Dec

The Most Important Thing I Learned in 2011

We all have those moments though we might not realize them at the time when we change our own lives. We change our attitudes about things, we change our habits and we become the people we are today. This year has been an amazing year for me. It has been one of the toughest and most rewarding years of my life. This year I became a farmer. I’m not really sure how it happened but I know that it probably started with the sheep our friends Tom & Mette enabled us with. Then it was chickens and turkeys and geese and ducks and then goats. Ah goats how I love you. Anyone who does not love a goat is either A. Not ever met a goat, B. had to do all the goat chores when growing up with goats, or C. a complete psychopath.

Anyway, to say that my life changed this year is like saying that Noah went out for a 3 hour cruise. My life is a million and ten ways different than it was when I left California. Some of it is regional (I now own a proper rain coat and wear socks and real shoes) and some of it is just because I am finally free to be as I want to be. Some of the ways I have changed are because I just had to. I had to or else I would end up a pile of sniveling crying trembling mass of wife that was no good to anyone. Why would this have happened you ask? Turkeys. Turkeys were almost the undoing of me. Don’t laugh, I’m being serious (ok you can laugh a little because it’s pretty ridiculous).

See, I’m kind of a control freak. This is where the people that know me really well are laughing because they know I am an absolute control freak. Not only am I a control freak but I’m recovering from “Everything is a huge deal!!!!” syndrome. My best friend Shawna will tell you it’s because I had very little control about anything growing up and that everything (OMFG did you touch the STEREO?!!!) was a BIG deal. (I’m sorry mom, it was.) My cousin Rebecca will tell you that marrying the Mr who is so laid back that if the apocalypse came he’d tell everyone to stop freaking out and just relax is sort of deprograming. I think she’s right, he makes me a better person not because he sets out to change who I am but because he allows me to adjust my attitude gently and with support. Sometimes he will look at me though and shake his head before saying, “I just don’t get why you are freaking out!” and you know what? I don’t know why either. This year has been a lot of those kind of instances. And I’ve taken them all on a case by case basis as I’ve decided what I wanted to do with them.

One instance was my need to control absolutely everything. I let the turkeys be free range but of course, being me, I had RESTRICTIONS on their free rangability. I know, it’s a sickness. I didn’t even realize this was silly or stupid I just knew where I wanted my turkeys and what I did NOT want them to do. You see where this is going right? Yeah. So my turkeys, 8 in total at the time, were fine the first few days. They wandered around the big fenced in pasture at the back of the property with the goats and did their turkey business. Then one of those bastards got the idea to jump up on the fence that separated my backyard from the pasture. Tank had a blast scaring them off the fence and I urged him on. How dare those turkeys think they are allowed on my fence?!

Then the turkeys hopped over the fence into the yard…with the dog. There were multiple turkey chases every day as I herded them out of the yard. Tank did pull out a few feathers here and there but no turkey was actually hurt. Did it matter that everything ended up being ok? No. It raised my stress level every time they did it. Then the damn turkeys went on a walk about. They’d hop the fence into my side pastures and wander around the property as if they could do anything they wanted to! The NERVE! I didn’t have these pastures fenced and was CERTAIN something bad would happen. (Because obviously fencing had totally kept them in right?) So yeah. I’d spend my days stopping everything I was doing to herd the turkeys back to where I wanted them. I’d cry over it, I’d scream over it, I’d throw sad hissy fits I’m so glad no one witnessed. I once even kicked a turkey and then felt really bad about it.

It was then that the Mr – who had up until this point ignored my self imposed plight and let me be as crazy as I needed to be – finally spoke up. “Preita,” he said as calmly as he could when I was being super nutso, “why does it matter? They always come back at night and if they don’t it was only $10.”

People. My husband is the buddha sometimes I swear. He was right and even in my crazed addled state I knew it. The fact was, it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter at all! Why was I driving myself insane over something that DID NOT MATTER? Because I had set self imposed rules for my animals and was upset when they did not follow them. People, I had rules for my turkeys as if they’d ever understand them! At that point I took a deep breath and agreed with him, it did not matter what the turkeys did. I was not going to be insane over this anymore. I decided at that moment to let it go, to let the turkeys be as the turkeys would be and just take a step back. You know what happened? Nothing. They turkeys wandered everywhere they wanted to and at night, they came to the barn ready to go in at night. The only thing that happened is that I was less stressed out, I had more time for doing things that were important to me with out the constant turkey interruptions and I was happier. Go figure.

Months later when my in-laws visited I think this change in attitude perplexed my father in law – a man I look up to very much. We were on the patio and he was smoking a cigar when a turkey started screeching. He looked at me and frowned before saying, “Turkey’s on the barn.” I looked up and noticed that one of the hens was indeed on the top of the barn. “Yup,” I replied going back to knitting. “Do you think it can get down?” he asked. “Probably since it was able to get up there.” “Are you going to do anything?” he pushed. “Nope,” I answered. Thirty minutes later the turkey was off the barn and they were on the roof of my house, “Turkey’s on the roof,” my father in law said. “Yup, they do that” I replied as I continued to knit. He looked at me and smiled. I think it was the first time he’d seen me just really let it go, to not jump up and have a freak out.

