Fuzzarelly is Back
Monday, June 30, 2008
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Allow mixture to Set
What does one do in a week? I mean, productive kind of things? Does "being productive" have any meaning? Why does the word "productive" come into play at all? Maybe because I am a citizen of the mid-west and around here, being productive means surviving through the next year. Canning, picking up wind fall apples, laying up firewood, putting snow tires on layaway. Artists and grasshoppers are treated with suspicion around here.
Here is my usual day. Read it and weep. Didn't I say I was kept?
I knit in the morning for two or three cups of coffee then tend to alI of the bunnies, tend to Sweetie and make up his lunch. See him off and then have a nap or at the very least, a rest on the couch. Sudoku time.
The rest of the day is mine until midnight. Sometimes I get shit done; some other times, not so much. Grocery shopping is my big trip each week. There is not usually another reason to make the Big Drive into Corydon, except maybe tax paying or evicting tenants. The barn bunnies get tended to again in the evening, between 8 and 11 pm.
If I'm still awake, I'll wait up for Sweetie. Usually, I'm drowsed out by 11.
My life wears me out.
Is it bedtime?
Here is my usual day. Read it and weep. Didn't I say I was kept?
I knit in the morning for two or three cups of coffee then tend to alI of the bunnies, tend to Sweetie and make up his lunch. See him off and then have a nap or at the very least, a rest on the couch. Sudoku time.
The rest of the day is mine until midnight. Sometimes I get shit done; some other times, not so much. Grocery shopping is my big trip each week. There is not usually another reason to make the Big Drive into Corydon, except maybe tax paying or evicting tenants. The barn bunnies get tended to again in the evening, between 8 and 11 pm.
If I'm still awake, I'll wait up for Sweetie. Usually, I'm drowsed out by 11.
My life wears me out.
Is it bedtime?
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Right Turn Only
The voices in my head have been quiet since Sunday night, when I had a full eight hours of angry dreams. Sweetie came home that night and touched me in my sleep - he almost got a roundhouse to the jaw before I realized who it was.
The 14 year cicadas have been making a hellava racket around these parts. Almost deafening in places. I wonder sometimes just how long it took, evolution-wise, to figure out that such an odd life cycle made survival sense.
My neighbor Nancy said she saw a huge owl on the Methodist church steeple last night. (The Methodist church that sits in what should be our back yard.) With a 6 foot wingspan, she said. Me thinks she exaggerates, but still, last night there was an owl nearby that was big enough to nab two bunnies. All I found this morning were two little black bunny tails, lots of small pieces of fur, and a pile of fresh innards. I figured a raptor or an owl, and neighbor Nancy confirmed my suspicion. I guess I feel better that an avian species caught and ate them than knowing a dog had merely killed them for sport. I like owls. I like hawks. And baby owls and baby hawks gotta eat.
Big Harry (Harriet) died over the weekend from a delivery gone horribly wrong. Her chest and belly were plucked bare of fur, so she'd obviously had a litter. But her female parts were horribly distended and swollen. Found her limp on Monday evening and when she didn't die overnight, I began life support. She ate and drank, but remained paralyzed and she died Saturday night. Poor baby.
So, last night I captured Baby Harry/Harriet and brought him/her inside the house to live. S/he displays the beautiful lion head mane; and s/he is the only suchlike survivor that harkens back to Stubby. I wish I could keep them all safe.
The female bunny life of unrelenting childbirth and nursing and all the inherent dangers remembers me of the life led by myriad women over the millennia. Let us not take birth control for granted. If being evolved means only one thing to humans, it has to be being able to limit and/or time pregnancies.
Other bunny predators are the white trash kids that are part and parcel of the Evil Neighbor Jerry and his kin; they have been kidnapping any bunny they can catch. I have had to run several of the nasty little ankle biters out of my yard. Their mom/aunt urges them on as she wants to make money breeding them. She particularly wants Winehouse because of her singular eyes, but Amy stays very close to the back of the house. And she bites. I have the scar to prove it.
The Days of Our Bunnies. The Bold and the Bunniful. Bunny Hospital.
Knitting is happening. Or rather, crocheting, as I am nearing the finish line of the purple cashmere shawl. I spent days designing the perfect border, and several hours trying to execute same. Feh. So I am crocheting the bind off. Pictures as soon as possible. I am ready to be shet of this project.
Lastly, found a big ol' spider on the porch tonight, about three inches across. Cool, huh?
The 14 year cicadas have been making a hellava racket around these parts. Almost deafening in places. I wonder sometimes just how long it took, evolution-wise, to figure out that such an odd life cycle made survival sense.
