TREES AND ALLERGIES. DEPRESSION, TOO.

It has been slow work getting the maple corpse out of the front yard. The wonderful tree cutters wanted another $250 to cut it up and haul it away. No way, young studs, but thanks for the offer. That is a lot of groceries/beer/bunny feed. A neighbor teen did haul three loads of branches to our already enormous burn pile at Camp Swampy yesterday. He got to drive Zippy, our 1972 Chevy Truck, and I gave him every bit of cash I had in the house - $6.50. He was happy with the deal (he only has his learner's permit) and he did a good job. There ARE nice kids out there.

I have been spreading the word that we have yard full of free fire wood for the taking on a first come, first served basis. Today, neighbor Kermit stepped up to the plate, saying he would cut up the tree and haul it all away. Yesss! Soon, please. Thank you!

Sweetie is working another killer week at the Potato Chip Mine (Woo Hoo! Overtime!!! Hey kids, we can eat next week!) Today, it is a twelve hour shift, and he will work days all weekend. And Monday, too.

Kelly Bob's 6 babies are doing well. I will spare you photos of the pink and hairless things. It has gotten way too warm here all of a sudden, though. I need to, like, get the extension cord strung out to the barn for fans. Soon. Like, today. And, holy crap, half of the sliding barn door just came loose. And fell off. And is on the ground. And I cannot pick it up my myself. And Bill is working a twelve today. Holy crap again.

After twelve years in Indiana, I have become such a Hoosier that anymore, I get queasy when the temperature rises over 80 degrees. It was 90 on the front porch yesterday. I turned on the air conditioner. The doc said I shouldn't be outside now anyway or have the windows and doors open, either, because of my allergies. Yeah, doctor's orders! Saw her Tuesday. (One of the joys of living in a small community is that the receptionist apologized for not being able to schedule me for Monday, the day I called, but Tuesday was good. Was 11:20 okay?) Some of the old "female" trouble was acting up again, along with my allergies, and what used to be called melancholia.

My doctor is so sweet. Maybe 'sweet' isn't the right word, but she always remembers me and listens to what I have to say, and she always takes whatever time it takes. She upped some of my meds and I am feeling better already. (Friends, take note! No more weepy!) And she reminded me to take the allergy meds I already have, like the icky nose spray. Yesterday, I could SMELL again for the first time in months. Duh! (Not necessarily a good thing with my housekeeping skills, but still.) I'm allergic to grass but I love the smell when it's been freshly cut and everyone around here has been a mowing fool lately. And she said that if I didn't feel better within two weeks to call her. She asked if I was getting out with people and I was pleased to say "Yes." Thank you, Friendship Spinners and my other fiber buddies, for getting my ass out of the house on some sort of regular basis.

HOUSTON, WE HAVE BUNNIES...

Kelly Bob delivered her kits yesterday, right on schedule, and today we have 6 tiny pinkies. Here's hoping they are healthy. Kelly Bob is such a great mother - if only she were a better wooler!

Now that all her other babies seem to be well and thriving, I have named them all. The three older ones are Casey, Whitey (Sweetie named him,) and Cutie. The two younger ones are Q Tip and Bob.

Neither Fuzzarelly nor Precious had babies. Dang. On the other hand, any more babies right now would be too many.

BEGINNINGS AND ENDINGS

I have begun the pink mohair shawl.

Recipe: Cast on 8. Knit around.
Increase 4. Knit around.
Increase 8. Knit around.
Continue to increase 8 every other round. Insert lace pattern in appropriate place.
Knit until you run out of yarn or patience.

Here she is, near the beginning.


Now, I've switched to short circular needles. 40 stitches are added every 10 rows, so it grows quickly. Punk rock mob cap.


The big sugar maple in the front yard was taken down Sunday.

When we moved here in the fall of 1994, that tree was incredibly beautiful. It's leaves were yellow gold and it was a WOW! of a sight. That 65 foot tall tree was our sole air conditioning for a half dozen years.

Then came the beginning of the end. Age, drought, and possibly a virus - whatever the cause, the tree was dying. Each spring saw fewer green leaves and more barren branches. Each storm brought down limbs.

So. The tree cutters did their work, quickly and skillfully.

