The Gr-8-est Love Of All

Oh, Octagonal Swirl Cloth! Even after all these years, I am still fascinated by you. The magic? It just never seems to fade. We have something special, you and I.

Each and every time we meet, I remain utterly transfixed by the way you form on the needles. You are a clever one and I look all the smarter for being with you. You aren't in the least snobbish. No. You are a humble sort, always knowing that you are destined for hard work. I find a simple, understated dignity in that.

And the way you adapt? Brilliant. You are cool with dpns or circs. You just work with what's available. Sure, you don't always act predictably during Magic Loop but that's OK. Sometimes a girl likes surprises. Yarnovers don't always have to be where you'd expect them, after all. It still works.

I've learned so much from you. Why the first time I knit you way back when, I didn't even know how to do a M1 increase! I learned just for you. You taught me the value of a loose bind off, too. Without you, I'd still be casting off to the sound of squeaking yarn as it travels ever closer to the breaking point.

Not that it's always been easy. Sometimes the cotton is hard on the hands and we need to take a little break from one another for a while. And remember yesterday? When I was watching that Baking With Julia Marathon and lost count? I think it was when they were making that chocolate ruffles cake...maybe it was the scones? Whatever. We had a bit of a time then, that's for sure. Tinking back three rows was certainly a strain on our relationship and things got kind of tense for a time.

But then it was over and oh how we laughed! This is the stuff of long term relationships. The road sometimes has a few bumps in it, but that's what makes us stronger and wiser in the end, right?

Oh, heck! I'm just gonna say it. I don't care if I'm the first to speak the words. Octagonal Swirl Dishcloth...I love you. There! I said it. I love you!!!

OK. Um. Yeah. This is awkward...

You need some time. I understand. I sort of threw that out there kind of fast. You probably want to sit with this for a bit. That's cool. I get it. You want some space? I can do space. Space is, like, my middle name! You just take all the time you need and don't worry about me. I'm not the clingy, needy type at all. I'm, like, all whatever and stuff. I'll see you when I see you.

Call me...

SA

Seeing It Is Optional

Now that I am officially in the "middle aged vision" category of the population and awaiting the arrival of prescription bifocals that will allow me to navigate the world without the aid of a helpful canine, I am grateful for the fact that seeing things isn't always a requirement. There is lots of stuff you can assume. Assuming is good, especially when you can't necessarily make out details anymore.

For example, when a truck shows up in the parking area and a dude with tools starts wandering around, you don't need to see what he is doing to know that he is a plumber. You can assume that fact when the water gets turned off. Repeatedly. All day. Without warning.

You also don't need to see what he is doing to know that bathroom trips will need to be carefully timed for the remainder of the day...

When you finally get running water back in your life and decide that a nice hot bath would be a good reward after such a dry day, you aren't able to see everything that goes on in the manse. You are relaxed and your less than perfect vision is even more limited since you've taken off the useless glasses. But when you hear the sound of growling, howling, yowling and thundering paws, you can be pretty sure that the resident felines have gotten into yet another tussle.

I've seen enough of these altercations to know how it goes. The Absurdly Gi-normous Kitty (always the instigator) will charge the Big, Fluffy Kitty, merrily ignoring all warnings to cease and desist. He will persist through the first couple of swipes, ever hopeful that this will be the day she gives in to his displays of affection. She will not. Ever. On a good day, she will make a break for it and hide until he finds something else to do. On a bad day, she will defend herself to the end.

I always know when it's over because the AGK wanders around crying piteously, broken hearted and wanting the world to know of his despair. Then he has a snack and watches some television because he is, at heart, just a dude.

Frankly, "seeing" isn't all that helpful in this situation. These two are beyond mismatched in terms of physique. The BFK is big only in name and fluff. She is a feline optical illusion. Underneath all the fur, I doubt if I have a quarter pound of cat. The AGK, on the other hand, is the very model of truth in advertising. He is huge and has the advantage of youthful reflexes. The BFK is somewhere in the vicinity of 17-19 years of age.

Going with what you see will not predict the outcome in this case. Not one little bit. When the BFK says, "no" she means just that. And AGKs who ignore this, do so at their peril.

She gots me rite on mah snooty!!!!! I cryd 'n cryd. Then mama gived me chikenz 'n I wuz OK.

See? You don't have to see stuff to know stuff. It's optional sometimes. Which is good for me since I can't see these days, but still need to know stuff. I know that, if the cats aren't cooperating and the water isn't running, that I am going to need a distraction or two. Happily, I happened to see some dishcloths yesterday. They were posted by the delightful April and crocheted...crocheted, I tellya! I can crochet! I can crochet faster than I can knit, truth be told. And that means I can whip out a leaf stitch version of this household essential in an hour or so!

By God, I can even craft up a lopsided border of sorts if I put my mind to it!!!

Now that I can't see, I can do stuff all lopsided and not feel badly. No one can say anything mean about it. Everyone has to be nice, at least to my face. And at close range since anything anyone does outside my abbreviated field of vision is not something I'm going to catch anyway. I rather like this dishcloth, in spite of the border issues. It's very squooshy and we all know how important the tactile element becomes once the sense of sight is lost.

Lastly, there is one more thing you may or may not be seeing in the coming days. I am experimenting with the idea of blogging when I have something to say rather than the 6 posts per week I've been doing for the past few years. I truly do love to write and blogging has allowed me to do just that. I also love connecting with others out there in the fiber world, not to mention keeping up with family and friends. However, the word well sometimes runs a little dry and material isn't always easy to find. I think I do fairly well with crafting posts, but it's felt more like work lately and that was never my intention going into this.

I'm not done. Far from it. Pulling back a bit isn't about letting go of the blog. It is about holding onto it. I think that giving myself permission to not blog will keep it from becoming an obligation. (Blogligation?) It's a hobby and something I do to challenge myself in a fun way.

So if you don't see me, don't panic. It just means that I took an extra long nap that day and missed good blogging stuff. Or that I'm busy breaking up a kitty battle. Or crocheting a dishcloth. Or patiently waiting out the lack of water situation.

Or I can't see well enough to find the laptop...

SA

Same Church, Different Pew

It's time once again for the Wednesday Night Bullet Post. It's been a fun-filled day and one that was simply overflowing with the glad tidings. Let's hit 'em hard!

*I had an appointment for an eye exam today.

*It's been about four years.

*We like to stay on top of these things, you see...

*I was late because I was knitting on the Invisibility Shawl and lost track of time. Not by much...just a little late.

*It is also entirely possible that I could not see the clock clearly.

*It was a pretty standard sort of exam. Routine, really. I can sum it up like this:

Dr. Eyeball: Well, the good news is that you are no longer myopic.

Sheepish Annie: Yay, I'm cured!!!

DE: The bad news is that you are now presbyopic.

SA: Boo! Now I have to change churches...

*The doctor thought that was funny.

*Truthfully, I already knew that I was due for a change in prescription. I also knew that he was going to be telling me about the need for bifocals.

