she's just saying...

good kid

This will be brief as I have a major presentation Thursday (for BendFocus) and need to keep nose to grindstone(or fingers to keyboard).

Here is one payoff to raising a child:

eventually they vacuum. What a good kid!

The Out-of-Coffee Cafe

Memorial Day afternoon a friend and I went out to lunch at a newish well-reviewed cafe in town. It's a breakfast/lunch place with the trappings of a fancy-casual restaurant: wines on a rack, water in a carafe, spendy prices. It was about half full, but it became apparent that they were at the end of a busy 3-day weekend. The wait staff were a bit disorganized, but we're used to that in Bend. The food and wine took forever to arrive, but we're pretty used to that as well, and we were in a nice spot outside. Unfortunately, they were out of two of their five sides. A little disappointing, but ok. The sandwiches were not very ok, which was really disappointing, as they were about $10 each. But anyway, on with the point of my story.

While we were eating, we heard a waiter tell some new arrivals that the kitchen was a little backed up, so "take your time deciding." Then I thought I heard him say that they were out of coffee. I was pretty sure I misunderstood him, but about 10 minutes later another party sat down and were told the same thing. Now, without naming names, this cafe is directly opposite one of our best grocery stores and is right next door to our fancy organic one. Across the street are TWO coffee shops, one of which roasts its own beans on the premises. Couldn't somebody run over and buy a couple of pounds of coffee??? Come on, it's a breakfast place. Ya gotta have coffee!

I relate this story not to be mean-spirited - I'm sure they were slammed all weekend. But it's emblematic of why so many businesses fail: the inability to plan ahead, think creatively, take responsibility for decisions and take some action to enhance the customers' experience. Never mind enhance, meet their basic expectations. These little trendy restaurants come and go all the time around here in continual turnover. All that planning, investment, remodeling, stocking and training, but they're out of beans and can't go get some.

where it's at

I've promised I'd post a knitting update, so here it is. Still working on the felted entrelac bag.
 

It's kind of taken over my non-gardening spare time. It's fascinating to watch what color is coming up next, and the squares are so quickly done that I keep doing just one more. Still have a ways to go yet.

in memory of Jay Zemotel

I didn't realize til just this moment that it is May 25, the 24th anniversary of my husband's suicide. What a long time ago that seems. Truly another world, another lifetime.

Jay was a bluegrass guitar player and singer from Boston. He and his friends had a band that was very popular in Fairbanks, the town we lived in in the late 70's. When we met, it was love (or something like it) at first sight. He was wild and smart, funny and fatalistic. He did everything to the extreme: music, motorcycles, drugs, alcohol, love. He had a ponytail and a crazy dog and I thought he was everything I'd never experienced. I was a sheltered, suburban, private college girl and he was the real world. He could walk into any bar and be at home. At the time that seemed like something.

I grew up during our short time together. Learning to live as a couple, on my own truly for the first time, trying to mesh very different backgrounds and values. There was love, fighting, fear and finally awareness. I was in way over my head and was going to drown with him or remove myself from that quicksand. Before the divorce was final, he  succeeded too well at one of his occasional attempts at suicide, something I still believe he didn't mean to do.

For years I couldn't listen to a certain type of bluegrass without crying. Now it brings me closer to him. I have nothing left of our life together except some photos, and the only people I know who remember him are my family. He lived hard, tried to be happy, and loved me the best he could. I remember you, Jay, and you live on in my heart.

Painful

Painful loss to the Yankees. Mariners were ahead in the eighth 5 to 2. Yankees got a run, J.J. walked A.Rod, blew the save, Yankees pulled ahead and Mariano cleaned up, 6-5. Oh, man. That was awful.

And now the Red Sox are coming to Seattle - always a tough match up for me. I never know who I'm pulling for until the game starts, then I somehow end up one way or the other. Don't know again this year. Mariners are definitely the (way way) under dog, but I can't root against the Sox.

Painful.

In between the raindrops

I got productive yesterday. I planted seeds for peas, arugula and mint, put up the greenhouse, weeded the front beds, planted annuals in the patio garden and cleaned up the iris cutting bed. Whew. Photo to come.

I'm just saying no to tomatoes this year. They take a lot of babying, and there's an incredible selection at the Wed. farmer's market from beefsteak to heirloom in every tomato hue possible. I've got a nice patch of parsley, shallots and strawberries that have obligingly spread, and the asparagus is commencing nicely. I'm going to go with them, as they're clearly happy. I've started the herb boxes and will grow basil in the greenhouse for emergencies.

On the lawn front, I've come to peace with a patchy lawn as long as I have boys and dogs enjoying it.  I'm thinking of getting an electric mower. The reel mower is fun, but you have to go over the same patch a number of times to get a semi-smooth lawn. It's quite a workout, and not very efficient. Any recommendations?