I’ve tried to use this new found outlook in other areas in my life. I call it my F*ck It motto. If it doesn’t work, F*ck It and move on. I am a very stubborn person so it’s hard for me to just move on sometimes but I’ve gotten better. When something just won’t work I force myself to stop, walk away and do something else. Chances are when I try it again with a level head it works just fine. I have a new outlook on life and a little less stress all thanks to my amazing Mr and a bunch of willful turkeys. Who thought that you could be taught a lesson by an animal with the brain the size of a walnut?

Happy New Year! (BTW I have goat pictures to follow this post!)

36 days ago Short URL 7 Comments

thoughts

Nov

Authors Are Not Knitters

Well, some are I guess by the game of numbers, but for the sake of my post I’m not talking about those cross overs.

For the last few months I’ve been following more and more authors either on twitter or on facebook. I’m always interested in to how their minds work, how they write, and what their styles are. There have been some lovely experiences and there have been some that have made me feel bad about myself, what I read, and what I write. When the first post came through I frowned and thought that it was just a bad day this person must surely be having. We all have those, we all post about them in one way or another and then we move on. The world understands.

Then the posts became more frequent and frankly, more hateful. I unfollowed this particular person on twitter and am now contemplating doing the same with facebook. Is it life changing? Not at all. Is it frustrating? Sort of. The posts in themselves are not as terrible as I’m sure others could be but the nature of them I feel was that of a 13 year old boy not getting enough attention. This particular author calls out others by name (but not enough to link them so that the author would know about it), calling their work dumb, uninspired, and the readers of that particular book vapid. (He did not actually call them ‘vapid’ but I inferred that). This post has happened twice in the last week’s time, and more like it prior. I’ve had enough. I’m a polite person (usually) by nature and I believe that each person should be treated with respect and dignity. This kind of behavior rubs me wrong in all sorts of ways.

Frowning at this post, this tiny snippet of nothingness asking his followers to forsake this “crappy” book for one by another (which I have read and haven’t written a review because I still don’t know if I actually LIKE it) made me think…”This guy obviously doesn’t knit.”

That’s pretty random right? Well not so much. Knitters as a community understand each other I think at a more base level than any other sort of hobby community. We all do the same exact thing. You can’t knit any better than anyone else. You can have projects that turn out better but you can’t actually knit better. Why? Because the knit stitch for you is exactly the same as it is for me or for the Queen of England (does she knit? I think it’d be lovely if she did!). It’s the same. The yarn may be different, the gauge, and the drape but it’s all the same stitch. Sure, some projects turn out better than others but it’s all relative.

Give two knitters the same skein of yarn, the same gauage and ask them to make plain socks and you will come out with two pairs of perfectly wearable socks. I very much doubt that one would be a clear winner. And here’s the serious kicker, even if there was both knitters are gracious about it and will not draw attention to it.

Knitters are kind to each other even if we don’t care for the project being worked on we appreciate the spirit of the knit. I’ve never before heard a knitter call out another for a crappy project. (Crazy design is different mind you). Never have I read a post that would declare that all knitters knit this sock over that other sock because it is “smarter”. How crazy would you sound if you publicly declared a sound knitable design that brought hours of pleasure “stupid”? Knitters would laugh at you and tell you that you have missed the whole point. Not everything has to be entrelac fair isle complicated just to bring pleasure, people, we love the garter stitch because of it’s ease and sometimes, it’s just the right thing.

I think the world would be a better place if more people knit. They’d push aside this nasty better than you attitude and realize that a knit is a knit for everyone and a purl is just the back side of a knit. No matter the arrogance you knit with, your stitch is still the same as mine and they are both equally as good.

Let’s remember to get off each other’s cases, pick each other up, and knit.

81 days ago Short URL 2 Comments

Books/Craft/crochet/Fantasy/knit/Knitting/Spin/spinning/thoughts/Writing

Aug

Sheep Wrangling and What it Taught Me About the Kindness of Strangers

Scene: Preita wakes up before everyone as usual and shuffles out to the kitchen to make coffee as per her regular routine. As she’s waiting for the coffee to brew she makes her Mr’s lunch and feeds the cats. When the coffee is done she pours a generous cup and adds her favorite coffee creamer. After a few sips she slips on her work boots and heads outside. It’s cool and slightly dewy and the best part of the whole day. The bugs aren’t awake, the animals are silent, the world is good. Turns on the hose, grabs a scoop of grain and heads out to the pasture. Preita has the exact same routine every single day, she might be a little obsessive about it, she might be what you would unfriendly call a “control freak” but we are all friends here so we shove aside that term. Usually from the first gate Preita can see her Icelandic sheep in the small night paddock next to the barn. It’s smaller than the rest and has a huge blackberry bush and is closest to the house which is why it was chosen for their sleeping area. Odd thing is, when Preita looks over there isn’t a sheep to be seen. Not a single one. “Odd,” she thinks, “maybe they are sleeping under the blackberry bush. A quick check and no, they are not.

