The Gears Begin to Turn

Winning easily for Type of Prizes You Want:
First is "lots of surprises."
Second is "crafting accessories / tools."
Third is "yarn."

~~ Duly noted. ~~

For the past three nights, I have had dreams heavily featuring Hugh Laurie.

Heav-i-ly.

I have taken this as a sign that, perhaps, he should be one of my KH nominees.  Unless, of course, Terry --- have you already claimed dibs? 

What Lies Ahead

Over the weekend, preparing to turn the calendars to August, I began to think about Knitters' Hunk and Knitters' Chick.  First, what about prizes?  Here --- let's practice our voting, and you tell me.

Second, who am I going to nominate?  I keep sort of a running list, and my KH possibilities are up to eight now, and KC possibilities are four.

Third, who are the Hall of Fame inductees going to be?  I'm the one who announced there would be yearly inductions, so I'd best stay with that program.

So very much to do. . . 

Back and Forth

For several days in a row, I've had crushing headaches.  There are so many headaches that people have probably long since stopped paying very close attention to me when I talk about them.  Honestly, it would probably be more newsworthy if I didn't have one.  The last several days, though, have been brutal.  I may have to try acupuncture again. . .

The Beld Cardigan that I announced a few days ago as my new project is now off the needles.  Quite possibly a result of the headaches, the pattern made no sense to me once I began the yoke.  Seriously --- several times over a couple of days, I sat here with the needles in my lap, staring at the pattern, and couldn't make any sense of it.  Frogged.  Given my inability to return to something that has given me problems, I don't think there will be a pretty green Beld in my closet.  Maybe another color?

I turned to Drea's Shawl as my next cast-on, with Ancient Arts Yarn Himalayan (in honor of my glorious first cat Barrymore)

and Paintbox Candyshop.

There Is Superstition

Kathy posted some fun questions on her blog this morning, but one especially caught my attention: "What was one thing your father always said?"  Her answer was that her father would not allow singing at the table.

Neither would mine! 

And I, solely out of years of training, never allow it.

BUT WHY?

In our case, it was almost certainly something to do with superstition.  My father's family was/is crazily superstitious.  No hats on a bed.  No shoes on a bed.  Turn around if a black cat walks in front of you.  Never go back to your starting point once you've left.  (Daddy forgot his wallet here once, realized it not even 1/2 mile away from the house, but would not backtrack to get it.  I had to mail it to him.) When someone gets out of a rocking chair, stop its rocking.  When someone gets off a swing, stop its swinging.  Daddy had a port wine birthmark all over one arm and onto his chest;  everyone in the family swore it was because my grandmother had watched a house burn down when she was pregnant with him.  At sporting events, he and I would switch seats if "our" player/team wasn't doing well.  Those are all that spring to mind just now, but there are more.

I still stop rocking chairs and swings.  The singing at the table thing, of course.  I remain ultra-superstitious about sports.  The black cat thing has never been anything.  In fact, we had a black cat --- Gable.  Daddy was always a hint on edge around him.  And as for not returning home once you've begun a trip. . .  When you realize that the one pacifier ---the ONLY ONE --- pacifier your baby uses is still at the house (or the only stuffed animal that will do, or the only blanket), you turn around RIGHT QUICK.  Am I right, moms?

Don't Say I Didn't Warn You

Hey, you said you wanted to see The Kitten That Hannah and Will Saved.  The picture is overwhelming in its cuteness, and its ability to elicit squeals and "oh!"s.

If you think it might be too much for you, please turn away now.

Really.

The picture is nigh.

Leave, those of you with Heightened Susceptibility to Adorable.

'Cause here she is.

RIGHT????????????????

Lily Potter Dean

My soft-hearted daughter found a tiny, tiny kitten a few days ago.  She (Hannah says she looked up in Google how to sex a kitten) has to be fed with an eye-dropper every four hours.  So far so good, even with the three older "siblings": Klunk, Lemon, and Rasputin.  As of yesterday, Tiny One had begun to realize she has back legs.  Handy, as Raz is apparently anxious to play with her and, with the playful swats to get things started, he knocks her right over.

Hannah showed me a photo (well, lots of photos, actually) --- she's a tortoise-shell whose face is cut precisely in half, forehead to chin, between black and tortie.  She also has four perfectly-halved feet: two cream socks and two black.  With whom she will ultimately live is up in the air.  Hannah and Will will get attached.  I'd be glad to take her on.  Briton has been thinking about getting another cat.

All of this --- the tiny little baby, the tiny little baby being a tortie ---put me in mind of our dear Lily.  She fit into the palm of my hand when we got her (from a secretary where I was teaching whose barn cat had a litter), and she grew to be rather the queen around here.  She was the only of our cats who was belled, and hearing that sound still makes me look for her. She was a gem.

#Chewy Influencer, July --- Interesting

Another month, another report on cat food from Chewy.com.  There's a bit of a twist with this one, though.

Talking to the vet after Madeleine's glucose curve stay, we went back and forth on possible canned foods for her.  (She steals what I give Erin and Riley if I don't stand unwavering guard.)  This seemed like a good option.  Here's the thing, though --- all three of them are all over the place with this food.  Some nights they clean their plates, some nights they barely touch it.

All that being said, I have to report that this won't be a re-order for me.  There have been other brands of food that were more popular and cost less.  Sorry, Victor --- you're a no-go here.