Follow-up: too wet to take a photo outside, so I'm including this one of my lilacs - they're having quite a year!

bezball today

Mariners/Yankees on. It's not going to be pretty. First at bat, Ichiro struck out. I may have to go out and garden.

Giambi should lose the mustache. It doesn't help.

11-4 in the seventh. It's painful! I had to turn it off.

Over time

This is one measure of how well I'm doing: the amount of time that passes after waking before I think about him. A few months ago, it was one and a half seconds. As soon as I opened my eyes in the morning, that crushing weight came down on me and stabbed me in the chest. To mix my painful metaphors.

Now, I go about 45 minutes. I get up, feed the dog and cats, let them out, make coffee, check email, go get the paper... oh. There's his house. Wonder what he's doing.

Yes, living three doors away would not be my recommended strategy for getting over someone. But no one is moving, so you deal with it. I always knew this part would be hard. When I lie on my son's bed at night singing a lullabye, I can see his doorbell light through the darkness. Out my window when I shower, when I'm in the garden. Seeing the blue light from the TV.  It's hard to avoid his house and therefore his presence, which stirs up my my memories and regrets.

I'm feeling happy and positive these days. Enjoying the simplicity of my life and the peace I've found. And I sing along with that Lucinda Williams song playing in my head:

"I guess one afternoon
You won't cross my mind
And I'll get over you
Over time."

The [dreaded] Third Grade Play

If it's spring, it must be time for the school play. This year, all the third-grade classes at High Lakes (there are at least 5) put it on together. It had something to do with Native Americans, though there was a square dance in the middle of it set to what sounded like a polka tune.  I can't say it was the most dynamic script -- actually, there was no script, just a lot of barely coherent recitings of Indian sayings. And some Native American chanting with drums.

Cool flute though (they brought in a professional).

I was thankful that the costumes were easy  - white T-shirts, earth-toned pants, and the interpretive Indian belts the kids wove. I recognized a lot of my rejected stash yarn in the crowd.

We survived it and came home to play baseball in the front yard. That Flash is one hell of an outfielder! But that's another post.

into it

I'm working on a new assignment for BendFocus. It's a straightforward project, all secondary research (meaning I'm not actually asking people anything). It involves digging into demographic and business statistics as well as analyzing a particular industry's outlook and potential.

As usual, I procrastinated furiously, but once I get going I'm completely caught up in the process. The house declines into term-paper mode: laundry piles up, food is reheated, mail goes unopened, phone calls ignored. I sit down and hours later I've produced one PowerPoint slide. Other times, I'm whipping them off furiously. It's completely solitary work, a break from years of managing, handling, collaborating and negotiating with others.

I love the work, along with the primary research aspect of designing surveys and analyzing reams of results. I'm lucky to have it, but not so lucky in that it can't fully support us. If it were just me it would be no problem, but I have a child and cats and dogs and a mortgage all balancing precariously on my shoulders.  Where's that second income? Somehow I forgot to marry one! I'm on my own, with all the benefits and hazards that come with that. In the end, however, I do have to say I like it just fine.

a toast...

to my friends.
They support me, listen to my stories, share their lives, go for walks, care for my child, play with my dog, hug me when I'm down, split a bottle of wine, and just get me. In no particular order, I toast:

Mark, my old roomie, who has helped me raise Henry, organized my house and garden, and knows me like no one else;
Elicia, who drinks with me, makes me think and makes me laugh;
Angelina, who has helped raise my son, gives wonderful massages and keeps me smelling good;
Sondra, who is always there to listen and offer constructive ideas;
Mary, who has the bracing wit and clarity of a gin and tonic;
Annie, my cheerleader and companion at work;
Karen, my neighbor in so many ways;
and Jeremy, who has taken Henry into his life and family.

I could not survive a day without you all.

the square peg

Raising a child who has a different way of perceiving and interacting with the world is clearly tough. Doing it alone can be agonizing. H is extremely energetic and talkative and often has a hard time focusing (yes, we know the diagnosis). He's incredibly smart and funny and imaginative, but his active mind doesn't mesh well with linear tasks.

It's so clear to me and others who know him that he's going to accomplish something great in life. But he has to get through third grade, and right now, his personality is too big for a class of 25 kids. Last night we had another heart-to-heart, with tears on both sides. I tried to explain the square peg in the round hole. The square peg is perfect in its squareness but needs to try to squeeze into that hole sometimes as best it can. It's not that it's better for him, really, it's for the convenience of the rest of society. I never understood that until I had a square peg of my own.

His way is the right way for him. It's where creativity and genius live. But he has to be able to sit quietly in his seat to "succeed." So to accomplish that, it's recommended that we medicate his exuberance. Which breaks my heart.

