she's just saying...

A smokin' romance

Alright - moving on from the hilarity and anguish of knitters vs. the olympics. I enjoyed it - maybe too much, as I think many readers moved on. Oh well - you're still here!

Meanwhile, we're in the final prep for our yearly pilgrimage to the southeast, so I don't have time to write. Must. Clean. Bathrooms. Cleaning because my friend Chris and her daughter are coming to housesit again for the week, escaping from the burning inferno that is Phoenix. It's a great arrangement - they love to come back and visit their friends here, the dog and cats and fish are happy and at home, and I can leave knowing that all will be well. But I do need to pick up here and there so they can find the beds at least.

In the meantime, I'll share my latest crush with you as you're really a close personal friend, really. He's tall, dark and um, furry. Likes to walk around without a shirt. He doesn't talk much, or at all, actually, but communicates soulfully with his eyes and paws. He can be a bear about matches and fire and that kind of thing, but he has a good heart. We meet daily at the Museum and I sing him the Smokey song and he dances for me. It's true love.

a'howling and a'growling and a'sniffing the air...

I has a spuragrus

Look, Mark! We finally made one!

(Mark was my gardening partner to whom I owe my many many garden beds of which I can't handle the upkeep.)

Just one. Not sure what happened to all the others. I can't bring myself to harvest it. I just go visit it now and then and feel very proud.

The whole garden has had a late start this year. I wonder why: could the snow this Saturday be one of the reasons? I think we hit 45 degrees as a high that day. That's all right - I'll be complaining about the heat in a few months.  I hope.  Happy Memorial Day!

Friendless in Seattle

If it's September, it must mean... eye surgery! (Isn't that what it means to you?) Yes, I'm going back for more because it was so much fun last year.

Actually, this time it's the other eye, it's a less-invasive surgery, and should be much simpler. The downside is that Dr. Cute doesn't do this procedure and the nearest surgeon is in Seattle. Ordinarily I love going to Seattle, but this time it probably won't be as much fun. For one thing, I'll be in Bellevue vs. downtown, and for another, I'll be having surgery.

It shouldn't be that unpleasant though. I'll be staying in a nice generic hotel in a nice generic city, near a large mall. The only snag is that the surgery center insists that after the procedure I can only leave in the care of a responsible adult. A cab driver doesn't count.

My friend Mark and I have been through many operations, moves, crises and weekend trips together and he'd be my obvious choice, but for two things that he pointed out; he can't leave LA in September due to work and he doesn't qualify as a responsible adult. It's also about as far away as you can get from New England where my sisters live.

I kind of hate to ask a friend to come up with me, as I really only need the help for an hour and other than that it would be a long boring trip. One option a friend suggested is to hire a personal assistant-type who drives seniors around to their appointments and errands. It may actually be the way to go, pathetic as it might seem. I could go the social networking route and post a request on Facebook or Craig's List, but that seems kind of desperate.

Another friend has chimed in that if I'm going to actually hire someone I might as well enjoy it, so go for a Chippendales dancer or the like. Probably not. Wouldn't be prudent. But any other ideas are welcome...

Problem solved.

a bald eagle kind of evening

For further proof that I'm not always a sloth, Henry and Dana and I loaded up the canoe yesterday at 5 pm and headed to Sparks Lake for an evening picnic. It was a perfect little excursion.

Henry showed off his mad canoeing skillz and Dana and I went along for the ride.

And to top it all off, we watched a bald eagle watching over the lake all evening. 

The drive (26 miles one way) was so lovely that we did it twice, as somebody forgot his water shoes at the boat ramp and we had to go back and get them. We did the math in the car and yes, that was 104 miles. Very peaceful wilderness miles, but still...

It's A Gnome Run!

(This is actually a baseball post)

Back when Henry went to the local Waldorf preschool, they seemed to be weirdly fixated on gnomes. I've since learned that that's a typical Waldorf tradition, along with believing that children can't learn the alphabet until their first permanent teeth come in, which is a topic for another post. Anyway.

They built gnome houses, went on gnome-spotting walks, teachers had "Gnome-Powered" bumper stickers on their cars; the whole thing seemed odd and a bit twee, as they say across the pond.

