"Where We're From" Revisited

I finally got the prints I'd promised my sister of photos I took last summer in Ireland. Only six months late. As I browsed through the gazillion I took, I came across these that I'd taken the day we climbed up through squelchy, mucky fields to the graveyard, with the cousins, to snoop around among the ancestors.





They reminded me of a long ago post called "Where I'm From". There's a list of mine, Rise's (The Little Blister) and several others, on my sidebar. Take a minute to read a few of them if you missed them first time around. Then, if you're as enthralled as I was when I first found it at Daysgoby, click on her version (it's on the list) and click on the link at the bottom which will bring up the story of how it all started, as well as the template for anyone who'd like to have a go...

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As time goes on with a blog you lose some early commenters and gain new ones. I loved reading each and every one on that list. Now I'd like to add versions of "Where I'm From" by the bloggers I've only come to know more recently. Blogger seems to have obliterated all my earlier posts, including this one, which makes me very glad I made that list!

Foxgloves on the passage above Uncle Willie's

                                                                                 

So I'm Challenging -----------Relatively Retiring, Secret Agent Woman, Pauline, Persiflage, Smitonius and Sonata, WWWoman, Friko, Dianne, Elephant's Child, StitchinByTheLake, Random Thoughts, Susan Kane, Murr Brewster, One Woman's Journey  and anyone else who's up for the challenge, to tell us "Where They're From." 

How about it Ganching?"

Remnants of a holy well (I think...)

A Loaf of Bread and Thou, or, Failing Thou, A Cup of Tea.......

It was a grey and dreary weekend. These poinsettias soldiered on outside, but I hunkered down inside where it was warm and cozy. Sewed and knitted and puttered. But then I felt peckish, and realized I had no bread. I'm not a big bread eater, so when I do buy a loaf it sits and sits and sits after the first few slices....and I often end up throwing the moldy remains in the rubbish bin.......Unless.....

Unless I bake it myself! Sticking my nose out the door, I decided that baking it myself was the better option. The quickest and easiest to make is Irish Soda bread, but I was in the mood for something different....Something dense and crunchy and yummy.

 I was in the mood for Raisin Walnut Bread. I still have the original cutting from the Montgomery, Alabama newspaper. Fragile and yellowed with age, it has a few years on The Bean.

The date says March 7th.1985, which means the OC was on a year-long school assignment in Montgomery, and had his clown posse with him. I shake my head in disbelief these days at the number of moves we made during his Air Force career. If I could be that age again and know what I know now, I'd never do it, but I can't, and I didn't, so we did.........

The recipe is from Cecily Brownstone who was The Associated Press food editor at the time, a name my brain links with the likes of James Beard and Julia..... and a time when there were a few, revered names in the culinary world, a time before the time when any dog or divil could slap a tall, white hat on his head and call himself a chef. (Don't I sound like an old fossil!)

Raisin Walnut Bread differs from soda bread in that there is some yeast in it. Every time I make it I can't believe I don't make it more often, it's so easy. The ingredients are simple---yeast, water, whole wheat flour, butter, sugar, salt and lots and lots of plump, juicy raisins and crunchy walnuts! And kneading that silky dough is so soothing to the soul!

The danger is I'll eat it for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and blow off the whole "balanced meal" idea. But I've been good. I've only eaten it for breakfast (well, once or twice for a snack...) And now there's just a tiny heel left. You may call me Miss Piggy....

Yesterday I bought a baguette to make a sandwich for supper, because raisin bread doesn't lend itself to sandwiches,  but now there's half a baguette languishing. I guess I'll have to plan on garlic bread in the next few days.  Meanwhile, where's that Irish soda bread recipe?

Love is.....

Ecstatic phone call from California Girl last week.....

"Guess what? Fourth place in that cattle sorting competition!"

She'd never even done it before, just entered for fun. Fourth out of thirty four teams. She almost fell off! So proud of her boy, Chevy, who she's trained from a tiny colt and who performed "beautifully" according to his proud mama!

