I Am An Idiot

Yes it is true. I can be an idiot, but generally speaking my stupidity usually does not cause me physical pain. Emotional turmoil and/or intellectual frustration perhaps, but never physical pain. That is to say, until today. :o/

I mentioned last time that I've been having mojo issues. Nothing seems interesting to me. I've had no desire to engage in any of my "normal" activities. This morning, I woke feeling fairly decent, relatively speaking and decided that maybe today would be a good day to kick my mojo in the butt. Today I would try doing something that, I enjoy, would get my sluggish body, mind, and soul, moving and also included the ever powerful, ultimate motivator for me, destroy something.

For the last few weeks Joe and I have been discussing the lilac bush nearest the patio. I use the term bush rather loosely here. Out of respect for her age and stature, I should prob'ly refer to her as the Lilac Tree for I am confident she is much older than I and apparently, as you will soon come to understand, more sturdy than I. Several years ago we "trimmed" her back to a manageable size reducing her footprint in the yard to maybe a fourth of what it had been and brought her down to maybe 2 or 3 feet in height. The time had come to cut her down to size once again, hence our near daily discussions of the Lilac Tree. She was no longer producing her once legendary showy display of fragrant blooms in abundance, a few small bundles of joy here and there was all she seemed capable of these last couple of years. Added to her inability to produce said bundles of joy she was getting waaaay too tall thus blocking most our view of the backyard. Yes, a trim was needed once again. I do know that trimming a lilac this time of year is a no no. There would most likely be no bundles of joy next spring if we trimmed her now. But considering how few her blooms have been we wouldn't really be missing much of anything, besides, her sister who occupies an enormous area in another part of yard would still be able to satisfy our needs for vases of lilacs next spring.

So having had this discussion with Joe several times plus my desire to do something different I asked Joe if I could start trimming the old girl today. He gave me the go ahead telling me to do what I wanted. He cautioned me not to tire myself too much and told me to quit any time I felt like it cuz we could finish it up together on Tuesday (his next day off). I decided that I really didn't want nor could have done a lot on my own today so I focused on just lopping off the really tall branches to better improve the view for now.

I began cutting the branches off level with the height of my chest. On Tuesday Joe and I together would determine which branches should be cut to the ground. Another factor which determined at what height I would begin trimming today was the diameter of the branches. Just about every branch taller than me was more than an inch in diameter, almost too large in girth for me to lope off even if I was using the 'Big Bertha' loppers. I worked slow and steady walking the branches out to the far edge of the yard to the burn pile frequently not wanting a pile I couldn't manage by myself to accrue. I stopped and rested frequently but did actually enjoy the task at hand. Many of the branches were a tad bit too big for me cut without using more leverage than I could muster with just my arms so frequently I wedged one of the handles against my body for resistance and used both hands to pull the other handle. Everything was working just fine that way until I came across a branch that as slightly bigger than the others. It was a stubborn old branch. One that had apparently escaped unscathed the downsizing trim of a few years back. It was old and gnarly. It bore the rough, craggy bark of age, not the relatively young smooth bark of all the other branches I had been cutting. I repositioned the cutting jaws and tried again. The blades barely creased the bark. I inspected the unyielding branch and decided cutting it a bit closer to the ground might be a good idea. Yes, the branch was thicker down there giving the old girl an advantage but I figured the advantage would be mine. I would gained a higher degree of stability by being able to kneel on the ground, thus the resistance of my body to the pull of my arms would be increased. (it sounded like a good idea at the time) I repositioned the cutting blades again, had a firm stable base, one knee down one knee up, the handle of the loppers nearest me firmly settled against my chest. I grasped the other handle with both hands as close to the end as possible and readied myself. I released a single, swift, firm burst of power.

Snap!

I heard it.

I actually heard it before I felt it.

Now I wonder just how long I will feel it.

I broke a rib.

I am an idiot.

Plus I have to look at this until Tuesday.

Hibernating???

I think not.

Guess who dropped in to say hello?

Again.



Damn it.

To all flying mammals residing within the confines of the Hermitage:

I regret to inform you that your continued existence in this domicile is not desired by the owners. Your feeble attempts of neighborly visits have merely caused our owner/squatter relationship to swiftly deteriorate into an ever deepening loathing of you and your kind.