The sheep are gone.

Homesteading/hobby farming has taught me a lot this last year. (God it hasn’t even been a year). Sometimes I’m really good at remembering the lessens and sometimes I’m not. Today I was. Today I heaved a great sigh and went back into the house where I found the Mr in the bathroom getting ready for work. “Mr,” I said, “the sheep are out somewhere. I need you to put on jeans and good shoes and help me look.” I don’t remember if he said anything back because I was already out the door. Oddly though, I was not in a panic. I tend to go straight to fight or flight mode and frankly it’s usually “I”M GOING TO RIP SOMEONE”S HEAD OFF” which honestly, isn’t usually appropriate. I blame my genes, I am mostly Scandinavian after all, and I believe it must be built in somewhere in the DNA.

Equipped with the Mr and an odd sense of acceptance we headed out to the first pasture right off the paddock. Surely they must be right here. Whenever the goats escape (oh and they do, whenever they get the chance, and soon, one day I will not be outsmarted by goats I promise), they just head to the nearest patch of yummy bush or grass and hang out. Sometimes if I am not quick enough on the uptake they come around to the front door and stare in the living room windows to show me, yes, they are indeed out of their pasture. I like my goats, they are mostly like puppies. They are interested in me in a way that the sheep never will be. The goats are all “HEY! It’s YOU! I love when it’s YOU! Come let me nibble on you.” Then they run around like silly floppy eared beasts and make me giggle. The sheep are like cats. They are all “Oh, you’re here huh? Do you have something for me? NO! DON’T TRY TO TOUCH ME!!!!!!!! *FLEE*” I need a goat with a fleece like a romney then all will be good in the land of Preita.

Anywho, we searched that first pasture and didn’t find single sheep. We searched the pasture on the other side of the driveway and though we found some droppings also did not find a single sheep. Now I’m starting to get a little upset. The Mr went off to work while I searched for clues. He said he locked them in the small paddock and watched them eat their hay but maybe, *just maybe* he thought he did. So to double-check I went out to the big back pasture and had a look. At this point I looked back and had to smile. I believe that there are times when the universe gives you a chance to look around and chill out, to realize that there are a million things worse in the world that could happen than missing sheep. Behind me walking through the pasture was my 3 goats, my 8 turkeys, and my 3 geese. The goats were dancing and prancing along as goats do, the turkeys were a little more frantic and ran after me in full display, and the geese waddled after trying to figure out what everyone was doing. I had my own parade! Granted, it looked insane and as I passed my neighbor at the far edge of my pasture as he was mowing his lawn he did stop and stare, but honestly, it’s kind of my life these days. Did I mention that I’m sort of a BIG DEAL in the land of turkeys, goats, and geese? Well I am and that might mean something to someone.

After the walk through the pasture I lead my chirping, gobbling, honking, bahing circus back into the barnyard and decided it was time to be honest. I grabbed my phone and called the police (no not 911 just the local “this is not an emergency police”), the sheriff’s office, and the local animal control. My hope was that someone would look out their window and realize that they saw sheep in their pasture, and they did not in fact, own sheep and would call animal control. I figured this is what I would do if I saw an animal that wasn’t mine in my pasture.

And, lo in behold, I was right. Erina called me after being given my number by the sheriff’s dispatch and said (in a very russian accent) “Sheep?”. Why yes, Erina, I am missing sheep and I would love to know where they got to! After some quick directions I realized she was the next street over. Now people, this is the country so my sheep were actually about three miles away from my house taking the most direct route. Apparently they were headed north and nothing was stopping them. Maybe they heard that grunge was back and that people were once again donned in wool flannels, maybe they thought they would join the scene, I mean they already have ear tags so that’s pretty hard-core right? Anyway, the Mr came home from work, changed from his suite to his jeans and we were off to Erina’s with a hope and a prayer. I thought this would be tough but fairly quick.

I was right about it being tough, but it was not quick. See, my experience with sheep is in controlled fenced settings with proper fence. Erina had horses (BEAUTIFUL DAZLING SMART horses), horses do not need the same sort of fencing sheep do. We were doomed from the start and I knew it. The ladies were pressed against her amazing expensive barn lounging in the shade panting. Erina explained that they had gone into the horse paddocks only to be chased quite severely. They were wide-eyed and in no mood to be coaxed. I moved toward them keeping my eyes on the ground and my grain bucket extended, the Mr followed with the hay. The sheep bolted. This was the start of our ride.

I tell you dear readers, I am a rather large woman as some of you have seen from my pictures, I am not the ‘running sort’ but I ran. I ran and I ran and I ran and I ran FAST. I had with me a long push broom to extend my reach and it helped a little. (I am now going to get two shepherds crooks asap). I was able to trip a lamb and jump on top of it so the Mr could cart it off to the suburban. (What a trailer? Silly people, trailer, what will you think of next?) Then the sheep were off. Down the little one lane road Erina lives off and down to the busy county road. I was terrified but also had the thought “if they stay in the ditch I’ll just walk them home”. But alas, it was not that simple. Maybe if they were large Suffolk or Columbia who have been breed to be domestic and docile they might but I have Icelandic sheep, primitive, wild, smart sheep. I was fucked from the start.