So, what does this have to do with baseball?  Well, hang on. I had a bet going with a Phillies fan last week when the Red Sox and Phils faced each other during interleague play. I must admit I wasn't hopeful of my chances, but the payoff was good either way: whoever lost had to buy the other person a winning-team-logoed item of about $30. So either I got something Bosox-related or I got to buy something outrageous for my winning friend.

So, when the Sox won the series 2-1, I was looking forward to receiving my Red Sox nightie, towel set, bobblehead dashboard decoration or whatever.

So here's what showed up today in the mail.

gnome sweet gnome

I'm not sure where in the yard I'll put the little guy. Somewhere where I can see him whenever I look out my window, or maybe where he can stun the neighbors and passersby.  He'll look good anywhere, I reckon, because after all, there's no place like gnome.

And the lucky winners are...

Before I announce the winners, I have to explain the selection process.

 First I had to disqualify family due to obscure but specific state rules governing sweepstakes. You want me to go to jail? Plus, if I give you stuff now, I'll have nothing left for Christmas. 

Next, I decided to eliminate all previous contest winners, with the aim of spreading the wealth. Sorry guys, but if I told you that first, you wouldn't have commented. Call it bait and switch. So sue me.

Then, I had to take out Kathi D (not literally) as she was already a weiner, er, winner.

That left three people, of whom two were new commenters who both get two entries. So, five little slips of paper were carefully made and tossed into my coffee cup from which to pull the winning names. Unfortunately, I neglected to empty the cup of its old coffee first, so all the entries got soggy and illegible. Rather than start over, I decided to award a little knitty bit to each. So, without further excuses:

The Winners!!

• Lonnie, you lucky dog (KG, tell him what he wins)
• Jen, a faithful supporter who can be blamed for this whole blog thing to begin with
• Carrie, a brand new commenter whose location is still a mystery

Further, you get your choice of knitty bit:

1. Apple cozy
2. Cup cozy
3. Catnip mouse

And family will just have to stand in line. Christmas is only eight months away...

Just a little something to nosh

Whew. Busy weekend doing nothing. A new friend came to visit - more on that to come if the stars align. Meanwhile, Henry keeps growing. And eating. Here's this morning's order:

Courses from the foreground back:

Buttermilk biscuit with country sausage gravy (notice the apple was not touched),

Two eggs sunny-side up with two pieces of bacon

Topped off by a huge pancake, with a scoop of butter and half cup of syrup.

The waiter placed it all in front of him and declared: "Mission: Eat!"

And he did. He started slowing down by the second egg and the last half of the pancake, but since that one pancake equaled three normal ones, we decided it was Mission Accomplished.

Yes or No?

OK, another random wacky meme, this one from a few Facebook pals. I'm only doing this because I want a certain someone else to answer as well. Those who wish to play can copy/paste into an email or Facebook note. C'mon, try it! It's fun! Or at least it's a good way to waste five minutes at work.

"You can ONLY answer Yes or No.

You are NOT ALLOWED to explain ANYTHING unless someone asks, and believe me, the temptation to explain some of these will be overwhelming. Nothing is exactly as it seems.

Tag your friends, etc. etc."

