just to keep up

Frank had another visit to the animal shelter, which is quite swank. It has a row of bronze cats out front, donated by the public art group, sculpted by a local artist. I guess this is their final home; I've seen them around town at other venues.

Here Frank recuperates from his car ride and various pokes, prods, and shots:



Every day, or most days, I watch the beginning of The View, just to see what the resident Far Right Base representative on the panel has to say. Sure enough, Ayers, Ayers, Ayers. I really don't know why I subject myself to this, but it's better than tuning in to several hours of Fox broadcasting to try to understand if they have a grasp on just what the citizens of the United States want. Just look at the sheer numbers of people at Obama's rallies in Missouri. Anyway.

I've started another knitting project, a sweater in Rowan Calmer (such a great name for a yarn, cotton with some acrylic, to help it keep its shape when knitted up). This is the Daily Sweater from the new Mason-Dixon book. I had a heck of a time interpreting the beginning, though. There is a mistake in the directions that I had to take time to solve. Once started, however, and the charts that they use are puzzled out (which didn't take very long), this is a breeze to knit. It's knitted from the neck down, too, so I'll be able to control body and sleeve length. And it's in the round: my favorite kind of knitting.



The color is not this oatmeal, but more a mossy gray.

I'm trying to remember to bring my camera with me when I go out, but so far it's not been at my usual departure point.

HEY!

somebody stole all the Obama/Biden signs in my neighborhood! But, oddly, all the McCain-Palin signs are still standing. What can this mean? Does that idiot think by taking away the signs, he's taking away our votes?? Well, it gives me an excuse to go down to campaign headquarters to get more and maybe donate a bit extra.

Here are a couple, just because:

I was gone

for a day to Nashville, to the twentieth annual Southern Festival of Books, held here:



where I enjoyed a highly entertaining presentation by Julia Reed, Newsweek writer and reporter, of her book Ham Biscuits. She actually made a very boozy milk punch and some crab mornay canapes and passed them out to the fifty or so of us in the audience. What a great raconteur. Later, I was assessing a copy of another of her books at the big tables holding books by all the participants (quite a list), when I felt a tap on my should and it was she. We had a nice little conversation.

Then I went to hear Mason-Dixon Knitting's Ann Shayne and Kay Gardiner showing the ACTUAL GARMENTS from their new book


I also walked the block to the Nashville Public Library, which features this wonderful rooftop garden. It must be a hidden gem, because there were only two or three other people there:



A look from the outside, in to the Children's Room of the Library:



looking up, catching the sun's reflection:






Ubiquitous Cat in the Hat, mugging it up. It was almost 90 degrees F, so he/she must have been sweltering in there, but seemed very cool on the outside.

Thursday theme: hands

I'll tell you something
I think you'll understand,
Then I'll say that something,
I want to hold your hand.

-J. Lennon & P. McCartney (1963)

A very slight meditation on hands:

L has very expressive hands; indeed, she is famous for her flying hands to punctuate whatever she is saying. I love watching her use her hands when she plays the cello.

My mother's hands were always painful for her. Her rheumatoid arthritis was a constant companion. Originally misdiagnosed, she suffered needlessly, but nonetheless continued her handwork as best she could throughout her life.

I like to think about the power of hands, especially when I'm using my flat, firm hands in yoga to hold myself up.

I started to think of all the phrases: a hand up; hold your life in your hands; hand out; a hand to hold; hands to work, hearts to God.

As I am typing this, I'm listening to Orlando Gibbons' O Clap Your Hands, sung by the group Chanticleer . . . a coincidence?

here is different group, singing it:



And another group; Happy Birthday to you, John:

I couldn't resist

Frank, of a Sunday afternoon . . .



in repose . . .



Today he is off for his first round of shots. I weasled out of taking him. He went away without complaining or yowling or trying to escape or scratching—like some other characters I could mention.

Theme Thursday: Mailboxes

There is a post with some lovely mailboxes on it, and it brought back a flood of memories for me. These boxes are like the ones that I saw nearly every day in college, back when everything not spoken was typed, mimeoed, or hand written. The other day, I was looking at an old art history book, and out fluttered a little typed schedule of classes from my senior year, with my adviser's name in the upper right. I remember crisp fall days, angling across the green, headed for the old PO, whose downstairs was the domain of the Latin professor, with her ancient cat in her lap. The upstairs was, if I can recall correctly, atticy and dusty, not used for much. Or am I misremembering?

Remember what it was like in a world sans junk mail/catalogues/credit card offers/invitations to free estate planning dinners at the Outback . . . ? (Back then, there really weren't many credit cards at all. Remember Diners Club?? Does it still exist??)

We receive thank-yous from nieces, and Christmas cards, but not much personal, physical letters, handwritten. My great-aunt was a legendary letter-writer; she used a typewriter and, frugal person that she was, typed up to the very very edge of all margins. Actually, her letters were marginless. She was also a great card sender, especially with scenes of cats (not photos, drawn) dressed up and doing things like playing cards, or having a birthday party.

