(my)Passion

I think I was born hippie. Maybe it was the time (quite likely). Maybe it was the place (less likely).

When we moved here I thought I "knew" so much about race and inequality - and I was so wrong. It's much worse than I thought, and so deeply in us. We are so isolated in the north and surrounded by unrelenting whiteness, and so those of us who don't consider ourselves racist can pretend it's a thing somewhere, but after all rational people aren't like that and MOST people aren't like that. Right? And the problems in our own schools and lower income communities are simply about density and no jobs or...something. Right? Then you get here and the blinders get all ripped off - and this isn't even the deep south - and suddenly you're like "WHO ARE THESE HUMANS AND WHO THINKS LIKE THAT?" Then you dig deeper and discover the deeply entrenched social justice issues that affect everything from voting rights to schools - all aimed at keeping a group down, and keeping people riled up against one another - and...it's such a tangled mess. I'm living in a state with voting districts that are shaped like snakes and octopi. I am living in a state that's probably about to enact voter ID laws that will further marginalize the have-nots, regardless of skin color. I live in a state where a man can smoke a bowl, get out of his truck, and get killed; standing while black. I am looking to move back to a state that is deeply racist and pretends it isn't, which is super easy when your towns are 99.3% WHITE.

Then there's the planet. Poor thing. We get given this amazing gift and what do we do? Rape the ever loving crap out of it in a short-sighted gluttonous assault. We suddenly "need" meat three meals a day (not including snacks!) which is so destructive to the environment on so many levels from water use to land use for commodity feed crops that could be growing plant-based foods with 1/10th the water and land waste and we would be PERFECTLY HEALTHY - hell, we would be HEALTHIER!! But we continue to kill ourselves and the planet and the powers that be come up with new ways to compensate for those of us leaving the meat and dairy markets by touting Keto or Paleo as the new cure-all when the science clearly shows the exact opposite is true...the organism has subsisted on the planet for millennia with meat as a side dish, not a main course. And we are stuffing it with all this animal flesh and fat, while our cancer rates and heart disease rates continue to skyrocket. Sometimes in my more paranoid moments I think it's intentional - cut down on the population by killing 2/3 of us off with food. Last man standing, holding a carrot and a bunch of kale, wins.

Then there's the animals and the small humans - and I go back in my child-mind to the picture of Jesus from Sunday School, all white and blue-eyed, with his long hair and beard, surrounded by a rainbow of small children and small animals, dove of peace seated on his shoulder. "Suffer the little children to come unto me..." and "Whatsoever you do to the least of my brethren..." and ok yeah He didn't mention animals, but really. I have never been able to put the cow on my plate completely into a context that makes sense, and that's even harder now, having watched all these things...could we raise animals for consumption without ethical quandaries? Maybe. But that's not what we do now. What we do now are things that any ethical person, witnessing in person, would want to report to someone - immediately - to make it stop. BUT WE EAT THAT SHIT. And kids - talk about an abused group. Kids and old people - the groups we all say we care about, but never put our money where our mouths are.

And on it goes.

Trying to find "a passion" in all of this is like trying to choose which of your children to throw off the life boat first. "But I love the people and I love the planet and I love the babies and I love the animals and I love the snakes and the bugs and the birds and all the things and..." what do I do with all that?

Death and dying has been and continues to be very important to me, in the way birth is. The arrival and departure of a soul should be sacred; it should be an occasion marked not with solemnity, but with respect and awe. When we lose that we lose our humanity. Hell, we've lost our humanity.

I am not perfect. I fall, fail, make mistakes - but I keep open and willing to learn and grow and change. And I am seeking truth endlessly. I find nuggets and store them away, but hoarding does me no good - the nuggets MUST be shared. They must be spoken, they must be set free.

So what, then, is my passion, my calling, my "thing"? This has been a topic around here lately as we both wander through mid-life, coming to grips with the past, making sense of it, and moving into the future.

My kids, grown now, are still my passion - but in a different way. Now my focus needs to transition to their children. All I have learned, I can share with them. Make them all sugar free, flour free, and vegan, and get their parents breathing down my neck (insert evil laugh here). OK, maybe not - especially in a world where pizza and Pepsi are everywhere - but at least introduce them to the natural world in a way that creates awe and wonder and the reverence for all life that we lack - and if someday they chose to opt out of the animal-cruelty based food chain, then good for them. Teach them that all humans matter. Teach them that all animals matter. Teach them that THEY matter.

Outside of that, I feel like I need to find a crusade that brings all of my passion into play. Advocacy, which is ironic because that seed was first planted by the shrink last year, but I have not been able to find the path to it yet. I need....a foundation of my own, with an endless budget - I shall save the whole world! I suppose I also probably need to make enough money to feed myself, damned capitalist system. But I would so rather just give myself away to the things that ignite me. Who needs a paycheck when I am talking about restoring sanity and humanity?

For the time being, still lacking a clear direction, I want to get certified in plant-based nutrition (for which I require that green evil we all so depend on in the modern world). In my perfect world I would go back to school near-full-time, gain degrees in nursing, social justice, nutrition, education? I am not sure what best suits the rambling, incoherent path I seem to be on. Actually it isn't incoherent. I mean, at the core of all the things I am passionate about lies the same thing.