*When one is making a debit card transaction and has to ask the store clerk to hold the keypad at arms length so that the little numbers can be seen, it is usually a pretty good sign that the vision has gone wonky.

*I'm old. It makes sense that my eyeballs would be following suit.

*The plan was to just get the exam today. I was going to wait on glasses.

*My insurance doesn't cover optical services.

*Dr. Eyeball is somewhat well-versed in the "hard sell." No foul there. It's his living, after all.

*I am a tough fit for glasses.

*My needs are many. It's not that I'm picky. It's just that my face won't cooperate.

*Lots of issues with fit.

*The doc picked out an ugly pair of glasses for me from the children's rack.

*I need small glasses.

*Small glasses do not work well with progressive bifocals.

*I still wasn't going to buy glasses from him today. Or contacts.

*For the record, when you start asking your optometrist about your pupillary distance measurement and if he wouldn't mind writing a little more clearly on your prescription form, he will get suspicious.

*Things might even get a little awkward and tense even if you've been seeing this doctor for 33 years. He's probably thinking that you are going to go shopping on some cheap-o Internet glasses site.

*The fact that he is right about this doesn't make it any less uncomfortable.

*The ugly glasses he picked out for me from the children's rack, once combined with the special lenses and whatnot, totalled well over $400.00

*Dude...Seriously?

*I didn't go to the Farmer's Market today.

*Too tired from the eye exam. I wonder how The Produce Guy With The Little Stand At The End is doing?

*Tonight's' dinner: Hot Pocket right out of the microwave.

*Don't bother. I know. It's a comedown from my regular Wednesday fare...

*I literally spent the entire day perusing the Internet trying to find a pair of glasses with lenses around 44 mm in width, high enough to accommodate bifocals, and not so ugly as to make me the subject of laughter the world over.

*Or with cartoon figures dancing on them.

*For a reasonable price.

*Not easy.

*I also had ice cream for dinner because this was not a productive day overall.

*I have a headache from being on the computer all day looking for new glasses.

*Because I need glasses...

*In answer to a question that came up yesterday regarding the names of my cats:

The Big, Fluffy Kitty (BFK) = Persephone

The Absurdly Gi-normous Kitty (AGK) = Prometheus

*They do have real names.

*It's just that they are very long and it is easier to use initials.

*I also forgot to run any other errands I was supposed to take care of today so now I am a day behind.

*Which is going to mess up my Thursday, but I can't really see the clock anymore so I don't think it will matter too much in the end.

And now I must bid you farewell. There is much more for me to do this evening. Spending a day shopping for the ever elusive pair of child-sized frames with old person's lenses will really take a chunk out of your day...

SA

Surrender

I made sure to put in some sock time today. I did this bright and early because I didn't want to forget. I needed a project ready to go for Knit Night and there would be no last minute rushing about for this knitter!

I managed an inch or so of sock, enough to make knitting relatively mindless, and put the project aside. It was ready to go. I set about enjoying the rest of my day.

I'm not exactly sure just what happened after that. It's kind of a blur. What I do know is that the next time I looked at the clock, the 6:00 hour had just passed. Odd, that. I can't help but wonder where the rest of the day went, but I'm not one to question a timepiece. I also happened to notice that I didn't appear to be rushing about like a madwoman and trying to get ready to leave in order that I might salvage some of the evening. I didn't feel like moving at all.

Sometimes you just have to accept the inevitable. Surrender isn't necessarily a bad thing. Sometimes it's the only thing.

In lieu of a report on my Summer Of Compensatory Knitty Socialization (S.O.C.K.S) time, why don't I tell you a story? It's amusing and, I assure you, quite true. I should probably tell you two things right up front, though. First, it is a bathroom story. While not an icky bathroom story, I like to ensure that those of you with delicate constitutions are aware of the context in which a tale is told.

Secondly, I wish you not to think this story is about me. While I have nothing against the bathroom in general, I like to think that I have transcended such things. No. Let's say that this little slice of life is from someone else's plate.

Once upon a time, there was a lady who was enjoying her summer vacation. However, with school starting soon, she knew that the time had come for her to start going to bed a bit earlier. It would not be long before the alarm began going off at 5:00 in the godforsaken a.m. and it wouldn't do for her to be going to bed mere minutes before that. Each night without fail, she would make her way to the bed just a little bit earlier, always trying to get closer to the "normal" routine.

One night, a Monday if you must know, she informed her cats that it was time for everyone to settle down. This was met with nods of understanding and the resuming of their frantic racing about the house. The kitties were not quite so enamoured with the thought of "routine" as was their mommy.

The lady sighed, but doggedly pursued her earlier bedtime. On this night, she remembered that she should visit the restroom prior to retiring. This lady was of a later vintage, you see. As part of her routine-building, she had developed something of a proactive stance regarding certain things.

No. This is not me we're talking about. Remember the whole "transcending" business? I have evolved beyond such things as bladder maintenance...

The lady was tending to this aspect of her routine when, suddenly, a Big, Fluffy Kitty rocketed into the room, looking for all the world like the devil himself was after her. Close upon her heels was an Absurdly Gi-normous Kitty, an expression of outright glee on his face as he closed in on the object of his affections.

The lady quickly scooped up the fluffy kitty. She was already sitting down so it wasn't much of a reach. She carefully held the poor, flustered creature away from the paws of her nemesis.

This posed something of a conundrum, given the circumstance. Certainly it would not do to let go of the Big, Fluffy Kitty. The feline had come to her for protection. And sanctuary, once granted, cannot be withdrawn. On the other hand, it did not appear that the large orange beast at her feet was giving up any time soon. "Woe is me," thought the lady, "I fail to see how this situation could possibly be any worse! Surely I shall perish here and my corpse found in this most undignified of positions!"

The lady was clearly of an innocent breed and unwise in the ways of the world. She did not realize that any situation can, and probably will, take a turn for the worse. While she sat there, pondering all possible ways to extricate herself from her predicament, the Absurdly Gi-normous Kitty suddenly became aware of the strings on the lady's sweatpants. Given her "situation," they were within easy reach. Suddenly, he no longer found his pursuit of the Big, Fluffy Kitty to be quite so interesting. He lunged for the strings and quickly subdued them, along with a significant portion of the fabric from which they dangled. This, of course, would be the same fabric the lady had hoped would soon be rearranged back into her sleepwear for the evening.

"Gadzooks!" she cried, "I am undone! However shall I free myself and keep to the bedtime routine?"

The lady thought and thought. The Big, Fluffy Kitty clung and clung. The Absurdly Gi-normous Kitty wrapped himself ever more firmly into the sweatpants. Time passed. Finally, the lady realized that there was nothing else for it. The sweatpants had to be surrendered. They were a casualty of war and the war was well and truly lost. With a sigh, the lady (still clutching her fluffy cargo) carefully extricated herself from her beloved sweats. She completed those activities required in order that one might call a visit to the restroom "finished," and fled the scene.