Please note the matching hairstyles!

Doing Absolutely Nothing.....

TED talks don't rule my life. But they often remind me of ideas I've had, of things I want to do, that then get buried under the constant onslaught of new information and new ideas. That, and the hum-drumminess of life which allows for limited time to go chasing rabbits down hundreds of different holes. So it was with the one I watched the other night. It was by an Englishman, a former Buddhist monk, looking, I have to say, very hip and un-monk-like in his bright blue, muscle-hugging shirt and tight jeans! But, I digress....

 "When was the last time you spent ten minutes doing absolutely nothing?" he asked the audience.

And went on to expound for ten minutes himself on the benefits of making time, every day, to do absolutely nothing for ten minutes. He didn't call it meditation. You don't need to empty your mind, or sit in uncomfortable positions on hard floors. All you have to do is "nothing." For ten minutes. How difficult could it be?

I tried it tonight. I lit a candle and turned out the lights (I was going to do this right!) Then I lay down on the couch from which my up-ended supper of a few nights ago had been thoroughly scrubbed, wiggled my tail feathers a bit until I was thoroughly comfortable, and set about Doing Nothing.

I think I'm going to make a habit of it. I lay there in the flickering glow of the candle and thought about the very tasty supper I had just eaten---poached salmon with steamed spinach and Brussel sprouts (I think it was Smitonious who planted that seed in my head!), emphasis on non-inflammatory foods, in a dietary effort to help with the Great Unclenching---because I refused to let the bone crunching chiropractor within an ass's roar of my bones again. He had his chances, two of them, and no improvement.
 Not even the merest whisper of butter was used in the cooking of fish and veggies both. I felt downright virtuous! Of course, if the menfolk were here they'd look askance at steamed spinach and would run a mile to get away from the sprouts. There are some benefits to being alone a lot of the time!

I watched the flame jumping in the melted wax, throwing crazy shadows on the ceiling and thought about my frustration last night at not being able to watch Downtown Abbey.
"Lady Mary!" said Pat as I left work last week. "Don't forget to watch Lady Mary on Sunday evening!" Through the trials of The Clenching, and The Supper Dumping, I clung to the light at the end of the weekend---Downtown Abbey"  on Sunday night. I live a simple life. But it was not to be.

I hardly ever watch television when I'm here alone. There is quite enough entertainment going on in my head at any given time. But on the rare occasions when I do want to watch something, it's not unusual for me to run into problems. I have been agitating for years for a return to simplicity. An "on" button to turn the blasted thing on, and an "off" button to return to peace and quiet. I have never quite mastered the intricacies of the five hundred remote controls that litter the coffee table. I pressed various buttons with no success. I called the Bean on the phone and he did his best to maneuver me through the necessary steps, assuring me it was easy, I'd done it hundreds of times before, and holding his head in his hands, I'm sure, at my tales of which buttons I'd pushed. I felt sure that I'd pushed enough buttons to have been teleported to the kitchen of Downton, but no. That's not apparently how it works.

Disgusted, I gave up. Anyone who fills me in on what was said to whom, by whom, particularly any exchanges between Lady Grantham and the moneyed American visitor, will have my eternal gratitude. Meanwhile, my world did not come crashing down......

I was getting sleepy....Such a comfy couch. And then I was back in the tiny town near the border with Northern Ireland, and shyly walking in to the staff room at the Vocational school where I'd been hired as a P.E. teacher. Being given appraising looks by one sexy siren of a teacher who saw all new females as competition.....And then me and Miriam were walking back up the hill to our new digs with the widow lady who was to become like a mother to us, and us like daughters to her.....

And then my eyes flickered open and I wondered where I was....The candle had burnt down quite a ways. It had been a very relaxing ten (wink, wink!) minutes of Doing Nothing. Definitely recommended for stress relief.  I think I'll do it again tomorrow!