Seeing is Believing

Well. I almost have a heckuva kitchen. You may remember that I had this kitchen about 15 months ago:

(Be aware: if I come to look at your house and I eventually buy it, I will post pictures from various showings on my blog, with all your stuff in them. Also if you look at a house with that many microwaves and toaster ovens? CHECK THE MAJOR APPLIANCES!)

What is not evident in the images is that the wood was in horrible condition in many places, rotted in some, worn beyond repair in others. The appliances, original to the house, were not great - although they did turn on and off - and sometimes without anyone pushing a button or turning a knob. The cabinets were not really functional for modern living, and certainly not for a cook. I think that this kitchen was a bit of a space age, TV dinner sort of a thing really. But I don't live that way, and for me this kitchen was just really intolerable. Kitchen snob: I am it!

Then I had this kitchen which I felt I had for entirely too long:

Then very (very) briefly I had this kitchen:

And then this kitchen:

which turned out to be a big old failed attempt to retain some of kitchen one in a misguided attempt to save money and resources.

Last but not least, I had this kitchen:

Definitely not a big favorite, except that it paved the way for the kitchen I have now. Because now I have a totally different kitchen, which is not quite yet ready for a full reveal. But trust me, it's amazing!

I have also had, for a long time now, a microwave cabinet of forgotten origin. You see it up there in a fair number of those images. I remember that it cost me all of about $100, and I know I bought it specifically for use in our old-old house during our kitchen remodel there. Thanks to a slick real estate deal I was able to double my money on a piece of land by selling it back to the original owner for twice the price I paid. Long story - just never sell a piece of land you think you might be attached to, or you'll find yourself buying it back for a lot of money. Anyway, I used the profit to invest in our old-old house - I had both kitchen and bath completely redone. At the time we still had kids at home, and we lived for a few weeks out of this microwave cabinet. It housed a microwave (who saw that coming?), toaster, and coffee pot along with lots of paper plates and utensils, bread, and peanut butter. And coffee. Lots of coffee.

Since then it's served us around the house(s) in a variety of ways. It has been used to hold video game systems along side it's junior sibling - who is identical in all but size. It has housed craft supplies. It was used by Mr. W to hold his cycling DVD's and two small televisions for when he rode on his bike trainer in the basement. It eventually became the island in my 1950's kitchen nightmare, and then most recently was again put into use as part of a temporary kitchen during this latest kitchen update.

I have loved it's usefulness, but it's appearance has left me pretty flat for some time now. I preferred it hidden in finished basements or craft rooms. It's junior sibling, for example, holds my primary sewing machine so that I can sew while standing up - a boon for ye old sciatic nerve problem. Out of public view, it does not offend. But in public view...well, I guess maybe I am just over it. Love, love the butcher block top, but over the unfinished exterior and the big blocky handles and drawer pull. So I decided that in order to continue to use it in the new kitchen (it makes a great island!) it would need a serious face lift. Initially I tried staining it the same color as the cabinets, which proved to be a hideous fail. The color wasn't a match at all and - worst of all - the stain clashed pretty violently with the aged and heavily treated butcher block top.

I started with a splotchy and brush-stroke-laden coat of the gray paint I'd used previously on the old cabinets we tried to salvage - Benjamin Moore Satin Impervo. I liked that color a lot - I think it's a Martha color, Chinchilla, which handily can be dumped into any Ben Moore paint. The neutrality of it would, I thought, work well in the kitchen again. Then I distressed the gray with a series of power and hand tools. Specifically, I beat the hell out of it with, in no particular order: a pair of scissors, an ax, a wire bristle brush, and my little DeWalt random orbit sander. Then I covered the whole thing with a brown glaze using a sample of brown paint left from Girl's wedding birdhouses and a jar of Martha Stewart glaze. I brushed that with a Martha Stewart wavy graining brush, being sure to go out of my way to get as much effect and odd layering as possible, but no waving. I just wanted the brush strokes and the removal of excess that this tool offered. Once that dried I coated the whole thing with Zar Ultra Max waterborne polyurethane; another leftover from a previous project. Waste not, want not!

And now I love it. I wish the butcher block was squared and not rounded. That's my only complaint.

It's neutral, distressed, abused, and has me written all over it. I love the rudely and roughly filled holes, the sand marks, the chips from the ax, and the lovely uneven brown glaze.

In the middle of this amazing new kitchen, surrounded by perfect cabinets and pristine flooring and appliances, it somehow fits right in. Just don't look too closely at the underside of that butcher block. I may have gone a little nutty...

Now, to find perfect knobs and pulls. Ideally I want something salvaged and old, maybe from a dresser, and with that in mind I stopped in at Fat Chance today on my way home from the Depot (where I procured a host of items ranging from silicone caulk to one ivy plant for that rejuvenated Crock Pot that works and still has it's cord but for now I've decided is a planter and is that a run-on sentence or what?):

I didn't find knobs. But I did find things to amuse me:

An adorable copper fondue set! It has forks, and even an old Sterno ad tucked inside.

Bunnies! Primitive bunnies missing body parts but needing love.

The new kitchen counter top doesn't come for days and days. Between now and then I can work on a book,  install the dishwasher, plan a baby shower, and make some newborn diapers for said baby. And try not to count the minutes before I can give you a tour of the whole kitchen, and explain how, on a budget resembling a shoestring, I managed to get a whole new kitchen in a matter of about 5 weeks. It's a good story, I promise!

