Update

Knitting on the melon shawl continues. Don't know if I have made a complete mess of the border, but I'm not ripping out or stopping except to spin more yarn. The next thing I knit will be hot pink or purple - anything but drab.



The baby is still in his plastic bowl on the kitchen table.



I get mommy out twice a day and let him latch on to feed. He's a spaz; very active and jumpy even with eyes still closed. I won't name him until he's at least 3 months old. (I really try not to get attached to these problem children - they can be heart breakers.) Of the January bunnies, I'm ashamed to say, one is still nameless. There's Sheila, Candy, Salt, Pepper, Bud, Spike, Bongo, and Icky Thump. So that only leaves one black one. Any ideas? And I have yet to name the two surviving March babies.

Heizen wants to say "Hi!"

BROWN

The most interesting thing, to me, about knitting is that there is always something new to learn. I am learning how to knit on an edging - knitting it onto the center panel of current shawl. Even after reading through the instructions several times, it still turned into blind following for the first few rows until I got my brain and hands around the technique. I am still intrigued by the construction of lace, so this shawl - dull brown though it be - is still interesting. So far.

What is it with the brown lately? Almost all my shoes are black. Most of my purses for the last 20 years have been black. I bought a new pair of sandals and they are brown. Since Heizen nibbled my old black purse until change was falling out of the bottom, I also bought a new purse. Brown strap and trim with a cloth body. And this latest shawl is brown. After the late seventies, I vowed never to wear brown and/or rust ever again. And here I am spinning brown yarn and wearing brown shoes.

The runtling lives still.

Yoshimi. Also, breathing.

Yoshimi posted on the blog saying it would be neat to spin some of my bunny fiber from Yoshimi. Yes, I do sell my bunny wool, but I won't have any of hers available until next shearing, which won't be until the end of August.

Regular, right-off-the-bunny angora prices are $4/oz. for prime, $3/oz. for short, and $2/oz. for combings. Each bunny gives a variety of grades at every clipping, rather like a sheep. If you are interested, Yoshimi, email me at fuzzarelly at epowerc dot net.

One of the nice things about living in a rural county is that when I called the doctor's office Friday at 8:45 to make an appointment, saying that my asthma was acting up, the receptionist asked if I could be there at 9:30.

The word Asthma apparently set their game plan, because first the aide and then her boss bustled around me. My lungs were listened to and questions were rapidly shot at me. Then the nurse practitioner updated my history and she listened to my lungs, looked in my ears and down my throat. She spoke about getting me a nebulizer. Finally, my doctor arrived and listened to me breathe and looked down my throat, pressed my sinuses, and asked me what was up.

Long story short. The doc doesn't so much think that I have asthma, but rather asthma-like symptoms that are set off by allergies and anxiety. She put me back on the Aunty-depressant but at a lower dose. She prescribed a nasal spray for the allergies and gave me two samples. She said my lungs sounded fine, not like lungs with asthma. Remember, I have been off the Aunty-depressant for about a month and the asthma-like symptoms have worsened for that month. Here it is, a few days later, and I am feeling okay and breathing fine. Haven't used the inhaler since Friday.

I find it fascinating how one's body can manifest the effects of allergies and stress/anxiety. Like hyper-ventilating and difficulty breathing. Like eczema on my hands.(!) Both of those are recent. Stomach upset is an old and familiar indicator. When I was younger, it was a feeling of almost losing control of my mind and body. Or that feeling of dread that occurs as one chugs up that first big hill of the roller coaster, waiting for the bottom to drop out from under me. So much for the grand plan of getting off all my medz. Anyway. Maybe now I can get back to having a life.

Aptly named...

Poor Anna Nicole. She's a rabbit disaster-magnet if I've ever seen one. There's been the usual stuff like ear mites and fur mites, but she also has one clouded eye (obtained after leaping to freedom from her cage.) She had the maggot episode last summer and a bot fly episode this summer, and two litters with no survivors. Oh yes, and the horrible sore hocks last fall that grossed me out so much that I couldn't write about it.

Anna had been living on the front porch, caged, for quite awhile with Nicky and Spike. Because of the heat, I moved all of them to the back yard the other day.

This morning, she kindled 5 babies - one of which was viable on discovery. In fact, he was crying and screaming, cold and covered in mud.