Hedging My Bets

Had I known what kind of a day it would be I wouldn't have bothered getting up.

Made pancakes in the morning but forgot to put the oil away. Not only that, I forgot to put the cap back on. Later in the afternoon I noticed the open bottle and went to put the cap on. Cursed arthritic wrist! Sent the (mercifully plastic) bottle flying across the kitchen, with me diving after it, but not in time to stem the flow of Canola oil all over the kitchen floor. Mopped as best I could. The Bean was off helping Nick the Greek to buy and plant bamboo. Left a large scrawled warning sign at the scene of the crime so he wouldn't skate to his death when he came in the door....

And slunk to the sewing room. How much damage could I do in there?

He came home by and by, engaged the cat in some silly conversation, and a bit of wrestling, and didn't skate to his death across the kitchen floor---due in large part, I think, to my thoughtfully scrawled warning. I emerged from my sewing room (where I had, indeed, done no damage) and started making supper noises, but no. He is quite taken with his cooking prowess these days and was heading back to Tampa to make supper there, so don't worry about him.

Hmm. I chopped a shallot, and some mushrooms and red pepper, mixed it all with leftover chopped chicken and some rice, and yum! Supper for one! I usually insist that people eat at the table, but I granted myself a dispensation, this one time, and carried my plate to the couch. Because I am so clean, and everyone knows I would never make a mess........The first forkful had not reached my mouth before I knocked the plate over, spilling its contents all over my lap, the couch, and the carpet.

The jury is still out on whether I'll get up, or not, tomorrow.

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Easing Gingerly into the New Year (with a little moan on the side!)

2013. Ten days in and all is, more or less, well! Happy New Year to all my bloggy friends.



5:30 a.m. and I'm sitting on the porch, in the dark, hugging my coffee cup, staring at the stars. My Stargazer has returned north after spending a week with us, so I have no idea which stars I'm seeing, but they sure are pretty and they sure are bright.

I can hear the hum of the world waking up, the distant murmur of traffic, the trundle of the garbage truck, early birds whizzing by in their cars on their way to work....But that's all in the distance. Here on the porch, it's peaceful and quiet, all dark tree silhouettes, velvet sky and glistening stars. I hear a cricket off in the bushes---yes, it's that warm! Should we worry? Headline in the newspaper yesterday ---"It's Winter, Right?"---over a picture of tourists baring their bones at a local beach.

"What an early riser!" you're thinking admiringly? Not! I'd rather be sleeping! Put it down to a stiff neck which makes sleep elusive,  even tossing and turning out of the question. Wah, wah!
Diagnosis: wimp. At the grocery store yesterday I stepped out of the way of a young woman in a wheelchair, her face permanently contorted with pain. Reality check. If I were in her situation I might  have something to be grumpy about! I've told the children already that, if and when my conversations start to be mostly about aches and pains, as The Prince's famously were, it'll be time to take me out back, like Old Yeller, and do the deed.

On a positive note, I've read three books since Christmas (see "on my night table") and thoroughly enjoyed each of them. And I've started knitting socks, 'cause the good lord knows I don't already have enough projects underway, and when a friend asked me to join her it sounded like a good idea. Yup. Almost a week and I have two inches done. Stiff necks do not make for speedy knitting!

Today is oldest grandson's tenth birthday! How that happened or where the last ten years went is a mystery to me......but Happy Birthday to you Tommy! Please try not to turn twenty as fast as you've made it to ten!

And before the month is out there should be a new grandchild in the picture. Brit Boy and the Lovely Natalie are about to provide a sibling for Little Brit Boy! No word yet on girl or boy, which gives me fodder for procrastination.....Do I make a wild guess and start a girly quilt (oops! Is my bias showing?? Four out of five so far are boys and while we love them all, it would be nice to bring a little balance to the picture!) or do I start two quilts----one for a girl and one for a boy---so I've got all the bases covered? And I know all you super-organized quilters out there are aghast that I don't already have two quilts finished, folded and ready....I'd shrug, if it wouldn't set off torture, and tell you it's too late for me to change. I need that down-to-the-wire thrill to do my best work!