The Absurdly Gi-normous Kitty celebrated his victory by dragging her sweatpants about the manse for ten minutes then collapsing on the bed in utter exhaustion. The Big, Fluffy Kitty fled and was not seen again until the morning feeding time.

The End

At least I think that's how it went. It's how I heard it anyway. As I said, I wasn't there so I can't be certain of all the details. But I'm pretty sure I've got it right.

Or it could just be one of those urban legends...

SA

Bloody Heck!

It is Monday and August is upon me for real now. I awoke this morning filled with the need to start getting things organized around here. It won't be long before I need to get back in to school and start tacking up those posters, after all.

We won't discuss what happens after the posters go up. It is too horrible to contemplate. I can only say that it involves middle school students and the need to contain them for seven hours a day.

One of the things that required tending today was the mailbox. I am notoriously bad about picking up my mail. I never bother on the weekends. There may be bills in there and I find those distressing and distasteful during my time of rest. I was pretty sure that I needed to go get the mail today. You can only let it marinate for so long before it gets all fermented and stuff.

As I suspected, there was a bill in there. It was from the lab that did my bloodwork back in June. I'd forgotten about all that, frankly. I hate it when bills come with the unpleasant memory of a new nurse wielding a needle. However, you can't let a case of the heebie-jeebies keep you from opening a bill so I forged ahead.

I've had this lab work done before. As a precaution, I am screened for possible signs of arthritis every now and again. It's been a while, though. I could easily have forgotten the billing portion of the festivities. But I really do think I would have remembered a two page summary of services. I seem to recall a simpler format.

Apparently, the technology has advanced. Instead of testing for one or two factors, they run a massive panel. How they got all that out of my tiny little blood sample I'll never know, but they squeezed a whole lotta information out of that vial. 16 tests were billed unto me. After the insurance was done picking the carcass, the bill came to just shy of $84.00

I just don't recall this being such a "thing" the last time I had bloodwork done. I felt the need to Google a few of those tests since only one of them rang a bell. Or sounded even remotely like what I'd asked to be checked. I mean, sure, it's good to know that I have Double Stranded DNA. But I think that's really between me and my genes, don't you?

Surprisingly, pretty much everything on there was related to the condition for which I am periodically tested. I did happen to notice a couple of tests that my doctor snuck in there but I don't blame her for that. I am a lousy patient and she does what she has to in order to tend to my health. Overall, I've decided to just be grateful for a thorough screening process and let it go.

Besides, my insurance is pretty good. It's not what it used to be, not by a long shot. However a great deal of this grand medical experiment was covered. Not everything, but a lot. For the record, Alpha-2-Macroglobulin costs $9.55 to put under a microscope and it is not covered under my plan.

I am now very well educated in the ways of blood. Of course, a great deal of time was spent searching the internet for references to procedures that may or may not related to my popping a positive test for Rheumatoid Factor. ($19.30 to test, $17.35 of which my insurance company found worthy of payment) It got in the way of most of the stuff that I was going to do today.

I managed a few repeats on the shawl. Since no one has bothered to tell me the actual results of these tests and since the nurse I spoke to last June had no idea what I was talking about when she called me with my other information, I am assuming that I have gotten a clean bill of health. I am safe to knit for another few years without the pesky specter of sore digits looming over my shoulder.

I may have to wait to write that check, though. Anything could happen. We don't want to overstrain the joints, after all. Better safe than sorry, right?

SA

Wii Are Humbled

I talked to my parents on the phone today as I do every Sunday. I call them...they call me...either way, it's a weekly thing. We "catch up."

I used part of this catching up time to grumble to Mommy Sheep about how I couldn't connect my new Wii to the internet. It seems I'd secured my connection and managed to forget my password. Further, I'd not gotten around to emailing my service provider for that bit of information, mostly because it is embarrassing to admit that you've forgotten such a thing. Mommy Sheep's response wasn't entirely illogical. She asked, "Didn't you write it down?"

I chuckled and said that I'd apparently thought it so simple to remember that it didn't need writing down. Jokes on me! I was the model of lighthearted.

But on the inside, I did that mental eye roll. The one that means, "OmigodMOM! Like I wouldn't have thought of that! Sheesh!"

Don't look so innocent. You know the mental eye roll. You've done it. It is the universal, internal gesture of human offspring everywhere.

When the call ended, I happened to notice the scrap of paper upon which I illegibly scrawl my various and sundry passwords. I picked it up to review it because there is no finer feeling in this world than justifying a mental eye roll and...there it was.

On the back of the paper.

Written in that oh-so-crafty-and-probably-easily-cracked code of mine.

The password.

Written down.

Like Mommy said.

This was just like that time I told her about my new plan for organizing the cutlery in the dishwasher. "Like with like," I proudly proclaimed. "Now I'll be able to put things away with ease and efficiency!" Mommy Sheep patiently explained why this might not be such a great idea but I didn't listen. I was too busy doing the mental eye roll except that time the eye roll came with spoons that needed to be rewashed because they all stuck together just like my mother said they would.

I just never learn. My mother is smarter than I am. All mothers are smarter than I am. The fact that they are too nice to point it out doesn't make it less true. The best I can hope for is that I'll start catching myself sooner, maybe even do what my mother says before wasting precious eyeball energy on an ultimately foolish gesture.

The password was correctly entered, the Wii happily accepted it and now..

I can haz the interwebs on my Tee-Vee!

It probably would have been better had I used a flash. I find that "context" is a useful thing sometimes. A flash can help provide that on dark days when you want to take a photo of your television. But I got all caught up in the excitement and wonder of living in these here modern times and forgot.

Besides, it's Daddy Sheep's job to remind me about that kind of stuff. Not that it would have mattered. I think we are all clear now regarding my need to ignore any and all solid parental advice since I know soooooo much more than everyone else.

With the wireless connection established, I was able to download the browser and even purchase a game through the online store. I didn't play it right away, though. No. I did many rows on the shawl as penance for my eye-rolling ways. Then I did another repeat to make up for the fact that the game I purchased was of the table tennis variety, thereby proving yesterday's theory that I am becoming something of a gaming wimp in my old age.

It only seemed right. However, I fear that this shawl is starting to turn into my own, personal rosary. When it is finished, it will be so laden with the weight of my sins that I fear it will crush me the first time I toss it jauntily about my shoulders. I'll probably give one last eye roll before being smothered by it.

Mothers are smarter. Mine probably could have told me to not imbue the shawl with that much penance...

SA

Wii Can't Believe This

Back in the day, I was quite the gamer. This life phase occurred sometime around my mid to late thirties. My platform of choice was the PS2 and my preferred genre was survival/horror. I had to spend more time than I liked dealing with condescending store clerks who wanted to make sure that this unsuspecting soccer mom understood she was purchasing a somewhat graphic game for junior, but it was worth it. I got pretty good.

I didn't spend my entire life in front of a screen clutching a controller. I never quite made the move over to being one of The Pale People. I had a life. But I was a player. I'm not saying I was great. I was, however, quite good. I took some pride in that fact.

