay out a decent picnic upon it. Who knew that the foot contained in the scary sneakers was of such delicate and ladylike proportions?

Thanks for the inspiration tonight, Catsmum! Don't know where I would have been without ya...I might have had to finish something, for heaven's sake. And this would have interfered greatly with my nap schedule.

I wonder if Trent still takes naps...

SA