Use proper parking procedures

The little neighbor girl, Lezlie, ran to tell her grandmother, "Nana, that mean rooster is trying to kill the girl chicken!! Come help!"

Yes, it looked as though they were killing the hens, leaping on the girls' backs and biting their neck feathers, wings flapping like crazy, squawking the entire fifteen seconds that the episode lasted. I left that one for Nana to explain.

I have a dozen eggs this week, and the banty hens have been quite broody for the past couple of weeks, but they not are mature enough yet to hatch healthy chicks. Come spring, I will let them sit on their clutch.

Those eggs will apparently be fertilized.

Answers on page 108.

On the knitting front, I horrified Sweetie when I ripped out the shawl I have been working on for weeks. I told him that it was okay, but as a non-knitter, he would never understand.

The now-evaporated shawl was wrong on several fronts. The fabric was too dense on the size three needles. The pattern was not right for an angora blend. The square shape was wrong and using up too much yarn.

So. May it RIP. Ha ha!

I have since cast on The (triangular) Handsome Shawl from Victorian Lace Today on size 7s. I have over 5 ounces of yarn which is plenty. This pattern is easy.

One thing that gripes me is that the pattern graph, as shown in the book, is in teen-ientsy print. I have enlarged it, (thank you scanner!,) so that my brain doesn't hurt from the looking at of it.

By the way, Eeyore is doing well! The super-duper anti-robotic did the trick.

Dispose of properly.

Some days I listen to sad songs, and yesterday afternoon I pulled up Iris DeMent and Emmy Lou Harris singing Our Town.

I love Iris' voice; it's so quirky. This song always just breaks my heart into pieces.

Other songs do that to me, too. Songs by John Prine and the late Steve Goodman.

(I do love happy songs, too. I'm not a total secret goth.)

Maybe yesterday's mood was brought on by it being Sweetie's 47th birthday. I told him that my own downhill slide began when I turned 47. Seeing him grow older makes me sadder than the thought of my own self, aging.

Step right up

Woke up way too early this morning, for as late as I stayed up. Rooster began to crow just before 5 am, so I put the ear plugs in and fell right back to sleep but only to suffer through yet another mild anxiety dream.

I was one of six bridesmaids(!) for my friend Amanda, who is already happily married in real life, thank you very much. We were all gathered at some sort of retreat center/dormitory, where there were lots of people, lots of activity. Very happy.

Then, I started losing things, dropping things. Where is that bag of clothes I brought? Where is my knitting basket? Just, everywhere I went, I lost or misplaced one more thing or two. Then, I'd knock over the light trying to look for something, only to lose something else. Then I ripped a couch cushion. Then I couldn't find my dress. And so on.

One cute part were all these little kids going around to all the wedding party to deliver gifts that Amanda had made. Hair decorations, bracelets, and necklaces. I especially liked the Hello, Kitty necklace.

My sub-conscience is a dark and disturbing place, you all.

At some point, I was in bed, (I guess this wedding went on for three days,) with a crying toddler, bless her heart. I tried to sooth her. She wanted to nurse. What the heck, I thought, won't get any milk out if it. It calmed her, though, and we fell asleep.

Lastly, the plumbing broke, and there was no place for a dozen women to pee. Yeah, I can hear you laughing through the internets. Yes, no flushing capability, and all of a sudden, everybody had to pee. I had to go so bad that I got stomach cramps.

That's l when I woke up, and it was not yet six. I stumbled to the bathroom, still thinking my bladder was ready to burst. Didn't have to go, after all.

WTF? What a weird freakin' dream. Why do I have these dreams? Dreams bursting with details, dialogue, problems.

Do No Drink and Drive. Listen to Me!

So today, while I was driving the back roads home from Corydon, I took a few pictures. The promised front at last moved through, and after rain this morning, the sky was beautimus this afternoon.

Forecast lows for later in the week? Mid 50s. Makes me wet. I want to move to Canada.