Time passed, though (as time is wont to do) and one day I decided to revisit an old hobby. I picked up a pair of knitting needles, one thing led to another and soon I was spending more time wrangling the wool than saving the world from the zombie scourge. The PS2 was used more often as a DVD player than anything else. When I got the new TV back in April, it happened to come with a handy player already installed so the game console began gathering dust. I finally put it away. I wasn't ready to get rid of it altogether, mind you. I figured there was still some play time left in there should the spirit ever move me again.

This brings us to last Tuesday. I bought a Wii. I've been eyeing them for a while now. It is marketed to a pretty wide audience, including adults. Many of the games are designed to help people move along towards a fitness goal or two. Having become bored with my workouts of late, I found myself getting a bit lazy about the whole exercise thing. Frankly, I'm breaking more of a sweat trying to button my jeans these days than I am doing anything else. I figured the Wii would be a nice way to spice things up a bit. And besides, I'm a gamer...or at least I used to be. I could use this thing on many levels!

And so it is as a former gamer with a background in the slaying of all manner of ghouls, monsters and gigantic arachnids, that I tell you of my shame. How did it come to this? How did I become someone who prefers dancing for hours with a monkey in a sombrero? I used to be one of the heroes. I used to shoot first and ask questions later. Now I'm passing over the chance to explore darkened warehouses so I can go bowling. I'm horrified by this turn of events.

I'm blaming the whole thing on the need to traverse the learning curve. I keep telling myself that I should learn to manage the controllers before I go running pell mell into virtual danger. And I suppose that this is a very logical thing to do. But a part of me just can't help but cringe a bit when I get a mental picture of me playing golf. It's a short hop from there to shuffleboard. And I'm pretty sure that activity is available on the Wii Resort game that I'm picking up soon. It's only a matter of time.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen...

There is really no going back, I suppose. However, in an attempt to redeem myself (at least in the eyes of the knitters) I have cast on for another Invisibility Shawl from Charmed Knits. I knit one a while back and it gave me no end of difficulty. I don't quite know what the drama was there. It's not like it's a hard pattern. I suppose it's got something to do with the tinking difficulty that S1, K2, PSSO's present. One missed yarnover and you have to work back through a billion of these things, most of which are just dying to unravel on you. The final result, though, was rather lovely. Even considering the simplicity of the stitches, it just looked nice. I decided to do another one.

It has taken me three tries to get back into the groove with this pattern. But I've finally got it. Maybe it's all that dancing with the monkey. It is possible I've developed some rhythm over the past few days.

The red isn't part of the shawl. I don't really trim delicate lacy wraps in squeaky acrylic. Honest. I just like to really see my provisional cast on. Makes life easier later when I'm picking it out.

It's a small gesture, the knitting of a shawl in laceweight. Even if it's your own handspun laceweight. It is never going to make up for the fact that I've turned into the gaming equivalent of cream of wheat. But it's the best I can do right now.

Maybe I just need to bowl one or two more frames. Shake my maracas with the monkey a couple more times. Look into that shuffleboard game. You know, keep practicing with those controllers.

Then maybe I'll be ready to go back to that darkened warehouse...

SA

Shakin' It With My Monkey

I got up early this morning and tried to get as much done as I could. I ran the dishwasher. I took out the trash. I finished off the S.O.C.K.S Sock (I've pretty much knit the whole thing at my Summer Of Compensatory Knitting Socialization sessions) and ran the vacuum. I did everything I could think to do before the heat set in again.

I feel kind of silly about all this. The high temperature in the living room for the past two days has been 85. That's nothing. I've broken 90 on several occasions. I live on the second floor so the heat rises up here quite nicely. I should be used to this sort of thing. But, I am afraid that this cool, rainy summer has rendered me incapable of appreciating true heat exhaustion. What can I say? It is what it is. It's been hot for two days now. Hot with a side of muggy. I am just not at my best under these circumstances.

I lolled about on the couch making little whimpering noises and wondered if it was possible for the human body to truly melt into a puddle. If nothing else, it would have been nice if ten or so pounds had dribbled off my prostrate form, but otherwise I really didn't think I wanted to melt. I got up long enough to run the ice cream maker since I'd also made a custard this morning in anticipation of humid conditions. Mostly though, I just suffered through the heat.

This, however, did not stop me from periodically bustin' a move with my monkey. Let me be clear about this. Samba de Amigo is the stupidest game ever invented, particularly if you happen to be the world's most uncoordinated human. The very idea that a middle aged woman should be entertained to the point of muscle fatigue by the sight of a happy monkey encouraging her to shake her maracas to complex beats is crazy. Whomever invented this game must have been off their nut.

But I can't stop. It's like crack for the eyes. My back is killing me. My wrists are slightly numb. My elbows have developed this weird clicky-clicky thing and my shoulders are screaming every time I wave hello. (Which I don't really do all that often during the course of the average day, but I hate to be unprepared should the need to greet suddenly present itself)

It is just too hot for this kind of nonsense. But what is a girl to do? When the siren song of the maraca shaking monkey wends its way into the ear canals, you just gotta make the music happen. (Which is an overly positive spin to put upon my performance in this game, but I'm hot and the ice cream hasn't set yet. What else do I have, really?)

On an unrelated, but certainly festive note, let's all take this opportunity to wish Mommy and Daddy Sheep a very Happy Anniversary! I may not be able to get a card in the mail in time for the actual occasion, but that doesn't mean I don't recognize. Love you both and I hope the day was a good one for you! Check the mail early and often...the card and all its good wishes will be there post haste.

The monkey says, "Happy Anniversary," too!

SA

WNBP: With Significance And Import

"What he had seen had no significance. It was too monumental to carry any import."

Seriously. Is that not one of the greatest lines ever???? I read it today whilst perusing Book III in The Secret Books Of Paradys series and I thought that it perfectly embodied the spirit of The Wednesday Night Bullet Post.

That or it is the exact opposite. It's one of those. Here's some bullet points for your midweek enjoyment:

*We've had an unusually cool summer this year. With lots of rain.

*Today was sunny.

*And hot.

*And muggy.

*You could take a straw and suck up a nice sip of air should you be so inclined.

*Not that it would have helped much because it was hot and there was nothing for it, really.

*I'm not a fan of extremes. Cold. Hot. Neither one makes me very happy.

*But I've let nothing stand in the way of my going to the farmer's market every Wednesday for my weekly Visit With The Vegetables. I wasn't going to wimp out now!

*As is my custom, I made sure to go see The Produce Guy With The Little Stand At The End. He may not get as many shoppers as the big farms, but he still shows up every week and one has to admire that.

*I may not be a fan of vegetables, but I can't resist the opportunity to experience characters.

*I had to wait to buy my carrots today. I was in line behind a rather stately older lady who appeared to be visiting our fine state. She was inquiring as to the provenance of the lobsters and this required more explanation than you might think.

*Finally, it was my turn.

Produce Guy: Y'know, deah, 'bout the time that lady asked wheah them lobstahs come from, I came pretty dahn'd close t'sayin, "The ocean!"

