Remove from wrapper before cooking

This will be a disjointed yet rambling post; like most of my others.

It got up to 70 degrees today - January 7. Atlanta weather. Used to, armadillos were rare in southern Georgia and last summer I saw one as road kill just south of Nashville, Tennessee. I've never seen a live one. If I did, it would most likely freak me out - like ant eaters do. How long will it be before fire ants are here? And those huge palmetto bugs that are the size of shetland ponies.

I've been feeling good lately and my sense of smell came back today! (The last smell phase only lasted for a week.) I love the smell of the barn, the hay and the bunny poop. Bunny poop doesn't smell bad, but bunny pee can make one's eyes water. My eyes don't water, but it is almost time to muck out the Aegean stables again. I can't do it, not with my allergies so I'll have to get the village idiot handyman guy who can shovel and tote heavy things and hammer nails and fix mufflers to help me.

Sweetie would do it, but he's been working hard, seven days a week. And it's winter, when all he can do is work. Any other time is spent sleeping. What can I say? He gives me his paycheck every week, so if he wants to sleep, then he can sleep. He doesn't fuss at me for being a layabout.



Or knitting socks for most of the day. The Annetrelac socks are coming right along.




Lastly, I caught Sheila rearranging my sheets and pillows this morning. She's so funny - she doesn't pee or poop on the bed (which is notable) and she doesn't tear anything but she grabs the sheet in her mouth and tosses it around. Along with the quilt, the sheepskin, and the pillows. Crazy demon child.



Buster wanted to show off his noble profile.

Trim to fit

15

Looking for x ray tech schools?

Objects may appear larger....

Don't sweat the The Large Stuff.

Link works with this...

http://pressesc.com/news/2689_27122007_large-human-brain-led-large-penis/

Cook over a low flame.

I am totally diggin' on the entrelac socks! The technique is interesting and the yarn colors change often, so they are holding my attention.



I'll admit that just reading the directions made my head spin. Time to take off the thinking hat and become a blind follower. Just do as written. And in less that five minutes, the mind-gears engaged and I was off and running.

However, if I didn't know how to knit "backwards" (knitting from left to right as well as the usual right to left,) the love wouldn't be so much.

For example, the pattern instructs me to -

Knit 2, turn.
Slip 1, purl 1, turn.
Slip 1, knit 2, turn.
Slip 1, purl 2, turn.
Slip 1, knit 3, turn.
Etc., turn, turn, turn.

Screw that. So imagine instead -

Knit 2. (R to L)
Slip 1, knit 1. (L to R)
Slip 1, knit 2. (R to L)
Slip 1, knit 2. (L to R)
Slip 1, knit 3. (R to L)
Etc. Just slippin' and knittin'.

I have used this technique for intarsia and bobbles, too. EZ didn't think too much of it, being the opinionated knitter that she was. From The Opinionated Knitter I quote her, "Actually, there is no wrong way to knit, although there is one way which is nearly wrong. I mean, Backwards, or Looking-Glass Knitting. It is not wrong in effect, as its proponents - or shall we say victims? - turn out perfectly creditable garments. But they work in a void of noncommunication, cut off from run-of-the-mill knitters and nearly all knitting instructions."

Victim, indeed! It doesn't take an Einstein to adapt a pattern to one's own purpose.

Do Not Fold

It's snowing. First of the season. Welcome to 2008.



I have no idea what to wish or hope or work towards for in the coming year. I have always just gone along with the jostling tides of life. It could have been worse.

New Year's Day is a human construct and has no impact on me. Just another day.

Having said that, 2007 was a good year. I finally got over the grief of my store closing. I loved that store. Still cannot comprehend all of the energy, love, and karma that I pumped - nay, bled - into that enterprise. It depleted me, it drained me. Arts & Artisans, the store, closed in 2005, after sixteen months in business. Here it is two and a half years later and I have only now been able let it go. I learned so much, I gained so much from my store that, now, I can see doing it again. With a lot more knowledge and experience under my belt. With the same rosy glasses as last time. What a fool I am.

(Arts & Artisans was a gallery and boutique. I sold my own wares and also sold on consignment art objects from many, many people. Near the end, I began to offer knitting needles and yarn and lessons. At the end, the money and my energy was used up and I had to close shop.)

In November, around Thanksgiving, I heard an interview with the bespoke Alice of the Restaurant on NPR. She talked about all of the good things of her restaurant, about how many people she fed and employed. Alice said that making a profit was never her goal - that feeding, employing, and meeting so many people was satisfaction in itself.

I never employed anyone and never even paid myself, but I know that I made a difference to a number of folks. Hearing that interview made me feel less of a failure. There were those whose art I sold, there were those that bought that art, there were those that were faithfully there, visited regularly, and helped and supported me in so many ways. One woman in particular, someone that I can't remember if she bought anything or not, stays in my mind. She was from out of town, on a business trip, she stopped in and we ended up talking for a long time. I did my spiel about following one's dreams, not just dipping a toe in but jumping into life with both feet, life is short, be bold and fearless, yadda yadda yadda. A month later, she returned to thank me for encouraging her to live her life to its fullest. To change the things she was uncomfortable with. Wow. That sort of thing made me feel really good.

