All in a Day's Work....

Yesterday I finally got around to the peaches that we got through a local coop - woot! Gorgeous fresh picked peaches - yeah! We are, of course, eating peach everything at the moment. Peaches on yogurt, peach cobbler, peaches just for the heck of it, you know - just peachy all the way around. So, to say we've 'stolen' some peaches from the boxes is a mild understatement (who would tell the truth, really?) But, from the 1.5 bushels I've processed so far, I made 15 jars of peach jam. Yuuuuuum! I just follow the recipe on the sure jell/ball pectin packet. Too many times, I've tried no sugar, low sugar jam approaches and wound up with syrup so I just suck it up and pour the sugar in, moderation being my approach of the moment. I mean, there is alot of sugar in a batch of jam but - how much do you actually eat at a time?

I still have another 1/2 bushel of peaches to go so I'm guessing I'll get another dozen jams made today which will total 27 jars. That may sound like alot but, when spread over the year and accounting for the jars I will 'gift' whenever the mood strikes me - not so much. Since the berries on the old homestead (feels so weird to say that) are sparse at best this year - we likely won't have any blackberry jam so peach will be the jam of our year. If I gift 5-7 jars, that leaves us 1.5 jars a month. That would be fine except the huscreature is a biscuit eating machine and he still weighs 5 lbs. less than when he graduated high school so his logic tells him it's perfectly okay to have lots of butter and jam dripping off of the biscuit. I sear, I smell his breakfast and I gain five pounds. It just isn't fair, I tell you.

The chutney is my favorite. It goes well on anything you want to roast in the oven like potatoes, fish, chicken, etc. It tastes divine on a good steak with some fresh baked bread or, you can marinated some tofu in it and then saute it with the chutney for a sort of blackened, spicy tofu addition to your meal. Very versatile, lots of flavor - that's my way of cooking so we get along just fine. This recipe will make about 5 quart jars of chutney. My canner can hold 6 but I find they are easier to manage when I only put 5 jars in there:

* As note of interest - and because I am a total freak and like to figure this stuff out - 3-4 moderately sized peaches, when skinned and pitted and chopped, equal about 2 cups of peaches. Yes, I counted. Over and over, and the average was consistent within a 1/4 cup margin. I told you, FREAK!



16 cups of peeled, cubed and slightly smashed peaches
1 tbsp of the following: garam masala, cardamon pods, pickling spices
1 teaspoon of the following: pepper flakes, cumin, vanilla extract,cinnamon
Pinch of: ground clove, nutmeg
4.5 cups of sugar
4 cups of apple cider vinegar
2 tbsp fresh minced ginger and garlic
1 onion, chopped fine
fresh cilantro to taste
1 fresh Serrano pepper, diced fine

Cook together on med to high heat, stirring regularly until some of the liquid has evaporated (about 1/2 hour). No need to evaporate ALL of the liquid as the canning process will 'gel' the sugar and peaches somewhat. If you really only like a chutney that is thick and well evaporated, by all means, do so but you will likely only get 3-4 jars from this recipe. Once reduced, pour into sterilized canning jars and water bath them for 35 minutes. They taste great right from the start but, after a few weeks, their flavor really blends together in the jar and it is awesome! Throw your meat/tofu/edamame beans or protein of choice into some and spread it on some rice and you have a one dish meal that is out of this world.

* Second note of interest - I am a glutton for tongue punishment so I always triple the garlic and ginger in mine. Of course, that would make a dinner date with this stuff problematic if your desired attendee is sensitive to garlic breath. Try chewing on some fennel seeds after your meal if this is the case - it will abolish the garlic smell and still allow you to revel in garlic heaven:)

To peel peaches without cursing:

This is a super easy process. Boil some water in a large sauce pot. Drop peaches in until the pot is nearly full but all the peaches can roll around comfortably. Boil for a few minutes - remove them and dramatically (or not but I like to have fun so I make a show of it) plunge them into some cold water in your sink. When you pull them out, the skins slip right off easy peasey. Then, cut them up and remove the pits and they are ready for the canning process:)

Happy Mudder's Day!

When my youngest was a babe, he had the worst time with the 'th' sound. Really, though, it is a recurring torture for kinder aged kids as well, is it not - with those teeth falling out everywhere, growing back too big for them to all fit, and tangling the tongue? But, when you've got three little ones, the oldest missing four front teeth, the middle one potty training, and the youngest in diapers - it feels more like poetic justice that they all call you 'Mud' or 'Mudder' as the case may be.

Now, though, my babes are bustling teenagers and pre-teens and I have to say that even though babies are cute and cuddly and love you entirely without any question, regret since you didn't make them the kind of cake they wanted on their birthday, or retribution because you grounded them EVEN THOUGH you warned them repeatedly that you would if their behavior didn't change for the better and it only got worse, I am totally LOVING this part of our journey together. I've waited for the 'terrible teens' that I so often hear about - thinking and reasoning that this must be a natural stage of development to prepare them and me for the time when our days will not be spent entirely together but I only find that as the days go on, I love being with them even more. So, that's all I had planned for this weekend. Spent the whole day with the kids yesterday, just running errands, taking Thing 2 to a game, catching Thing 1 chatting up cute boys in the bookstore - AGAIN, and listening to Thing 3 tell me for about the fortieth time what he wants for his birthday in August because he's turning 10 and he's sure I'll forget just how special that is - LOL. Still, it was the bestest day - one that we topped off with a huge dinner and long talks at the table afterwards.

I was pretty prepared to wake up this morning, tackle the garden, and get on with 'normal' life. Here's where the older kid part REALLY changed that. It would seem that huscreature has become wise to the powerful genius that is the Loopy Ewe. Her 'wishlist' (most probably of which he was directed to by one of those sweet teen/pre-teen babes) feature of her store made it possible for them to shop for me without risking repeating the tragedy that was the year huscreature bought me the talking fish that sang, 'Don't worry, be happy'....a story I've told too many times to keep repeating but, ya'll, it ended badly. The gist of it is the fish woke my sleeping baby one day and, well, it was found later badly mangled and in the trash can...'nough said.

This time, though? They had me speechless, in tears, and then jumping around the room like a little kid on Christmas morning. You see what my little loopy is sitting on in this pic? Yeah, that's the very shade, style, and possibly even the one I groped whilst at Spring Fling but put back because I'd already gone over my budget and wanted to walk out of there with some serious yarnage. It would seem that the sneaky people I adore managed to get it, hide it, and keep thing 3 from spilling the beans about it. WOOT! I'm smiling a mile wide!

The Namaste bags are sooo cool and just what I was looking for. I wanted a bag that combined a purse and a knitting bag, but one that kept the knitting secure and separate from all the 'stuff' that goes into one's purse to try to mangle knitting projects. This center zip portion is for just that, the WIP, which, on this day, happens to be a pair of sport wgt. 'Serpentine' socks from Wendy's awesome book. You can't tell, now, because Loopy's showing off the compartments for me but, when I'm done, I zip up my WIP and it is happy and safe in the bag. The right side of the bag is plenty big for make-up (the side zipper pouch), a hair brush (yes, I do use one, despite my electrified do), wallet, etc. and the zipper pouch on the outside on that side holds my keys, change purse, etc. There's even two side pockets perfectly made for the phone and ipod to hang in side by side because it seems I always have one of them attached to my face these days - LOL. Then, on the left, PLENTY of room for knitting notions (tape measure, stitch holder, stitch marker, notepad, etc) and even a few books or patterns. I mean, can you tell I ripped my old knitting bag and purse apart instantly to pack my Namaste and still nearly fall over when I realized I still have enough space for a sweater in there? Do you think this means I love it?

To top it all off, I think this is the first time in 16 years that I can prove that the huscreature must have actually listened to something I said. I swear the man can mutter, convincingly, "mmhm, yeah, that's great, honey," in his sleep. Seriously! Recently, I've been telling him how I've pretty much exclusively changed over to size '0' knitting needles for our EKF 90/10 sock yarn. He did what I used to do at the thought of '0's and cringed but then I explained to him that it really doesn't affect the gauge that much nor does it take any more time or strain on the hands to use them but that I just like the way the knitted socks FEEL better. Then, he was doubting me so I got out a sock knitted on 1.5's and a sock knitted on the 0's and he stuck his hand in (thank goodness because the man has feet that wouldn't even fit in the heel of my socks) and felt around for a moment and, then, he was hooked on the feeling, too. I might have very subtly suggested that the 'hiya hiya' needles in Sheri's shop really appealed to me - so lightweight and so strong at the same time which mystifies me because, ya'll know, I'm a wooden needle chic - or at least I thought I was until I started knitting cables and such into socks. Anyhoo, he must have taken the hint because I also got two sets of size '0' hiya hiya's and, with my coffee/knitting time this morning, cast on some Cookie A. socks with them and, ahem, if I may say so myself, the needles are smokin'! Here's 30 mns. of knitting time counting the furrowed brow time of reading over the pattern quickly.... If knitting has done anything for me, it is that it has taught me to read first, though I stubbornly defy the lesson most of the time. heh heh.