This is where I learned that there is goodness in people that I have not seen in an age. The sheep ran across the busy two lane road, then back again. I was sure a car would hit one if not all remaining sheep until a woman in a large horse trailer slowed down looked us up and down then threw on her emergency lights and stopped. Then, as if that wasn’t enough, she got out of the car and directed traffic. Another man got out of his car and did the same with the other direction. If I wasn’t running around in some strangers back yard with a push broom and a sense of crazed desperation I would have cried, instead I threw myself on another lamb and the Mr got another before one of our older ewes found the escape route and booked back to Erinas! From there we chased and ran down her street through the front and back yards of 4 more people. If they were home people were usually more amused than upset about seeing sheep in their backyard which I was thankful for.

In the backyard of a dairy Erina threw herself on a yearling and brought it to the ground! I was so impressed! Here was this complete stranger going to bat for me! Not only that but she had talked to her neighbor and now I had two more people helping me create a human fence! We followed the remaining sheep into another person’s property who “Thank the GODS!” had goat fencing on two sides. We pushed them into a corner and bagged two more. Mama’s acquired we had one lamb left, a yearling, a spry little brat who gave us quite a run. It was obvious he wanted SO BAD to be with the others but not bad enough to let us near. After he was chased by two more horses (on another property) wandered back down the road to Betty’s house and was chased by her horse and her husband on a riding mower (HA!) we chased it across the street to a house that had chain link fencing on two sides.

I knew we had this lamb, I knew it in the bottom of my deepest heart. This lamb was OURS. The Mr and I took a deep breath, found our most zen centered place and advanced on this sheep keeping our eyes low and our paces deliberate. We were a hairbreadth away when the sheep darted back down the fence line and back toward the road. I heard an “OOOFFF!” and a “I GOT HER!” from the Mr and I ran to investigate. Here was the Mr, a man of some largity himself face first on the grass with a sheep beneath his chest. I secured the yearling so he could get up and asked, “Did you just dive on her?” (frankly, I don’t care how he got her. By the end I was picturing ninja style throwing nets, tazers, and quick sand). “No,” he said, “she jumped in the air and hit me in the shoulder!”

Picture this. My yearling lamb is maybe 50 pounds tops. My husband is 6’5″ and played football (and lacrosse) in both high school and college. He’s a large man. He’d just glatiatored this sheep to the ground and managed to hold on. This lamb got serious air. I was so impressed and so hot and so sweaty and so DYING but I did not forget my nature. Here is Betty, the Mr with the last caught lamb, and Erina. This picture cracks me up, it makes me smile and reminds me there are still damn fine people in this world, they just usually don’t live in the city.

I love that the Mr is smiling (because I could have sworn he would be scowling) I love that Betty and Erina were so HAPPY to take this picture they actually backed up next to the Mr and the sheep and smiled. It cracks me up. Here are two examples of what is needed in the world. Selflessness and a helping hand. With out these two ladies I might have given up. I might have just walked away crying but they saved me from myself. They didn’t quit and I wasn’t going to either. Sheep wrangling in the open is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, it hurt, it was hot, it was frustrating, and I never want to do it this way again.

It was amazing to have people go out of their way for us like that. People who don’t know us and don’t have a stake in what we do here. They did it because they are good caring people. After all the sheep were loaded into their newly secured paddock with plenty of water I drove back to Erina’s house and Betty’s and brought them both home-made blackberry jam and my card with a promise, any time they ever needed my help like they just gave me all they had to do was call.

I’m exhausted and already sore but am so thankful to everyone. In a couple hours (as if my day hadn’t been eventful enough) my 5 pygora goats are coming!

Jul

Ignore Me & I’ll Love You All The More

At least that’s how I used to be. I think that’s how a lot of knitters and blog readers have been in the past. See I’m a commenter, I like to make comments on posts I like, projects I like, designs I think are perfection…You get the point. I let people know how I feel when I feel it without fail. That said, I do not – ever – leave hate mail. If the blog I read has content I don’t enjoy or is different than what I believe in I just don’t read that post. If the the content I dislike takes over the content I do I will stop reading. No biggie right?

Well my blog list to read daily became long and ungainly. If not for Google Reader I’d never know what half my blogs were up to. Then something occurred to me. I was commenting away and getting no response. Now I don’t expect every comment to warrant a response but never getting one from a blog I’ve been following for 4 years? That seems a little…rude. If you comment here more than once chances are I’ve replied to you at least once. I do this because I like to chat with my readers. I find interesting people through my blog. I find fellow hobby farmers, real farmers, shepherds, sheep lovers, knitters, fiber addict, spinners, crafters, photography lovers and random passer-by’s. I appreciate all the people who stop by here daily. I appreciate the fact that people take the time to comment.