Kissed any one of your Facebook friends? -- Yes
Been arrested? --- No
Been in a fight? --- No
Fallen fast for someone? -- Yes
Regretted a relationship? --- No
Been in a tornado? --- No
Stayed in bed all day? --- Yes
Kissed someone you didn't like? -- Yes
Slept in until 5 PM? --No
Fallen asleep at work/school? --- Yes
Held a snake? -- Yes
Ran a red light? --- Yes
Been suspended from school? ---No
Experienced love at first sight? --- Yes
Totaled your car/motorbike in an accident? ---No
Been fired from a job? --- Yes
Fired somebody? --- Yes
Sang karaoke? --- No
Pointed a gun at someone? --- No
Done something you told yourself you wouldn't? --- Yes
Laughed until something you were drinking came out your nose? --Yes
Caught a snowflake on your tongue? --- Yes
Kissed in the rain? --- Yes
Swam in the ocean? --- Yes
Been to a concert? --- Yes
Laughed till you cried? ---Yes
Kissed on the first date? -- Yes
Had a close brush with death (your own)? --- No
Seen someone die? --- Yes
Played spin-the-bottle? --- Yes
Sang in the shower? --Yes
Smoked a cigar? ---Yes
Sat on a rooftop? --- Yes
Smuggled something into another country? --- Yes
Been pushed into a pool with all your clothes? ---Yes
Broken a bone? --- Yes
Skipped school? --- Yes
Got a speeding ticket? -- Yes
Eaten a bug? --- Yes
Sleepwalked? --- No
Walked a moonlit beach? ---Yes
Rode a motorcycle? --- Yes
Dumped someone? --- Yes
Seen a baby born? --- No
Lied to avoid a ticket? ---Yes
Ridden in a helicopter? --- No
Shaved your head? --- No
Played a prank on someone? --- Yes
Hit a home run? --- No
Cross-dressed? --- No
Been falling-down drunk? --- Yes
Made your girlfriend/boyfriend cry? --- Yes
Eaten snake? --- No
Marched/Protested? --- Yes
Had Mexican jumping beans for pets? ---Yes
Puked on an amusement ride? --- No
Seriously & intentionally boycotted something? ---Yes
Been in a band? --- No
Knitted or crocheted? --- Yes
Been on TV? ---Yes
Shot a gun? ---No
Skinny-dipped? ---Yes
Gave someone stitches? --- No
Eaten whole habenero pepper? --- No
Ridden a surfboard? --- No
Drank straight from a liquor bottle? --- Yes
Had surgery? --- Yes
Streaked? ---No
Taken by ambulance to hospital? ---No
Passed out when not drinking? ---Yes
Peed on a bush? --- Yes
Donated Blood? --- Yes
Grabbed electric fence? ---No
Eaten alligator meat? --- No
Eaten cheesecake? --- Yes
Eaten your kids' Halloween candy? --- Yes
Killed an animal when not hunting? --- Yes
Peed your pants in public? --- No
Snuck into a movie without paying? ---Yes
Written graffiti? --- No
Still love someone you shouldn't? --- No
Think about the future? --- Yes
Been in handcuffs? --- Yes
Believe in love? --- Yes
Sleep on a certain side of the bed? --- Yes
Been walked in on having sex? --- No
Forged a signature? --- Yes
Stolen from a store? --- No
Been bungie jumping? -- No
Won the lottery? --- Yes
Visited more than 15 countries? --- Yes
Gambled in a casino? --- Yes
Given a public speech?---Yes

How many screens does it take

to run a business?

This is my friend Brian. The two monitors on the left are Mac and the other two PC, all run from one keyboard and mouse.

Notice he's texting from his phone in the middle of all this.

I was pretty impressed. A great guy and a great company.*

*No promotional consideration was paid for this endorsement, except lunch.

Nouvelle plastic

Scene: The upscale restaurant of an unnamed Portland hotel. Three women having lunch. Chatting, laughing, eating. One of the women has the "chicken noodle soup": a bowl of broth, two petite chicken roulades and a large vegetable ravioli on the bottom. Very nouvelle.

Suddenly: "Is this food?" the woman asks, taking a ring of plastic out of her mouth and examining it, possibly mistaking it for cellophane noodles.

It was not.

After much hilarity, discussion and negotiations with the staff, the soup charge is removed and a dessert is provided.

Final question, when the bill is presented: "Do you take plastic?"

Waitress answers: "No, we only serve it." Ba-dum-bump.

The soup

The object in question

 

You don't need to card me. Really!

As a single mom with a full-time job, some things just have to go.

(Note: this is a terrific excuse to get out of just about anything. Who would question it?)

For me, one of those things is Christmas cards. I know it's wonderful to send (and receive) a personal holiday greeting, but it's just not going to happen from this house. I don't even send my garbage bill by mail -- either it's on-line or it doesn't get paid.

Since my primary means of communication with my friends is through this blog or facebook (even those who live a few blocks away), it follows that those are the vehicles I'll use for my Christmas messages. It's not called social media for nothing.

When I was a girl, I remember my father sitting in his study every December, smoking his pipe and working on our Christmas card list. Adding those folks who sent us one the year before, removing long-forgotten acquaintances, typing it all out on his (now collectible) manual typewriter. It was a responsibility taken seriously.