So, I'm pretty much feeling spoiled and lucky beyond anything I can imagine to have another day of kid/farm/garden time planned with some knitting/spinning this afternoon. Being a Mom is reward enough for me - I'm loving this journey all the way through. But, being a Mom and being at the stage when you start to really be able to see the kindness, friendship, and generosity you've poured into them mirrored back at you? Well, it just makes you feel so happy you could cry all day....but you shouldn't. You should enjoy it, savor it, and be ever grateful that you're on the path. Hence, the goofy grin I cannot seem to remove from my face, nor do I really want to.

I hope all you Mudders out there, be you Mothers of children, nurturers of creatures, or mother spirits to the communities around you - have a goofy wide smile on your faces today! Happy Mudder's Day!

Not an April Fool,..,...

Birthdays around our house are not so much a cause for elaborate celebration as an opening to some of the pranksters in the house to release the inner trickster upon the unfortunate birthday-ee. Poor Thing 1, so closely aligned with the day of April Fool's, generally gets an extra dose of mayhem. She very nearly was an April Fool's baby and my DR. laughed out loud when I explained that there was just no way I was going to do that to a daughter of mine. I literally stayed in bed an extra day just to make sure I didn't progress in my labor to prevent her living with such a stigma, on account of the fact that I had an uncle who was an April Fool and, boy oh boy did I watch him get relentlessly harassed about it. Well, sometimes I watched and I sometimes joined in - LOL.

So, when thing 2 came to me while I was wrapping presents this morning with an empty potato strings can and asked that I wrap that up and make it special from him - I completely burst his bubble when I thanked him profusely for offering me the most perfect vessel for her gift. I'd meant to make her a box to store her delicate present but, in a pinch and with some nice stuffing padded in the sides and covered in fabric, this little canister makes a perfect spindle box. All I needed now, I said, was to find that blasted roll of wrapping paper......

We live in a craft house and because of that, there are always tools, papers, yarns that are deemed safe to use for ANYTHING. As that is the case, wrapping paper is a valued commodity in our house - and it is used to just about anything other than wrapping presents. I was then reminded by Thing 3 that I used the last of the wrapping paper for making the pattern pieces for our veils last week...Doh! So, I went stash diving in my fabric hoarding storage and found some red kimono fabric with dragons on it - just up her alley. I wrapped that around the canister with some handspun yarn and packed this little spindle of love for my sweet 16 into it and some Gold Dust Woman silk roving - which I know she lurves. She also got a set of Roses in the Snow batts (her requested birthday batt) some handspun socks which, while taking pics of them on her, I realized that I forgot to tuck in my cast on ends so, guess what I'll be doing while humming along to 'happy birthday' tonight, and tickets to see Ani Defranco later this month....we'll have so much fun. Oh, and I wouldn't be a knitter if I didn't give her an IOU - which I did because I am starting to lose hope that I will finish her Rogue before she's a legal adult :O

Unfortunately, that's not all she got for her birthday. The goofy police surrounded my gifts with other gifts like: a half eaten/stale bag of tortilla chips, some dog vitamins, a bottle of goldfish medicine, a blender, an empty bottle of rum (whut? where did that come from?), an empty salve jar, and some old holey socks. Fortunately, we will leave their silly selves behind this evening and go to dance class and then hit the book store where she'll pick out a book (this is kind of a ritual birthday thing for her because she is a book geek just like her mom) and have a bite to eat sans the parade of empty chip bags, bottles, and pet medications. We'll probably have forgiven them for invading presents hour with their goofiness and invite them to come along, with a raised eyebrow warning NOT to embarrass us in public because, you know, when your'e 16 - pretty much anything your younger brothers do equates to embarrassment in public.

All that done, it still seems to pale in the ways I wanted to make this a very special day. A day to mark how truly blessed I believe I am to be the mother of such a smart, beautiful, and kind-hearted woman as you are, Emma Jane! Happy 16th Birthday, kiddo - I love you!

Bulky is not a bad word!

I have to admit that I tend to think of merino in terms of lace and fingering spinning. Okay, sometimes I go really wild and spin a dk wgt for the softness. But, it hasn't always been that way. I used to love spinning a softie, bulky single with my merino. Truly, there is nothing like it for that squishy soft knit project. The urchin I made last week was well received but also, Thing 1 really loved it. So, that got my brain to thinking. I don't have the approximately 26 knitting hours left to finish her rogue but, I did have 6 hours this week to do the following.

Firstly, I spun up three skeins of bulky merino - none of which I have a picture of....just in case you thought I'd gone and become reliable on you! It took about an hour to spin each skein a 2 ply bulky except for one skein that I left a single. You'll see them, soon, though, because they are last minute 'quickie' gifts. For this project, I took one jester batt (approximately 2 ozs) and spun it in a medium wgt single. Then, I spun the 2 ozs. of 'sari' roving that I had into a bulky strand. I plied the two together, all except for 40 yds. of singles in the merino roving that I plied together, leaving me with a 20 yd. skein of super soft 2 ply. Note that, to this moment, we're talking about a mere hour's worth of spinning, here.

I used the 2 ply to make another urchin, which is a quick knit but took me a little over 4 hours due to the hacking, sneezing, and periodic bouts of flinging my arms in the air and begging for mercy or merely to be put out of my misery for good. Gawd, I love the flu, don't you? By the time I finished the urchin, my hands were shaky, the fever was boiling, and I was doomed to bed for a few hours. But, when I woke up, I started right in on that whopping 20 yds. of bulky wgt. yarn. I know, you were probably skeptical when I said only 20 yards. Truth be told, I was a little skeptical, too. But, I just dug in and improvised this little 'I'm not a scarf' collar to match Thing 1's hat. It has to pretend not to be a scarf, you see, because I have recently been informed by said recipient that she loathes scarves and doesn't like things wrapped around her neck. Like or not, we live in central Maine so the neck does require some warmth and attention. So, I decided to go for something REALLY, REALLY SOFT and also kind of 'cool'.

The best part? Just a little yarn, just a little time (about 40 minutes), and just two buttons and all finished. I took about 3 yards of the yarn I'd used for the urchin and made two i-cord loops for buttons. Then, I cast onto the edge of one with 3 sts. I added three stitches or so every other row until I had 10 sts. On the 4th row, I cast off two sts. in the middle of the row, which I replaced by casting them on the next row, again - resulting in a loose button hole for the other i-cord button loop to slide into. So, at 10 sts, I just started knitting garter stitch until I was at a right length for the next width. Decrease in the same pace you did the increases with (3 sts every other row until you have only one stitch left) and attach the other i-cord button loop. Viola! Pick out some cool buttons to accent your yarn and sew them on and you have a 'I'm not a scarf' present.

All totaled, we're talking about 6ish hours, here of spinning and knitting time. Of course, if you're a fast knitter or not afflicted with the flu, you might go even faster. See, I told you, there's still time. Of course, I couldn't pass up passing on a too cute and quick gift idea that Lisa pointed out on the ravelry thread. These would be cute little gifties, too.

Spoonfuls of greasy, healing love!

Heh - I thought I'd be here a couple of days ago. BRRR! It's been, uh, TOO cold here for the last few days - even for Maine! So, things (including me) move a little slower. I blame it on the lack of mobility caused by excessive layering. If you don't have a 9 year old in your house, then you may not be privileged with the goofy but hysterical things that 8-10 yr. olds say. Thing 3 is in all his glory of being the CUTEST LITTLE KID EVER! Lately, he's been saying the funniest things.

Thing 3 hates to be forced to stay indoors, no matter how bitter and nasty the weather. He finds excuse upon excuse to head down to the barn and feed the horse a carrot, take the chickens a piece of bread, or just sneak off to play for a while and claim he's doing a chore (smiles cuz we moms always really know what they're up to but play along with the foolery anyway because it's so fun for them). So, the other day, when the wind was howling and the cold was biting and I had convinced him that outside play for any length of time was simply out of the question, we had a talk about sensible dress for cold weather. I reminded him to layer and layer some more and he promised to only stay out for wee bits at a time and come in to warm up by the stove and have a cuppa hot chocolate. He kind of took the layering thing to an extreme and, later, whilst in for a 'warm up', was sporting a grand sweat and red face. I mentioned that the layering may have been a bit much and he replied, "yeah, must have been because I think I'm having a hot flash or something!" After I got up off the floor and stopped laughing hysterically I asked him if he knew what a hot flash was. Of course, he did not but realized after I explained it that he indeed was not experiencing a symptom of menopause and was, in fact, over dressed. I love this kid!

So, I was supposed to come here and talk about salves, and I will. First, I must introduce to you the object of my affections. You know, things have been a little rough so I did what any sensible woman would do. I baked alot, knit and spun alot, and catered to my desire for something to sit in my lap and purr (my big kitty thinks he's too old for that, now) and got myself a kitten. Well, I'm sharing her with everyone but Thing 3 and I are pinky wrestling over her nearly every day. Meet Tatiana - our little Maine Coon Cat. She's a terror, I tell ya - but you gotta love something this small that can have the entire house bent over laughing with her antics while confusing the dog and exhausting our older cat, Boulder, who has taken to mothering her and seems completely worn out by that awesome responsibility! He's all like, 'dang, I need a nap on my favorite stair and you bring me this crazy kid to train?' It's so funny. When she gets too out of hand he tackles her, gives her a thorough bath, and tricks her into falling asleep.