So when I realized I was nothing more than another comment that may or may not have been read on a blog by someone much more popular than I will ever hope to be I stopped commenting. Then I stopped reading, then I unsubscribed to them completely. Frankly I don’t miss them either. I don’t buy into the “I’m too busy to reply to comments”. I think it’s rude, tasteless, and low class. I understand that as a blog it is self-absorbed thing. This blog is all about me and my interests but some other people find it interesting periodically too.

Here’s the deal. If you don’t respond to comments I think you should just close off commenting on your blog and move on. It stops you from being a jerk. This doesn’t just stop at blogs. On Ravelry (the knitting social network) you can comment on people’s projects and their designs. Not responding to them is also quite rude. Even the biggest designers only get a handful of comments. They must read them but then what…trash them? They don’t have to know me, they don’t have to care about anyone but I don’t get how this behavior still endears them to their fans? I have actually stopped reading blogs and buying designs from designers for this exact reason. The “buy my pattern but don’t talk to me” isn’t I feel in the spirit of our community. Maybe I’m just picky. Maybe I expect things I shouldn’t. Maybe I’m not popular enough, not New England enough, not New York enough, not skinny enough or funky enough or whimsical enough.

I’ve been thinking about this blog for a long time, how to put into words what it conveys when you don’t reply to comments. I believe that there is always time for manners and being polite. Even when I’m stressed at the grocery store and want nothing more than to get out of there I will be polite to everyone around me (even when the cashier can’t figure out the code for kale). Maybe I just wish that everyone would take a little look at themselves and realize that the internet is not as nameless, faceless, or rude as we might think.

207 days ago Short URL 8 Comments

thoughts

Jun

Judging Your Likability

I’ll admit it, it may make me self-conscious or vain or self-absorbed or whatever, but it crosses my mind quite a bit when I meet new people if I’m actually liked. I might have a skewed ability to judge this which would lead me to always question it. I know with 100% certainty that approximately 10 people like me without a doubt. Kinda sad that I know that right? That I know that I can open my mouth and 10 people will take it or leave it with out taking offence.

This leads me to wonder what makes a person likable in mass. What percentage of it has to do with similar interests vs their natural ability just to talk to people? I am a crazy social person, but I am also very shy. I know, crazy right? So when I force myself to go be social despite being afraid of all the new and unpredictable people I might meet I actually usually excel. I can talk to just about anyone with success, but it will take me months to see if they actually like me even if they do. Maybe I have an extended trial period with people before inviting them fully into my life which is odd since I will usually see this as completely the opposite.

You’d think that I’d be good at this by now having moved so much with the Mr, but the fact is we are pretty self sufficient as far as a couple goes. I’m lucky to have married my best friend and so we spend a lot of time hanging out just the two of us. Whenever I look around I feel as if this might not be the norm and get the comment “you need friends” from well-meaning outside influences. I have friends though, even outside my husband, the problem is they don’t share my state. So what I need to do is make new friends. But, as an adult how does one make new friends? You reach out as an almost 30-year-old dork and hope that you aren’t the subject of ridicule. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. Maybe if I had kids this would be easier. Maybe if I was a harried PTA mom I would meet other harried PTA moms who might share a book club with me but I doubt I read what they read and maybe that wouldn’t work out either.

I guess what I am saying, is how, as an adult in a new city/state how do you make new friends, how do you engage other adults in a non-weird still fun way where it doesn’t feel like you are on an awkward first date with someone you aren’t sure your attracted to?

In other non-brain case news here’s my newest Weave It shawl in the works.

227 days ago Short URL 7 Comments

knit/Knitting/thoughts

May

Beauty for Beauty’s Sake

Moni and I met up for our monthly jaunt into Portland to act like tourists. Being that I’ve lived outside the city for less than a year and Monica just over we get to do all the things that you never get to cram into a weekend of tourism. Even more fabulous is that Monica, being an awesome librarian, has access (which I guess anyone has access to in the Portland Library System) to ‘cultural passes’. These are awesome passes you rent out and get free admission to many of the local cultural spots around Portland. This Monday we went to see the Japanese Gardens. Now I’m not a garden person. I’ll enjoy and marvel at people who can manipulate their yards into green, flowering, sculptural art but mine? My yard is run by a dog, wayward rabbits, escaping chickens and the occasional wily goat. My yard is dotted with sunny yellow dandelions, a little overgrown, and like me…imperfect in most every way. But you can sit out on my patio with a glass of tea or a beer and never feel as if you don’t belong. My yard will never be too perfect to step on or frown at your dirty shoes and mud stained jeans. My yard won’t care if you smell like a barn or you haven’t gotten around to washing your hair which is now tied up by a bandana. This is my yard. That said, I enjoy beauty. I savor it like most artists do. I stop and breathe it, smell it, absorb it into my skin and my subconsciousness in ways that I assume people feel about clothes, shoes, hair, makeup, or pocket sized dogs. Everything is beautiful is its own way but I particularly love green spaces. I love to be outside among trees that have dwarfed man for many generations. I love moss covered ground and hanging lichen and hearing bird calls echo from unseen branches. I loved the Japanese Gardens more than I thought possible. Maybe mostly because it was green and unlike a western garden it shunned flowers.