It Starts So Simply

Take Mr. W, for example. The man just wanted a nap. He come home from a hard day at the salt mines (nuclear plant, same thing) and just wants a little rest.

The boys miss their Daddy when he's gone all day, so they hop up for a snuggle. It's all sweet and happy and innocent.

But then it starts to change.

And before you know it there's a totally out-of-control melee in the middle of the bed, and poor Mr. W's nap has turned into a fit of grins and giggles as the boys completely lose it.

A free for all. All we really needed was the cat to make it complete, but he seemed to want nothing to do with the insanity.

Before you know it, they've worn themselves out, and it's back to normal - cuddle bug Bradley and aloof cat-like Yoshi on alert at the foot of the bed, watching out the window for squirrels and birds - lest they disturb daddy's peace and quiet, perhaps?

It's been that way with the kitchen project, too. 

One small thing starts off an avalanche of changes; some good, some bad, and all happening regardless of whatever brilliant plans we might have had in the beginning. And that's okay by me. God has a plan. I probably should have fewer, since His seem to work out better than mine. 

We've been here before, and it will all work out, and in the end it will be amazing. In fact, it's looking like it's going to be even MORE amazing than we'd anticipated! See, yet another reason why I should just stop making all these grand plans! I will miss these guys, my knotty pine pets. But it will be worth it in the end - you'll see!

I've been knitting a bit in my spare moments - those moments not consumed with kitchen design and swimming and dogs and planning my next book (What?!? Another book? Yes! Another book, but not for a year and a half, so no point in getting too excited just now!). A while ago we had an announcement of a most delightful nature presented to us in the most enjoyable way. In a kitchen full of people I love, just hanging out together and enjoying each other's company, I was handed an envelope and asked to open it and - if I could find the time - maybe make "some things" for the folks who handed me the envelope. "We don't need them right away - but in a few months..." they said. 

Can you guess what it might be, other than "stuff on my cat"? I'll give you a hint. The item on that cat is made from this pattern. (I used Northampton Bulky, if you're curious - one of my favorites, lots of good colors for this project, and snuggly warm to boot) And when I am done with this little project, I need to knit one of these - or maybe two, in case one gets lost? As Kathy pointed out, lost things of this nature can be catastrophic if there's attachment. So two of those, don't you agree? But identical to one another, just in case.

Today I got a special box from Meyer Hatchery. Seven little boys, all soft and fat and warm.

 

(browninsh Buff Brahmas, yellow Delawares and one big question mark in back)

Loud little peeping poop machines, really, but they are lovely to behold when tiny and wee. One is a bit of a non-performer and I don't think he will last the day. But that's par for the course, and I am not deterred. By fall I will be able to add roosters to my flock, and that makes me VERY happy!

I am so excited about the future and about life right now; watching things unfold and grow and happen around us and in front of us and to us. It's a pretty wonderful world, really! 

Ask Me Why

I have been asked "why" a lot since I started planning this wedding for my kid and her fiancee, the Gerbil who came to my front door one day and never went away. Oh, we tried to send him packing. The first time we met him was at my first book launch. I thought he was there with her friend Katie, and that was ok by me. Go ahead, Gerbil-boy. Date Katie. Stay away from my kid. Turns out he was holding Girl's hand behind her friend's backs in the photo of the four of them taken that day. The next time I saw him was when Girl tried to kill him with her car by driving it into the side of an SUV. Gerbil brought her home in his car after the accident. He opened the door for her, and followed her in. I took one look at his young face and thought to myself  "We are doomed. He's in love." Mr. Wonderful knew it too, in his gut, but I don't think he yet had words for it. He became instantly nervous, jittery, and cracked rude jokes. We even sent her to Indiana for a year to see if that would end it, but still they stayed together. 

One day he showed up here and said he needed to talk to Mr. Wonderful and I alone. He asked for our blessing - not permission, but blessing - in asking our daughter to marry him. We said yes. They didn't really give us a choice.

Girl recently sent me this essay, one she wrote and submitted somewhere and had rejected (FOOLS!! Reject MY kid?). It answers the "Why?" question perfectly. Why am I planning (and paying for) this wedding? Why am I not discouraging my daughter from marrying her first love? Why am I not 'making' her play the field a little more, to see what's out there? Why would I sell an arm to make sure she has fairy land trees on her reception tables? This is why:

If you're the sarcastic type of person I used to be, you'll go to that big old dusty book that sits neglected on the shelf and find the handy definition of love. You may even go so far as to memorize it in case any friends sigh into the air, "What is the meaning of love anyway?" According to good ol' Merriam Webster love is, "strong affection for another arising out of kinship or personal ties" and "attraction based on sexual desire" as well as "affection and tenderness felt by lovers; affection based on admiration, benevolence, or common interests" So love is easily summed up in a few sentences? Of course. Any feeling can be tied up in such a tidy bow. But on the cutting room floor lay the extra bits of love, the real meat behind the fluff, if you will. Shall we take a look at it together?

                Until about four years ago my whole life was filled with watching. I watched other hearts soar and invariably crash a few months later as attraction faded. I heard the word love bandied about by anyone from toddler to teen to adult and always with the same bitter end. Of course I had my examples of undying love too. My parents met and seem to still be falling in love with each other. But their love didn't interest me the same way the sporadic infatuations of my peers did. I wanted to know what the big deal was, why the burning indulgent flames that consumed them were so worth the hurt when they were properly doused by reality. So, when a sullen-looking young man with dancing green eyes started following me around I let him. When he started looking less sullen and more charming I decided to see if I could like him. When his eyes said he loved me I decided to see if I could love him back. Little did I suspect I already did.