Now, onto the salve!

I've been making this salve for about as long as I've been using herbal remedies - around 13 years, now. Comfrey is a magical plant, if you didn't know. Culpepper raved about the bone healing virtues of this plant and, indeed, it's been called 'bone knit' in folk remedies because of it's ability to mend bones so quickly, it is as if they are knitted back together (you like it already, don't you?). I love it because it is so easy to grow. In fact, it is hard NOT to grow so, if you plant some, put it where you don't mind it stretching out it's legs a while. It does make an excellent soil conditioner but, should you get the bright idea to plant it right in your herb garden because you've read this, and two years later you are spending your whole summer pulling up baby comfrey plants 10 feet away until, exasperated, you give up and fence the pig into the garden to root out all the seedlings that are taking over, you will think twice before doing it, again. Just sayin'.

In my opinion, the knitting of bones is pretty spectacular. But, even more impressive is how this spiky leaf can knit skin. Seriously! My salve comes with a warning to NEVER, EVER put it on a deep cut. The reason is that comfrey proliferates the skin cells, which is a good thing mostly. Only, it is so devoted to making new skin cells and knitting them together that, for a really deep cut, the outer layer of skin can heal so quickly that the deeper wound is still underneath - causing infection and ouchy sorts of pain. We love the magic salve, here. I can't tell you how many times I've slathered it on a scraped knee that was the result of a bike mishap or a fall from the swing set, covered it with a cool band-aid and, by the next morning, just a faint piece of pink skin is where the boo boo was just the day before. For burns and chapped skin, ditto. Cold sores? Gone! If you're going to grow one herb and try to get the most practical used out of it - comfrey is a serious contender. I use the crushed, dried leaves for the ewes, too, if they are slow to heal from lambing.

The salve is super easy and, over time, I've added some 'special' ingredients of my own but you can just experiment and find what works for you. If you don't have comfrey, or can't grow your own herbs or, for those supplies that help you make your herbal goodness, I can't recommend Mountain Rose Herbs enough. I've been buying organic herbal care ingredients and other nedessities for years and I've always been impressed with the quality of their herbs, oils, and specialties. Here's my recipe

5 parts olive oil infused with fresh comfrey*
1 part beeswax
20 drops tea tree essential oil (it's a great antibacterial for cold sore, scrapes, etc. and cools burns like a peppermint would)
1 tbsp goldenseal root powder (again, an antibacterial/antifungal)

* to infuse the oil - place 2 cups dried or 4 cups fresh chopped comfrey in a pot with 5 cups of olive oil, warm, slowly, at low temp. for about an hour. Set overnight, strain the next day and - voila! You've got some magic comfrey oil!

Then, melt the beeswax in the comfrey oil on LOW HEAT. Remove from heat when the beeswax is completely dissolved. Add the tea tree oil and goldenseal powder and stir thoroughly. Then, pour into your favorite jar (baby food jars are excellent as are small jam or honey jars) and label - it's amazing how easily you'll forget what's in the jar so labeling really is a good idea.

This also works great on chapped lips and, without the goldenseal and tea tree oil and with a few drops of rose oil added instead, you'd have a great under eye and wrinkle cream.....this stuff makes your skin look great. If you don't want to make it, but would love to use it, I'll have a few jars listed in the shop for the Black Friday weekend sale next weekend.

Have fun....play hard - that's our motto here at Chez Kneebumps Don't Scare Us! How about some spinning and soap making next time, hmmmm???

Behind the FO Parade rides the Karma Queen......

Before I say a word, a flash of gratuitous handspun yarn pron is in order. Hmmmm...., we'll start with this little Austen Lace Muffler from the last issue of Crochet. It is soooo soft. I made the body out of one skein of the 50/50 merino/silk dk that I sell in the shop - hand-dyed in 'ravens'. It took about 1/2 skein for the body of the muffler and about 110 yards of handspun purple for the ruffles. So, with a skein of your handspun and a skein for the body - you could make two of these. I wish I had because this one is not for me and when I tried to reason with the cosmos on why it should be, my dear little mannequin got rough with me about it and refused to let me have it back! Note to self: next time, don't fill the gift knitting season with only gifts for others - it just isn't healthy to pine away for something soft on your neck while making oodles of scarves that will never be yours.

Then, there's this little scrap hat - made from some singles that I spun from bits of leftover roving here and there. Squishy, colorful, and a little funky. Of course it isn't mine. And, for the record, this little head mannequin had a wicked squinty-eyed stare that keeps me a little scared. It's creepy, I tell you. She was no less than brutal when modeling this little tam - an orgasmic mix of merino/cashmere/bamboo, silk and cotswold - a colorway I called, "gimme roses" because guess who is a sucker for a rose scent or a pretty rose to touch her nose? Soft, elegantly rose pink and nearly an inappropriate experience trying it on, also NOT FOR ME. Damn!

You might feel a little sorry for me, now, or hate me in five minutes - funny how life twists and turns that way, eh? The gimme roses hat was happy sitting alone but felt even prettier up next to this little scarf - a simple knit with crochet border from the Cotswold/silk yarn we had in the shop a while back. This batch was a double natural dye - one time in cochineal and then a dip in indigo to overwash. It was the first time I've ever experimented with teaching James how to dye and the irony is that it will likely be the last. That said, I still have a confession to make - I traitored on the hand knitters of the world.

A few months ago - wait, don't throw those oranges and rotten tomatoes at me - please!, I got drunk with the desire for sweaters. Sweaters for my chest, for my legs, for my feet. I wanted to be able to dress my entire family in woolly love and warmth (it may have something to do with the fact that last year we were pretty cold most of the winter). I started to calculate how much knitting I would need to do to just have one pair of long underwear, a sweater or two, and a few days of wool socks for everyone and I got really, uhm, depressed. Maybe in 10 years I could achieve that knitterly pace but, not today. Furthermore, I wanted to be able to save my hand-knitting for those unique and special things that cannot be done by machine. Yes, you heard it from me. I got onto the e-commerce sight of doom and bought myself a knitting machine. Oh, I dreamed. I dreamed of many sweaters by January. Of leg sweaters for all of us so we could play in the snow for even longer. I dreamed of knitting time where I could sit quietly, guiltless and contentedly working away on that special knitting, in full confidence that I'd done my job and outfitted everyone I loved against hypothermia with my magic knitting machine.

In my lust for easy knitting and warmth, I overlooked the obvious. A knitting machine is no different than any other facet of my fiber addiction. It must be met with total humility and an understanding that time, energy, and a heart full of woolly love will cultivate success. It pains me to admit that, in a couple of months, all I have managed to do was knit the body of this scarf, which I adorned with hand crochet work. I could have knit it by hand in less than a week. Go ahead, give me what I deserve (humbly hangs head in shame). Who knows, though, some day we may all be sporting long underwear and sweaters a plenty - or, you know, I could just have some major cabinets full of machine knit washcloths. What WAS I thinking?

the ball, the chain, the day

Just a quickie because today is a very special day (no matter how you look at it) being that it is the day that hubster and I celebrate 16 years of united insanity, grumpiness, and general peril to our well-being. Now, I know that a pic of our wedding day would seem appropriate but (by divine wisdom that I did not properly appreciate back then) there really are none. Nope, we woke, we read the paper, we talked about what to do with our 'day off', and we headed out, me still in my super-big tie dye shirt and stretchy pajama pants and he in some set of rags - and down to the courthouse we went to get hitched. It all seemed romantic, reasonable, and kind of private anyway. Also to my fortune, the evening that followed is not in photographic evidence - our rationale being that you only get hitched once and who the heck cares if you've brushed your hair, anyway - it's your day off!

With the lack of kissy-poo wed picks, I should have something poetic to say, non? Something illustrating how full my life is since the night I sat down to talk to this man and ended up marrying him a few months later. Obviously, with three Things, a farm, a passel of critters, and, did I mention - 16 FREAKIN' YEARS - our historical account would justify 'fullness of life'.

Alas, I have no poetry, no pictures of oodly young love. no greater philosophical understanding of how or why we continue to be insane, together. I can say, though, that MOST of the time, I feel blessed to have such a partner in this crazy life. Of course, the OTHER times, being infused with 16 years worth of stewing, lost battles, unbelievable apologies, and territory wars, I pretty much feel a hatred quite unexplainable for fear I will be put in a padlocked cage - LOL!

Happy Anniversary, hubster! If I don't kiss ya when you get home - duck, then run!

Life without an ego.....

So, the other night, we're all sitting around after dinner chatting a bit and the subject that my kids are still young and young at heart enough to discuss with inspired delight came up - what they most want to do with their lives. I look to the time that many friends of adult children have remarked about - when they may not be so free to just dream and imagine the limitless possibilities of the life before them - with a quick fleeting glance because I love so much to hear their ideas, hopes, and inspirations. All of us are writers, spinners, knitters, artists, and farmers. What each of us finds possible as an off-shoot of that is about as varied as an ice cream cake is to fresh, potent chili pepper.....there's nothing we don't think about.

So, all are talking about such things and the confidence in the room was building to an almost comical pace. I giggled and said, "whew! Is there enough room in here for all these egos?" when they started to best each other. I'm going to be the best writer. No, I am. But, I'm a better speller. Yeah, but I got more favorites on my story.... That sort of thing.