Sheepish Annie: (chuckling) We grow them on a farm! Miles and miles of lobsters as far as the eye can see!!

PG: Heh!

SA: (now very much delighted by this turn of conversation) We keep them on big ranches! You can rope 'em, but it's wicked hard to brand 'em!

PG: She didn't strike me as th' type to uh-ppreciate that, though.

SA: Mmmm...no. I wasn't getting that vibe off her.

PG: Prob'ly fuh the best that I didn't say it.

SA: Yeah. Would've been funny, though.

PG: If I'da said it t'you, you woulda laughed.

SA: Oh, my gawd!! Wicked hah'd!!!!!

*Still can't get past that nagging suspicion that I'm dating The Produce Guy.

*For the record and in case anyone is interested in the tale of the lobster's travel itinerary, here is a summary of his explanation:

"Owah fahm is right out theah ovah t' Kettle Cove 'n that's wheah we fish. Some come offa othuh boats, but we buy 'em local. It's five minutes from the ocean t' owah tank."

*So now you know.

*In between witty banter at the expense of the tourists, I did manage to pick up a veggie or two. Some fruit also snuck in there.

Onions, cukes, carrots, raspberries and blueberries.

*None of this made it to the table tonight. I needed to dip into the squash stash since I didn't eat all that I bought last week.

*Who can eat that much squash?

*Tonight's dinner: Zucchini, breaded and pan fried. Which is not exceptionally healthy no matter how you look at it.

*Especially after you add the Parmesan cheese.

*But all I ate for dinner was zucchini and that entitles me to the use of various fats and oils.

*On the way home from my weekly Summer Of Compensatory Knitting Socialization (S.O.C.K.S) session, I stopped off and bought a Wii.

*Because that seemed like a perfectly logical thing to do at 9:45 pm and after spending an evening engrossed in wholesome knitting activities.

*Isn't this what everyone does?

*I've been saving up for one for a while now and figured that since the store was right there...

*Wii is fun.

*Wii makes your arms hurt.

*Wii interferes with all sorts of things like knitting and blogging.

*Still almost finished a sock today, though.

*Which is pretty good if you consider the heat, the humidity and my budding relationship with The Produce Guy. (who is also The Lobster Guy...)

*Not to mention the looming dinner of zucchini.

I can't think of anything else. I'm too full of zucchini to think straight. There are those who would try to blame my lethargy on the hot oil saturating that poor squash, but I won't hear such heresy. Blaming the oil...that's just wrong. Next you'll be telling me that the ketchup wasn't really an extra vegetable!

Talk about stuff of import...and significance!

SA

The End Except For The Part Where It Isn't

I awoke this morning feeling a bit sad. It is, after all, the last week of summer vacation. One can't help but feel rather melancholy at a time like this.

I hear you. You're saying, "Um...Sheepie? It's July. It is not the last week of summer vacation. It is the last week of July. I think you need to consult your calendar before you start packing lunches and writing up lesson plans."

You are correct in your thinking, for the most part. It is not really the last week of vacation. But there are levels in every school break and the summer one is no exception. Each level has a feeling. June feels light and breezy. Once those school doors close behind me, I'm free. I could probably float right off the ground if I tried.

July feels kind of earthy and solid. I've managed to get into the groove of not working and I almost don't remember what children sound or smell like. I don't get all silly in the morning when I realize I do not have to go to work. I have managed to establish a solid routine and, while it isn't anything all that exciting, it feels nice. I tend to do a lot of housecleaning, cooking and meeting of knitting goals during the month of July. I'm a regular Earth Mother.

Then August hits. August feels heavy. It weighs down on me. The time has come to accept that all things are fleeting and that summer doesn't last forever. I become obsessed with all the things I didn't do during that ridiculous Earth Mother phase and could just kick myself for not doing more instead of being satisfied with merely following the routine. The fact that my time is really no longer my own becomes more apparent as the month wears on because I will soon have to go into the school to see what havoc has been wrought in my classroom over the summer months. There is usually a great deal of maintenance going on during that time and you can bet that nothing will be as I left it. And it's not like I did such a great job packing up anyway what with feeling so light and whatnot.

To make matters worse, it is a certainty that I will run into at least two colleagues who have been there for weeks getting everything set up and who want to talk with me about plans for the upcoming school year. They do not quite buy into my Take Two Or Three Mornings To Toss Things Together And Then Go Enjoy What's Left Of Summer philosophy. They have been using a level and straight edge to make sure that they get the posters up evenly. They have been reviewing the staff handbook from last year in order that they might ready to answer any questions that might come up should there be an unexpected pop quiz. These people are generally not all that impressed by my ability to set up a classroom in mere hours. Or that I've figured out how to roll with the punches on the first few days because detailed, well written lesson plans never seem to go the way you want at that point in the school year. It's a learning curve and your time would be better spent taking vitamins or resting up for the curve-climbing.

That is August. And it is close enough to touch right now. But it's not here yet so I'm going to enjoy this last week of July and wring every last drop of Earth Mother Goodness out of it that I can. We are starting back to school earlier this year so August is going to be a short month, in vacation terms. I'm going to live July to the fullest.

Of course today was so humid and sticky that I had to psych myself up to pick up heel stitches on a sock and spent more time sitting in front of a fan thinking about ice cream than I did actually living to the fullest. But I like to believe that I got all that out of my system and that tomorrow is going to be the best day ever for July Joy.

Or I'll take a nap. Napping is a good way to honor the lazy, hazy days of summer, right?

SA

Discovery

Yesterday's spectacular explosion of knitterly accomplishments was great, however that sort of thing does have a downside. It's wonderful while it lasts, but the day after is always something of a let down. No one has the energy to maintain that level of excitement forever. I happen to have an even lower tolerance for high spirits, being as I am such a fragile flower and all. Today, I was simply spent.

Lord knows I tried to keep up the momentum, but it was no use. I just didn't have it in me. Worse, I found myself succumbing to the lull of the raindrops outside and the numbing effects of the fog pressing against the windows. I was utterly incapable of doing much besides sucking on a Mountain Dew, knitting half-heartedly on another dishcloth and allowing The Discovery Channel to suck me into hours of viewing. Even the Absurdly Gi-normous Kitty, normally one for sitting at my feet and gazing at me adoringly, gave up and moved on to more interesting parts of the manse.

This could very well have felt like an utterly wasted day. There were one or two things I would have liked to have accomplished, after all. Changing out of the sweatpants in which I slept might have been one of those things, but who knows anymore? My head is all fuzzy. I probably should be feeling like the biggest waste of space on the planet.

I don't see it that way. I like to think that every day has something to offer, even if it wasn't what you thought it might give up. I may not have done much, but I think I'm kind of lucky to be able to just sit and relax if that's what I feel like doing. I don't knit for a living and, to my knowledge, there are no current hostage situations requiring the payment of a billion dishcloths. The half-cloth I managed to muddle through is just fine. I found chocolates on sale yesterday at the local drug store, thus making the snacking situation tolerable and I happen to really love The Discovery Channel.