The sun climbed higher as the ghost of a fingernail moon sank behind the trees. Time to ice again--- chiropractor's orders---the only way I would ever willingly put ice on a body part!  Between you and me and the wall, I'm not 100% sure it's a great idea to hammer on ancient bones with something that sounds and feels like an attack by an enraged woodpecker, but I'm in wait---fingers-crossed---and-see mode.Time will tell.......And then, groan, I must try to motivate myself and my stiff neck to wrap up all the tree ornaments and stash them away for next year. Fun, fun, fun!

 But first perhaps, a wee nap?

Thinking......

Rodin's the Thinker, a photo by kitamaria99 on Flickr.

I was up with the larks. The day was just beginning to crawl out of the east. The fruit had been soaking overnight in expensive booze. No procrastination---I'd start right in! Deep breaths, but first----coffee, and get the eggs and butter out to warm, all seven of the one and three sticks of the other....Christmas is not a time for dietary caution! Oh, and what about a nice bit of brown soda bread, slathered with butter, for breakfast?

Right, ready to roll. Three and a half cups of flour, done. Baking powder, done---careful not to mix it up and do baking soda instead, as has been known to happen.

Big swig of coffee. Thinking---it would be so nice to see the Ohio boys for Christmas......They're growing so fast, the teen years are looming! But Ohio? Cold. Brrrr!.

Next, salt and nutmeg. Whisk everything together. Feeling like a domestic goddess here! Thinking----how did it get to be the 22nd. of December so fast?? Tomorrow already the OC will be home! And please God, let that all-important letter be in the mail today for The Bean!

Onto the butter and the sugar. Beat together 'til light and fluffy. No problem. Thinking---- the shame of it all! Yesterday, the realization I hadn't sent even one Christmas card sent me scrambling to e-cards.

"What?" says the Little Blister on the phone...."no nice, hand written note?" Hanging my head in shame...."'Fraid not!" As she cackles across the distance---she's no better herself!

In go the eggs, one at a time. Even broke each into a little custard dish first. Wouldn't want the disaster of the seventh into the bowl being the dodgy one. Scrape down the bowl after each. Busy myself with drying dishes in between. Got to make sure they're well mixed! Looking good. Thinking----too bad England is so far away. It would be so nice to see them for Christmas, especially now that little grandson is nearly four, and about to get a new brother or sister!

The bowl is ready, the oven's hot. Spoon the lusciousness in, smooth the top.....Thinking.....Hope California Girl won't be too lonely.....Hope her package arrives to her in the Boonies on time!...Thinking.......Thinking----It's a little too smooth. What's missing?

Bloody hell!

The Fruit! Where's the fruit? If it was a snake I'd be in trouble---right there under my nose! 'Tis a fruit cake you're making, woman! When were you planning to put in the fruit?

Mess and daub. Extricate the batter. Stir in the fruit and try again! Hope there's no harm done.

In she goes, for better or worse.  Thinking.....It'll be so nice to have youngest and oldest sons with us on Christmas. Two out of five is not great, but we'll take what we can get!

Ah! There's the buzzer! Let's go see.......

Ta, Ta! None the worse for all the thinking!

I wish you all a very Happy Christmas! I'm holding out for Peace and Goodwill all around myself!

Black Friday's Best Deal

 Of all the holidays, I like Thanksgiving best. I love the idea of it, of families converging on one spot to feast together and give thanks for all the ways in which they are blessed; To enjoy their connection with each other and, admittedly sometimes, tear each other's hair out. Don't get me wrong. I prefer when there's no bloodshed. But it was quiet this year,  no opportunity to test my theories, or to enjoy a crowded table. We did talk by phone and e-mail with those we were missing, and gave thanks for the blessings we do have.