It was just a gentle way of reminding everyone to keep the spirit of dreaming and not go sitting down on the chair of someone else's dreams. So, I was a little shocked when one of my own children, a sweet and faithful child bubbling with brilliance, turns and looks at me and says, "yeah, except for you, mom. There's extra space because you barely even have one."

Rest assured, no harm was meant. A most innocent and also terribly funny conversation ensued with points made that even I (what'd you expect, I have no ego) couldn't dispute to substantiate the claim that I operate with a minimal and rather dysfunctional ego.

Since then, I've been wandering through the days, somehow muddling through without my ole ego. Though, when cracking a fortune cookie on our dinner out for Thing 3's birthday, it suggested that my outlook needed refreshing and that I would proceed without issue upon doing that. Another such debate ensued, this time between all three things, about how 'old mom's outlook is - she sure needs another one'. With laughs and giggles and all. I 'neverminded' it - instead, casting off the last toe on my 'Black Magic Woman' socks and mourning my dead ole outlook and missing ego.......the socks were quite a comfort!

In which there is an excuse for gorging on cake......

Nine years ago I was surprised and giving birth. I mean, not surprised because, after being pregnant a few times already - I was certainly aware it was imminent. Just so you know because I realize that the peek into the crystal murky waters of my mind that you get on the blog, here, MIGHT have led you to doubt my intelligence and/or sanity and believe I didn't know how it happened. No, I was surprised because the event was startlingly early. Not that it doesn't happen in the common human world or anything but, ya'll, this was MY world - you know, where everything goes just the way it's supposed to - or should, anyway. Where the lessons you've learned equip you to deal more heroically with the challenges that are before you. Where, having learned those lessons sort of protects you, in an optimistic sense, from continuing to screw your life up or, worse, to do so to your kid's lives. It was at that moment that all the confidence, possibly bordering on arrogance, and VA-voom that my parenting experience had imbued me with through the mothering of Things 1&2 were revealed for what they truly were. Lessons that would teach me much but be fruitless in preparing me for 'knowing' anything about something so mysterious and unique as a human life. No matter how many times you do the parenting gig, it will be different, amazing, and a thorough mental workout EVERY TIME. Silly me, I thought I had a tool case of useful expertise. Please excuse the well-worn wallet pic - this was before we had nifty scanning/photo preserving munchkins hidden in the computer.

When he weighed in at 24 lbs. at 3 mos. of age, I was so proud. I had used my expertise and careful watch on nutrition for myself and him to bring him from under 6 lbs. to a stout, bubbling baby in no time. By the time he was 7 months old and crawling up and down stairs and trying to walk, I began to realize that this was not the working of any expertise, but more of a natural wonder that would continue to challenge and confound me as I tackled the awesome task of communicating with someone who was faster and more agile than I but who could only blow raspberries at me, say 'no, no, no' and cry loudly. Around that time, he discovered electrical outlets. Neither of my other two Things seemed to ever care what was under the kitchen sink, who lived in the mysterious outlets, or how fast they could run down the road after the tractors working potato harvest to try to catch them - ON THE ROAD! No problem, I had parenting books and friends on my side - I went right into town and got some nifty plastic protectors and installed them all while he was asleep, smiling to myself that his outlet exploring days were over. The next morning, when he went to his favorite outlet and found it blocked, he waddled into the kitchen, pushed a chair up to the silverware drawer, got out a butter knife, waddled back to his favorite plug, and proceeded to attempt to pry out the offending plastic cover. I may have counted the days on that afternoon until he stopped nursing so I could have beer in my life, again.

At one, I put up the first baby gate I'd every used (Things 1 and 2 were awful children, don't you think, leading me to believe this would be easy and failing to train me up properly for the task?) because he took to crawling up the stair railing and 'see-saw'ing on the top rail (my billionth heart attack). I heard him wake from his nap, whimper, and then the characteristic 'thud' of his little feet hit the floor and started running. I met him at the gate to let him through but he put his little chubby baby hand up shouting, "no, no, no" so I stopped just for a FEW SECONDS which was long enough for him to reach his arm over the gate, flip the latch, and swing it open while clapping for himself and smiling a mile wide. He weaned himself the following week for some potatoes with cheese on the coffee table and I can't say I wasn't grateful.

So this has been the theme of our little dance together - an astonishing tale of a little boy who, when born with a head full of long, shiny black hair that put Mr. Potter to shame stumbled and bumped to get into the world and has been boldly trudging on since. I get tired just watching it. Always full of laughs and that Leo-esque charm that makes it impossible to keep a straight face when you should be acting like the mom but find yourself laughing hysterically. Like when, upon hearing that his sister couldn't get the beads she wanted at the craft store because two very rude women were sprawled out into the aisle and refused to move their cart for a little girl (and fresh off the experience of becoming Lord of the Rings and, as such, Orc enthusiasts), he ducked his little head down and said, 'I'll see to this..." I left my cart and everything to chase after him but, ya'll, he's really fast! I found him, just turning the corner into the aisle, myself, or heard him, more like it. Seems he transformed himself in the Orc Warlord and trudged up to the women with his imaginary spear gruffy shouting, "Fall in line, you maggots, NOW! Fall in Line!".

I should have acted surprised but their horror and,yet, total obedience to him as they fell in line and moved their carts over so his older sister could get to the beads was....poetic....and hysterical.....and priceless. I've found that my version of 'acting like a mom' rarely means anything other than loving this experience for all it's worth and remembering that, though my chance victories and accomplishments may delude me into thinking otherwise at times, I know nothing!

Happy Birthday, Kid!

As it would happen, this is also the beginning of the month so that means it's time to start another Great Giveaway. Bet you thought I was gonna give you something easy like, 'wish my kid happy birthday and you're in the drawing'? Heh....you know me too well. This month we'll be giving away something of the sock yarn variety - a grab bag of mini-skeins in random colors, shall we? To honor the chaos, comedy, and general bag of who-knows-what that this 'Mama' adventure embodies?

Not as easy as it seems.....

I've always enjoyed an eclectic range of friendships - I like so many different kinds of people. When I was in school, I never 'hung out' with just one group of people - more that I sort of migrated between many groups. It made the parties at my house most interesting! Well into adulthood, I will occasionally organize a get-together and always I have this moment of panic just before wherein I realize I haven't considered how these various groups of people will interact. Like the time I had a Halloween party for the kids and invited a farm family from down the road, some like-minded friends of ours, and some Quaker and Mennonite friends.

There was one group about which I held a biased opinion and, I am sad to say, struggled with that bias until just a few years ago - the cheerleaders. I tried to like them and, my grand mistake, tried to be friendly to them. Somehow, it escaped my sphere of reality to realize that I might have just stumbled onto some particularly evil and selfish people disguised as cheerleaders and I just assumed they were all the kind of friends who would snub you and then ask you for some grunt work favor at the same time.

Years later, whilst having some wine on a summer afternoon and watching our kids play in the yard, a friend of mine and I got to talking about the music/clothes/etc. that we liked in our youth. Somehow, my bias slipped out and said friend revealed she was, indeed, a cheerleader. I was stunned. How could she be? I mean, I liked her! We laughed about my predisposed mistrust of cheerleaders and she giggled, 'Well, you knowwwwwww, being a cheerleader isn't as easy as it looks. Not only do you have to be friends with exactly the kind of people you've described (your fellow cheer leading mates) but you have to be popular, and kind, and attractive before the watchful eyes of everyone at school.' I ruminated on that and decided two things: 1. Gawsh - I'm so glad I'm not a cheerleader and 2. see 1.

Recently, I joined a KAL on the best place in knitterdom called 'Summer of Socks'. The whole notion of sock knitting during the summer just thrills me - they are the perfect small, portable project year round but I find them particularly pleasing during the few but humid and hot months of summer. The problem with this knit-along is that, apparently, you have to be aware of when summer ACTUALLY begins. Which, I am but my reality is skewed by being a gardener in Maine. For the record, summer in Maine consists of three short months wherein it is safe to tend a garden without threat that frost will swoop in whist you sleep and wipe away all your vegetable delights. So, I hatched a stellar plan. I was going to knit the x-mas pair of socks for each chick in my clutch during the summer (as opposed to my normal gift knitting ritual which begins in late October and consists of two months of me knitting even in my sleep to barely pull off a portion of my lofty gifting goals). It was beautiful....perfect, even. I selected the 'right' yarn for each recipient and bravely cast on. Knit one sock of each pair in a week and then, deeply inspired, went back and read the rules. It seems that most people associate the season of summer with the summer solstice. And, I failed to notice that the rules stipulated that all socks had to be STARTED after June 21. Mine were started on the 15th through the 19th. Surely, I thought, this doesn't mean I'm disqualified. But, on the contrary, I watched a few excited knitters post their first socks of the summer and others swoop in and remind them that their entry didn't count because ravelry, as you know, documents the date you begin your project so even if you don't read the rules, there might be someone else to do it for you. Bummed is so not a word appropriate for describing my emotional state. None of my three pairs would qualify for the SOS KAL. Whimpers. We decided not to let it get us down. After all, there was the 'vacation sock' portion of the KAL that we could still participate in. We chose the new colorway 'Black Magic Woman' and waited for the camping trip to come so we could start knitting. And knitting happened!

