The Last of June

Not a whole lot to report, except that Tap seems to be trying to catch up with Klunk where snuggling is concerned.

Also, it looks like macrame is a thing again.

I've done all that before, so pretty sure I'll take a hard pass this time around.

Stories and Stuff

Cast on for a shawl last night.  It's only the second time I've used a tab start and the effect is so pretty.  (Aided by the Madeline Tosh "Cathedral" colorway.)

Over the last week or week and a half, knitting has been impossible for me.  I've been unable to keep up with even the easiest stitch patterns: meshes, feather and fan, you name it, I've tried it and every single project failed within the first twenty rows.  This shawl ("My Friend Gloria Scarf" from a Knitting Page-A-Day calendar.  Not sure of the year.) hasn't tripped me up yet.  On each edge, you KFB on the fifth stitch in.  I'm good so far.

Now.  You need to be reading my Twinnie's blog just on principle, but you especially need to read her entry today.  She relates a story that she told me yesterday, and left me pretty much like this:

She's Real. If She Only Had a Name. . .

So, yesterday I provided photographic evidence of a Moon landing, one battery's reliance on several others, an albino Humpback Whale, a military sighting of a UFO, and Hannah's kitten.  Yes, she really does exist. 

Here she is with Klunk.  They look like they're about the same size, but trust me, he could sit on her and crush her.  He is enormous.  She is quite thin.

And, yes, almost all pictures of Klunk will show him under covers of some sort.  When you are hairless, you snuggle when and where you can.

Proof

I Don't. Do You?

When commenting on someone's blog or Facebook post, I do not read any of the other comments.  While mine might be a duplicate of someone else's, I don't feel like it's any of my business to read what commenters say to posters. That may frustrate those whose only discernible life goal is to be read by others, but it seems intrusive to me.  It's sort of like reading someone else's mail.

 I don't sort or store my yarn by weight or color.  Lorette just posted about separating all hers into boxes by weight, then recording it all on Ravelry.  I tried that once (the sorting, not the Ravelry thing.)  It lasted through maybe the first attempt at finding a yarn I wanted to work with.  It's more fun for me to go through boxes unsure of what will turn up.  Inspiration may strike when I come across something unexpected.

When I knit with old school metal Bucilla needles --- which is most of the time --- I never have two that are the same color.  Looking in the jug where my needles are kept, I just pull out the first two I see that are the right size.

Steward

Hannah's two cats are here.  I've seen Little Bit maybe three times, seeing only her back half as she scurried away under something.  Klunk has found his Warm Place, and there he has stayed.

Hannah told me over and over how social the kitten is, how much she'd play with me.  It is bothering me to the point of distraction that I can't find her.  She is in my bedroom.  I know she hasn't gotten out.  But I absolutely cannot find her in there.  I don't want her to get stuck somewhere and me go on thinking she's just shy.  And even if I could find her, dragging her out from a place she's chosen wouldn't be good.  It's so stressful, and Hannah just added an extra week to their stay.  I'm mad and I'm worried.

Though you'd never know it by looking at Klunk, it's suffocatingly hot here.  There are only a few robust gardenias left --- most have been fried to a crisp.

Eyes to the Sky

You can't appreciate how happy it makes me to know that I wasn't the only little girl lying in the yard, looking up at those white lines and being fascinated by them.  Hooray for little girls with Imagination, huh?

Trails

When I was little, these trails in the sky fascinated me.  The planes making them (and boy, was it a letdown finding that out) were so high that I couldn't see them.  It was magic.  Those white lines simply appeared and then melted away.  I loved looking at them, marveling at them, and I'm still to this day hit with a wave of happiness and wonder when I see them.

Shifts

For reasons not mine to talk about, Hannah is moving out of her apartment.  Briton and I helped with several loads of stuff yesterday, and I am feeling it today.  A couple of the reasons I wanted to lose weight were to increase my stamina and decrease my sweating.  Yesterday proved that the former has improved, but the latter is still out there somewhere.  My head is also pounding, thanks to the heat.  Much, much water was drunk trying to avoid that, but. . . 

Since things are in flux, I'll be taking care of Klunk and The-Kitten-Who-Still-Doesn't-Have-A-Name for a while.

She's much bigger now than in this photo, of course.  Everyone's on edge about how Riley, Madeleine, and Tap will behave with them here.  Klunk is preternaturally chill, so there probably won't be much drama there.  This is the house he grew up in, and there's never been an iota of a problem when he's come back.  Little Bit, though. . .

Kathy Asks, I Answer

Do you have a favorite summer sound?

Not really.  I'm more of a summer scents person.

Do you like the sound of waves?

More than almost any other sound on the planet.

Does the sound of children singing make you cry?

No.

Are you alert to every car sound your vehicle makes?

Hmmm.  I would have said "No," but now I probably will be!

Do you like the sound of thunder?

Absolutely.  I'm a sucker for a good storm.

Do you wear earplugs to bed?

Nope.

Do you like the sound of organ music?

Not especially, no.

Do you like canned laughter?

No, no, no, a thousand times, no.

Do you listen to podcasts with headphones or earbuds?

No.  (Wow, lots of answers in the negative today.)

Does the sound of horses hooves make you happy?

Oh, SO happy!  Up there with waves and thunder.

A Link

Just headaches going on here, but I did want to share with you something one of my cousins shared with me.  It has to do with the subject of my last post.

Grief

There's never been a point in my life that I didn't have animals.  Dogs, horses, cats.  Someone, or someones, has always been around.  And like all living things, the animals in my life had to leave.  

Most people get it.  Maybe it's because most people have animals, too, or because most people have hearts, consciences or, at the very least, civility.  When one of your pets leaves you, they send you support, empathy, again, at the very least, nice, good-mannered words.

Some people don't get it.  And they will say to your face, "What's so sad?  It was just a [cat, dog, fish, hamster, turtle, pony.] "

Just an animal.

In all my life, I say my father mad exactly twice.  I've sort of inherited his long fuse.  Oh, my feelings will get hurt, and I'll pout, and I get annoyed and frustrated to the nth degree, but anger?  Not so much.

But this weekend, friends lost pets, and people had the nerve to say to me that they should get over it. Go to the pound and get another one.  Be sad over real things.

If you don't understand it, don't comment on it.  Keep your damn mouth shut.

And know that I am done with you.

Tough Times

A couple of friends (yours and mine) are going through some dark, hard days right now, and I just want them to know that they are being thought about,

May peace of mind and peace of heart come back to you very soon.

But I Love Them So

This is a basket full of gardenias --- FULL.

And yet, all those left only this small empty spot on the bush.

I'm employing drinking glasses as vases now.

Things in Other Things

 These gardenias are in a teapot;  my "real" flower vases are full.  I'm short of words that truly describe how much I love these flowers.

Still, there is other work to set myself to.  I must start thinking Knitters' Hunk and Knitters' Chick prize packages.

This is a step in that direction.