The media have not managed to destroy Thanksgiving.....yet.......as they have Christmas. The focus of the day is still on family, roots, gratitude and home cooking, and whether I'm expecting two or twenty [in my dreams!] I always  prepare everything,  turkey,  stuffing,  gravy,  mashed potatoes,  sweet potatoes,  cranberry sauce, pumpkin pie....oh, and coleslaw. Except this year I forgot,and  duly heard the plaintive cry of "Where's the coleslaw?" The OC roasts the turkey outside on the grill, having soaked it overnight in an apple cider brine......scrumptious! 

But, the very next day it all starts to go downhill. And this year they didn't wait 'til the next day. The madness started on Thanksgiving evening. Black Friday, they call it. Black Friday is not over this year until December 3rd! My response to the shouting and hollering on TV is to turn it off. My other response is not to go within an ass's roar of a store for the few days after Turkey Day, my own small protest against the greed and commercialism with which the media defines Christmas, and the weeks leading up to it.

 

So, while crazy people were heading to the stores on Friday, we headed to a state park on the other side of town. We hadn't been there for a long time and were pleasantly surprised at how high the water level was compared to our last visit  Pleasantly surprised also to have the place to ourselves. Everyone must have been at the store!

But, we weren't completely alone. It was a beautiful sunny day and the birds were busy foraging and enjoying the sunshine.

I was in my element, squishing about in the mud, trying to reason with this pair of sand hill cranes, to pull their heads out and co-operate so I could get a decent picture.....

.........when, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the OC, waving excitedly, and gesticulating for me to come see

this.

Looks like --- a log?

Someone's lost umbrella?

Oh, Mr. Gator, what big eyes you have!

Just a little guy, six feet the OC estimated.

The cranes, at least one of them, finally co-operated.

But, the gator stole the day!

You've Got Mail

Letter Writing, a photo by denisetakespics on Flickr.

I got two letters in the mail yesterday.

I did a happy dance, right there at the mailbox.

"So?" you say, "What's so special about two letters?"

Don't you get it?

Letters. You know, where someone takes up a pen, finds some decent writing paper and starts with "Dear Molly." Someone you actually know --- mom, dad, aunt, niece, cousin, sister, friend?

Well, let me put it another way....

When was the last time you got a letter in the mail?

Yes, I know all about e-mails and texts and two hundred and seventy five friends on Facebook and
tweeting and twittering, which I leave to the birds....But when was the last time someone wrote you a letter? Addressed to you in someone's unique handwriting? To only you, not everyone in their "contacts" list. And after they wrote it, they looked up your address, then found an envelope, stuck a stamp on one corner and a return address label [of which we all have millions] on the other, then carried it to the mailbox and dropped it in.  All this in addition to what was written between "Dear So-and-So" and "Love from Such-and-Such."

Yeah, that kind of letter!

It doesn't happen much anymore. Which is why I did my happy dance. You would too, I'm sure. And two in one day? That called for a Tango and a Cha-Cha!

I made a cup of tea, got through the junk mail and curled up on the couch to read, purring like a cat.

The first was from Kimmie's mom. After I wrote the post about Kimmie, I decided to drop Sarah a line. Our lives have drifted in different directions now and are pretty much reduced to a card at Christmas. But I wanted to let her know I still think of Kimmie and remember her sweet smile. She said it meant a lot to have someone talk about Kimmie and remember her. Even though her life is full now with two grown sons and seven grandchildren, there are not too many who remember, or even knew her precious daughter.

The second was from Marilyn, a friend I've know since before Lily was born. When my dad was dying and I had to rush home to Ireland from California, it was Marilyn who stepped up and helped the OC take care of four month old Lily. You don't forget that kind of gesture. Now that our children are grown, we regularly e-mail, and swap books and interesting articles, but once in a while, because we're unashamedly old-fashioned, we sit down and write a real letter.