Whist the other socks sat patiently in the basket (I didn't have the heart to leave them at home so they still got to come along on the trip, too), BMW sock vacationed her heart out. She went canoeing on the lake (note that Thing 3 is rowing for the first time and is not so thrilled to have to feel the boat swaying while I fish out the camera and then ask him to pose Ms. BMW).

She was positively stunning on the beach, even with the high tide that was so strong that it nearly carried Thing 2 and I away whilst she sat on the towel (except for the incident when a seagull came and sat on her while going through our pack and trying to fish out some food) having a grand time.

She was totally jazzed when we got back to the campsite and I fixed a cuppa the life elixir and sat down to knit. Only, then I realized how hard it would be to knit AND to cook dinner on the camp stove so had to dash off and feed the Things first. I pulled the discontented socks out and she told them all about the adventures. You know, I can be pretty naive but I just have to say - things SEEMED to be okay between them.

Lastly, she got to go on a whale watching cruise which I only hope she enjoyed. It was almost canceled due to a tropical storm but, instead, we braved the high tides and I along with a many other poor passengers on the cruise made good use of Dramamine and sic sacks. The trip out to sea was so awful that people couldn't even manage to walk on deck. I didn't take Ms. BMW out of her pouch for fear I might poke some one's eye out when the next big bump happened. Also, I was deep in my meditation on the virtues of Dramamine, sic sacks, and ginger ale for me and Thing 1. Things 2 and 3 were an interesting shade of green when we finally got out to sea but they made it through without a need for such tools.

Still, it was worth it. We've wanted to go whale watching for years and this year we made ourselves a little trade-off. We decided that the money we'd save by strictly cooking for ourselves and not buying drinks and treats out would be used, instead, to go on a very pricey tour and get sick with a bunch of strangers. The best part? Would have to be that we saw the very rare Humpback Whale in our Maine Gulf. Oh, he was beautiful! I wish I hadn't been so shaky and nauseated or I might have managed to get a shot of his beautiful tail but you can still see him, here.

Well, it turns out my friend was right. It really ain't easy being the cheerleader, ya know? Something just snapped in the rejected SOS socks and, upon return, this is the gruesome scene I was met with. Can you believe the rage that the Esmeralda sock in progress that I stopped working on to start the vacation sock is exhibiting? Stabbed with not one, but three dpn's at one time! In true form of a mass attack, even the new, yet to be knit socks sat off to the side with their genius inspiration, mocking poor Ms. BMW. She sits, waiting for her mate sock to be finished, and I just know how she's feeling. By now, hopefully, she's realized that life just can't always be fair and will be able to move on and not take it personally. Maybe she won't take as long to get over her biases as I did. Maybe she is a wise woman sock.

Thanks to all who wished us a great time (which we had) and who shared inspiration and joy for our new friend, Brego! I may have missed the importance of including my history of horse-womanship but it seems that as there has been some concern expressed about our horse care know-how, I just felt I should add that I did barrel race for four years and have been a rider since I was a wee one. It's just that when thing 3 was born, I found myself unable to ride and realized that I wouldn't be able to care for a horse properly and give it the attention and friendship that it needed for a while so I've been horse-free for some years. I certainly know enough to keep the sweet fellah cared for, though, and I've been able to fit and saddle a horse since I was about 7 yrs. old so no need to worry - he's in good, loving hands. We've been working on the 'getting attached' practices and I am just in awe of this guy's personality. So sweet. He leads and responds to the kids with absolute care and precision - which is so very important because I think the experience of loving my old crazy paint mare when I was in my turbulent teens radically altered my life in a good way. While so many others were experimenting is self-destruction, I was scooping out stalls and picking hooves and I thought that was so uncool. Yet, I cannot recollect so many of the names of those 'cool' and 'hip' friends I wanted to follow but, without hesitation, I can tell you that Prissy had one blue eye on the left and one brown on the right and could color you an exact replica of her paint spots though I have not seen a photo of her in some 22 years....that is love!

A Rainbow for Brego.....

I know it may seem silly to some, but I really believe in the magic of a rainbow - yes, really! Rainbows, to me, are indicators of promise and the hope to mend even the darkest, stormy stuff that has made its way around you. They remind you that even when you feel spent and low, that there is a natural arc to everything. That what goes up must come down but if that is true then it must also be that what is down can rise up singing again. And, you know, I have that 'thing' for color so something so purely inspirational that also looks like someone painted the sky with electric crayons really draws me in....

For the last few months, I've really been struggling with our farming life. It's not that I have higher aspirations for some 'green grass' of a life anywhere else, and it's not that my life isn't rich with pleasure and full of promise yet revealed. It's just been a really hard go of it lately. I don't want to whine so I try not to think about it much. Plus, thinking about it really sucks because it just drains the hope right out of ya. I thought, for a while, that it was just us - that maybe it was just due to the 'extreme' nature of our homestead in terms of our remote living and the stresses of doing almost everything manually while living off the grid. Unfortunately, that's not the case. Many small farmers are feeling it right now. It's not a pinch of a fumbling economy. It's not a blow that knocks you back but you get right up from and shake it off. It's a tightening grip that is rather frightening because all practical and logical thought for where it might end seems void of optimism. With grain having increased by almost 40% in just 2 years, and hay going from 2.00 to 5.00 a bale out of the field (6.00 if you buy it out of a barn), the stage for small farmers and for their animals has shifted quite dramatically. Add to that the fact that the folks we've talked to who use oil furnaces are still paying off last winter's heating fuel and the cost to keep the thermostat at 60 this winter will cost thousands of dollars - and there's no denying that this news leaves you full of despair.

Animals from small farms end up being the casualties, though their humans generally don't escape a deep well of sorrow, either. That's the tragic loss to our society as a whole when the small farmer is crunched out of the mix. I'm not purporting to deem all commercial farms as negligent because they certainly aren't, but the loss of the small farm is the link to a very sacred bond. We're generally very bonded humans - living with our animals and finding pleasure in taking the daily journey into farming with them instead of from them. It is an impossible choice, for some - to decide between feeding and keeping your family warm and keeping your livestock. Sadly, many are either forced to or are just too broken to keep getting up and animals are selling for so low that it is hard to watch.

When we heard that the annual horse sale that our local auctioneer hosts was last weekend, our hearts sank. There's something you should know about Thing 1. She's been studying the healthy and care of horses since she could first read books on her own, that would be at the age of four. She can tell you every ailment, every tactic for training, every breed of horse that isn't yet extinct with scholastic accuracy. Really, we're all crazy about horses but we've not yet gotten to the point where we can actually buy one. Every year we save our pennies, start a fund, and generally try to make it happen but every year a car breaks down or a vital piece of equipment needs fixing and we don't quite make it there. We've worked on the fund this year, though the reality of hay prices and costs greatly over-shadowed our optimism. Already, we've reserved the necessary bales for next year from the field down the road and that will cost us the equivalent of three mortgage payments when we're done. Then, last week, there was the need of car repairs. So, we read about the sale in the paper and everyone was crying on the inside. Some of us on the outside, too. We almost made it this time.

I decided we'd go, anyway. I told Things 1,2 and 3 that we'd go knowing we couldn't actually buy a horse. Maybe a used saddle. Maybe some tack. We'd build slow, and we'd wait for the right moment to come our way. We all felt sad about it but were excited to spend a day around some beautiful horses. I fell right in love with this little powdered sugar mare. I stayed with her a while, avoiding the other side where you see the heads of the rowdy and kicking belgian X's . They were awful and the huge (and I mean huge) donkey next to them wasn't helping the mayhem at all. Frustrated that they were upsetting the other horses so badly, we went over to the auction barns and - guess what? We found a beautiful saddle for half of what I'd put aside to spend on one. I bought us all a round of root beers and we felt pretty content.

The pony barns are always a little different than the horse barns - ponies being energetic and maybe more opinionated because they are so small and generally looked cross at by the big, showy horses. The whinny-ing was sort of comical - little bodies belting out loud songs saying, 'hey, look at me, I may be small but I'm totally cute!'. We used our afternoon as an opportunity to learn. We talked to owners when we could, made notes about our favorites so we could watch what they sold for and be more prepared for when our time came. The talking to the owners was both comforting in a creepy sort of way and hard in a heart in the throat sort of way. I realized right away that our family wasn't the only family exhausted by the rigors of last winter. While for us it wasn't heating oil bills, there was the daily dance with the wood supply, knowing that she could turn anyway, anyday and we'd have to make do with what we had. I learned that many hearts were on the ground and I was sad to see some really good shepherds/caretakers turning their backs entirely on the small farm life because they just couldn't balance it all anymore. I felt grateful that we can take care of our needs with sweat and tears because I was beginning to see the other side - wherein you can't take care of it anymore and have to let it go. It was awful and inspiring, terribly sad but a concrete reminder of why we've made the choices we have, and it was all to the background of these graceful spirits humming, patting their hooves on the ground, and giving the occasional shout out to either be noticed or kindly request that a prospective buyer put their leg down and leave them to their hay.