I choose to see the day in terms of what it gave me and enjoy it for what it is.

Yesterday, I think that many of us had a moment where we found cause to despair over the state of our knit blogging community. This happy, woolly world we'd created for ourselves wasn't giving back what we wanted, what we expected or thought we deserved. It became a darker place and one that brought forth our more defensive instincts. Depending on our individual personalities, it made us sad, it made us mad, it made us want to take up arms, it made us want to lie down and just give up.

On the other hand, we had an opportunity to see the best of who we are. We saw integrity, responsibility, honesty and maybe learned a little bit about the courage it takes to walk the high road. We learned that principles can only be called such when they are brought forth in times of hardship rather than trotted out under only the sunniest of skies. We were able to see examples of how most people are really pretty darned decent, even when operating in a system that allows us to be anonymous and to act without consequence.

The simple fact is this: putting good things out into the universe does not mean you will always get good things back. It should work that way. But it doesn't. Sometimes the universe feels the need to leave a flaming bag of poop on your doorstep and doesn't much care that this is a kind of heartless thing to do. However, this doesn't mean that you stop trying to fill your space with the best you can put out there. Because in those times when the universe is being completely unreasonable, it is all that good stuff you sent forward that comes back to give you the strength you need to stand against it all.

It's hokey, it's not a soapbox upon which I will spend a great deal of time and it's truth as I see it. And I figured it all out watching The Discovery Channel.

SA

Bringin' It.

After Thursday's sad effort at justifying the lack of knitting progress, I knew it was time to step things up a bit. This is no way to live! If this Sheep is going to make it in the big, bad world of knitting blogs, she's going to have to make more of an effort!

I put my nose to the grindstone, my shoulder to the wheel and my mind to the task at hand. The needles flew and the yarn spun itself off the skeins madly. Sheepie brung it!

And so, without further ado, I give you that endless bit of knitting that just wouldn't seem to give me the satisfaction of a bind off...

The Nubbins Dishcloth!!!

What's that you say? A whole lotta build up for one little bit of garter stitch? Well, I might point out that this was endless garter stitch, but I don't suppose that would make much of a difference to you. You want more for your blogging dollar! Fine. I hear you. How about this?

Not one, but two...

Infamous Darrell Waltrip Cloths!!!

And in two sizes no less! On the lower right we have the "Let's just use up that last little bit of cotton" version and on the upper left we have the larger "Why the heck did I buy a whole cone of cotton???" version. Together, they make a fine pair and perhaps convince you of my knitting prowess.

(I dunno who that Darrell feller is, but I guess he makes a fine dishcloth. He's probably a famous cotton farmer or something...)

(I'm kidding. I just like outing a few indignant NASCAR fans whenever I get the chance.)

Wait. Do I still see some unimpressed faces out there? Are there a couple of you thinking that I'm just playing and not really bringin' it? Oh, it's been broughten. Sheepie is exhausted from lugging all thing-bringin' over here for you. This is my A Game, people.

Feast your eyes:

It's the Rose Trellis Scarf!

Yeah. That's right. I styled it. I styled it up gooooood!!! That's what we Bringers Of Knitting Game do, you know. I broke out the dollar store plastic roses and made photographic magic happen because that's what this scarf deserves. But I suppose there are probably a few purists out there who don't want the distraction of artistic photography and who would rather actually see the scarf. I didn't forget you. I got your back. Even if I don't fully understand your prejudice against plastic floral arrangements...

Stark. Boring. But I aim to please.

Yeah, I think it's safe to say we ain't playin' here. We come to knit. And knit we did. I won't lie to you and say that my hands aren't a bit sore from all that wrangling of cotton, but I'm not one to give in to the pain. When it's time to prove my mad knitting skills, I go for broke.

I can imagine that you are all just a bit awe-struck at the moment. You probably can't even find the words to describe someone so gifted with sticks and string as I. I understand that. I sometimes even find myself amazed to the point of speechlessness when I gaze with wide-eyed wonder upon that which I have wrought. It's powerful and soul-stirring. The words simply will not come...

Hi. Allow me to help you with that. I believe the phrase you are looking for is "Delusions of grandeur." You're welcome.

SA

Mindless And Endless

One of the things I wanted to do this summer was knit up some dishcloths. Dishcloths are a good thing to knit. They are useful if you happen to be the type who does dishes, something I find I have to do from time to time. When I can't avoid it. Or don't have the cash to just buy new dishes and be done with it.

Even better, though, is that they make handy gifts. You wouldn't think people would get all giddy at the sight of a wrapped dishcloth, but some actually do. They must be the types who don't buy new dishes every time the situation in the sink gets out of hand. That or they are married to someone who will do the dishes. I hear tell that you can make kids do them, but that may just be a rumor...

At any rate, I thought it might be a good idea to knit up a few during my summer vacation. I have the time and God knows I have the yarn. Let's face it. It's easy to suddenly find yourself with fifty bazillion skeins of cotton. They are small and the colors are so pretty. And you can't beat the price! They somehow just seem to leap into the shopping basket. I didn't plan to knit dishcloths all summer long, mind you. I just thought I'd knit a few to have in the reserve pile come the holidays.

The first cloth was handily knit up in a weekend and I figured I was on a roll. I wasn't. I stalled out a bit. I didn't want to do the same pattern again because I am nothing if not a risk taker. I like to shake it up. I'm a real Wild Child!

Of course, I also didn't want to knit anything too hard. The dishcloth knitting was supposed to be a pleasant diversion rather than a hurdle. I'm not that much of a Wild Child! I was already knitting the scarf with the angry row 5 in it so I figured I was getting enough of the backtalk from my knitting, thank you very much.

Then I stumbled across The Nubbins Dishcloth pattern. (you can find it here in in a pdf) It had all I was looking for. It was simple. It was mindless. It had a cute little twist that made it more than just plain, ol' garter stitch. It was a can't miss! I cast on happily and knit away.

Here's the other thing about the pattern. The thing I failed to factor in.

It...

Is...

Endless...

There is no reason on this earth why the dishcloth shouldn't have been finished last weekend. But, I've been knitting for almost a week now and it just goes on and on and on. I can't seem to stick with it for more than a few rows before I want to start gnawing on the yarn and swatting imaginary flies.

It's not the pattern. In another time and place, I'd knit ten of these per day and proclaim to the world that I've never been happier! I'd knit one in gigantical, majestical size and wear it as a poncho. I'd knit one for every single person in the world and not even expect a thank you note because the experience of creating them was so utterly magical. That's how much I'd like this simple, but satisfying pattern.

This particular time and place is not quite so conducive to that level of happiness. I'm still slogging away on The Nubbins and can only hope to finish it sometime tomorrow. Further, the scarf remains on the blocking board with one end dry and the other one still damp. I guess the side near the window got the better end of the deal there, but it would be too much of a hassle to try and pick the whole thing up to turn it. I'll just leave it where it is and hope that End #2 gets with the program sometime soon.

I have no knitterly goodness to share with you tonight. Just the sad tale of my Neglected Nubbins and a half-dried scarf. Not my finest hour.