End of story?

No.

Do you believe, as I am more and more inclined to, that there is no such thing as co-incidence?

My e-mail last night had a new set of TED talks. One of them was by a young woman, Hannah Brencher. Her talk was on Love Letters To Strangers. You should watch it. It moved me to tears.
I watched it several times and each time noticed an idea or phrase I hadn't picked up on the first time. It made me remember how good I used to be about staying in touch through letters, and how lazy I've become. It made me realize there are people in my life who are very are important to me.

Important enough to write them a letter?

"You betcha!" as they say in Minnesota.

And now, would you like to join Sarah, Marilyn, Hannah and me in a happy dance?


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Four Decades Later.....

NaBloPoMo?

What NaBloPoMo?

Who said that?

A little glitch in computer operations and my NaBloPoMo plans were scuttled.

No matter. I was starting to feel the strain. And I do need to clean around here once in a while. And cook. And do laundry.  And show up for work two days a week. And sew. And knit. And read.  And try not to commit catricide.....

So you see, NaBloPoMo was not meant for me. Phew! I feel better having had a few days away, though at the time I was fuming. And embarrassed when the Bean showed up on Saturday, and revealed how simple the solution was........You don't need to know. I feel humiliated enough! In my defense though, I have not made much of an effort to educate myself on the inner workings and mysterious random behaviours of my computer......Because......... the menfolk, who are occasionally around here, know it all, so why clutter up my head when I can call on them? I need that space for other stuff. And after all, they call on me to sew on buttons and fix ripped seams.

I have no ambition to be a renaissance woman who changes her own oil and tires, trundles around the garden on the John Deere [I did try once. It was not a success] or understands how computers work. I admire women who do it all, but since there is limited space in my head, I'm holding out as long as I can before I'm forced to join them.. I believe in a division of labor. If they'll set the darn thing up, I'll do the blog work. I think that's fair, don't you?

So now I'm back in the saddle, so to speak, and not a moment too soon. Today is the day my oldest child turns, I can't say it -----four decades, cough, splutter, choke!

She has a much better approach to it all than her mother....

"Mom, age is all in your head!" And of course she's right. Anyone who can run a marathon as frequently as she does is certainly not over the hill.

Except, I'd really like to look now as I did, back then, when she was born.

I remember the pale pink, onion skin paper I took with me to the hospital, and the letter I wrote on it to my mother, pouring out my soul and my feelings for this tiny new person who had been entrusted to me.  Were they mad, the Gods, or whoever was in charge of such things? Did they know how little I knew about babies? How could they be so irresponsible? And yet I loved that little scrapeen [all 9lbs. 3 ozs.] of humanity with a fierceness I'd never felt before.  When I took her home to Ireland for the first time I eagerly asked my mother if she still had that letter I'd sent her in the very first flush of motherhood. She didn't have it. Could hardly even remember it. I was crushed that what was so important to me wasn't to her. But it wasn't that she didn't care. It was just that she wasn't sentimental, as I, for better or worse, am. My poor father was forever lamenting the papers, or whatever, that he had "left right there!" and she'd come along and "tidied them up," and more than likely burned them at the end of the garden!

Put it down to the raging hormones, but one memory I have of holding her and cradling her in my arms while still in the hospital, is of looking at her tiny ring finger and breaking out in sobs at the thought that some day, some young fellow [turns out he was just learning to walk at the time] would come along and whisk her away from me. Yes M! I'm talking about you....Congratulations on finding her!

So, to the beautiful girl who started me down this path called motherhood ---

Happy Birthday Lily!

Here's to the next forty....aarrgh!.

And the hell with NaBloPoMo.