My neighbor Nancy said she saw a huge owl on the Methodist church steeple last night. (The Methodist church that sits in what should be our back yard.) With a 6 foot wingspan, she said. Me thinks she exaggerates, but still, last night there was an owl nearby that was big enough to nab two bunnies. All I found this morning were two little black bunny tails, lots of small pieces of fur, and a pile of fresh innards. I figured a raptor or an owl, and neighbor Nancy confirmed my suspicion. I guess I feel better that an avian species caught and ate them than knowing a dog had merely killed them for sport. I like owls. I like hawks. And baby owls and baby hawks gotta eat.
Big Harry (Harriet) died over the weekend from a delivery gone horribly wrong. Her chest and belly were plucked bare of fur, so she'd obviously had a litter. But her female parts were horribly distended and swollen. Found her limp on Monday evening and when she didn't die overnight, I began life support. She ate and drank, but remained paralyzed and she died Saturday night. Poor baby.
So, last night I captured Baby Harry/Harriet and brought him/her inside the house to live. S/he displays the beautiful lion head mane; and s/he is the only suchlike survivor that harkens back to Stubby. I wish I could keep them all safe.
The female bunny life of unrelenting childbirth and nursing and all the inherent dangers remembers me of the life led by myriad women over the millennia. Let us not take birth control for granted. If being evolved means only one thing to humans, it has to be being able to limit and/or time pregnancies.
Other bunny predators are the white trash kids that are part and parcel of the Evil Neighbor Jerry and his kin; they have been kidnapping any bunny they can catch. I have had to run several of the nasty little ankle biters out of my yard. Their mom/aunt urges them on as she wants to make money breeding them. She particularly wants Winehouse because of her singular eyes, but Amy stays very close to the back of the house. And she bites. I have the scar to prove it.
The Days of Our Bunnies. The Bold and the Bunniful. Bunny Hospital.
Knitting is happening. Or rather, crocheting, as I am nearing the finish line of the purple cashmere shawl. I spent days designing the perfect border, and several hours trying to execute same. Feh. So I am crocheting the bind off. Pictures as soon as possible. I am ready to be shet of this project.
Lastly, found a big ol' spider on the porch tonight, about three inches across. Cool, huh?
Monday, June 16, 2008
Fresh Squeezed
Yes. Hello? Are you there? I's me, back from Evil Land of No Computers!
On Tuesday last week, an under the house bunny, (I guess Ramsey,) chewed through the only phone line that runs beneath the house. The one line that goes to the main phone and computer. (Can't be mad, merely inconvenienced. It's the price one pays for allowing bunnies to live all over.)
Sweetie had it fixed by Saturday afternoon, so that when I arrived home on Sunday from my weekend retreat/class at Shakertown in Pleasant Hill, Kentucky, I was finally able to read email, etc.
A retreat slash class, you ask? Yeah, I was bad and didn't talk it up in this blog. The blog I couldn't access from home the week prior.
I will be judicious and not name names. The following commentary is my opinion only. I paid for my class way back in February because Teacher was Big Time and had taught a workshop for the guild three or four years ago, which I missed because I had to tend to my Store. She was highly recommended by all and this was to be her maybe final out-of-state teaching gig, but I should have known better to commit to TWO seven hour classes. I can't sit, and pay attention, for that long anymore. Especially in a hot room sitting on an uncomfortable chair. When one's hands sweat so much that the wool sticks to the flesh and refuses to move.
Prepared properly she wasn't. She mostly sat on the floor with the 20 member class arranged around her at tables and chairs. An overhead projector could have been used to great advantage instead of us trying to see her little sketches from fifteen feet back. Or having to walk over to the middle of the room to get the closer view. Too many of the students had no idea what she was talking about, and a few monopolized her time to the detriment of the advanced students.
There should have been handouts, (she said Too Costly,) which would have saved many minutes of our drawing squares, triangles, parallelograms, etc. Also the folding and tearing of paper. My back ached after the first day like it hadn't in years. Crappy chairs. The Temperpedic mattress on the bed was welcomed.
She kept apologizing about her poor prep. Excuse me. Don't apologize. Either be prepared or refund our money.
(I would rather have attended a 2 or 3 hour seminar/lecture with her. Her ideas could have been quite effectively presented there. I believe I would have enjoyed that.)
Day 2 was less hot by a smidgen. Day 2 brought more apologies from teacher about lack of preparedness and so on. The room was only a bit less humidifacus.
After the Second Over-Priced Brown Bag Lunch provided by Shakertown's kitchen, and an hour of increasing unhappiness, I decided to pack up my Fiber and Needles, classroom supplies, the small suitcase and leave. One of the great things about growing older is that I Don't Have to Give a Fuck about Proprieties anymore. I did not have to stay. (The leaving was discreet, I hope.)