Let's all think dry and speedy thoughts, 'kay? You don't want another mindless and endless blog post do you?

SA

Bullet Points, Veggies And Pressure...Oh My!

Welcome to The Wednesday Night Bullet Post, the night where Sheepie gets to toss out random tid-bits rather than follow a coherent train of thought. There are those who might suggest that this isn't exactly a departure from the norm...but they are just picky. Here we go!

*I didn't work out today.

*My back was still stiff from yesterday's overly enthusiastic crunches.

*Not the main issue, really.

*My right sinus cavity is pounding itself out of my head.

*Pressure. Lots of pressure.

*Can't seem to make things shift in there.

*I went to the Farmer's Market, though.

*Neither rain nor snot nor aching back will keep me from my regularly appointed Visit With The Vegetables.

*This isn't just about trying to eat more veggies. Although I really should...

*It's also about expanding my culinary options a bit.

*Sheepie is a picky eater.

*Here's today's haul:

Zucchini, onions, heirloom tomatoes, lettuce, basil "rainbow" carrots and an assortment of strange and exotic squashes.

*There are three stands I frequent at the market. These are the ones who always show up no matter what the weather.

*I really try to make a point of going to see The Produce Guy With The Stand At The End.

*He has a really tiny stand and lots of people skip it. But he's always there. I admire his chutzpah. He never misses a Market Day.

*I go as much for the "experience" as I do anything else.

*Today's Conversation With The Produce Guy:

Produce Guy: Good Mawnin', Dee-ah! Jus' them zucchini t'day?

Sheepish Annie: Yup. That'll do it

PG: You wanna bag fuh that?

SA: That's OK. I can put it in with the other stuff. It will be right at home in there. I seem to have purchased a lot of squash today.

PG: Good fuh you!

SA: I didn't think I liked squash. I was positive I didn't like squash. But I have a lot of it, so I guess I must like it...

PG: You just cut 'em, pop 'em in the fryin' pan and cook 'em up! Wicked good!

SA: You're right! Pretty much anything is good if you fry it!

PG: Ain't it true?

SA: And then you cover it all with cheese!!!

PG: Oh yeeeeeaaaaaahhhh!!

*I'm not sure, but I think it's entirely possible that I am dating the Produce Guy. I might even be engaged at this point.

*I suppose I could do worse. He wasn't wrong about frying the squash.

*Tonight's dinner: A variety of sliced summer squashes, and new onions stir fried with tofu marinated in a vidalia onion and fig sauce.

*No. I didn't make the fig sauce. Are you nuts? That came in a bottle.

*Sounds fancy though, doesn't it?

*Probably too fancy for the Produce Guy. We'll have to work through that one...

*The Absurdly Gi-normous Kitty has been clingy lately.

*Which is cute at first, but he is Absurdly Gi-normous so it wears think quickly.

*I've had to resort to The Plastic Nanny several times over the last couple of days.

Turn it on and enjoy your fifteen minutes of peace!

*Ten bucks well spent.

*He is sitting on my feet at the moment. The Plastic Nanny isn't a cure-all. It's more of a temporary fix.

*I decided that I was finished with the Rose Trellis Scarf today.

*It was kind of an arbitrary decision based on the fact that row five was finally working my last nerve.

*I just couldn't seem to remember that row. It is a lovely row, too. It makes the whole scarf.

*Vital to the overall flair of the piece.

*It's all blocky-blocky right now.

*High humidity and overcast skies make for sinus problems.

*And slows the drying of blocking scarves.

*Let's hope for the best.

*The AGK has been eyeing it and that can't bode well.

There's Wednesday in a nutshell. I have my produce for the next seven days and a scarf that may or may not be ready for blog presentation in the near future. If you don't count the sinus thing, I'd say we are doing well. Any day now, I'm sure that will resolve itself. I'll blow my nose and suddenly my head will deflate down to the size of a fava bean. All will be well.

And it counts as another "exotic" vegetable reference, too.

SA

Not Smart

As I was pulling into the parking lot of the local grocery store this morning, I happened to notice two police cars blocking in a vehicle belonging to a couple of out-of-state-guests. It is somewhat unusual to see that sort of thing and I couldn't help but stare. As there were no police blockades in place, nor any officers waving me away from the scene, I assumed this wasn't an armed standoff of some kind and it seemed safe to pull into a spot that afforded me a decent view. You know...just in case anything interesting happened.

For the record, I have experienced the aforementioned, complete with officers frantically waving me away as I attempted to park, during an after-work Mountain Dew run. Hence, I feel I can speak with some authority on this matter.

There really wasn't much of interest going on, truth be told. It was just two police cars on either side of a very small civilian vehicle. My first thought was: "Gee, I wonder if someone is going to be arrested."

My second thought was: Maybe they are going to arrest them for driving a Smart Car!

My third thought was: That would be wicked funny!!!

My fourth thought was that I should be ashamed of myself and I quickly went into the store with my head hanging low.

When I returned, the officers, the tourists and the Smart Car were all gone. There was no crime scene tape in evidence, nor any signs of a scuffle so I can only assume that the whole thing ended peacefully. I supposed that the Smart Car was back on the road and on its way to wherever it was headed in the first place, regardless of my feelings about it.

I do not like the Smart Car. I'm not proud of that fact, but I can't help how I feel. I find them smug. It's like they are looking at me with their big 'ol headlights, judging me and finding me wanting. I imagine them gathering in Smart little groups to talk about me behind my back. I feel defensive in the presence of the Smart Car.

It's irrational and I don't know just where this is coming from. I can pass a Mini Cooper with nary a flutter in the blood pressure and have been known to cheer when catching sight of an earth-friendly hybrid. But the Smart Car? There's just something about it...

It's not a big deal, really. I don't have daily breakdowns at the sight of Smart Cars. They haven't exactly made a huge impression on the auto market up here in the wilds of Maine. I'm able to live my life without having to face this personal demon, for the most part.

I probably shouldn't have said anything. I've no doubt that my inbox will be jammed to bursting tomorrow morning with hate mail from Smart Car owners demanding to know just where I find the gall to malign the reputation of such a fine, upstanding vehicle. They will probable also suggest that my issues stem from my knowing that I am not cool enough to drive a Smart Car. They won't be totally wrong on that last point.

I wouldn't have brought it up at all except for this one weird thing. Shortly after leaving home to make the drive down to The Yarn Sellar for my Summer Of Compensatory Knitting Socialization (S.O.C.K.S) session, I saw another Smart Car. Two in one day. That is odd and can only mean one of two things. The first is that this vehicle is becoming more popular around here and that I am going to have to learn to deal.

The second, more sinister, possibility is that the car is no longer merely Smart, but has moved on to being Sentient. They can process information and make decisions based on their perceptions. They know what I am thinking. They know how I feel about them.

And they know where I live...

SA

I'm A Lumberjack And I'm OK

Beware of Daddy Sheep who call you saying that they have a great idea for "blog fodder." It sounds good. You might even be tempted.