How did this happen? Who knows, except that at some point, for a few seconds, she hooked with some guy. Maybe Stubby? Her last litter lived for three weeks but failed to thrive, so I have no great hopes for this little guy. I'll do what I can for him. It's bittersweet.

Shawl knitting continues. My gauge is off, too big, but it is lace after all. Look at Jean's Knitting Blog. Her melon shawl is smaller than gauge.





Knitting, and a little spinning, is all I seem able to do this week. The great Energy Burst of last week has dissipated as the allergy sickness and asthma have returned with the higher humidity. Ugh.

The Ballad of Sweetie and Me

Sixteen years ago, today, my divorce from The Pygmalion was final. What I seem to remember most was how adrift I felt. For the first time in my life, at age 34, I was not under the aegis of some man. I was free to have my own ideas and opinions and to make my own decisions. I was terrified. I was on cloud nine. It was a scary new world.

Back then, my studio was in a warehouse in downtown Atlanta, about four blocks from the state capitol. I stayed with Marika that first night in April when I suddenly moved out, and Judy graciously put me up for a few weeks. I spent a couple nights in a sleeping bag in the warehouse. Then JuJu the Cat and I moved in with an actress acquaintance that needed a roomer, not necessarily ugly.

July 3rd, 1991 the actress asked if I wanted to go to with her the next day to her dad and step-mom's house to watch the fireworks on the TeeVee and to eat a great meal. I demurred; I didn't know what I wanted to do. She kept at me, and the clincher came when she said that her brother would be there (he'd just gotten into town) and that step-mom Frankie was a good cook. A really good cook.

The next day, the 4th of July, we drove from downtown Atlanta to the far flung suburb of Marietta (pronounced May-Retta.) The food was delicious and abundant. The brother was interesting. The man actually listened to me and he wadn't ugly none, not that I was in the market, you must realize. I remember remarking that my last husband would indeed be my last husband.

That man, that brother, was Sweetie. He was 27.

Two weeks later, I called and invited him to a movie and he agreed. He was delighted that instead of the current chick flick "Thelma and Louise," I wanted instead to see Arnold in Terminator 2. I remember that he paid for my ticket and opened all doors for me. What a guy! He kissed me on my door step (and lips) that night and asked if he could see me again.

There you go. Six months later, he moved in with me and on July 4, 1993 we got married.

Fiber eXchange Guild, etc.

“If 50 million people say a foolish thing, it is still a foolish thing” ~ Anatole France

Fiber eXchange Guild is not about cereal swapping. Or serial swapping, either. But fiber swapping? Getting warmer. FXG is about bringing together fiber farmers and fiber consumers; i.e. if a person loves fiber, uses fiber, or raises fiber, then one is invited to become a FXG member.

There was a Louisville Courier-Journal article about FXG last week.

FREE OFFER: I have at my disposal a two-week free trial of Netflix. I love me some Netflix, that is for sure, so be the first to email me at fuzzarelly at epowerc dot net and I will give you the Magic Code.

Speaking of Netflix, we saw The Tick, Volume 1 over the weekend. When I placed this in my queue, I thought it was going to be the superb animated version from the 1980s of the comic book super hero. Au contraire! Seems there was a live action series on Fox in 2001-02 that my quirky radar somehow missed and this is what we watched and guffawed at. Highly recommended.

The Tick is portrayed by Patrick Warburton, who played Elaine's (car mechanic) boyfriend on Seinfield. With my background, I was entranced by the costumes and since I am also attuned to the weird, I loved the concept and the reality of the Tick's friends: Arthur, the Mothman, Captain Liberty and Bat Manuel. (How many ways do I love that character??!!)

In other, less punctuation driven news, I am maybe halfway done with painting the easy part of the front living room. Sweetie seems to collect hats, so I thought it would be good to just go ahead and focus on the hats. And maybe keep them being squished.





The hard half is yet to come. All that crap and all that dust. Even Buster. Can't wait! Help me.



Also, I am entering hand spun yarn and knitting in the Kentucky State Fair. Blue ribbons, here I come!

If you ever wonder why I walked away from the big bucks of movie making, read Shannon's post.

Not much. You?

Not much to write about.

Except, a giant Chinese penis.

Also, a great doggie masquerade costume.

And lastly, how crop circles are made.