As a result of course, I now carry guilt about not sending out cards myself. For many years, I bought cards with all good intentions, and maybe sent out 4 or 5, but one of the things that come with getting old is the wisdom of knowing yourself, so I no longer attempt the effort.

So, though I love getting your cards, I really don't mind if you take me off your list. It lessens the pangs of regret I feel around the mailbox this time of year. Not to mention being more environmentally-friendly: another quite useful justification for not doing things.

Just some of the cards you won't be getting from me...

You know who you are...

To all my blog readers and FaceBook friends:

Thank you so much for the birthday wishes, encouragement and random comments you've sent my way. If I don't personally acknowledge them, please know that I appreciate each morsel and think of you when I read yours. In the ferris wheel of my life, commenting on comments is one task that I have to eschew, along with taking back cans for a nickel, brushing my pets and cataloging my knitting needles. 

So this will have to stand for my personal thank you and tip o' the ol' blogging cap to regulars, occasionals and even the lurkers out there in web world.

[Unless you're Kathi D., a blogger I've never met or spoken to who somehow got her own category for heaven's sake.]

manual red-eye correction

It's your birthday! Take another vicodin!

I can pinpoint the moment birthdays ceased to be exciting. November 13, 2007, when I turned 51.

My fiftieth was fantastic, actually: an all-nighter at a club in San Francisco followed by a tour of the wine country from a little inn in Calistoga. My (younger) boyfriend didn't freak out about my turning fifty (at least not that weekend) and my gal pals took me out for a wonderful dinner and celebration.

51 was unmemorable - I think Henry and I went to Red Robin. And last year on my 52nd I had a migraine and went to bed.

That brings us to this year. It started with an argument and tears about homework (Henry cried too). My eye is blood-filled (sorry), swollen and bruised and I'm spending the rest of the day in bed. Don't worry, I'm not alone: my cats and dog are happily lying on top of me.

But it's really not all bad. A friend came by with flowers, and she and other friends are bringing over dinner tonight. My facebook wall and blog comments are filled with best wishes, another compelling example of the power of social media. And best of all, the entire nursing and office staff at my eye doctor's entered the exam room this morning, sang Happy Birthday and presented me with a brownie and candle.

As my sweet doc said: "We feel like you're part of the family." Hmmm... Is that a good thing?

Potatoes? For me? You shouldn't have!

The morning after the night before

Ooo - a bit of suburban debauchery last night and the headache this morning to show for it. Plus I seem to have collected more boys - at this point seven of them, who I've cleverly locked out of the house. They keep pleading to be let in so I'm staying away from the doors.

Here's the yeti costume - the only photo I could get before the pillaging began.

The scary clown is his sidekick Gavin, mentioned occasionally in this blog.

My friend Amy as the Porcelain Goddess, with her golden toilet brush:

Bob with he-who-should-not-wear-an-afro:

Though the orange stretch polyester disco suit is quite fetching.

That's all I could  get before things started getting out of hand.

Miss Kitty vamping for the camera

  

A social caterpillar

I remember a time when I went out every night. Actually it was many times. I remember thinking if I stopped wanting to go to a club my life would be pretty much over. This was when I was in Boston, or NYC, or maybe LA, where that's what you did. Well, those days are long over, though my life seems not to be. So over, in fact, that I can't remember the last time I went to anything resembling a club. (Well, yes I can but that's another story.)

I don't even go out to dinner or drinks any more. Maybe once a month? That used to be a couple-times-a-week kind of thing. Much of that has to do with being single, as in solo. That may be the second thing I miss most about being in a relationship.

This is how I socialize these days: I stay home. Friends come by, usually one or two at a time. My single and even a few married friends love to hang out and drink wine while I cook, eat a grazing meal of cheese, olives, bread, apples and whatever odd sauce or chutney I have in the fridge, chat, watch a ball game or knit or just read the paper in each other's company. This happens several afternoons and nights a week. I like it because I don't have to go anywhere and I can keep some semblance of control over Henry. They like it for the family energy, the nurturing, the wine and of course my company.

I do get antsy, especially around Friday or Saturday early in the evening, when a change of venue would be welcome. But I love my compound, summer or winter, and I love to entertain casually, so it's all pretty good. This is how I've matured: I now know that going-out opportunities will come again, so I'm content to enjoy what I have right now. But I do have some wild memories of late late nights at dark loud clubs. I'd do it again, for sure.