A Walk by Lake Arrow

Starting out from the hotel gate

One of the reasons I went home to Ireland this summer was because I was invited to a cousin's son's wedding.  I had met the groom only once, when he was about twelve. His parents were living in Paris at that time and we were living in Stuttgart, a few hours away, and one of the Meddling Aunts in Ireland decided we should use the opportunity to get to know each other better. We did, and  became good friends.  Thank you, Meddling Aunt, now deceased.  

A bend in the road. Possible retirement bolt hole?

 I have grown weary of missing family events --- weddings, births and funerals --- so off I went, crossing my fingers that the world here would not cave in in my absence. To my surprise and delight, life went on just fine            without me. Being indispensable can be a heavy burden!  

Flowers by a cottage door.

The wedding was in Co. Sligo, in the west of Ireland. We went a few days before, and stayed a day after the wedding. It was in a rural area where there were many beautiful trails and boreens for hiking and walking. I took full advantage, not being much of a party animal and not knowing too many of the other guests. I can make small talk and hang about in hotel lounges only for so long before I start looking, in desperation, for an escape route. 

Flowers in a ditch along the way...

One afternoon I escaped for a walk by Lough Arrow. After I'd  walked a mile or two, my cousin and her daughter caught up with me in their car. 

They parked it at the top of a very steep boreen that wound its way down, at a murderously steep angle, to the shores of the lake. Not being, either one of them, athletically inclined, they would have driven down, but the car just wouldn't fit. We stopped in to a little chapel nearby, strategically placed so one could bolster one's courage with prayers before attacking the slope!

Thus fortified, we paused to admire the view before heading downwards.

                 It's steeper than our smiles would lead you to believe! I still have the scars on my toe...

                                                    But it was a beautiful day, a beautiful place....

And I've got nine other toes....

We passed some farmers in a field busily gathering in silage, feed for their animals for the winter. All over the country farmers were scrambling to get it done.

Eventually we were down to shore level and came to this peaceful scene.

By now M and C had had their fill of exercise and fresh air. I wanted to continue on by the lakeside, especially since I knew there was a ruin of an old monastery further on.With my penchant for exploring what my mother used to call "old piles of rocks," giving up now was not an option.

Irish sheepie (for you, Anna!)

Since I stayed up late with the rest of the country watching the election results, I have to catch up on my sleep, but I'll be back tomorrow to take you to see some piles of rocks....

Jousting with Knitting Needles

It looked for a while as though the circular needle was going to win.  I need absolute silence in order to count out stitches for the pattern. And absolute silence has been in short supply around here [see last post.]  So, if you must breathe, please do so as quietly as possible......After a few rounds, before the pattern was well enough established, I made several mistakes which meant I had to un-knit in a backwards direction, always a barrel of laughs [growl]. Because I am not my mother, who, when she made a mistake, would unceremoniously pull the work off the needles and rip it back to the source ...Ouch!

 I had to  dispense with the circular needle, at least temporarily, and toil onwards [but first backwards] with a set of double pointeds. I have decided I'm not going into the business of making baby hats.

Someone at work recently became a grandpa for the first time. I wanted to make a little gift for the baby, something that I could whip up in a couple of hours; something that wouldn't take a bundle of nervous energy. So much for that idea! But I'm on a roll now. The Bean left early to decide who should be our next president, and thence to classes, so silence reigns. The cat is around here somewhere, snoozing and breathing very quietly. It is drizzling outside, but quietly. Ideal weather to curl up inside with a good book, or in my case, with some needles and yarn.  Fingers crossed......

Much later: I did it! But I'm not sure it was worth the bother. I think I'll stick to quilting.

Heavy Sh*t at the Heartbreak Hotel

CrossFitRoots Lift Heavy Shit Night 1, a photo by CrossFitRoots on Flickr.

Have you noticed? The, so far, not-so-feeble attempt at NaBloPoMo? I can last for a week, that I know. But a full month? Only time will tell. No pressure, I tell myself. I'll just let it evolve, and if it happens, it happens. If not, why I'll gather my pathetic ambitions about myself and exit stage left.