                What started as an experiment has turned into a way of life. Suddenly the ups and downs of friends don't seem so exciting. In fact the quiet - steady love of my parents has become far more intriguing to me. Their love and mutual respect has been around since I can remember. I never really gave it any thought because to me it seemed as normal as the sun rising. Of course my parents had water-fights in the kitchen. Of course they giggled like children playing. It wouldn't be home if they didn't play tug-o-war over a dishcloth or a package of chocolates.

                While I could never find the words to tell the meaning of love I have learned a lot about its nature from watching my parents and from trial and error with my own love. It isn't a solid feeling. It doesn't run away or lose interest. Attractions and lusts can sometimes feel like love but they disappear at the first sign of effort. Love takes a lot of work which wasn't something I knew before I met this man of mine. It seems so effortless in movies, the bad guys are always proven to be bad, and the good guys always catch the train just before the girl leaves. But love itself isn't two actors reading from a proofread script. It's two people looking into each other and wanting to be around everything the other is. For better or for worse, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both draw breath from this earth.

                My favorite thing about love is how it grows infinitely. From the corny jokes to the long silences, I never would have thought I could be entirely myself with another person and actually gain their love and respect by doing it. Inspired by love I've learned the importance of absolute honesty not only with him but with myself. I've learned that patience is more valuable than being right. And that picking your battles is less about battling and more about realizing whatever the fight would have been about just wasn't worth it. You cannot build love together without building a life to support and nurture it, and let me say, it is a beautiful life to have. 

I can plan this wedding with soaring joy in my heart, I can stand by and watch my husband "give" my only daughter away to a man I have come to love as one of my own easily and with very little concern for the future of who they will become together. Oh, sure, they'll have their issues as we all do, but at the end of the day, what we were trying to teach them? Apparently, they got it. And they are going to be just fine.

It's That Day Again

We've come a long way from three Catholic martyrs to the mess I saw in Walmart (did you know they sell organic Sam's Club brand coffee?) on Sunday 

(not to mention the scary video from Vermont Teddy Bear), but...

Happy Valentine's Day anyway!

Here we will celebrate in the usual way, which is to say 'pretty quietly', also known as "not much". Sometimes at Mr Wonderful's former place of employment they'd sell flowers on V-day and he would bring some home. His gifts are generally met with concern and/or skepticism on my end. "Who drugged you? What did you do wrong? Please tell me these were free." One year I think he did the big dozen red long-stemmed thing, but I think I nipped it in the bud (heh, I am so funny!) early. 

I did celebrate, in a way. I bought myself a skein of yarn, which I am in the process of 

transforming into a gift (not for Mr. Wonderful. All that pink?). 

Yoshi approves. The yarn is Lorna's Laces Shepherd Sock, and the color is called New Beginnings. It's the February Limited Edition color at Jimmy Beans Wool, and I may need more of it. I think if it was not for all of this wedding shopping, I'd get some more, because I love it. Love the color, and love the name. It is perfect for this project, which you're not going to see until it's done.

I remember when I was a kid I did not like this day. First, I had to sign all those cards and lick the nasty little sharp-edged envelopes, and then I had to have a box on my desk decorated for the day, and then at the end of the day we all were suppose to see what we'd gotten. I always felt horrible for the girls and boys who got only one or two cards, and so the next year I would begin obsessing early - what if no one in class loved ME this year? They always did, my box was always heavy enough to denote inclusion with 'the cool kids', but I never understood how I was really that different from the kids who got only one, or two. I sometimes wished I got none so those kids would not be so alone. It always made me very sad. I so hope they don't do this any more. When Ravelry did it and my inbox was crammed with them, I panicked and thought "Oh no. Somewhere out there, someone got NONE", and spent the whole day trying to send one back to everyone who'd sent one to me.

I was recently watching an interview about Richard Simmons, famous exercise and diet guru and all around charming celebrity - admit it, you love his sparkly tush, he makes you smile - and the woman being interviewed said, in effect, "Richard doesn't see size or color or gender. He just sees people."

So if we get to have wishes on Valentine's Day, and we should, right?  Here's mine: 

For Valentine's Day, I wish the whole wide world thought like Richard Simmons. 

Also after Valentine's Day, too.

(p.s. - no flower fields or workers were harmed in the production of the above flower. It's made from coffee filters, using the technique found at Wedding Bee. The filters are oxygen cleansed, meaning no chemical bleach or whitening agents were used in their production.)