The sheer amount of green was mind-blowing. Japanese gardens focus on the green instead of the flower. The aim is to have as many different greens as possible. It’s stunning. Adding to the day was that it was, as Portland often is, raining. Thankfully I have finally gotten on track and bought myself a very Portland worthy Lands End rain coat which makes the rain as beneath my notice as if it were not raining.

You could spend all day every day photographing at the gardens just to capture every light and every moment. I know I would be bored of this fairly fast because I’m easily distractable, but I do really want to go back. Maybe in the fall.

We wandered through the garden by ourselves first, photographing as we went. At 1pm there is a tour and though I don’t do tours Monica and I decided to check it out. See, I’m not a joiner, I’m not really a team player. I don’t like to be in large undefined groups where rules of civility usually aren’t followed. This tour though was quite amazing. Our guide was knowledgeable, entertaining, and fun. The group was quiet enough but also interactive but not to the point to bore the other members. Every bit of the gardens has a purpose, a reason for being. Nothing is done just because. It is a symbol, a chance to reflect, to meditate, to think. It all seems very hard but simply easy and beautiful. Frankly, it’s a whole lot of work to make something so beautifully simple.

I have discovered I need a portable tripod. This would have turned out a million times better if I had a sturdy tripod rather than trying to steady this on the railing as I slowed my shutter speed way down to try to capture the sense of movement.

I love stairs because I love line and I love vanishing points. I particularly love these stairs because of the moss threatening to overtake them and their beautiful stone fronts. They were only a little tricky to get up for someone as unbalanced as me but thankfully they were close to normal stair height.

It was a magical day. It rained just enough to coat everything in a slick jewel finish. I think that rain makes just about everything look better and the smell is intoxicating.

In other news (almost knitting/ fiber), one of my newly favorite wordsmiths has written a beautiful short story. It called to me even more because of the weaving/yarn/ fiber content. You should go check it out. It’s super short and beautiful.

Arachne by J.M. McDermott

256 days ago Short URL 5 Comments

Books/crochet/Fantasy/fiber/knit/Knitting/Memories/photography/Picture/Pictures/Portland/reading/short story/Spin/spinning/thoughts

Mar

Break It Up

I went to the Patrick Rothfuss book signing last night in Beaverton, along with 400 other people. There was a 3 hour wait and Powell’s ran out of books. I had reserved my copy even though the woman on the phone 2 weeks ago told me I wouldn’t need to and they would have plenty of copies. I bought my book, looked at the crowd and went home. Book unsigned. I was a little disappointed but frankly, and I hope no one would ever take offence to this, but I can’t think of anyone I’d stand in line for 3 hours just to smile sheepishly and watch as they struggled to spell my name. Maybe Jesus. Maybe. Or GOD but only the old school smiting one, I’m not about peace and bunnies. (How many did I just offend? It’s ok! God has a sense of humor, I’m a Unitarian!). Thankfully the Mr understanding my sullenness brought up sending my book to Pat to sign so I went home and looked it up. The man has a FAQ section just for this purpose! Yes, you can send him your book with return postage and he will sign it as long as you send him something neato. I’m thinking about knitting another hermit crab and sending it. Something cool for something cool is a totally legit trade. So I’ll read the book and send it over the summer after much of the fan boy craziness has worn down.

I think fans forget that writers are people too, with lives, and spouses, children and dogs. They write, but that’s not all they do and I think it’s easy to forget that. Speaking of writers have you walked by a shelf and seen Never Knew Another? No? Well go search it out because it’s getting a post all it’s own in the next few days.

On the same thought I’ve been having hobby issues lately. It feels like there isn’t enough time in the day to get all the stuff I want to get done completed. I wake up, I surf my favorite blogs, check my email (though it’s only junk these days), cruise Ravelry, and sit down to write. I drop out between 3 and 5 thousand words before noon at which point Tank demands we go do doggy stuff. So off to the dog park we go where he makes me smile, (and sometimes yell) and does wonderful puppy stuff. Then back home I write some more because I need to get Mildred done. We both need closure. By 5:30 I’m making dinner for the Mr and I and when we are done I’m pooped. I haven’t knit as much lately and felt a little guilty about that until I realized that I never really knit that much between February and June. I have started spinning again, and inhaling books again and battling dirty dishes on a daily basis again. (Stupid dishes out number me, how does that seem fair?)

: Here is a random picture of a bird at my feeder to break up the many words you are reading.

So now I’ve taken a little step back (because things are only going to get more insane in the next few months when our number of sheep will increase, turkeys arrive and planting needs to be done) and looked at what I do and why I do it.