However, you will soon find yourself swatting away flies in the woods and wondering just how you evolved into a lumberjack...

Daddy Sheep needed some help clearing brush on the Sheepish Estate and suggested that I might like to help. I'm not really one for manual labor. It's not that I'm against it per se. I support it. I just prefer to observe rather than to actually participate. But I had the time and I like to think I'm a good daughter, not to mention a good sport. I also couldn't foist the whole thing off on Baby Brother Sheep since he'd already taken a turn out in the back forty and his job involved the dragging of mighty trees.

Plus, I took some cold medicine yesterday so I didn't really have any knitting of note going on. I figured I could use the outing. Besides, how hard could it be, really?

So I donned my work gloves, doused myself in mosquito repellent and headed out into the puckerbrush to do my daughterly duty. I figured I'd take it slow and it would be a piece of cake!

Thirty minutes later, I was giving some serious thought to sacrificing a piece of my future inheritance so that we could just hire some strapping young lads to come do this for us. I'd even volunteer to serve lemonade and wipe their manly brows...

After an hour, I was thinking how Agent Orange really got a bad rap. What's the big deal, really? Chemicals are our friends...

Ninety minutes passed and I was ready to approach Daddy Sheep with the idea that selling the house might be the best option in the long run.

Fortunately, I wasn't dealing with the Daddy Sheep from my childhood. That Daddy was of the opinion that hard work never killed anyone and, even if it did, we would have the privilege of shuffling off this mortal coil after having built character.

This newer, retired version is a kinder, gentler boss who appreciates the value of lemonade breaks and sees the noon hour as a good time to knock off for the day so we don't miss our naps. This fits in better with my overall view of manual labor so the whole thing worked out pretty well.

Plus I got a free lunch and Mommy Sheep gave me a bag of her homemade caramel corn. I was hot, sweaty, sunburned, exhausted and carrying a bag of sugar coated popcorn. If you look at it in just the right light and squint a little bit, it's really no different than a day at the county fair...

Not such a great day for knitting though. My hands were a little sore from wrestling with the pricker bushes and yanking on uncooperative vines who thought that remaining where they were was the way to go. Nature apparently has some issues with "change." It also doesn't much care that you have a few projects nearing completion and that you will need working fingers to make the yarn magic happen.

I'll knit tomorrow. For today, I will have to be happy with the satisfaction of a job well done, an early nap and caramel corn.

We lumberjacks are tough like that.

SA

Everything's Peachy!

Hey, remember that time that Kat posted about how she had waffles? Actually, I think it was pancakes initially but there ended up being waffles...remember that? And do you remember how I suddenly got all obsessed with waffles? I thought about waffles a lot.

Then there was that day that we got dismissed early from school and, instead of going home like a sane person would in such weather, I went to the discount store. I'd seen waffle irons on the Ultra-Super-Discounted-Table-Of-Stuff-No-One-Else-Would-Buy and no amount of ice on the roads would deter me from getting one before they were all gone.

Remember how I did that? Remember?

I have gotten in the habit of purchasing the cheaper tools to satisfy my obsessions. One never knows if the whole thing is going to stick or if it's a mere passing fancy. I have cupboards and closets filled to bursting with stuff that I simply had to have lest I perish only to learn that I wasn't really as invested in the task as I thought.

But waffles? They stuck. I'd only ever had waffles from a box in the freezer section at my house. "Real" waffles were for the gourmets, I thought. But when you have that first Disney Princess Waffle fresh off that five dollar iron, you become a convert, I suppose...

My life is now dedicated to Waff-ooz. Any day I get to have Waff-ooz is a good one.

Today, I had peach waff-ooz. Very yummy!

The best part is that I still have waffles in the freezer. A typical "batch" produces far more than I can consume in one sitting, even with my hearty appetite. So there are usually one or two (or more) waiting for me in the freezer should I designate it to be a Waff-oo Day.

There is even a Waff-oo song which is dutifully warbled when the Disney Waffle Iron comes out of the cupboard. But we don't need to get into that now. I'm just adding it as an "interesting detail." No need to dwell...

Today wasn't the most exciting of days. I had to make an emergency soda run and that involved some artful navigating around the tourists who had also apparently run out of fizzy beverages. I started a dishcloth, only to rip it out when it and my math skills had a serious disagreement over how numbers should work. I ended up starting another one of a more boring variety and that wasn't really enough to keep me awake once the air turned a bit muggy. I spent the bulk of the day in a daze before a SpongeBob SquarePants marathon and wondering how many other middle aged women were doing this sort of thing. I came to the conclusion that there probably weren't many, but I couldn't help myself. SpongeBob is sort of mesmerizing and it's easy to lose a day before you come to your senses and realize that you are probably going to be the only one in the retirement home demanding cartoons in the not-so-distant-future.

But the day started with peach waff-ooz and that is enough to make it a good one. Some girls need diamonds, some need furs...I'm happy if there is enough syrup to fill each and every nook.

Today, I rinsed off some blackberries. I'm seeing another Designated Day Of Waff-ooz in the near future.

SA

The Sheep's Pajamas

I didn't even bother getting out of my jammies today. Worse, I never even had a plan to do so. I knew when I went to bed last night that this was going to be the next day's ensemble. I've reached a new high in low.

But, Thursday is Stay In And Get Stuff Done Day so I really didn't need to be wearing my couture. It wasn't like I was going to end up on the Worst Dressed page of the local gossip rag. There was no possibility of my losing my coveted spot on the Opera, Symphony, And Other Snooty Stuff Committee. I was going to be in for the day and none would be the wiser. My reputation as a patron of the arts and fashion maven would remain unsullied.

With that pesky worry out of the way, I was safe to go about my day and do all that stuff that I said I was going to be doing on Thursdays. And I did. Some of it anyway. I'm never quite as productive as I think I'm going to be on the Designated Day Of Doing Stuff. But I still managed to fit in a few projects before the need to nap kicked in.

I also made shortbread because I promised myself that if I did stuff I could have shortbread. The nice thing about making promises to yourself is that you can alter them as you see fit. For example, you can still make shortbread even if you only got to two of the things on the to-do list. Being a grown-up is so totally awesome...

Some things on the list were of the fibery variety and both were left untended, though. Fortunately, I worked on them yesterday so I can post pictures and pretend that they are evidence of my productivity. "Pretending" is like "Promising" in my world. I'm willing to make them work equally to my benefit.

Pretend Spinning

Pretend Knitting

Not bad for a girl who spent her day in jammies. I'm like the superwoman of pretend productivity. I should probably try hanging out in ratty sleepwear more often.

On the other hand, whatever would I do with all that couture? Not to mention what would surely be the state of operatic theater in the great state of Maine should I fail to present myself to the world from time to time. I suppose that I shall have to get up tomorrow and don "outside" clothes in order that the world might continue to wobble correctly on its axis.

Maybe I could try sweat pants? That's like being dressed, right? I've sort of been eating shortbread all day so I'm not sure that anything else will fit at this point...

SA