You have shown a blatant disregard for the boundaries that have been set. We, although it is our right, have not ventured into the nether reaches of the attic, walls, chimney, basement, heat ducts, or wherever you have your illicit roost, and yet you continue to boldly fly into each and every room of the Hermitage. It is abundantly clear you can not be trusted. The trespassing alone is enough cause for eviction, but now this second display of aberrant behavior of flying instead of hibernating, cannot be overlooked. If you do not voluntarily vacate in a timely manner, please note that you will be forced to go.

Signed,
The Owners of the Hermitage


This is war.

Vindicated

I know, I know it's been forever since I've blogged. I even began going through pix I've taken over the last couple weeks to create a single huge catch-up post. It soon proved to be overwhelming. Waaay too many things to tell you, waaaay too many knitting FO's to show off, even if I do have pix of less than half of them. Suffice to say, I didn't really plan on doing any Holiday knitting, but with the many days of being homebound due to snow, ice, blowing snow and power outage I did in fact get a LOT knitted. Nearly everyone at our big family x-mas that was psotponed until Sunday, got a little something handknitted by me, those who didn't as well as some repeat "customers" have placed their orders for more. It's really nice to have some goals in mind when picking up the needles and casting on.

OK enough catching up, on to the real reason that finally prompted me to write a new post.

Vindication. It is an excellent motivator. Yes, I'm feeling snarky and smug. Joe has thought I was crazy for nearly a year, now I have proof it is not so. OK it is true in most aspects in my life I am in fact a tad bit "touched" but there is this one thing for which I was thought to be crazy, delusional, or perhaps merely hallcinating but now I have proof that he was grossly mistaken in doubting me.......Last year I saw a black bear not too far from the house and now I have proof that the creature does exist. On the Quad City news tonight they showed pix of the bear. Here is a link to the story.

Ahhhhh I feel so good right now. Crazy for crazy's sake is one thing, crazy because of doubt is damaging to one's psyche.

Oompa Loompa

Soon our local theater will be putting on a production of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Someone involved with the production decided the Oompa Loompas needed these wigs. (Rav link here. non-Rav link here.) I'm not sure how many degrees of separation there is but I was tagged with making one. Not a bad thing, I have always been interested in the pattern, I just never knew exactly what I'd do with the thing after I was done making it. So yeah, sure I made one.

Ta da!


Then I couldn't help myself, and felt the need for a photo shoot, a High School Yearbook like photo shoot. Whadduya think?




Oh no, that is soooooo wrong!!!!

But ya know what? I've got a secret.

I'm not the only crazy one around here.

Fodder For My FBI File

I have no excuse. It is beyond explanation. I don't know the reason why I did it. I'm not even sure I should admit it, but photographic evidence exists therefore I'm duty bound.

Just one week ago today I was grateful for the pictures my brother snapped and I proudly displayed them for all to see. And now today? funny how dramatically things can change in 7 little days. You can see photos of the real me at Franklin's.

(I can't think of anybody I can blame this one on, I'm pretty sure the Harlot never did anything like this! LOL)

One thing for sure....I'm danged glad these photos surfaced after the Obama thing, cuz if they had been published prior to the event I would have never gotten that close. I'm sure being hooked up with Dolores will get you an FBI file in a single heartbeat.

Many thanks for this somewhat dubious honor to

Franklin,

and his esteemed panel of judges,

Rabbitch of the Fiber Studio and her blog

Carol of Black Bunny Fibers and her blog

Brenda Dayne the voice of Cast On: A Podcast for Knitters

Stitchy McYarnpants our Kitschy Queen who writes, blogs and sells her wares

I had you all fooled didn't I. The hermitage is a swingin' place. I do my housework dressed like this

Yarn Harlot - ness

The Yarn Harlot ain't got nothing on me.

LOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLLOLOLOL...........hold on a sec, I've gotta catch my breath over that knee slapper...............sheesh, I try to lay some goods ones on ya sometimes don't I?

For those of you un-enlightened, Stephanie Pearl-McPhee is the Harlot's real name. She is without a doubt a Knitting Rock Star. She writes . She knits, and then knits some more. She spins too. She can spearhead a donation drive for such worthy causes as Doctors Without Borders that surpasses all imagined goals. (Over $434,439.00 people!!!! I'm tellin ya the Woman is awesome!) She can whip the knitting community into a frenzy by merely dropping a stitch.....in short, she's a Goddess.