It's My Turn

And I know it sounds crazy, because you'd think writing a book is about me, really, right?And certainly it is, but it's not as if I get to wear the socks around the house. This is different. This (once it dries the rest of the way) is mine all mine and I can wear it any time I want.I didn't even have to write a pattern for the thing. It put no demands on me beyond "knit me."I'll give you the stats. It's Elizabeth Zimmermann's Seamless Hybrid and Seamless Saddle Shoulder, blended a bit. In the round, deep saddle shoulders, but the back neck sort of like the seamless saddle, but modified, and, well, it's done on the needles. No writing, no thinking, just knitting till it looked right and was done. There's a cable front and center, and back and center too.And not a single seam anywhere. Everything was done on one set of 36" long needles, no dpn, no shorter circs, one needle start to finish. The yarn is Berroco Ultra Alpaca, color 6280, Mahogany Mix, and I was on a US 7, and somewhere in the neighborhood of 5 sts/inch.I am in love with this sweater. And, it being February, and at the time I finished it still Sunday and therefore selfish knitting day, I cast on a February baby sweater with the remains. More will be revealed. I am hoping there's enough yarn for the sweater and the hat. I don't think I can get the leggings out of what I have here. Although. I do know where I can get more yarn...
In an attempt to recover from the blow of the septic problem (because my twitch just wasn't fully developed enough, and Gene's was becoming visible at last) we took the dogs for a snow walk. Dazee led the way as much as allowed, acting very much like a very young dog. Owen hates walks until we turn for home. He's convinced, I think, that we're taking him off into the woods to leave him at the mercy of the forest sprites who wish to torture him. When we came out of the woods and headed back down the road I discovered the most amazing thing. Dazee's little front legs act just like mixer blades in too-thick dough. They churn up big wads that attach to the back of her front legs until she can't walk any more, and slows...and then the big wad falls off and she trots to the lead again. I wished more than anything for the camera, because it just has to be seen to be believed. I laughed until I couldn't breathe. She was covered with little snowballs when we came in, so I hucked her in the sink and melted them off. And then it hit her, like a ton of bricks.Let the sleeping dog lie.

(Yes, in her bed that is indeed Cris the felted star-nosed mole. He's made of Amherst and Northampton, and I love him, but Dazee loves him more.)

PS - other mods: percentage incs and decs for hems and back neck, wrist and bottom hems done with provisional, neck hem done with K first st tog with backward loop of a stitch of the first round of said hem, combined the saddle with the hybrid to get a rate of dec on the raglans that appealed to me...I think that was it.

I Voted.

And no, I am not going to tell you who I voted for. As my grandfather always said, "That's between you and God", and I agree with him. What I will say is this: I am glad and proud today to be an American, to be able to get in my little orange car and zip down to the town hall in my tiny town in Western Massachusetts and cast a vote for the person/s I think most able to govern our nation and protect the freedoms I have (like voting, for example). As I stood in line this morning there was no political discussion or dissent. No placards on the sidewalk, no angry people telling me why I should vote for this or that candidate. It was just a fairly large group of townsfolk exercising their right to vote.

This freedom is, sadly, the one we most take for granted, I think. If the projections are right, only 54% of citizens will vote in this election. Fifty-four percent. What does that say about who we are as a people, as a nation? Would only 54% of us claim our tax refunds? I know many are disillusioned in the process. We do not trust the candidates, and they've never really given us good reason to trust them. We think "What difference does it make?" But what we fail to remember in disillusionment and dismay is that we have in us the power to change that. What if 100% of adults in America voted? What if 100% of Americans understood, deep in their hearts as I do, that this "right" we so take for granted wasn't always ours? It hasn't been for that long, you know. In 1870 the right to vote was granted to former slaves and non-whites. 1870. In 1920, women gained the right to vote. That's not even 100 years. Tax evaders gained the right to vote in 1964, and the age of 18 was declared as the official voting age in 1971. What if 100% of Americans went to Project Vote Smart, did their research, and cast a vote for the candidate who's record most closely matched their own political values? What if 100% of Americans put their feet down and said "enough is enough" and demanded true, real, deep, honest change in our current political system? What if?

We, the People. People died to give us the right to say that, and mean it. We, the People. We should all remember, respect, and honor the sacrifice of others by making the choice to vote.

OK, now for some less serious stuff:
Dazee Goes Visiting on HalloweenLove Never EndsDazee guards the slider to the deck, where the birds have been committing hara-kiri all week. If someone knows of a way to deter them from flying into my windows, I would love to know it.Free Birds.Hydrangea. Love these things. They should be brought in and arranged.Hysterical. Love. It Itches. Franklin Habit Rocks.Kumquats. There's now about 16 flowers open on the tree, and it smells like an orange grove in full bloom in here. it makes me very happy.Someone is moving in for winter, I hope. It would be fun to take pictures of him all winter long.Someone else is getting ready for winter, trying to clean up the disaster left by 5 or 6 felled trees. He needs an assistant. I am so busy swatching and knitting and writing. I feel bad. Of course he gets to play with his chainsaw. I think that helps!

I am going to go swatch, and then cast on a moebius.