The word around the fair grounds was that everyone was looking for ponies this year and that horses were expected to sell for less than a new saddle. We gasped. I mean, that definitely meant what we already knew - we weren't leaving with a pony, today. But, an idea started to form in our minds and, without speaking it to each other, we moved into the arena and took a seat. Sure enough, ponies (easy to feed, smaller in a tight barn space, etc.etc.) were snatched up like wildfire. But the horses? It made me cry. I saw stunning paints go for less than one car payment, registered show horses for a quarter of what they were worth. I couldn't help it at one point, I just watched these beautiful horses be sold for pennies of their value and the tears were running down my cheeks. I resisted, though it was awful hard, putting my card in the air and saying, 'I'll take them all'. Such martyrdom may have been my inclination in my younger days but I've come to learn that that kind of adoration is a selfish calling - not the better part of yourself that bridges the gap between hope and reality and looks genuinely at the long term interests of the things they profess to love. Still, it was difficult to see the ones that sold for so little but had so much to offer and, even worse, the ones that didn't sell at all - whose fate might hold an even more painful story. It made holding onto one's grip of reality a stabbing thing. The one that bucks, though beautiful and packed with potential - not an appropriate horse for kids. The one that has show experience and cuts beautifully? Too much horse for a beginner. There were only three horses left and I'd managed to scratch every one from our list due to some reality that would have made the match incorrect.

And, then, they brought him in. Rode him in, actually, saddled in his stunning Tennessee Walker prancing glory. Calm as an old gentleman, though he's only 11, and taking every queue with poise and calm. Loud screeching from the amplifier? He didn't even budge. He had a grace that made the people in front of us gasp as he turned with his rider and left arena. It was telling that when the auctioneer called 'sold' and read my number and thing 3 (who was sitting in front of me and had no idea I was bidding) heard our number and promptly fell off the bench with excitement. A few people came over to congratulate us on finding such a great horse and we just stood there beaming and gaping like a pack of fools drooling on ourselves. And he is ours like we are his. And we love him. Welcome home, Brego!

Even hubster, who when we married proclaimed himself as 'not a horse person', has fallen under Brego's spell. The next morning, when we sat down to eat, I asked Thing 1 if she'd been down to the pasture to talk to him, yet, and she shyly smiled and nodded. Thing 2 piped up shortly after that he'd taken him some grass bouquets and Thing 3 answered that by informing us that he'd gotten up with the sun and snuck down to take him a carrot. I think this means that we are a little excited.

So, surprises in the air, we've decided to still keep our camping spot and go away for a few days - leaving the place in the trusty hands of hubster and under the watchful gaze of Sage and Gypsy (our brave dogs). We'll be back on Friday and I can only hope that he's not up to any crazy notions while we're gone. It's a playground littered when potential for chaos whenever I leave this man alone.....expect anything to happen. Have a great few days - I know I will. I've packed the Things and we are thrilled beyond belief to head to our little special spot at Acadia Ntnl. Park and sleep listening to the ocean lap at the shore even if the seagulls poop all over our tent, again. The necessities in tow, which means my new sock mind bending thrill (love you, Cat Bordhi) and a basket full of sock yarn because while I am on vacation - I'm not crazy! Some serious seaside knitting while the kiddos play on the beach is just what I've been needing to conquer the monster within! The winner of the Great Giveaway magic ball will be drawn upon my return and announced next week.

I've been keeping a secret......

About now, ya’ll are shaking your heads, going, “right, you keeping a secret – ain’t happening!” and you’re right in doing so. Everyone who knows me for five minutes knows that I suck at keeping secrets. In fact, in my twisted logic, keeping a secret is kind of a form of lying. I mean, there are good secrets and bad secrets but, either way of intent, the aim in coveting a secret is to deceive others into not noticing your devious secret keeping. It so goes against the nature of a slightly neurotic blabbermouth who likes to squeal and laugh out loud and tell you just what you want to know and how wonderful you are, etc. etc. Keeping a secret is a weight I don’t usually opt to bear because I know it’s just a matter of time before it eats away at me and I end up feeling like a slug.

Recently, in a effort to get things back on track in the form of peaceful times between Mr. and Mrs. Enchanted Knoll, we’ve been trying this strange but pleasant thing commonly referred to as ‘talking’. I know, sounds so simple, right? Only, the homestead is hopping and buzzing like a beehive from March to September and it is all too easy to get swept up in that momentum and FORGET to take care of the people you love. We’re slow – but learning. You’d think that after 16 yrs. Of marriage, we’d have stumbled on this ‘taking time to talk’ concept before now. The truth is that we have but, uh…., then we got really busy and forgot it again (rolls eyes at self and shakes head). So, hubster says to me the other day, ‘Is there something you want to talk to me about – because you seem kind of distant and I don’t know what to do’. The weird thing? Someone else that I adore said the same thing just days before….and they’re connected. From these two people, I have been keeping my big ole secret. So, I decided to come clean. I told him the whole story (which, yes, I’m about to share with you) and when I was done confessing my high crimes of liardom, sneaky and secretive behavior – he laughed at me! Yes, he did! He mutter something about not believing how gullible I am and that I worry too much. This may have strained these new tightropes of peacemaking a bit but, fortunately, I’m also one to forget about such things and I have to admit, I laughed at myself a little hearing it.

Herein lies, my big ole secret I’ve been keeping for some 7 months:

Many of you know that my good buddy, Lisa, was disrupted from her happy country living last December when a fire destroyed her home. I still remember the day I read her message. It started out something like a friend would think to say – like ‘we are okay (cuz they don’t want you to worry) but ……(insert whatever words you might think to say to describe such a nightmare)." I had to read it three times to assure myself that, though the fire was at night, it specifically said they were all okay. Then, I started thinking. Thinking what I’d say, or maybe I’d just listen and let her talk a while, when I called. Thinking about the Christmas box that had arrived two days before the fire chock full of goodies for me, for things, 1, 2, and 3, and for hubster from her family, and how their Christmas would be so totally different than she’d anticipated when she lovingly knit away on gifts for everyone that burned under the tree. I may have cried a whole lot because I knew myself and knew that if I didn’t cry first, I might cry whilst on the phone with her which would have been selfish and not the sort of friend I was hoping to be for her at the moment. Finally, I called. No answer. Staying with family during the holidays is crazy enough but when it’s because you’ve just lost your home, your pets, everything except yourselves, that’s a whole other thing so I waited. And, while I waited, I started to do what neurotic people do – which was to figure out a way to fix it all.
Only, I knew I couldn’t do that. In fact, I felt totally helpless to do anything. That’s where ya’ll came in. Realizing that my spinning/knitter friend would not even have string and hair to keep her company, I set about asking ya’ll for help. And help we did – we rocked! We sent her some stash rebuilding love that blew her mind and got her back on the knitting wagon STAT! I should have stopped there – at those two big, stuffed boxes of fibery love stuffs…..but I hatched another, more devious plan and kept this secret even from hubster (which I can honestly say is the longest time I’ve ever kept anything from him in these many years). I crossed the line into secret keeping, yarn hoarding frenzy. It was all due to this thinking: I was pondering all of the ‘things’ and pets and work that Lisa and her OH had put into making their home a good and well-loved place and started asking myself, “what would you miss? What would you need? What would you long for if everything you had had just gone up in smoke?” And, then I talked to Lisa – and after so long of us just chatting, she revealed to me that she’d grabbed one thing on her way out with kid in tow – her purse – which had her keys, her tam that I crocheted from handspun yarn, and a sock knitting project. Doncha love her? Me too.

A couple weeks later, I was thinking about that while packing up her stash rebuilding stuffs. And, it came to me that all that knitting she’d done – the shawls, the socks, the sweaters, all of it – was gone. Oh, I cried so hard to think that someone who has knit so much wouldn’t even have a shawl to wrap around herself and keep her safe at heart while she had to trudge through a bold transition from country home to urban living and rebuilding a home. There were four balls of purple yarn in front of me, and as I reached to put them in the box, they spoke to me. I swear they did! They said, ‘make it’. Now, ya’ll know I’m a southerner who attended 7 years of Catholic Academy and was raised by a police officer. So, I had angst about keeping the purple balls of yarn right away. Of course it wasn’t stealing – I was going to use them to make her a shawl already. But, still, it felt…..weird. I tried to entertain the idea of making her a shawl out of my own yarn but that seemed kind of arrogant and I like the sentimentality of using something that someone else lovingly parted with for her to make her something virtually infused with love from her fiber friends. I decided that it was one of those things that seemed uncomfortable but would be remedied when I sent her a beautiful shawl and made her oh so happy. I thought maybe by her birthday.

Only, just before that she contacted me and said that she was really missing her shawl and thought she might make another one. I had a very paranoid moment right then, I admit. Did she know? GASP! She couldn’t have – she wanted to make a shawl of a totally different color. So, I should have just bluffed and moved right along but, ya’ll, this is me we’re talking about – of course I ruminated this over and over and decided that purple was just the wrong color because she hadn’t even mentioned purple as a color she wanted to use. Back to square 1.