Aside from her incredible knitting skills, her impeccable taste in projects, and her deity status, her blog is a damn good read and makes me smile. Oh hell's fire she makes me laugh out loud most days. One of the many things she does that always gives me the giggles are her sock pictures. She travels with her sock and takes pictures. Her sock pix have tickled me to no end. (I tickle easily apparently)

Are you all now scratching your heads and wondering why the hell I'm blabbering on and on about the Yarn Harlot? I never blabber on about anyone, not even my kids (at least not much). I'm not the hero worship type. What gives with the Harlot accolades is what you're all thinking right? Well, something has been weighing on my mind for a while now and Harlot Mimicry is the only thing I can come up with as an excuse for my behavior.

A couple of weeks ago, I did something that I'm sure, now that I think about it, could have swiftly and without question landed me in the custody of the Secret Service and charged with some pretty serious federal offenses.

Here's the photographic evidence that exists.

BTW the really good pix were all taken by my brother....the others?...yeah those would be my photos. :-/

The stage is set. Note the placement of the stool, the guard ropes, and the picnic table. We were seated on the picnic table.



The venue begins to fill. .



Yep that is Joe and I sitting there....
of course you silly rabbit I'm knitting......

Huh, we (the Harlot and I) both have hair issues it seems.













He arrives.












Getting closer.....



Closer....











And what does your typical Harlot inspired knitter do when the next President of the United States of America speaks to her? Well, DUH!...she asks him to hold her knitting and take a picture.

Think about that a second.



I'll give you a close up of the actual encounter.



I'm talking to and touching a man who one day, could be, the most powerful man in the world and all I can say is, "Will you hold my knitting?" Oh that is wrong on so many levels I don't even want to consider them all. But it is kinda funny, so funny/strange/demented I guess, that he laughed and said, "Sure. Should I hold it like this?" took my knitting, reverently held it and smiled that incredible smile of his.

BTW my camera did this








The moment I realize my camera/skills screwed it all up.











How about another close up?
Wanna see real human anguish?




As he handed my knitting back to me (still laughing) he said we'd get some pictures after his speech.


I think I made his day.







There were no after the event shots of Obama and my knitting taken. It seems the Secret Service guys/gals stepped up their protection as they ushered him out after the speech, and as far away from my side of the stage as possible.



There's eight of them surrounding him in this shot. Do you see any of these folks in the arrival picture? See the woman half turned in my direction? Notice how she is between me and Obama at all times?


She's about my size. I could take her. LOLOLOLOLOLOL

Oh brother who am I kidding , and what craziness lurks in my brain!?!? Who in their right mind would even think about shoving a noose-like piece of circular knitting in bulky weight with # 15 needles poking out at a Presidential Candidate!?!

Many thanks to my brother Rick who was sitting across the stage from me, that's him, the cute fuzzy one. Without the photos from Rick's vantage point any proof of the Obama/CrazyLady knitting photo would not exist. Except of course those in the file the FBI now has on me.

A Dumb Thing to Do

For a bazillion reasons why, I've been painting a lot lately. When I say a lot, I mean A LOT. Not exactly sure how many quarts or spray cans I've gone through, but yesterday's trip to the hardware store brought home another gallon of paint, and 4 more cans of spray paint. This was the 4th trip of it's kind.

Some of you might think that all this painting is the dumb thing to do, but I enjoy painting. I like taking something old and worn and giving it a new life. Thus all the spray paint. Rustoleum to be exact, to liven up some new-to-me wrought iron patio furniture. (I heart rustoleum) No, the really dumb thing to do is explained below......

Yes, for a few days now I've been painting my "new" furniture outside on huge slabs of cardboard laid out in the yard. A couple of those days have been less than ideal to be using spray paint outside so I've been walking around with semi-permanent dirty looking feet and shins, from the over spray. It rubs off eventually :-)

Today was another story.....overcast, calm, not much chance of over spray, a good day to spray paint, but other dangers loomed unbeknown to me. I had just painted the underside of a large mesh top table and was flipping it over to the paint the top. Why I didn't stop to think about what I was doing, I'll never know. I stepped on to the cardboard, first one foot then the other, and I didn't think a whit about it. Then I took 2 more steps; I had to peel my bare feet away from the cardboard as I did so. Ooooops.




Um yeah, rustoleum, it doesn't wash off!

Couple of things

The reason for this post is twofold. One, because I just made some changes in the way we compute here at the Hermitage and I want to make sure everything is playing nice together. And two, I have another Crazy Lady story to tell.