Low Maintenance Woman

Mr. Wonderful is a lucky man. First, I was willing to wait for years before getting legally married - although I have to say that my views on the involvement of government in marriage are a little biased against, so it wasn't that much of a hardship, but still. I mean, we knew we were married from the get-go. We just neglected to inform the government, pay a fee, and stand in front of a complete stranger and say words out loud. But I did want the party, and the ring. Second, I shop at the Salvation Army whenever possible. Third, I will relentlessly pursue a deal on a vacation, or a car, or what have you. Fourth, his lunch is made nearly every morning and neatly packed into his lunch box. Coffee is generally on tap as well. Fifth, I do not ask for flowers, tokens or jewelery (well, not with any regularity. I did ask for more diamonds last year, but twice in 17 years and the second time as a celebration for writing a blessed book is, IMO, not very often). If you are broke long enough, it becomes a force of habit to recycle baggies and tin foil, and slap the hands of people reaching for paper towels when there's a drawer full of rags. This is not to say I am without cost - I have a cell phone, and I did demand satellite internet and a car that shifted when I told it to. However, taken as a whole I am cheap as heck and darn proud of it. It helps that I spent the majority of my childhood surrounded by Depression-era women and most of my adult life living hand to mouth, or worse. I think he must know how lucky he is, because Monday he came home with a present for me, something he knew I coveted deeply, the ultimate gift for the woman who beats her former type A self into submission on a regular basis yet dreams of a spotless house and cupboards that rival those in "Sleeping With the Enemy". A LABELER OF MY VERY OWN!!!I made a label. This was the first. And I think there is a gesture under that hat (he hates being photographed) but we'll ignore it because we are SO happy to be able to LABEL EVERYTHING!! I made more after this, but I won't force you to sit through a series of images of labels announcing things like "CAT", "DOG", "BIKE", "CHAIR", etc. Now that the (stinking, gross, 88% humidity, only a lizard could love this) weather has relaxed it's grip, I can spend the weekend labeling everything in my kitchen. I cannot wait. Can-Not-Wait!!
I sat in the basement and waited for the heat to go away, and worked on this while I did so. See, I can't tell you what it is yet. But soon. Very soon. Just, trust me...it's so awesome! I am going to start Flow for myself today, hopefully completed before Mr. W. and I go to NY.
Oh. Girl is officially going away to college in the fall. This is a good thing, but a sudden decision, so we're all adapting. We'll make it work. We're not sure exactly how yet, but we're going to make it work. She's gonna be awesome!
I broke a toe yesterday. It was...interesting. Boo got up and came over for love, and I was petting him and walking at the same time (in a bit of a rush, really, heading for the sandbox), and he was blocking this large base on a partition in the basement. I felt it hit, baby toe, left foot. I heard a craaack. So did he, and he jumped. So now I have a 100+lb nervous dog between me and the bathroom, in a fairly tight space. And if I freak him out by, say, screaming, it is likely that he'll step on the toe, or the other foot, or something that will likely result in my being hurt more, or might just scare the daylights out of him, which is never a good thing. So I reverted to Mommy form, calmly spewing monologue, "Well. That is pretty painful, if I do say so myself. Yes, indeed. So, Boo, can you move, so momma can get by you? Because, you know, momma's pretty sure she's about to howl and you're going to be pretty scared if you don't move sweetie..." There may have been swearing in there. Yeah, probably swearing. Within an hour or so it was all puffy and gross. Today it's less gross. I'll tape it to it's next neighbor and move on. Baby toe, phew. Could have been much worse.
Chicken news - I ordered a dozen eggs from eBay (who knew???). I got 6 Welsummers and 6 Auracanas. If this works out, we'll order more of a larger breed in the spring; I am hoping for Delawares which are one of my favorite breeds. Or I'll just order chicks. The plan is to expand the chicken outfit and have two houses; one for layers, one for dual purpose birds (that means meat for those of you who are not in the know - the squeamish may make faces now).
The brown are the Welsummers, the blue are true Auracanas, not the Ameraucanas we've got now. Auracanas are adorable, true tufted, rumpless birds with big mustaches. They lay blue. The Welsummers lay a rich terracotta colored egg. I put them under Eleanor and put another dozen in an incubator that Girl bought me (I love these people. Perfect gifts for mom: labeler and incubator). After about 36 hours of faithful egg-sitting, Eleanor looked around her, tipped her chicken-head and said "Hey. Wait a minute. Didn't I just Do this?? This is DUMB. I don't want to SIT here for three more stinking weeks. Hatch your OWN eggs, lady!!"So now we're got an overstuffed (not really, but it feels it) incubator in my office, right next to:
five old babies. Ancient!! SMELLY!! Soon to be moved outside to a brooder house with a heat lamp and more space!! Note: four heads are carried fairly low. One head is up above the rest, looking intently at the camera. File this under "How to tell hens from roosters". Also - um - the girls are all starting to get odd little puffs on top of their heads. This is not bad in and of itself. It does mean their father is probably Bedhead. And it means they may have...uh...bedheads. Hope that's ok with Mr. and Mrs. Betsy. Especially since they're not pure-breds? This may be the most bizarre looking group of hens ever. You can still change your minds, and see what comes from the next hatch. But I say, go big or go home. Who wants normal looking hens when you can have something truly spectacular?? The talk of the neighborhood! And Polish lay like banshees, as a rule. Eccentric is totally the new cool. Right...?