Has she no shame, no sense of decency?

The perpetrator of this animal abuse shall not be identified (hint: rhymes with golly gee!) but she knows who she is. 

She claims she's reformed, but her previous behavior belies a pattern: minnie mouse, yankee doodle polo shirts, and who knows what else she hasn't dared to share.

 I'm starting a letter-writing protest campaign.

dead deer dilemma

Well, Kathi D might have her dead squirrel problem, but here in the forests of Central Oregon, we have a dead deer problem. Or at least my friend Tina does.

Seems a deer wandering through her backyard just curled up and died under a tree. The family discovered it yesterday and is at a loss on how to dispose of it. Suggestions are flying on Facebook, including several who think it could be donated for venison (it's only been dead about 24 hours.) Times are tough here.

Here's Tina's cry for help:

FREE BEER !! Yes, that's right. Just come over and help us move a dead deer from our back yard into the truck. That's all. Because ain't no one in the city of Bend or ODFW going to do it for you. Deer in your yard? Well, it's your deer now. But both agencies I called sheepishly said: "Well, if it happens to find its way onto a public road, then ...." The problem is GETTING A DEAD F%#@ING DEER INTO A TRUCK. Ewww.

Now that's living in the wild.

Of Mice and Monkeys

Now this is impressive:
 

Remember that little blogoversary contest I ran? Probably not. Well, I was very cleverly guilted in my last post into actually delivering the prize to the local winner, Chris K., a blog buddy. (I'd call him a bluddy, but that's not so cool, actually. That's his photo montage above, and I even stole his post title.)

For his patience, I tucked in a little surprise with the catnip mouse he won.

Its use temporarily stumped him, but he quickly figured out what it must be...

...a monkey poncho.

So now it appears that in addition to the whippet sweater and the poultrywear, I'm into simian wraps.

And you have another must-read blog to visit!

Knit one purl one; pass it on.

I've taught two people to knit successfully.

The first was a 15-yr old boy who lived across the street. What motivated him to learn were the other snowboarder guys who were crocheting hats on the bus to the mountain. Seriously. He would watch out his window to see when I was home from work and come over with his yarn and needles. He caught on quickly and we progressed through the steps to start on his first hat. Every couple of nights he'd appear at my door with a dropped stitch or other little goof he'd need me to fix, then go back home and knit. He finished his hat and we moved on to slipper socks. He had a grand plan of producing slipper socks and selling them to fellow students. He even got orders, but eventually other things intervened, like girls and a driver's permit. He's way too cool now to knit, but you never know, someday...

The other student I had was PJ, my boss at the time and a great friend. We'd work on her knitting at lunch hour. We got a lot of bemused looks and curious comments - knitting was not really that hip at the cellphone company. She started with a scarf and went on from there, joining the knitting group and becoming a masterful knitter. Here's her latest project:

I can't tell you how impressed I am with this.  I've been knitting for a thousand years and haven't gotten to where she is with this sweater. I will take the credit for starting her off, though. I hope that she'll teach two others and pass it on.

I'm not an agoraphobe - I just don't leave the house.

I have a reputation among my close friends as a regular no-show at social events, even when I've assured them I'm going to be there. It's clearly deserved - I've become a hermit. I just want to stay home these days.

I don't know why, and it worries me a little. Depression, social phobia, agoraphobia? None of those seem likely given the pharmacy of meds I take. I'm comfortable in groups, social, outgoing and chatty - you would never call me an introvert. I used to love going out. So what's going on?

I have two parties to go to this evening, and I'm dreading both. And these are very casual, fun events with good friends and kids - Henry would come with. I've told everybody we're coming, and back when I was invited, I really thought they'd be fun. But it tires me just to think about putting out all that social energy, and I am trying to think up excuses to stay home.

My only explanation is that I'm constantly "on" at work; talking, collaborating, negotiating, being up and positive and helpful. So I just want to withdraw evenings and weekends. The line I use on Henry is "you always have fun once you get there" and it's probably true. But honestly, I'd rather stay home, cook an interesting dinner, watch a movie with H and knit.

Is that so wrong???