After my mother died, I found a big box, full of correspondence from my grandfather to my grandmother, letters, postcards, all kinds of things. He would write her everyday when he was away, doing county agent work for the state they lived in. There were letters from my mother, too.

Perhaps we should all send a card or letter out today, in honor of Theme Thursday . . . Who's on your list?

baggage

A few days ago, while reposing on this very table, Frank revealed an ugly truth about himself.



Or rather about his person. To be brief, Frank has brought along some baggage in the form of several fleas. The vet sold us something I'm not crazy about using, because these are some very harsh chemicals, but we put, as instructed, two drops on his skin at the back of his neck. He looks a bit chastened here.

The two other cats have received a similar treatment.

Many years ago, several states away now, we lived through a flea infestation. Not pleasant. Not at all. And difficult to deal with, let me tell you. It's better to nip this particular parasite in the bud sooner rather than later . . .

Other than that, though, Frank has adjusted without the bat of an eye. Bear is still in the throes of heartbreak, but is getting better. She can now stand to be in the same room with Frank, sort of, for a minute or so. Throughout the day, Frank enjoys many feedings of Fancy Feast, with a little milk in a bowl. He plays with some toy mice and enjoys a handknit or two to bite one when feeling frisky.

New Post

Mother Pie just commented that I need a new post, which is coincidental as I was just about to put up this quote by a somewhat controversial Native American author, originally from:

I will tell you something about stories,
[he said]
They aren’t just entertainment.
Don’t be fooled.
They are all we have, you see,
all we have to fight off
illness and death
-Leslie Marmon Silko

It's something I am dwelling on, while holding a kitten on my lap.

Frank is earnest

I got word yesterday that Frank would need a home sooner than I had thought. We went over to the shelter, where I made arrangements to foster him, until it is time for him to be, as my mother would have said, altered. At that point, I can fully adopt him. If I had left D at home, I would have come home with another cat and perhaps a dog. But D wasn't having it.

Frank had been staying with my friend, who has a dog and three other cats. The shelter had put out an emergency call for help, so she stepped in and fostered two 3-kitten litters, bottle-feeding them. So Frank is quite well socialized.

I had thought I could pick Frank up from B, but the shelter is pretty strict, keeping tabs on all the animals they foster out/adopt out, so we had to go there. Yesterday, they had many, many cats, the majority of them black or Tuxedos (they even had a top 10 list of reasons to adopt a black cat; if you can, please do so!). They also had a rabbit and a ferret, cohabiting a cage.

Frank fits in immediately:



A miracle! They all enjoy and share!!

but watch the video for true sounds emanating from a couple whose noses are squarely out of joint. They also gobble up the kitten chow, as if doing so will eliminate its intended consumer.

specs

I have gotten new glasses, very thick frames, which still don't quite seem to fit properly on my head. They have graduated lenses, which has me moving my head up and down quite a lot. I need to go back in and get them adjusted.

This would seem an easy task, just an annoyance really. But the glasses lady scares me a little bit. She seems to see the need for an adjustment as the wearer's personal shortcoming. She runs the front of the house, so to say. She is there, seemingly in perpetuity, but the the optometrist changes yearly. The last one seems to have left after an affair with the hairdresser down the sidewalk ended his marriage (I know this, because the person who cuts my hair at a different place told me). Before that, there was a woman. Preceding her was a humorless man, who had an assistant. No more assistants, though.

I remember when I got my first pair, in high school. What an amazing realization to see that the leaves on trees had a distinct outline and separate colors! My mother had resisted my getting them, partly because I think she saw anything glasses as a failure on a personal level and partly because finances were so tight. I think because of that, I still have that pair.

The green pair are magnifying ones, for getting out of tricky knitting mistakes. Sometimes I have to wear both pairs at once, especially if I am fixing something at the same time I'm talking to someone else or watching something on TV.

teacher epithet questioned

Well, I just returned from parents' day, and I must say, I would not refer to that kind and expansive young man who is trying to drill some math into some teenage skulls as either old OR a "douche bag."

I enjoyed sitting in each of her classrooms for an attenuated version of her day; I'd say she is pretty lucky to have that group of individuals as her teachers. But she won't realize that for a good long time . . .

Just a thought,

but I don't think referring to your math teacher as a "douche bag" is going to help matters any, do you?

a little bit

This blurry picture didn't come out very well, but I think it's very interesting as a testament to determination. This spider must have spun this web, which spans the sliding glass door to the deck, last evening/night. I know she did it then, because yesterday afternoon, she was in almost the same spot, and D carefully removed her, thinking she'd spin where he decided to put her. Back she came, though, to set up again. I haven't moved her, but she sure picked an inconvenient spot. I hadn't realized that she would have a territorial aspect to her nature.



Just a few examples of my towel/dishcloth frenzy. The greenish/willow is linen and it is a mate to a grape one; the others are cotton. The cotton is from a regional producer in North Carolina, which makes me feel good about keeping my dollar somewhat local (although I had to darken the doors of Wal-Mart to purchase it . . . compromises, compromises).



I got the patterns for the cotton cloths from a crafter blogger.