Meanwhile, it wasn't writing a blog post that was on my mind this evening as I wrestled with a 16" circular knitting needle and a ball of blue yarn. I used to knit Aran sweaters when I was young, for heaven's sake, and here I am, closing in on my dotage, losing the battle with a mere baby bonnet! Those Aran sweaters were made on two needles. I'm new to this circular business and not adapting well. But, since sewing the pieces together was always my least favourite part of the process, I'll struggle on for a seamless product!

The Bean was sitting on the other couch, oblivious to my struggles, his brow knit in concentration, attention fixed on his computer screen. Studying? No. Googling? No. Writing a suggestion to the staff of the university gym? Yes!

For a little back story ---We've been nursing a broken heart here for a few weeks. And what does a real man do when a little wisp of a girl rips out his heart, throws it on the ground, then stomps all over it?

Why, he goes to the gym and "lifts heavy sh*t!" How else can he deal with all these bewildering emotions, especially when he has no experience of them? Rejection? If we lift enough heavy sh*t, and sweat a lot, and then lift some more heavy sh*t, and sweat some more, maybe the pain will go away.

So a lot of time has been spent at the gym lately, lifting "heavy sh*t." Trouble is, Taylor Swift, singing in the background, is not helpful when attempting to lift really heavy sh*t. It's alright the first time, but by the tenth time, brain cells are dying. Real men need heavy bass, angry rock or even, God help us, rap, to help them lift heavy sh*t.
The Bean had had enough. Time to e-mail the gym staff with a few suggestions.

"Please get rid of 93.3FLZ! I have single CDs with more variety than this whole station! You have a contract with them, they're being paid, and still they play ads? Very few people like the music, hence all the i-pods on the gym floor. Here's a suggestion; Get rid of 93.3 and put in a juke box. Then students and staff could listen to music they actually enjoy while they work out.. Please do this! Brain cells are dying! Thank you."

Meanwhile, prior to my struggles with needle and yarn, in consideration of his emotional struggles, I had been very patient and zen about the obnoxious music he'd been playing while lifting even more heavy sh*t out on the weight bench by the pool. Even though it was killing my brain cells.

 Mine, apparently, are expendable.

I guess it's all a matter of perspective.

A Foggy Morning.....

When I woke up this morning the world was muffled and shrouded in fog. I like fog, just as long as I don't have to drive in it. I climbed into something half a step up from pyjamas, located my camera and set off for a wander. I thought you might like to see a little of the work we made for ourselves with the aforementioned chain saw massacre.....

There'll be lots of vroom-vrooming in our future.

The OC paid a visit recently, hopped on the John Deere and mowed the meadow. That's why it doesn't look quite as much of a wild-life preserve as you may have been led to believe.

I'm not sure what this weed is called but it sure is pretty.

He even mowed a path through the trees.

Back by the Buddha's Belly I spotted this little lad...

And, perched higher up, the little lady you saw when you started reading this.

Underfoot was a carpet of pine needles.....

It's certainly no Botanical Gardens back there, but I always find something to marvel at....the symmetry of a pine cone for instance. Does Fibonnaci get a look in here?

And how about this waterlily, blooming unheeded and unheralded among the damp and decaying vegetation at the lake behind us, to which I crossed through the neighbours' gardens? 

(It was early; nobody would see me in my half a step up from pyjamas ---but I reckoned without Molly --- yes, Molly!--- the neighbour's dog, who even though I tried to tip toe softly past, heard me, or felt the vibrations through the pine neeedle carpet and set to howling.)

The surface of the water was still as glass;

more miniature marvels were hiding in the grass---

Mother Nature had even taken it upon herself to jazz up some neglected pots with a daisy chain of Virginia Creeper....

By the time I circled back home the sun had burned through the fog and the day was brightening.

Since I wouldn't even know one end of a chainsaw from the other (and have no desire to learn) I decided it was high time to go back inside and make some coffee.