I was not happy and I was uncomfortable, with an achy back from sitting on crappy chairs too long. I left. I took my toys and drove home. Imagine the happiness and freedom I felt whilst driving away from Hateful Class and towards HOME.
Here is Claudia's surviving baby, as yet unnamed. Stewart, a small black angora, was the daddy foisted upon her. Her other kit did not thrive and died at about 10 days. He's sitting on Crazy Josh's shoulder.
Today, I baked three loaves of bread. Alert the media! Here they are cooling on the clever rack contained in our Hoosier cabinet.
On Tuesday last week, an under the house bunny, (I guess Ramsey,) chewed through the only phone line that runs beneath the house. The one line that goes to the main phone and computer. (Can't be mad, merely inconvenienced. It's the price one pays for allowing bunnies to live all over.)
Sweetie had it fixed by Saturday afternoon, so that when I arrived home on Sunday from my weekend retreat/class at Shakertown in Pleasant Hill, Kentucky, I was finally able to read email, etc.
A retreat slash class, you ask? Yeah, I was bad and didn't talk it up in this blog. The blog I couldn't access from home the week prior.
I will be judicious and not name names. The following commentary is my opinion only. I paid for my class way back in February because Teacher was Big Time and had taught a workshop for the guild three or four years ago, which I missed because I had to tend to my Store. She was highly recommended by all and this was to be her maybe final out-of-state teaching gig, but I should have known better to commit to TWO seven hour classes. I can't sit, and pay attention, for that long anymore. Especially in a hot room sitting on an uncomfortable chair. When one's hands sweat so much that the wool sticks to the flesh and refuses to move.
Prepared properly she wasn't. She mostly sat on the floor with the 20 member class arranged around her at tables and chairs. An overhead projector could have been used to great advantage instead of us trying to see her little sketches from fifteen feet back. Or having to walk over to the middle of the room to get the closer view. Too many of the students had no idea what she was talking about, and a few monopolized her time to the detriment of the advanced students.
There should have been handouts, (she said Too Costly,) which would have saved many minutes of our drawing squares, triangles, parallelograms, etc. Also the folding and tearing of paper. My back ached after the first day like it hadn't in years. Crappy chairs. The Temperpedic mattress on the bed was welcomed.
She kept apologizing about her poor prep. Excuse me. Don't apologize. Either be prepared or refund our money.
(I would rather have attended a 2 or 3 hour seminar/lecture with her. Her ideas could have been quite effectively presented there. I believe I would have enjoyed that.)
Day 2 was less hot by a smidgen. Day 2 brought more apologies from teacher about lack of preparedness and so on. The room was only a bit less humidifacus.
After the Second Over-Priced Brown Bag Lunch provided by Shakertown's kitchen, and an hour of increasing unhappiness, I decided to pack up my Fiber and Needles, classroom supplies, the small suitcase and leave. One of the great things about growing older is that I Don't Have to Give a Fuck about Proprieties anymore. I did not have to stay. (The leaving was discreet, I hope.)
I was not happy and I was uncomfortable, with an achy back from sitting on crappy chairs too long. I left. I took my toys and drove home. Imagine the happiness and freedom I felt whilst driving away from Hateful Class and towards HOME.
Here is Claudia's surviving baby, as yet unnamed. Stewart, a small black angora, was the daddy foisted upon her. Her other kit did not thrive and died at about 10 days. He's sitting on Crazy Josh's shoulder.
Today, I baked three loaves of bread. Alert the media! Here they are cooling on the clever rack contained in our Hoosier cabinet.
Knead for Eight Minutes
Yeah, He's Still Allergic to Me
Guy: How were things with your ex last night?
Girl: You know... He threw up and started crying, so I gave him a hug. He got an erection, threw up two more times and passed out.
Guy: So, same old same old.
--E 51st, b/w 1st & 2nd
via Overheard in New York, Jun 15, 2008
Guy: How were things with your ex last night?
Girl: You know... He threw up and started crying, so I gave him a hug. He got an erection, threw up two more times and passed out.
Guy: So, same old same old.
--E 51st, b/w 1st & 2nd
via Overheard in New York, Jun 15, 2008
Monday, June 09, 2008
Do Not Pass Go
In the cold light of morning, I decided to delete yesterday's post. It was mean-spirited and all I can say is that I got myself worked up into a state - hence, the rant.
I do wish the best for my prior husband and I'm glad he's able to do the work he loves.
I do wish the best for my prior husband and I'm glad he's able to do the work he loves.
Friday, June 06, 2008
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