So, I thought, maybe by Mother’s Day. Only, by then I was back to thinking that a link to the beauty of the whole idea would be lost if I didn’t use the yarn that came from someone who wanted her to have it. Also, if I didn’t use the purple, what would I do with it? My conscience couldn’t bear the idea of deviating from what was initially a sweet gesture between friends to the kid returning the candy they swiped from the candy store. Dangit all, it was most definitely going to be the purple. I cast on for the second time. Fortunately, I got only as far as I had the first time, which would have been the casting on, before I changed my mind – again. I don’t know, it just seemed to keep bothering me and I started to think I’d never knit the thing if I insisted on staying with the purple. So, a full 6 months after starting this journey – I radically changed EVERYTHING. I put down the knitting needles, picked up the crochet hook, and grabbed the colorway that I knew was one of her faves (Queen Mermaid) and started making her some Mermaid Wings. Days later, I got an email from her stating that she’d decided to ‘spice things up’ a little (which is something we both have in common – seemingly harmless people who just appreciate the value of keeping the heart joyful) and had chosen a totally new hair color – mermaid! She also went on to say that she’d wondered if I was okay because I seemed sort of ‘distant’. I almost cracked right here and told her everything! But, that would have totally ruined the surprise and I just never get to surprise anyone and if I was going to come all this way to do it – I really wanted it to be her.

This is why I don’t lie. It is why I don’t keep secrets. I’m just not bred for it – it is not within the capabilities of my genetic makeup. I kept mum on it and told hubster instead. He laughed at me and instead of stewing, I went to work on finishing the Mermaid Wings. Okay, I may have stewed a little, too. But, mostly I kept hooking along making this shawl for the mermaid lady in Missouri.

Whew! The shawl went out last week, has met its new and loving owner, and I am finally free of the immense strain of all of that secretive yarn swiping. For the record, I sent the purple balls on to their intended home and they will, no doubt, be knit into something awesome (cuz Lisa is an awesome knitter). Now, wanna laugh real hard and then be surprised that I actually DID post the pattern?

I guess, by now, I've pretty much consistently screamed that I love all of you so much – my internet knit & spin friends are so dear to me. My surprise pulled off, my secret out, I was feeling good but that was about to change. That ‘feeling good’ was about to become a euphoric state of ‘wee, I’m so happy, I’m so happy…’ that continue on into the night when the Spindling Scot’s package arrived. And, to ice that yummy cake, a birthday surprise from Loribird! I don’t have a pic of Loribird’s package (ripped that one open before I thought of taking a pic – greedy fiber woman!) and almost didn’t have a pic of JudyMac’s but managed to stop myself squealing long enough to put down the one package I’d torn open greedily to take this ‘before’ thingie.

Judy made me a beautiful diz – and burned a soooo pretty mermaid into it. Seriously, is that not the most beautiful thing you've seen? I used it right away to diz the ‘Peacock’ batts from Happy Hooves this month. They are very nice, non? The diz did make a huge difference – I can’t wait to spin these! There was some gorgeous mermaid colored handwoven silk (cuz this woman is pure magic!) as well as a totally awesome crochet hook, and some roving she’d dyed with Ivy berries, and some CTH alpaca laceweight in, get this, ‘Peacock’ – so you know I instantly loved it . I’m always crazy about things that come from my fellow fiber friend’s hands, though, and the roving is beautiful! Knowing that Judy dyed it made it even more special. It shimmied right up next to this luscious merino/alpaca/silk roving that Loribird dyed for me and said, “you know, now all you need is something dyed by you and then spin us up and make a trio shawl from the hands of those you cherish”. So, that’s what will happen. The mullein is blooming (you see it behind Ms. Lisa’s shawl) so I’m thinking of dyeing with that……of course, a little indigo never hurt anyone, and there are berries to come as well.

And all I can think is, Gawd I’m lucky! Good friends, good spinning, good knitting, and the good life. If it’s so Pollyanna you need to kick me, I’ll one up you and say that, I understand. Go ahead, if it will make you feel better, just kick me – I’ve got enough smile today to endure that and more!

There's been some spinning going on through all this excitement. The yarns here are (from left to right) some rainbow roving that will be appearing at TLE soon, some 'tie dye' bfl roving from Spunky Eclectic, some bright white Cotswold from the sheep, and some purple cotswold with a 'spill' of angelina plied with a jester batt and, lastly, said jester batt navajo plied. Now, I'm off to spin that luxurious roving I made with my new diz - only I leave you with a cute babysitting photo. On summer solstice, one of our two remaining shetland ewes lambed. I knew she was going to but I was very worried, on account of the fact that we have no shetland rams. That meant that Rufus had, well, you know with Adora sometime in the late fall. URgh. I thought cotswold X's would be too big for her to bear healthily. I was wrong. Her little 'shotwolds' were very healthy and she had them and was back grazing in no time. They are too cute. Only, they are very energetic. This is the time of year when every spare minute is to be spent grazing for the ewes to grow round and healthy for the coming winter. Poor Adora, her lambs are too young to play with the big, spring Cotswold lambs....and though Rufus is a good dad and will babysit, they try his patience jumping onto his back and running all over him while he's trying to nap in the sun. So, being the good mom that she is, Adora takes them everywhere. On occasion, though, things 1,2 and 3 will take them off her hands and play with them for a while. You can see her, here, looking at them for a minute like a mom giving a sitter instructions. Within minutes of directing them in how to properly care for her perfect babes, she was off foraging and I swear I heard her breath a sigh of relief. Just goes to show you, even sheepie moms need a little help with the kids now and then!

Brilliant Baby Surprise....

There's no disputing that last few weeks have been chock full of chaos - I've discerned that from the comments this condition is not unique to me. Realizing I may be challenging the authority of the powers of the universe in saying this (I am donning my protective shield against lightning strikes, karmic retribution, and other acts of 'you don't make the rules, sister surprise) the band of tightening stress does seem to be loosening around here. What brought on the change? Here's the perplexing part: See, I'm a 'fix it quick' sort of person. If there's a problem, let's jump in and get it fixed. An emergency? Hop to it is my motto. Discord that is entirely normal amongst the altogether common place conditions of people of various ages, stages of growth (or denial), and personal preferences trying to survive the game of life together? I'm on the job to jump in and fix that right up. Only, I really don't like for people to be angry with me - so I want to do it just the 'right' way all the time. You know, so that a house of two dogs, 2 cats, 2 teenagers, 1`8 yr. old, 1 40 yr. old and of course myself will all be happy and smiling ALL THE TIME. It's naive, I know, but if you didn't know that about me by now, I guess it was time. So, this mysterious thing that I finally figured out to do that would end all the craziness so that we could pull together and function like the team of fools innovative thinkers that we are? Get this, they want me to just NOT CARE. I mean, not entirely of course. Heh, they want me to care if they are hungry, or if they need someone to. But, they expect me to let them carry on senselessly arguing about games, life, the weather, who fed the dog yesterday, etc.etc.! I couldn't believe it. But, after last week, when they had me so thoroughly frothing at the mouth that I chose to crawl into my shell and just take some wise advice and take care of myself - they were happy. Like, they needed the exercise of establishing and re-establishing their territories. This feigning disinterest in the little day to day disagreements and frustrations of the average wacky American Family? I could definitely start practicing that - it freed up some valuable knitting time for sure!

So, for all of you who listened to my woes, who offered friendship and empathy - and most of all for those of you who saw what was needed and gave me the ole 'woman, take care of yourself and let what is just be what is' puppy shake, thank you. MWAHHH! For the record, I'm not into abusing puppies. A puppy shake is a term I learned back when I was interesting in training dogs (before I realized I had no spine with them, either, and one whimper would make me stop dead in my tracks and beg their forgiveness for my cold-hearted cruelty) from the New Skete monks. It makes infinite sense. If you watch any animal, be it dog or sheep, the mothers have some way that they communicate an emergency or strong command to their young. You know, the ewe will nudge them hard in the side of the neck as if to say, 'shut up, you fool, you don't bah in the dark of night with wolves abound'. The mother dog does this most bizarre thing - she grabs the scruff of the neck with her teeth gently enough not to bite but firm enough to shake the pup's head a hard one shake and she growls. This means,'don't chase a car EVER AGAIN' and, it works. That is why it is imperative that a dog trust you before you try to go for its neck and put on a restraint or collar. They understand that as an at of alpha behavior so they must first respect you as a mother or authoritative figure. You needed to know this, yes you did. That's why you came to a knitting blog, right?

Like every Cancerian I know, hard days only bring out the stubborn hard shell of the crab and survival becomes practical where it would usually be emotional for us summer babies. So, we think about things - ALOT. While I've been pondering the time and sanity that this 'new complacent me' will enjoy, I've been thinking about other things, too. Like the crossroads. In gypsy culture, the crossroads hold great promise - and terrible fear at the same time. It is a place wherein choices must not only be made, but from that point on, acted on. You can stand on the other side of it, forever, refusing to go forward, or just trudge on through and try to end up better for the experience. Yes, for me this IS complacency. Don't judge, at least I'm practically harmless. While I'm thinking about this crossroads, I needed to knit. And I've always wanted to knit an adult surprise jacket. As you know, I've had a sort of weird coming around to Elizabeth Zimmerman. I think I assumed, from reading her back when I first started knitting, that she was far too clever, intelligent, and superior a knitter for me to grasp what she was so clearly trying to teach. I blame it all on the Baby Surprise Sweater.