Diary of a Kidnapped Knitter, part 3

Monday, January 28th
Today is Nassau Day. Land is good. Land is life. We had 15 foot seas overnight. I did not know it was possible to feel so nauseous and not be pregnant. We breakfasted at Tritons before getting off the ship. Note Mr. Wonderful cleaning his hands at yet another station. They are everywhere. All the time. I am so clean I squeak.
We went through the charming customs office in Nassau in no time and headed out onto the streets. I had a moment in which I saw something that looked a little like nirvana - a Starbucks. Now, I am not a Starbucks addict, but I am a latte addict and I had not seen a latte in a week. There's this thing, a skinny latte? I love it. The words "Skinny cinnamon" just fall out of my mouth and my wallet falls open every time I see a mermaid in a green circle. I walked into this Starbucks and asked for a skinny cinnamon.
Stare. "wah??"
"You know. A cinnamon dolce latte made with skim milk and sugar free syrup?"
Stare. "We don't do that."
"Um. Can you do anything with skim milk?"
Stare. "We only got whole milk."
The idea of whole milk just made me want to...uh...you know.
Forget it. I quit. I will die from latte-less-ness. I will be found on the deck of the Wonder in a pool of tears, sans latte. Fine. Whatever. We shopped a bit in Nassau but found the prices to be more than we'd pay on the Mainland. We did get a teddy bear with color changing feet and a t-shirt that changes color in the sun for Girl. There's no grass in Nassau, only concrete, graffiti, and dirt. It appears that poverty is rampant.
Since shopping sucked, we decided to walk down and grab a ferry to Paradise Island and check out Atlantis. Ferry. Boat with flat top, and plastic lawn chairs not nailed to deck surface, and maybe 8 life jackets for the assembled "guests" - there were about 20 of us.
While we waited for the boat to fill (they don't cast off till it's full), I watched this guy clean conch shells, make holes in the end, and blow into them. Kinda cool. Not cool enough for me to get off the rocking, bouncing ferry, though. The water on the Nassau side where the cruise ships dock was filthy. Foam egg cartons, empty mazola jugs, soda bottles and cans, and just general goo coat the water's surface. As the boat casts off, an extra person hops on and gives a "tour" of the ride across. He does not, he says, work for the ferry company. He works for tips. It's how he survives, he says.Once on Paradise Island it was like we'd been swept back to Disney World. The chaos, poverty, dirt of Nassau was replaced with snowy white benches with mosaic tile inlays, green, lush grass, immaculate resorts. Everything is pristine, and there is no sign of the poverty of the streets of Nassau. We passed another Starbucks. I tried again. "Skinny cinnamon". Just re-read the bit from above. Repeat of the same experience. "Huh? A wah??". I could die here. With no latte. It won't be pretty. Mickey has it in for me where coffee is concerned. First Fountainview Ice Cream Bar, and now ports with broken Starbucks.
Mr. W. played Triton-Wanna Be at Atlantis, and we wandered around and looked at their aquarium a bit. Then he blew $30 on video poker. At one point he was up by $85. He didn't tell me or I would have hit the cash-out button. I hate gambling. I hate casinos. I hate watching people who look like they're down to their last dollar running for an ATM. I hated the opulence of the shops in the face of what I'd just seen in Nassau. I hated the yachts parked outside. Luckily Mr. W. wasn't particularly enamored either (losing repeatedly right off the bat is disillusioning, and a pouting wife totally doesn't help one's mood, I am sure), so we split and headed back to the ship.
It was at this point that I sent Katy an instant message, at around 1:30pm, which contained the words "cruise sucks." So far I'd tossed my cookies all night, listened to the annoying clack of loose trim in my cabin between visits to the toilet, been saddened to see what the great resort Atlantis has brought to Nassau (think Norwich, CT, only the locals have fared much worse - no one paid them fair market value for their huts.), watched my husband 'donate' $30 to Atlantis, ridden a ferry with a tour narrated by a man in desperate need of dental care, a shower and a laundry mat (in no particular order), wandered through overpriced shops, and been turned down by not one but TWO Starbucks in my request for a nonfat ANYTHING.
Things were growing desperate. I turned to my Navigator, that insightful listing of all things cruiseish. That's when I saw it. "Cove Cafe: offering a wide selection of specialty coffees..." I bounced off the bed and ran for deck 9. I walked in the door. I said "Can you make me a latte, but with skim milk and decaf?"
"Yes, ma'am. Would you like a flavor shot?"
I could have cried with delight
He, server who's name I forgot and who got huge tips on top of the automatic 15% gratuity Disney smacks on beverages, he saved me. He gave me a Cove Fanatic card (buy 5 specialty drinks and get the sixth free). I loved him.
We had reservations for Palo, the adult's only restaurant for that evening. This was awesome. They do sort of push booze on you, and this was one evening where I wasn't sure if it was beverages or the boat moving me. There was a lot of free this n' that in glasses with dinner. Dinner was excellent, and our server was great. We cleansed our palates with a mixture of vodka and limoncello (hic-cup!) and left.
See that picture up there? I have no pictures of us together. We go to Disney and they take them, and we don't buy them because they're like a million dollars for an 8x10. On the ship I think they were like $39.95 for one picture. Pictures are posted daily in this place called Shutters where you can buy your prints right off the wall. Or...if you're cheap and sneaky...you can take pictures of your pictures!!! MWAHHAHAHAAAA!! Nice try, Mickey! Gotcha!
Back in the room, a bunny waited for me, resting with some chocolate mints. Now if only the ship would stop MOVING. All night, up and down and up and down...it will never end.
Tuesday, January 29th
Sunrise over Castaway Cay. We've stopped moving. I knew when we slowed to dock. I ran onto the verandah to watch. I'd been awake watching my eyelashes grow and feeling my stomach slosh. Get me OFF this boat.
Donald Duck at the post office on Castaway Cay. We mailed post cards to Girl and Number One from here. I still don't think they've arrived.
The Flying Dutchman is anchored in Castaway Cay, and Captain Jack Sparrow does a meet n' greet first thing in the morning. We missed it. We had a different objective in mind.
Love this sign. Really you should read it and know that they're serious, about all of it. I know of at least one person stung by jellies during our trip.
We headed straight for Serenity Bay, the adults only beach. Notable differences between this and the main beaches include the presence of adult beverage servers walking up and down all day, the absence of children, and the large number of unocupied beach chairs and hammocks. We staked out a spot and settled in. The water was cold, but the sun warm. A dip to cool off, then find a chair and...
Well. Ahhhh...We stayed until sometime in the afternoon, then headed back to the ship to rest and get ready for dinner. I could have stayed on Castaway Cay for the rest of my life.
Wandering before dinner we spotted Pirate Minnie signing autographs outside Triton's. Pirate night on the ship means...
It means they put a handkerchief on my head folded like a hat, and sell me a $5. pirate glass that lights up so that when Aidan visits he can be amused, and the menu is a rolled treasure map with pirate themed dinner selections.
Another picture of a picture. Getting sick of that dress? Me too. Although "dress up night" was only supposed to be one evening, pre-dinner wanders indicated otherwise. Next time, bring more dresses. Next time?? NEXT TIME?? AM I JOKING??
During dinner the stewards and servers engage in a rollicking game of limbo with the guests. There is dancing, yelling, and waving of pirate-y handkerchiefs. A deck party follows with dancing, imperlied crew and shipmates, a daring Mouse, and finally fireworks.I retired, and found an elephant. Maybe, I thought, since we're at Castaway Cay tomorrow, maybe they'll just let the boat sit here...maybe??Nah. Too easy. I spent another sleepless night listening to the trim and contemplating the rolling of my stomach. This cruise is just way too much fun for me...
Wednesday, January 30th
Once up and moving, with the ship sitting still, this whole cruise thing isn't half bad. Castaway Cay is amazing. There's lots of activities on and off board. We hopped off the ship as soon as the door opened and headed onto the island. We rented bikes, rode for about an hour then shopped in the shops on Castaway Cay where locals sell some of the same stuff you can get in Nassau. We got Girl a t-shirt and me a bracelet. Then, back on board, there was Palo brunch...