1. I have deleted some people I used to watch from my flickr stream (I didn’t even know I could do that) because of a few reasons.
A. I don’t know you, and you don’t know me, except that while I have commented on your pictures you have never done the same. I don’t need you to comment but I won’t follow people around because they are internet popular anymore.
B. I can’t remember why we ever followed each other. It was probably knitting related but you are most likely Ravelry popular and I’m not and for some reason it hurts ego every time you post and it’s loved by 1 million knitters even if you decided to knit poop out of poop spun yarn. (that of course is an exaggeration!)
C. I wasn’t seeing pictures by people I really know and really care about because so many others dominated my page. It made me a bad friend and that sucks.
2. I have deleted a whole bunch of blogs from my google reader much for the same reason as flickr. I rarely believe that anyone is so busy or important (with exceptions) that you can’t respond to comments. I think it’s rude frankly. If you blog just for you, awesome, these are just my feelings right now in this moment.
3. I have clicked “Hide this user” all over facebook. Just because I like Dirty Jobs doesn’ t mean I need you talking about your damn show all the time Discover. Yes, I <3 Mike Rowe but I <3 him less when I see multiple posts all over my news feed. Frankly, Monica, Shawna, Will, and Phil are way more interesting to me.

So yeah, I know everyone goes through this about once or twice a year. It’s needed. We have become so overloaded from all the information I think it causes depression! So that’s my Thursday rant. Tomorrow I will work on a review of Never Knew Another and then will dig into Wise Man’s Fear. It’s obviously book season.

And for no reason at all, here is John Quincy Adams with a Ham! There is a fantastic little exhibit at Powell’s City Of Books in downtown Portland. All the presidents have ham! It’s funny and well done. If you’re local go check it out.

339 days ago Short URL 3 Comments

Books/Fantasy/photography/Picture/Pictures/Portland/reading/thoughts/Writing

never knew another/wise mans fear

Aug

A New Day

Today was my first day at my new job. I think it’s going to be a great fit. The people are super nice, funny, and supportive of each other. And it’s bankcard so that’s doublely weird. I guess it just depends on who is running the company. Upon getting home today I found my dad’s birthday present to me waiting in the mail. A spinning & knitting/crochet update is coming but right now I’m exhuasted.

Hand Dyed Corridale.

888 days ago Short URL 4 Comments

california/Craft/fiber/handspun/knit/Memories/Spin/spinning/thoughts/Work

Jul

Vilai and Some Book Reviews

First off I have finished some knitting to show you. I also have been spinning for Tour De Fleece to show off (though it’s admittedly not very exciting). Second I have breezed through 3 novels in the last week that I need to get off my chest.

First off, socks!

Pattern: Vilai from Sock Innovation
Yarn: Dream In Color Smooshy colorway Gothic Rose
Needles: US 1′s throughout
Verdict: Stretchy pretty socks that hurt my hands!

I’m not really sure what made me decide that I needed to knit these socks. I’m not really one for cabled socks in the first place (no matter how brilliant I think they look) so this was a little rare for me. After they are completed though I really love them. One thing I do not love though is the sssk’s or the k3tog. Which there were a lot. Doing these on two circs meant that these stitches were always on the end of the row making leverage hard and stitches a little tight in places. Also if you can’t tell there are twisted stitches involved. Cookie A. loves her twisted stitches and why not? They make cables pop and are so pretty and tidy but after a while you just want to impale yourself on a size 13 knitting needle.

And since I have extrodinarly large feet (at least I think so) it took quite a few pattern repeats to get enough length to cover my size 12 clodstompers. That said I love these socks as I love all my handknit socks. I love that they fit me PERFECTLY and I love the color and that they are beautiful. I DO NOT like that the pattern tells you to have quite a few more pattern stitches for the instep than the sole, that means that your lace is coming in contact with the ground which I do not enjoy. Had I thought it through on the first sock I would have changed it, but I didn’t realize the it till sock #2. And those knitters among you realize that there is nothing more grievously irritating than 2 differently fitting socks (though in close competition is two sleeves of differing lengths)

Other than knitting I have been spinning. I have set myself up on a little mission to finish spinning my Shetland wool I have in stash. I have decided I want to spin for the Alberta Vest and now have my eye out for a good contrasty fiber to spin for the stripes.

Shetland Wool

This is unwashed in the picture but I would say that I’m very close to spinning an even almost worsted weight which is awesome for me!

Another thing that’s been taking up my time is reading.

I usually don’t give book reviews because I feel that reading is so subjective. It is so incredibly personal what a person finds interesting to read. Maybe that’s because I refuse to acknowledge Oprah’s book club as viable literature and read fantasy instead. I know I don’t show people my books because I worry about being cast as a geeky D&D player (which I never played by the way). I find it much more interesting when a complete world/ race/ religion is made up. I live in the real world and it’s damn depressing sometimes. Why on earth would I need to read a book that could just as easily be about some family struggling down the street? The truth is I do not.

I have to admit that I have a soft gooey spot for the neglected creatures of fantasy. The less charismatic creatures that are rarely discussed make me all sorts of happy. Imagine my delight if you will when I turned around to find ORCS staring me in the face at the local Barnes & Noble. I just about squealed right there in the isle which made some dorky D&D geek looking at role playing books give me the eyebrow (yes I will stereotype you if you ARE looking at role playing books and wearing a t-shirt that says “Dragons Killed The Dinosaurs”).