A LITTLE BIT ABOUT ME

There was a big high school graduation party in town last night. Graduating from high school is a Very Big Deal around here. There was a rented tent, tons of food, a large Congratulations banner and aunts, uncles, cousins, friends and shirt-tail relatives galore.

I never had that party. I never graduated from high school, in spite of an IQ of 157. I can't imagine having that many relatives and friends of family.

Family is very important in Laconia. The joke here is that everyone is related, but it isn't a joke - they are all related. This community was platted and settled in 1816 by Squire Boone, Dan'l's brother, a few months before Indiana became a state. Some local families really do go back that far. In fact, one of our neighbors is an actual Daniel Boone who is descended from Squire Boone. We live in Boone township. The roads here are named for the old families - Crosier, Merk, Kintner. The graduation party was for a Kingsley. Most everyone here is related in some way to a Kingsley - they were quite prolific. There are also the Faiths, the Beanblossoms, the Millers, the Duleys, the Ashtons, the McKims.

Me, I'm a McKellar. Once was a Holloway. Was born a Hall. I'm not from around here. I was born in Fayetteville, Tennessee. When I was four, my family sought a better living in Huntington, Indiana - and they took me along. I remember the ride in a Lightnin' Taxi from the housing project to the bus station with my mother and two older brothers and my Woody Woodpecker coloring book. It was 1961. Dad had already gone north to find work and a place for us to live. Mom hoped that I would stay awake until Nashville where we would change buses, but I couldn't. I had no idea what was going on. I had no idea that my parents couldn't make a living farming. I didn't know about the fire burning down their house when oldest brother was a baby. I didn't know about the tornado a year later that lifted their house up and over the chimney, setting it down on the other side of the road - with my mother and oldest brother still inside. I don't remember the bull breaking daddy's leg, making him limp slightly ever after. I don't remember the poverty.

I do remember other things, though. How fearful, timid, painfully shy and awkward I was as a child. How sensitive and emotional. How different I was from the German and Dutch farmers that had settled northern Indiana. How dark haired I was amongst all these blondes. How poor we were, always living in rented houses. These were not my people - but I had no idea who my people were. Even my Tennessee relatives weren't like me. No one in my immediate family was like me.

I grew up in the country. My blond brothers could barely stand to have a little sister around. So I turned to literature for friends. I loved to read. I read everything I could get my grubby little paws on. I read my brothers' English literature and other school books. I read and re-read the 1964 edition of the Funk and Wagnall's Encyclopedia that mom bought at the grocery store, book by book, every few weeks. Also the 20 some odd books of the Illustrated History of the United States. (Thank you, Mommy!) I spent my summers reading the Reader's Digest Abridged Best Sellers (4 stories a book,) Jane Eyre, War and Peace, and other 50-cent editions of books from Scholastic Press. I was banished from the dinner table because I wanted to read while I ate. So, I ate in another room and read, read, read.

My poor, sad mother took her life in March of 1974. She was 42 and I was seventeen. That fall, I took sick with Grave's disease - a thyroid condition - and by early spring I was too sick to continue school. Mrs. Turnbloom, my high school counselor, tried to keep me up with my studies but the end of May and graduation came and went without me marching to Pomp and Circumstance to collect my diploma.

Part of me misses very much having a large and loving family that would gather to celebrate my graduation. Part of me is very pleased to not have a large and nosy family wondering why I didn't.

I am very glad to have found a group of fiber people that doesn't care and just loves me for being me. Strange, sad, creative and weepy me.

Professor Backward

Just a thought from a founding father...

There is danger from all men. The only maxim of a free government ought to be to trust no man living with power to endanger the public liberty.
- John Adams

I like doing crossword puzzles. Hard ones. I used to do crosswords at breakfast, back when I had a real job and got the daily paper every morning. Back when I was somebody. To be more effecient, I would take spoon to cereal in right hand and pen to puzzle on the left. Writing with the "wrong" hand was an interesting exercise. Some letters, like N and S, I was prone to print in mirror image. Sometimes, just for grins, I would try to write the alphabet upside down with my left hand. (No, I didn't have way too much time on my hands. I worked with my hands and I liked to keep them and my brain busy.)