Yesterday I felt like crap, still don't feel perky today, but better, thanx for askin'. I don't want to step on anyones sensibilities here but I gotta be honest. Yesterday, I started my period. AGAIN. Yes the 16 day cycle from hell (please, oh please Goddess of Menopause wave your magic tampon on a stick and make it all go away) has once again knocked on my door. Aunt Martha has come a vistin' again. I'm assuming you all know the baggage she bring. Cramps, nausea, headache, weird food cravings and, um, altered emotional states. Yeah, I'm bitchy. As if the rest of the symptoms aren't enough to make a woman grumpy, consider the waxing and waning hormones, or in my case, the surging and retreating armies on the battlefield of premenopausal mommy bits. It's enough to make a sane woman a raving lunatic.....so where does that leave me? Uh huh, nuff said.

Now, the Crazy Lady part of the story.......Oh sorry, you thought the above was the crazy part? Nope, there's more..... Joe's working nights this week, so, lucky man that he is, he is either sleeping or at work and he doesn't have to suffer through much time of having me as his companion. Now the animals, IdaMae and Ben, they are, well, animals thus (wo)man's companions. They don't know any better. In fact, when I'm feeling lousy they never leave my side. (such good babies) I spent most of yesterday doing relatively nothing but pacing the floor, tripping over animals, eating an incredible amount and variety, of junk and arguing with myself if my gut, back, or head hurt worse. I had considered going to bed but Joe was in there and, well, you know, he was breathing. That pissed me off. I couldn't go to bed under such circumstances!!!

By the time Joe left for work I was exhausted. I grabbed the Easter basket my SIL had given us, a bag of cheetos, a hunk of smelly cheese, some grapes, yogurt, crackers, a can of Mt. Dew, a glass of wine, and crawled into bed. There was nothing on tv. It pissed me off. I watched/dozed through, that stupid, stupid, My Favorite Martian movie with Jeff Daniels, Christopher Lloyd, Daryl Hannah movie...it pissed me off. I ran out of food, it pissed me off. Ida had been so obligingly laying on my lap (all 70+ pounds of her) keeping me warm and acting as a foil against the contractions in my gut...then she moved...it pissed me off. Yep, I was such a happy camper!!!

Then, as is the way, when things are waxing and waning, ebbing and flowing, attacking and retreating, I was all chipper. Of course some of that sugar and alcohol could have had something to do with my improved state of being...dunno. But I was feeling pretty good. All symptoms abated except one, the headache. Still there, low key, but lurking. Many, many years of experience have taught me to be very cautious at this point. That hollow place in my head that's located right beneath the hair that hurts is likely to explode into a full blown migraine at any minute with or without provocation. I'm VERY careful at this stage of the dance with Mr. Migraine. If I play the wallflower long enough he just might not want to dance. Thus I take on the Miss Manners persona. (I know it's a stretch but hear me out) As Miss Manners I don't get riled up. I don't speak in tones nor in decibels high enough to do anything other than calm a crying baby. I sit and stand erect, (no slouching) and merely glide across the floor, when movement is absolutely necessary, as if a book was balanced on my head. Aside from turning into Miss Manners the best thing to do at this point to make Mr. Migraine give up and go home, is to go to sleep. Not a problem, except that I had an Easter basket, various wrappers, cans, plates, glasses and flatware in my bed.....way too much stuff to just shove over to Joe's side which is what I do most of the time. So I got up and began take all that junk to kitchen. I had to make 3 trips, doing the Debutante Waltz, gliding across the floor, spine erect, chin high, no swaying of hips, (book balancing on top of hair that hurts).

On my last return from the kitchen to the bedroom I noticed something on the floor. Mind you, I glimpsed it. Debutantes don't turn their heads, and most assuredly they don't look down! This is what I saw:




Aaagggrrrhhhh!!! IdaMae what have you done?!? I was speechless. Ok , that's a lie, I had plenty to say through my clenched debutante teeth, but the words were all in hushed soothing tones. Really, honest. I scolded her in a scathing Miss Manners way, and bemoaned the fact that there had to more someplace, cuz, come on, IdaMae is 70+ pounds. I begged her to tell me where it was. (Gotta say right here and now, that this was the very first time Ida had ever done anything like that. Not even as a puppy) Ida wasn't talking. She was sulking and she was trying to make friends with me, but she wasn't talking. I glided (remember I'm trying to be a wallflower) into the kitchen to get cleaning supplies and Ida followed me, tail between her legs. I knelt before the kitchen sink, chin still high, spine erect, and groped around under the sink trying to find, by touch the proper cleaning supplies. Ida was standing there half hidden behind the peninsula that holds the cook top. Hmmmmm that hang dog look on her face seemed to indicate more distress in that direction, so I glided on my knees over there. (it's difficult to glide on ones knees.) The knees weren't liking that too well so I sat, erect, no slouching chin held high and scooted the rest of the way.