Each month, as part of its Influencer program, Chewy.com allows me to choose products for trial.  There is no money involved, only my promise to provide honest reviews and accounts of my experiences with the products.

Blog By Number

1.  The number of units Madeleine's insulin dosage was increased after her latest glucose curve at the vet.

244.  The number of dollars that glucose curve cost.

0.  The number of Amazon Prime Day purchases I have made.  Last year, there was lots of early birthday and Christmas shopping taken care of, but this year I'm just not feeling it.

5.  The number of days (in a row) that my second morning stop --- after feeding the cats --- has been the medicine cabinet for Tylenol Sinus.

2.  The current number of containers here full of prizes for Knitters' Hunk and Knitters' Chick.

5.  The number of weeks before you can begin nominating KHs and KCs.

3.  The number of Knitters' Chick nominees I've decided on for myself.

8.  The number of potential Knitters' Hunk nominees that must be winnowed down to three.

3.  The number of black vultures hanging out in the backyard today.  (I won't put a photo of them here, as I know they skeeve some people out.  You can look one up yourself.)  They are absolutely enormous.  When they take off, their wings make a powerful baritone "FWOOSH" that I can hear even through the walls and windows.  Scary and impressive.

The Breakup

We gave it a go.  Really, we did.  It's no one's fault --- things just didn't work out.  This sort of thing happens all the time.  Let's set one another free without guilt or regret. 

Here's to better days for us both, PCO.

Two Paws Forward, Three Paws Back

That marvel of a sweater that I was making with the baby alpaca

was used as a bed the other night.  A bed that evidently needed lots of pawing and arranging and more pawing to become comfortable.  Why she (and it was certainly a cat) was interested in the farthest side of the couch, how she managed to get all those stitches off the needle and de-strand some of the yarn, we may never know.  But Birch has been put aside.

Beld has taken its place.

I'm making it in a nice green.  

And I'm using a provisional cast-on for the first time.  It's in the middle of the back neckband.  In every other pattern I've used that called for a provisional, I just cast on normally.  This isn't a lot of stitches, nor a very long piece, so if it doesn't work out, it can all be unraveled and begun again.

Semi-Luddite

Yesterday was an Internet- and television-free day.  Not by design, mind you.  I awoke to no service.  I had to go to the grocery store, and tapped into the Web there just to check the news (okay, I admit it, and to play a little "Pokemon Go".)  By 5 in the afternoon, I had been returned to the world.  Frankly, it wasn't terribly nerve-wracking.  My phone still worked, so I had a line to my children if they needed me, or vice versa.  Besides, there was knitting and a wonderful book:

We knitters do know how to entertain ourselves, and pass time productively.

No Worries

So many people are thinking and talking about Fireworks and Pets today.  That's never been an issue around here, thankfully.  Lots of people swear by Thundershirts, but my only experience with one was a mess.  I got one for Finn --- for what escapes me: thunderstorms maybe? --- and he was made much, much, much worse for the wearing.  The shirt freaked him out, and could not come off fast enough.  He was a piece of work, that one.

Personal Post

My son and I share a therapist.  She promises that she feels no divided loyalties.  If anything, she gets both sides of issues that involve the two of us.

A couple of weeks ago, both he and I were in the throes of Negativity.  My session was scheduled for that week;  he had a full week before he was to go in.  I got in touch with our therapist and told her to see him during "my" hour.  That was going to mean not seeing her for over a month for me, but he needed it more.  When I did get back in, she acknowledged that the extra session was good for him, but she worried that it was bad for me.  My reply was that he was more of an "emergency," and that my race is run.

My race is run.

He has a long, full life ahead of him.  As does my daughter.  Please, please take care of them, because my race is run.

That is most emphatically not an expression of suicidal thoughts.  I've been suicidal, and this is nothing like that.  It isn't resignation.  It isn't self-pity.  It's that my children need to be prepared for all that their lives are going to bring them, good and bad.  I want them to have tools, to have confidence, to have hope and faith as they move ahead.  My years are fewer.  I've been gloriously happy and so scared and lost that getting through another hour seemed impossible.  I've done lots of things, and I plan to do a lot more.  Things aren't over, but my race is run.

Destinations

The Twinster took my "What food do you miss?" bait, saying she misses Steak 'n' Shake french fries and Orange Freezes.

Athens has a Steak 'n' Shake, and I'd be glad to take you there for fries, Twinnie, but I'd have to take you a little farther up Broad Street to The Varsity and get you a Frosted Orange.

A slaw dog or two as well, if you're in the mood.

I finally got to the end of the sweater my cousin sent me.  "Got to the end" instead of "finished," because I ran out of yarn before the front was done.  I wasn't even through all the neck shaping.  There was that, and the second sleeve, and the neck ribbing, and the putting everything together to go.  It was an empty feeling, sending it back to her incomplete.  The yarn, though, has been discontinued, and I couldn't find any anywhere.  Dixie (my cousin) seemed very grateful for what I did get done, but I haven't heard what the reactions of the children were.

Back to my heathered grey baby alpaca batwing/dolman sweater, then.  Also experimenting with borromean rings

with Lion Brand Bonbons, and whipping up some dishwashing pads out of Red Heart Scrubby.  Quick, simple, no cabling to keep up with.  Knitters need to breathe every now and then, you know.