I totally get cheap thrills about the idea of knitting a sweater COMPLETELY without have to sew in sleeves, sew fronts to backs, add in collars. Truly, seaming just about makes me put things in my basket and forget them. This sweater has only two tiny sewn seams and it sat in my basket waiting for those and some buttons for over 3 weeks. Okay, for that, you can feel free to judge. So, this woman's mind just gets me all excited and her skill totally makes me whine and feel sorry for my sad state of knitterly wisdom. A long time ago, I read the BSJ pattern and it was the reason I ignored all EZ books for another 3-4 years. Here's someone, I thought, who would be ashamed of my boggled brain at trying to figure out how the heck this blob of yarn tangles becomes a cute baby sweater.

Years later, I re-read the pattern (and since then pretty much anything by EZ that I could get my paws on) again and was thoroughly ashamed of myself for missing the humility in her teachings, the eloquence combined with kindly friendship that she offered to her reader, and the fact that she knew I would be boggled at the lump of tangles and was totally okay with that.

So, it was all simple enough. I wanted to make a not baby surprise jacket for myself but thought that her advice to knit a baby size first to help figure out the shaping to be utterly brilliant. I chose a yarn that no one else would pick for a baby. Pastels and 'eggshell' tones were never on my babies - we sported bright colors and earthy tones for boys and girls alike. This is a super dark 'deep woods' superwash dk. And, I started knitting. It was addictive. And then I started to cry. I don't really know how to explain it other than to say that I realized that, in so many ways, I am still in that mode of my mother/wife journey wherein I am trying to coo and comfort every woe without seeing that my job is to watch the woes and sufferings go on and offer the sane support and guidance that will help these THINGS grow into fully functioning, healthy adults. Yes, I presumed to call myself sane - can't ya'll cut me some slack just this once? I realized that I'm a little afraid of the days when they are grown and there's no interruptions for a conversation between me and hubster. Though I complain about that and have always THOUGHT I wanted it to not happen - I secretly fear the day when it won't....because the silence will mean we are alone. I have no fear of being alone with the man so please don't think I'm saying that....it's really just that the alone means that three people(whom I seem to be unable to stop seeing as my cuddly babes and start seeing as my nearly grown kids) will be gone. Pass the chocolate, please...

And, while some may want to throttle their local Cancerian for over-thinking EVERYTHING, there is no need. Firstly, they will throttle themselves for you. Secondly, they will refuse to suffer such agony without learning something from it. Sometimes, when we are afraid, it turns out that the catalyst for our fear is exactly the thing we need to face to move along down the path. I knew this baby surprise jacket was a powerfully brilliant design - but who knew it had so much more to teach me? I fumbled with the blob of tangles, fretted at how impossible it was to make it behave and become a jacket, and planned a little camping trip with the Things that I've been promising to take them on all of last winter. My baby days may be behind me and I do love babies so there's no denying that makes me frown. But, the days ahead are just as easily marked for moments that make a life fulfilling. I've seen a few of my good friends feel lost and alone at this stage of their life and I don't want to let my fear of the unknown and yet totally certain - that my kids will grow up and far faster than I am ready for, inhibit me from enjoying every stage of that journey.

I may have been drunk on that contagious tenacity that EZ exudes even these years after her life has ended. I could have possibly been swayed by her tender encouragement and absolute assurance that you can do whatever it is that you want or need to do, when I planned the trip and arranged to rent a canoe for the day so that we can paddle around the coves and shores of Acadia National Park. But, who cares, really? In times such as these, when we are all working so hard to make up for the increased costs in everything - I managed to plan a very affordable getaway that promises to be fun and challenging at the same time. And, for kids the ages of Things 1, 2, and 3 fun AND challenging is the preferred route. Oh, for the days when a lollipop and some sing-along songs did the trick. Of course, I no longer have to wipe their butts so I guess there is glass half full wherever you're willing to look for it.

Sundays are my spinster days and I am all aglow with the Tour De Fleece spinning thingamabobble that's going on. Of course, I was all wrapped up and duct taped into that box of eternal chaos when the whole thing was being organized so I was too late to join in, but am joining in in spirit, on the ravelry group, and in our own group, where we're doing some tour de fleece spinning with Enchanted Knoll Fibers! Two days into it, I have these 'gold dust woman' batts (cotswold, silk, angelina, sari) spun into a shimmery, gold lovin' 400 yds. of fingering wgt. bliss. Go ahead, ask me how I found the time?

Lemme just say.....

That ya'll are totally awesome!

Yesterday did or didn't end as badly as it began, depending on which side of the cube you are intently staring and pondering the ways of the world. I guess after all this time I just want to fulfill my role as mother, knitter, and grower of fibery and delicious (garden) things. I was not relieved to find we are out of crackers as well but comforted myself by having peaches and almonds for dinner and maybe I slipped and bought myself this book and a dress form. I tried, but couldn't help myself. I might have felt guilty in doing so if hubster had returned from the movie via stopping off at a grocery and possibly getting me something, oh, I don't know, like a bottle of wine or something for my birthday. Fortunately, that didn't happen, again, depending on how you look at that cube and what you are threatening to do to it if it answers you wrongly! (giggle AND snort because I no longer give a damn to pretend to be demure)

Then there's the much prettier side of that blessed, sweet cube - and that is where ya'll come in. I started sobbing in my peaches when I logged into ravelry and found a thread created in our group wishing me a happy birthday. It meant so much because I don't even think I've mentioned it on the blog or ravelry so it meant that SOMEONE (actually, lots of someones) noticed. It's a little thing, really, but then it can also be so huge when a community of your friends collectively hug and make you feel special. I think as a mother, woman, totally insane person - I like to pretend that it doesn't matter but that assertion is hard to justify when you are crying and saying out loud, 'oh my gosh, they are so sweet!' Then, I 'casually' went to look at my blog comments and emails and found that ya'll were all over the place giving me hugs, chocolates, a friendly, healing smile, and generally making me feel like being on this earth is such a pleasure. I could say thank you but then I'd have to punch myself for coming up with something so bland in terms of the joy ya'll brought to me. I will just never forget it. Thanks (ouch!)

So, feeling generally contented with a life surrounded by such a great group of humans, I went into the studio to open packages. You know, packages of supplies, right? NOn! I signed up for my second swap this year - a crabby birthday swap on ravelry. My first was a crabby swap, too, so, obviously, I'm partial to swapping with fellow Cancers. I had my usual apprehension after signing up which was vamped up considerably when I was reading the 'guidelines' and found out the gift needed to be presented as a magic ball. I didn't know what that was at first so I, like the rest of the free world, googled it. Then, the sights of all of those balls of yarn delicately wrapped around thoughtful, creative presents nearly caused me to faint. I checked my partner's birth date and, I'm so ashamed to admit this, sighed with relief that mine came well before hers so I would have time to figure out just how good of a magic ball I'd need to make. I was assuming I would suck at it because, you know, it's DIFFERENT. And different equals panic to me more than I'd like to admit.

Last night was the perfect night to go magic balling. Kris, from the painted sheep, sent me a magic ball or two that thrilled me, made me feel oh so special, and confirmed what I already knew - I am doomed to be the lesser end of this magic balling swap. I mean, the roving ball is a fabulous idea and I'm not just saying that because I was already thinking about one. Still, this is her own hand painted colorway and it was so beautiful that I could hardly keep myself from spinning it right up! But, can you get a look at that yarn ball? I can't even wind a ball that nice when I'm not stuffing it with goodies! I hope Kris will understand when she gets a yarn dinosaur instead of a magic ball and I'll have to throw in some consolation gifts to make up for it....also, I may be practicing the magic ball for the next week. So, it being the first of the month, and the Great Giveaway being a part of our blogging dances here, guess what the prize will be? Aha! A magic ball! If you were kind enough to make my heart flutter and glow by commenting yesterday - you are already in the drawing. Though, feel free to comment some more because I could get drunk on the kindness of good friends these days! If you want to enter your name in the magic ball drawing, all you need to do is comment here pondering this little tidbit - what style and tailoring would a bitter woman knit a sweater for herself in as a sort of rite of passage into said bitterdom. Oh, c'mon - let's have fun with it! I'll draw on the 15th and notify the winner.

Now, on to the magic ball. Kris must have been in my head when she included in her roving ball some lotion and in the yarn ball some soap from Sleepy Moon Soaps I had the pleasure of being next door to Sleepy Moon while vending at Mass Sheep and Wool and I was thrilled - such were the delicious scents that wafted through the air. Citrus, chocolate, ginger, and lavender - I was in heaven. Not overly perfumed scents but the work of a woman who understands how to tickle and delight the nose. The soap is shea butter and silk and ya'll know how much I love me some silk! I can't wait for bath time! Also included were some teas from Topmost Tea and some goodies from her LYS and a lavender sachet. All from businesses that were local to her (see what I mean about this woman knowing my mind) and all so beautiful and yummy. Thanks this much (spreads her hands out wide) Kris!

So, now I'm off to keep on trucking, get some more work done, look forward to bath time and generally ponder how I managed to be so lucky as to walk into a virtual room full of so many truly awesome people!