I recently memorized the alphabet in reverse order. I like to recite it silently on those nights I can't quite fall asleep.

I also like to knit in reverse instead of purling. I can purl just fine, thank you very much, but it is ever so much more interesting to not turn the work at the end of a row, but to knit back across from left to right.

Here's a photo of reverse knitting. Mechanically, it is a purl stitch worked from the back side. I'm working on a short row toe. Like writing with the non-dominant hand, it takes awhile to get comfortable.



Finally finished the blasted socks that I cast on going to Maryland. Finally. Socks don't usually take me this long, but I learned a new short row heel and toe technique (with wraps) and struggled an inordinate amount with that. Then knit the foot too short and had to rip back. Used the three-needle bind off at the toe. I think I should have grafted the seam, but dammit! they are done and I am happy. The yarn is Knit Picks dye-your-own sock weight that I dyed last fall.



The 2nd Annual Hoosier Hills Fiber Festival will be Saturday, June 3 in Franklin, Indiana. Lynne Oakes will be there with her yarns and patterns (and I will be there with my usual stuff, too. Knitting needles and bunny blends) And look to the sidebar to the left on this page for a link to the 2nd Annual Fall Fiber Festival and Market in Corydon, Indiana in October.

Oh, and here is a shot of dyed angora, alpaca and silk before blending. Pretty!

LACE IS THE NEW SOCKS

At least it seems that way. Just received the new Interweave Knits and there is a lace primer inside. Also received the latest Knit Picks catalogue that urges one to "discover the beauty of lace."

A month or so ago, I discovered See Eunny Knit, Eunny Jang's blog with excellent posts about lace knitting and knitting lace.

I began my own dabbling in Laceland last year when I thought I was going to have some surgery with a 4-6 week period of recuperating. I had been preparing raw mohair - washing, combing, carding, spinning and dyeing - for several months. I had enough on hand to begin a shawl, so I studied my books and came up with some sort of pleasing pattern. I downloaded knitter's graph paper (Google it!) and with pencil and eraser in hand, I tried to make it all come together.

After the initial awkwardness of 12 stitches on 4 needles and a few rows with bad words, I discovered that lace is NOT HARD! I think I used size 6 needles and a 2-ply mohair spun fine, (no, I do not have a wwp available) so the actual knitting sailed right along. I can't remember exactly how long I worked at it, because the surgery and recuperating were a non-event. The yarn was delightful to work with and I love how fuzzy the shawl has become with use. Finished size is about four foot square.



I'm inspired to do it all again! I have the yarn already spun and dyed. Three skeins that gradually go from hot fuchsia to fuchsia with red to fuchsia with red and orange. Won't that be perky come January?



Here's a shot of Sweetie, Bonnie, Buster, and Fishy. We are all such high energy beings.



PamperedProboscis wants photos of the psycho hair. We'll see. And V wondered about the blue silk and angora. I think your monitor is right on. I am still waiting for babies to arrive - am checking on Fuzzarelly often.

HAIR TO DYE FOR

The grey roots weren't just roots anymore. They were sprouts. They were meandering vines. They were weedy fields.

I normally wear my hair in an untidy mess piled on top of my head, held in place with a stick or two and decorated with knit flowers. Talk about easy care! Once up, it stays up! Okay, sometimes I lose a stick and the locks get really frowzy looking and I need to comb out and regroup. But still, it's easy care. I shampoo every week - or two, if I'm feeling particularly European. Or depressed.

Went to the Kroger today and got me some Natural Instincts in Chinaberry, Clairol. Time to dye the hair pink, no purple, no - a kind of berry color. Umm, berrrrries.

What many of you all may not know is that my hair now is almost long enough to sit on. It's very long. Longer than it's ever been. Hillbilly grandma hair. So when one dyes one's hair, there is a lot of hair involved. And a lot of berry colored dye. When I stepped in the shower to rinse, and flung my head once or twice, I swear it looked like a scene from Psycho - dark red spatters and streaks everywhere! Eek. Now I have to clean the shower and kill some of Sweetie's science experiments. Dang, trying to be purty is painful.

The picture today is what I'm spinning - angora and silk.