By the way

over the years I've been following various blogs, I've been bookmarking them via RSS and then they appear on my browser's sidebar. Slowly, that sidebar has gotten built up and messy, with some blogs disappearing into the mire, everything confused and rumpled, looking not unlike a certain teenager's room . . . but now blogger has this Follower capability. I simply pasted all "my" blogs into that feature, and there they are, in alpha order, telling me when someone has put up a new post. It's so orderly and calm in there! Very beige and neutral. That's what I feel, anyway.

I chose originally to be anonymous (I wonder why . . .) but you can let someone know you are following them. I think I'll go in and do so.

Thank you to Gumbo Writer for introducing me to this.

Theme: key

The used key is always bright.

—B. Franklin

And necessary to start up many adventures.



Many years ago, we were surprised when my brother-in-law invited us to a resort where he had once been a groundskeeper, in the upper Keys in Florida. I had never been in this area before. During one day there, my mother, D, tiny baby L, and I drove all the way down to Key West. A revelation at the end of US 1. It seemed like a piratical version of a New England town. Bikes and chickens. A sign: Warning! Marine life beyond this point.


D and I returned to Key West another year (with L, who got around in style in a stroller), and in fact couldn't leave because of a snow- and icestorm that covered most of the East. It turned very cold one day, a record I think. Could it have been 40 degrees? It seems that it was, and a restaurant or bar had a fireplace stoked. It was a very strange, liberating feeling, knowing we had to stay somewhere we really didn't want to leave.


A map key is useful, especially in another country entirely . . .


A keystone is key; otherwise, the entire enterprise might crumble.


Postscript:

Just as my fingers on these keys
Make music, so the self-same sounds
On my spirit make a music, too.

—"Peter Quince at the Clavier," Wallace Stevens

Birthday

a.m.



p.m.

Birthday list

Today, L is 17! In honor of this momentous day, she has put together some of her favorite things. (I'm using the time to remember her sweet babyness. Helen, I think you know exactly where this photo was taken!)

favorite books:







favorite songs:







favorite tv shows:








favorite movies:







favorite people:

Return

I had a yoga class this morning, after an entire summer in hiatus. I realize now what I would be like if I hadn't been practicing yoga at all these past nine years. Creeky. Stiff. Unwieldy.

Getting down on the mat, and focusing on that rectangle and my activity on it was liberating. I hadn't felt that sense of calm and centeredness in many months. It's a paradox to be in the body and working hard, and outside it, too.

We had an extended period of Shavasana; I almost felt that complete thoughtless, weightless point. Almost.

Bear's favorite napping spot, from which she can keep a regal eye over any proceedings in the backyard, and still beat a hasty retreat inside, should that white cat or some interfering dog happen by:

Thursday theme: wheel

I don't know why, but the first time I saw the Thursday wheel theme on both ched's and kim's blogs I thought about Tibetan prayer wheels. I'm not a Buddhist, and I've frankly never seen a prayer wheel until looking at them online, and only vaguely realized they were even Tibetan, but I'm been drawn to them since this invitation to post about wheels.

There is a digital prayer wheel, but I'm not sure who is responsible; it is not enough I think to be merely intentional in thought.We need to send prayers circling, hugging, as well as aloft, as lighting a candle does for me usually. A lot for me to consider . . .

Dyeing

That -e is important, isn't it?

I spent all day Saturday and all day Sunday in what was the cafeteria of an elementary school that is now a Community Center, at a dyeing workshop. They are doing some great things there; there is a huge community garden out back, a little library, all kinds of studio space, too.

Actually, I spent a good deal of Friday there, too; I was on hand to help set up, which meant covering the entire floor of that cafeteria with sections of what used to be, apparently, a gigantic plastic banner that hung down the side of a building and was cut up for painting, dyeing, etc. workshops. Plus covering every imaginable surface, and some I hadn't, with painters' drop plastic, which comes in a roll à la plastic wrap.


Above, some of my skeins, photographed atop my work.

My table partner dyeing her skein; mine is to the right. Both of us felt very tired after all of this, and I was under the weather yesterday. Dyes are quite toxic, and Lynne, our instructor, is very sensitive to the fumes. She had to absent herself from they dyeing room for a while. Interesting that this is what she does, but has to work around heightened sensitivity.


My dyeing partner also brought me a gallon of milk from her cow and a pound of butter she made! The butter is delicious; the milk I'm going to use to make another attempt at cheese.

Fleece set out to drye.


Our instructor, Lynne Vogel, giving a spinning demonstration. I haven't been at my wheel for months, so I am still very much a novice . . .


A bunch of stuff I dyed, hanging up out of reach of Bear and Soul. We did a couple of silk scarves, which was fun, as we just dribbled the dye over them.


Close up of spinning . . .


I don't think I'll be dyeing much on my own, but P had put a deep sink down at the studio for dyeing, so perhaps I'll have more done. I did get a large hunk of mohair bouclé to do something with, but I might use Koolaid (which, by the way, has some surprising stuff in it; you may want to rethink ingesting it).