I practically danced home with visions of gore and blood in my head. (I’m a simple girl and I still am not sure how anyone would survive mid evil combat which is what really fascinates me!). All that build up, all that excitement only to be completely let down.

Dear Stan, I know you have published all sorts of books and maybe it’s not entirely your fault. Maybe it’s my fault, maybe we just have no chemistry together but I have to tell you that we are breaking up. I have read both of your ORCS books and I have to be honest; you are just not that excellent of a writer. I know it hurts and I understand if you hate me, but you have to understand deep down in your heart that I am saying nothing but the truth. Your sentences are simple, your lack of semi colons sadden, and your elimination of real description maddens. There was a point where you were describing one of the only female orcs in your story and all of the sudden *POOF* you made her have HAIR! Then it was gone, she was bald again and it made me worry for your health. Did you just have a brain fart? What happened? Also as a woman who would kick some serious ass I would like to tell you that if I were an evil sorcerers I would not dress in stilettos, leather, and fur. I would not have a cat named sapphire. You want to know why? Because a woman like that would NEVER be taken seriously. Because you can’t run, much less kill someone in stilettos. Also, leather is hot and restrictive. No evil genius worth his/her salt is going to parade around in leather pants. Just saying.

You took a really fascinating storyline and completely destroyed it. Time to hire a ghost writer. Also, how did you get Tad Williams to write you a byline? Did you have to pay for that because Tad is #1 now that Robert Jordan is gone and you are not even in the same atmospheric plane as either of them (though the independent UK seems to think you are Robert Jordan’s heir apparent which is the most laughable thing I’ve ever heard since no one could be as amazing as RJ)

Now onto things that have completely thrilled and surprised me! Moon Called has stared at me from the book shelve and the summer reading pile at the bookstore for almost 3 months. I have ignored it because I have seen all the sickening post Twilight crap on the market now. I do not like vampires and I HATE vampire romance novels. I like my vampires scary. I love werewolves though and even though this story is ABOUT werewolves I couldn’t get past the cover. I love the art but it yells to me “Teen Angst Novel!” and I moved right along. Finally last week though I gave in. I sucked up my snotty pride and said “OK little novel, you have your chance, I don’t expect to be impressed”. And that little novel is now my new obsession.

The writing is brilliant. It’s Witty, charming, humorous, and face paced. I woke up one day and started reading it in the morning and by dinner was done. It’s that brilliant. The main character is a female mechanic who’s not overly sexed out like the cover. She’s kinda badassed and incredibly smart. She’s the kind of chick I’d want to know. The author gives surprisingly deep insight into the werewolf culture and background while not diving too deeply into the past. The dialogue is natural and engaging. I have not been this excited about a book since I first read The Dragon Bone Chair (which is kind of my holy bible).

(HA! I just realized I’m wearing the same color shirt in all three pictures. Amazingly they are not at all the same shirt!)

In other news we finally have laid claim to our garage and shuffled the landlords crap out. Finally I will be able to start sorting through my parents crap. It made me quite angry to realize upon looking at the garage that 1/3 of the crap in there belonged to our landlord, 1/3 belonged to my parents (who have retired and moved out of their townhome) and 1/3 was ours. Except that we had a pathway and much less stuff. It’s time for everone to get their crap out of my house. This is my new project.

Jun

Celebrating the Small Anniversaries.

A week of anniversaries. Not big ones like wedding anniversaries, the Mr and I were married in September, but ones that we’ve never actually acomplished before.

First off, we have spent one full year in one place. One house, no moving, 12 full months. You might think that this is nothing and that people do this all the time, but honestly we haven’t. See, the standard lease in California is 10 months and we have only once re-signed a lease in our almost 6 year marriage. Of course, a week after we resigned it (in month 11) we decided to relocate to Ohio for business and moved that month.

Also yesterday marked the 10th week since I gave up smoking. That’s two and 1/2 months. I still want a cigarette almost every week but it usually passes quite quickly. I think it’s a physical want rather than a NEED. Like my brain is remembering “hey, didn’t we used to smoke about this time every day?” It’s amazing how well I breath now, how well I smell and how well I taste. I knew smoking decreased all these things but it doesn’t matter when you are in the middle of an addiction.

I have also finished the first Vilai sock. Another Cookie A sock from Sock Innovation. Am I knitting my way through this book? Probably. I did the same thing with Knitting Vintage Socks.

Vilai Sock

The color is off because it’s one of those fantastically red/wine/burgandy colors that is beautiful in person but doesn’t photograph worth a spit. Hopefully the June Gloom will lift a bit in the next few days so when I finish both I can photograph them in natural light (for those of you that don’t live in Southern California/ Central Coast and don’t know what June Gloom is, well it’s an entire month in SUMMER where it is weirdly cold during the day and the sun is absent. It happens every year but still is weird to me)

970 days ago Short URL 6 Comments

california/Craft/knit/Knitting/photography/Picture/Pictures/thoughts

Mr Poopers Day Out

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