Now to the chore at hand. Just imagine how a person might go about "looking" for...um...foreign matter, on the floor when said person can't lower their head to look. Sure you could stand back a ways and look from a distance, but in a closed in tight area? Nope you can't get far enough back to see everything. So logically one must takes a couple of paper towels, wraps them around her hands and slowly scan the area searching for the slightest resistance. (ya know, cuz of...ewwww...!) After canvasing the area several times and not "bumping" into anything (with a LOT of help from Ben who thought this was fabulous game while Ida kept nuzzling my neck) I was beginning to think that there wasn't any foreign matter over there. I glanced down a few times and was met with Mr. Migraine introducing himself. Couldn't do that anymore. I thought about getting the broom and sweeping the area, but nay, that might make a bigger a mess. (again I say ewwww) So I decided to assume there wasn't anything back there and if there was, it wasn't in the normal traffic pattern so Joe wouldn't step in it when he came home in the morning. Now on to the rest of the house....sigh. I scoot-glided all around the kitchen, spine erect, chin held high, paper towel wrapped hands scanning the floor for foreign matter. Nope, none there, at least none that I could feel or see from a distance. On to the dinning room where the foreign matter was first glimpsed, and then living room. Oh no the living room! There aren't any lights in there!!! I'm gonna need the flash light!!! So I got up, glided back to the pantry and grabbed the flashlight.

I slowly did the Debutante Waltz through the short hall between the kitchen and dinning room marveling at just how close to the foreign matter I must have stepped on my first two trips to the kitchen from the bedroom with the refuse of my binge. I gingerly lowered myself to one knee, chin still high (book still balanced) and reached for the present Ida had left. Groping around without looking I eventually caught hold of it. WTF!!!! Yes, it was foreign matter, yes, it was a present from IdaMae......No, it was NOT what I thought it was.......it was a rock..........sigh

A Midwest Ice Storm

I did another Crazy-Lady thing last night.....

Ida needed to go out about 11PM.

After taking her harness off and putting it back on her at least 7 times before I finally got it right....cut me some slack I'm sick.....I opened the door to find the entire porch and steps coated with about 1.5" of ice, and her cable was at the bottom of the stairs. So being the rational clear thinking person I am. I reasoned that given my somewhat weaken state (I've been sick in bed for days) I figured that I probably did not possess the strength nor the balance needed to walk across slick wet ice. (I honestly thought walking on water would have been easier.) Plus the whole wrestling with a harness-and-a-dog-that-HAS-to-go thing seconds before had just about done me in. So I put on Joe's shoes that were in the hall, went outside and sat down on the porch in my oh so stylish Farm King thermal long johns. Then proceeded to scoot my butt across the porch and down the stairs to retrieve the cable.

Granted attempting to walk on water...er....ice probably would have resulted in a lot of slipping and falling down the steps, but it would have been quicker, not nearly as wet and cold and perhaps even more graceful. I'm also pretty sure that slipping and falling down the steps, albeit not as safe, would not have resulted in the full moon that I flashed the neighborhood. Ah yes, unknown to me at the time but very quickly realized was the simple fact that my warm long john clad butt sitting on top of barely frozen ice would fuse my pants to the step. You get the picture don't you? I stood up and my pants stayed put. Ahhh yes, the cool crisp breeze of Midwest ice storm.....mmmmm Another Crazy-Lady-Kodak-Moment. I quickly yanked my now ice encrusted pants back into place, and untangled the cable as slivers of ice pelted me. I scaled the steps and crossed the porch on my hands and knees with my sodden backside turned toward the world.

Once in the house I hooked up IdaMae, opened the door and let her out. She wasn't out there long. With Ida back in the house and untethered I let the cable drop to the porch floor just outside the door as is my habit. The damn thing mockingly slipped and slithered it's way across the porch and down the stairs as I watched helpless. I shod Joe's shoes once again and made another trek (can one "trek" on ones butt??) out onto the porch and down the stairs, remembering the lesson I had learned just moments before regarding warm butts and barely frozen ice. Although you could scarcely say my butt was warm at this point.

I wonder what Joe thought when he got up this morning and found the front door tethered to the dogs cable???

Lessons learned...

Farm King thermal long john clad butts will freeze to icy steps (as do tongues to steel poles see "A Christmas Story").

Dog tie-out cables are vengeful buggers that will mock you and will only tangle during ice storms and downpours.

Whenever the dog wants out wake up Joe.