There were the two Democrat women on election day, 2004, that brought me a hunk of Mandarin Orange cake from the little diner a couple of doors up. I gave them some inflammatory bumper stickers.

There were several young people that didn't buy much but whose company, vision, and youth, I valued.

I taught several people to knit, a few to spin, and inculcated a love of fiber and art to many others.

I miss the store, but now, I am able to move forward.

I am trying to get into some other kind of business. (I still have my wholesale knitting needle account.) Some little thing from which I can make a small amount of cash, like Fuzzarelly Fibers. Now is the time that I wish I were younger and/or more full of energy. Can't be younger, though. Come on, Energy!

Not for the Squeamish

In my blog profile, I say that I keep thirty-five some odd barn bunnies. I need to update, because there has been attrition since I wrote that. I counted the barn bunnies this morning, and there are twenty-three angoras out there. Counted again, same sum. Where did the twelve or so go?

Quentin died with wry neck in the Spring. Lost Soul Man the Old Man in August. He was of venerable age. He succumbed to the heat even though he was in the cooler back yard. In October, I sold Sammy, KoKola, Bunicula, and Caspar at the Southern Indiana FiberArts Festival. That's six.

Hippy died of unknown causes in early November. Lucy went to her eternal sleep earlier this month, from renal failure. Candy passed just a few days ago, of intestinal stasis, aka wool block. Yesterday, Griselda passed from a combination of old age and hind end paralysis. That's four more. That leaves two unaccounted for. Sheila is an inside angora - maybe I counted her.

I tried to autopsy Lucy, because none of my resources spoke to her condition. She ate and drank and pooped just fine until her end, but she had a big ol' pot belly. It was hard to make that first cut with the knife. Took more power than I thought. A lot of water poured out of her belly cavity, so I know that was the cause of the pot belly, and I can only extrapolate that it was kidney failure.

I had decided at some point that if I lost a bunny in full wool, I would skin it for the pelt. It would be such a waste not to. Candy unfortunately was my opportunity; a big white girl, born last January. She had gone off her feed for a couple of days - but I figured that once she was clipt, all would be fine. That has always worked in the past. She was two weeks from clipping, so I was distressed to find her cold in her cage last week. Okay, Fuzzy Girl, let's do it.

I pulled out my huge edition of The Encyclopedia of Country Living and read up on skinning rabbits. Could I do this? Reckon so. Once their little heads are removed, the task is much easier. I hung her with rope laced through her Achilles tendons and pulled her coat off like a sweater. Then gutted the carcass where I discovered the solid mass in her cecum - i.e. the intestinal block. Crap. Literally. I should have been more pro-active when she went off her feed. Too late now.

I'm in the process of curing her pelt - an education in itself.

If you are squeamish, just remember that we are only a few decades removed from killing game, large and small, in order to survive. When there was no general store, one made use of every little thing. Eat it or use it. My daddy used to shoot squirrels for our supper, and raised rabbits for meat. Mom and Dad were both exasperated that I wouldn't eat the fried meat. I don't know if my brothers did. Guess I wasn't hungry enough. Not starving.

Mom and Dad both were brought up in the poverty of the Great Depression. Eat what you can get. So when I took Candy's carcass to the Tibetan Burial Field, I thought that if her death circumstances were better, I could actually see eating her flesh, of which there was a lot. She was a big girl.

We modern people, used to getting our meat in a nice, plastic-wrapped package from the grocery, we prefer to not think of how this meat came to be in the refrigerated section of our favorite store. The killing and cutting them up involved. Let's not think about that and just have another burger or hot dog or chicken wing.

I'm glad that I had the opportunity to realize all of this.

Keep This Ticket

Outdoor Bunny Update

In addition to the first little white kit that I saw, I have seen five other babies. Two more white ones, one with Dickie's head tuft (!), two brown ones, and an elusive black one. I have my guesses, but really don't know which mother kindled which kit. On the other hand, the daddy list is much shorter.

I took in one of the white kits after I found him huddled on the porch the morning after a terrible wind storm.



I try, (yes I try,) to leave them alone but I couldn't let this one be. Brought him inside and Sweetie noticed the bare patches and scabs on his hind end. He'd been picked on by Bambi, I presume, since I'd seen her chasing a white baby around the front yard. She has a history of being a bully.

Half of the kits have found refuge in the tunnels in the backyard enclosure. They must smell the summer bunnies and that makes them feel safe. They are still small enough to fit through the small fence gaps. If I stand on a chair at the bathroom window, I sometimes get to see them nibbling grass.

I learned today that my residence is becoming a minor tourist attraction. Pam, who works part-time at the General Store, told me that last summer, several people stopped to ask "Where does the lady with the rabbits in her yard live?" One can't do anything out of the ordinary in a small town without attracting attention.

Knitting Update

Finished the latest pair of socks. Here they are with Reece's Pieces, since I didn't want to disturb her chair time.



And have already cast on for the next pair. I paid for and downloaded the Annetrelac Socks from Interweave Knit Gifts. I have never done any entrelac knitting, and this appealed to me because of the use it makes of hand painted yarn. (Such as the stuff I got from The Insubordiknit). I may hate the fussiness of the technique. Who knows. But I like the look. Knitting is wonderful, though, for the fact that it can be tinked and knit again.

Cat lovers, and others, go here to Obey the Kitty.