Cube arrest

We're still in this weird limbo, waiting for the word from the Big Globe on our futures. We are to be assigned one of three categories, which are basically "needed," "needed for the time being," or "not needed." (or as they refer to it: "surplus.")

Meanwhile we still report to the office every day, though there's nothing to do. Since some here still have real work, we can't wander the halls bugging people, so we're stationed at our desks in a sort of a cube arrest. (OK, so I have an office -- it doesn't sound as good though.) We are still on the payroll and we think they know we're still here, but who knows?

I sure wish I could knit at my desk.

play ball

It's a great day to watch some baseball! Red Sox at 10:30, Mariners at 1, and big Mets/Yankees subway series at 5. I'm not a big fan of either team: I'll never get over the Mets/Red Sox World Series of 1986, and the Yankees are the evil empire, of course. But it should be great baseball.

Good Mariners game last night - they won! It's so rare it's worth its own blog post, but I'll refrain.

the reel thing

Time to fire up the mower! Oh, wait, that's me.

I mow my small yard with a reel mower - I hate the sound and smell of gas mowers, and I really don't have that big of a lawn. It's a bit of a workout and it doesn't get you a smooth suburban manicured surface, but I feel very virtuous using it. I also grass-cycle (the ecologically-correct term for leaving the clippings on the lawn) and a reel mower does that very nicely.

My favorite part is trimming the edges. I don't "edge" (cutting a perfect line through the sod) but I do trim with an electric string trimmer. It's like giving the lawn a bikini wax. It's all so neat and clean after.

Entrelac Felted Bag Knit-Along

If those words mean nothing to you, you're excused from this post. You can come back later for non-knitting news, I promise.

So, we've started our KAL (knit-along). This is a virtual group who knits the same project at the same time. It's good for moral support, sharing tips, getting help, etc. We're doing this very cool bag that looks like this, out of Noro Kureyon:

Or at least it's supposed to...

Anyway, it's my latest obsession. (That and messing around with this blog.) I'm doing this instead of all the other work I've committed to do. At least when I procrastinate, I'm productive!

I'll post my progress as we go. So far we've already run into a provisional cast-on, knitting backwards and picking up stitches in a weird way. We're clearing those hurdles and are forging ahead. 

J! J!

I'm so excited - tonight is

J.J. Putz Bobblehead night!

My friend will be at the game and has promised to bring one back for me.

I wish I was as excited about the team this year . . .

Knit your chicken a sweater

From the BBC, in honor of Amber and her chickens.

In from the cold: chilly chickens given a winter warmer

" How would you feel? One minute you're in a warm battery shed [laying shed]squashed up alongside someone who's pecking out your feathers - the next you're out in an open field with nothing to protect you from the elements. Thank the Lord for chicken jumpers...

Queenie and her three friends are feeling the cold a little more than most this winter.

Recovered from a battery farm in November last year, they were largely without feathers and - away from the artificial heat of the chicken sheds - have been feeling the winter weather.

Click here for video:	Chickens with jumpers

But owner Brigitte Hawley from Benenden has come up with a clever way of allowing her hens to enjoy the outside world, while being as snug as their more feathered friends.

A knitted chicken jumper - or 'Chux Tux' as Brigitte calls it - is the latest must-have item for feather-challenged chickens exploring the brave new world outside of the battery.

Poultry pullies

The 'Tux' can come in different designs depending on which parts of the bird are in need of insulation. Brigitte can also create poultry pullies in a variety of colours.

These hens have all been re-housed by the Battery Hen Welfare Trust, a charity that works with farmers to give a new lease of life to 'spent' battery hens when their egg productivity starts to take a slide.

The good news is that once out in the open - and with the help of a Chux Tux - the hens soon start to re-grow their feathers. Great news for Queenie and for the next reformed battery hen to inherit her winter coat."

I'm in love...

with my knitting group. A stimulating mix of women from early 20's to late 60's (guessing here!) who have instantly bonded over sticks and string. They're funny, smart, positive, open-minded, nonconformist, creative - all the things I look for in my companions. New faces keep arriving and the group welcomes them in. Not to mention the good wine and food.

I can't say I get a lot of knitting done at our gatherings, but I wouldn't miss it for the world. If you're interested, click on the Bend Knit-Up link to the right. (Or left. Things keep moving around here.)

Hello? Hello? Is this thing on?

 

Yes! Success! After two days of messing with it, the blog is back up and better than ever (I hope). So no excuses for not posting comments! I seem to have lost a bunch of my old ones in the move, but I cherish each one I receive.

So don't be shy, or be shy and be anonymous, but do post back. It would make me so happy to hear from you (a little mother guilt there). Thanks!