This past week has been awful, but not terrible. Terrible was two? three? years ago when the temps were in the 100s for two weeks. I worried so much for the bunnies at that time, but they hunkered down and made it.

I am so glad that fall in coming soon. Where I live, there are four actual seasons, and I revel in them all. Just about when one cannot stand it anymore, the new season comes along, and all seems good again.

Instructions included.

So I read a blog this morning, and the post was titled Five things I hate about blogging. This guy hates Blogger and cutesy pseudonyms.

My feelings were hurt for about three minutes. Like, what have I done wrong? I love Blogger because it is free and it does everything I need it to do. For free. And I call Bill "Sweetie" because that it what he is. Not to protect his identity. Or pride. Or dignity. (See previous happy pants photo.)(And sleeping photo)(And day after St. Patrick's Day photo.)

So I got over it.

Looks like we'll get some rain today and all I can say is, Bring it on. Get this damn pollen out of the air so my sinuses can relax.

And you all should be so proud of me because, in spite of drinking way too much, again, I have managed to work in the fiber studio or stand at a dye pot most every day for weeks. I am even sending a box of 36 lovely batts to Susan at the Spinning Bunny. Here are some of them. I particularly love the grey/brown ones. The color reminds me of stones.



Plus, even though I have not started another pair of socks yet, I am knitting on a new shawl to showcase Fuzzarelly's fiber. Another Marianne Kinzel pattern called "Springtime," which is a square tea cloth. Progress is slowing as it grows ever larger, and I have had to stop to spin more yarn, but it is only moderately difficult. Actually easy if other people don't talk to me during certain rows.

Sweetie is working a casual labor job today and left at 5:30. AM. Imagine! I have been putting groceries on the credit card for weeks, now, so a bit o' cash is welcome. He worked yesterday in exchange for spare parts for our van. The judge who handles unemployment appeals has pancreatic cancer, so the system is even more backlogged than usual. Our source said that his appeal should be heard by mid-October. And he got fired at the end of April. How sucky is that?

The 401(k) rollover should finally happen today or tomorrow, so bills can be paid in full. This process should not have taken this damn long, and I am frustrated and angry. And panicked. I have let them know this, and that is why maybe the wheels are starting to move.

I have been more broke in my life than now. Way more broke. So don't pity me because there are people out there really hurting. We are still making it.

Public Burden Statement

90 degrees outside today. I stayed inside.



There are four bunnies in the house at the moment. The usual L'il Bit, Fiona (and the only reason that she is still inside is my own inertia. Also, she is low maintenance,) and Sparkle, whom I am really loving a lot.

The fourth one is Eeyore. Did I spell that right? I reference the donkey from Winnie the Pooh. I originally called him Gomer, and he is a rescue. ("We just don't know how to take care of an angora!" they said. Sigh.)

So. Are you eating? Then do not read further.

Eeyore and Heizen have been living in the back yard enclosure most of the summer, with the chickens. Seemingly in peace, for the most part. But now, the Roosters have gotten larger and more aggressive and Eeyore is an intact male and that meant trouble.

One of the roosters pecked his eye out. Really. Well, maybe not out, but the eye no longer works. He has never wanted to be held or handled, but when I discovered flies all over his little head and investigated, then picked him up - he went limp. Probably thinking, I am already dead, do with me what you will.

Oh. Ick.

Timing, not so good. I had guests (!) and was just serving dinner(!) to them. "You do not want to see this, you all," I said as I hauled his sorry ass into the bathroom/surgury. I think I could be a trauma nurse, because blood and maggots (oh, yes, lots of tiny little maggots, all over his head,) do not gross me out. His head looked like something out of a zombie movie. The eye is toast and I can only think it must have been a rooster. This all happened on Wednesday, and I figured that if he made it through the night, he might survive. And now, the little feller is still kicking and healing right up. I have been smearing super-dooper anti-robotic on the eye every day, and clearing away the icky bits. He is eating, drinking and living, so I reckon he will make it.

I am thinking of calling him Cyclops, though.