With it's dessert buffet, fruit and cheese buffet, antipasto bar, and bread buffet. This is washed down with complimentary mimosas (one per customer) and followed by soup, egg dishes, full entrees and many offers of more mimosas (um. thanks. no. you see I am tired of feeding the fish, and I'd like to eat and be happy for a few hours). We rolled back to our cabin for bathing suits and headed off for Castaway Cay again.
Mr. W on Castaway Cay relaxing with a fruity adult beverage. MaiTai I think.
Fish we saw while snorkling. We saw more fish, or I sort of saw being blind without glasses and all. Snorkeling was fun, and would be more fun if I could see better. Nest time there will be contacts.
Castaway Cay's barrier reef from the ship
Image from the tower on the bike path on Castaway Cay
Cairn. I placed a stone. This means I have to go back. Maybe I could swim out.
Once back on board we indulged in a one hour Exotic Rasul spa treatment. I shall not, for the sake of any young readers, detail this escapade. I will only say this: if you are ever in a spa and someone offers you a private steam room for two and a ton of product with directions for each, TAKE IT. I think it was $81, not including tip. I walked in cranky, a little sunburned, and a little tired of being sick and tired. I walked out catatonic, but in a good way. I did not know you could be that relaxed. We tried to wander the ship, but in the end collapsed in deck chairs in little puddles of exfoliated, mudded, frangipani oiled goo. Only drawback - while we were in the spa we shoved off from Castaway Cay. I knew it the moment it happened. I said "We're moving agian." Mr. Wonderful felt nothing. But I knew. When we emerged Castaway Cay was no longer on the horizon. This is our last evening on board and our last restaurant change - Animator's Palate where everything stats off black and white and bright, and changes during dinner to dark and colorful. Even the waiters vests change.
Back in the room, my final animal waited for me. A peacock. Or a turkey...either way I loved him.
Another night of delightful motion. Tomorrow we disembark, or debark as they say around here. I cannot wait to be in my car.
Thursday, January 31st
It is over. I can leave. Hallelujah. LAND!! LAND HO!! We docked in Port Canaveral. Our scheduled breakfast was 8:45 at Animator's Palate - things run differently on the last evening, and breafkast would only be served in that restaurant at that time, or you could get something at the Beach Blanket Buffet. I just wanted off. Mr. W. agreed. We went to Beach Blanket and...oh my. Is it possible?? Yes, it is. Disney failed me in the food department. This buffet was nothing short of repulsive. I got some grits - tasted like chemicals. Scrambed eggs? Tasted like...just nothing like eggs. I grabbed some fruit and a banana, and tried to choke down some decaf. We finished as quickly as we could and headed down to debark, expecting chaos. We walked right off the ship, had our cards slid through for the last time, and headed for baggage claim. A porter approached us and asked if we needed help. I nodded toward Mr. (CHEAP) Wonderful, who said "SURE!". The porter grabbed out bags and within five minutes we were at our car. Joy. Great joy. Now we can drive for three days. And you know what? I am TOTALLY ok with that.

Phew. I am done. No more scary trip reports. Well, until nest week, but that one may have some knitting involved.

Oh, and about 'next time'? Um. November 2009, 7-night on the Magic, sailing to Grand Cayman and Cozumel. With some anti-barfing techniques and drugs. Once you're home, and you've got time to think, all you can see in your mind is endless blue seas and beaches, dinner at Palo, and the inside of the Vista Spa, and you've got no choice - re-book or die.