Wednesday, August 31, 2005



I'm speechless (yes, me) as I look at the insane wreckage left behind by Katrina. I used to work with a woman named Katrina and she was a giant screaming bitch, but even she didn't cause this sort of mess (not for lack of trying).

Being speechless, I shall now spend 800 words telling you how I can't say a thing about it.


Gaile over at Fidgety Budgie has asked what we can all do to help, and I have a great need to do something. Clearly, although I'm the "Universal Donor" (blood type O neg.) giving blood won't make any difference as I can't think they'll ship it from Canada all the way to Louisiana. Therefore as soon as I'm finished with Oliver's Wool, I'm going to dye up something else (maybe the Romney that's been pissing me off so much, maybe some Cheviot, who knows?) and list it on eBay, the proceeds of which auction will be sent to America's Second Harvest.

Suggestions for colours, anyone? I'm thinkin' either green or purple. Prolly not both.

Gimme a couple of days to get the evil that is this series of double shifts out of my system (I should be human again by Friday) and I'll get on it.

In the meantime, any and all other suggestions will be welcomed!

Tuesday, August 30, 2005


Still Here

But working double shifts. Hubby's in training, and it would seem that his company doesn't pay people for training time. Seeing I'm not all that interested in not eating for two fucking weeks, I'm working like a maniac instead.


I'm ok, wool is still being processed, and I get a day off on Friday.

Send help.

And just so I'm not leaving you with a whine ...

Sheep. It's not just for breakfast any more.

And ...

Cat Food. It's not just for cats any more.

The big cat will still only come in for half an hour or so at a time (she doesn't usually come in in the summer anyhow) so I'm feeding her outside. Or, well, I thought I was feeding her. Seems she has friends ...

And no, you don't get a picture of the skunk I saw out there last week.

Sunday, August 28, 2005


Oh Just Stop It

Out of 160,824 returns for "anal review by rabbit", this blog is #4.

That is all.


Going to sleep for a few; I worked the graveyard last night. Something more interesting later, I promise.

Friday, August 26, 2005


The Knittens

Excuse me? Does anyone recall WHAT exactly the fuck I was thinking when I decided to get THREE knittens (thank you Rachael for the term)?

They're lovely, and much less trouble and way less wild than I had thought they would be, but it's still like having three small slightly-retarded husbands.

Knitten: "Woman! Woman, I have needs and they are not being met!"

Me: "That's nice, honey, but I'm sort of busy. See, I'm doing STUFF. You'll just have to wait."

Knitten: "Woman! You are not listening! My needs! Bring me gravy and something to kill!"

Me: "Look, you're a cat. I am a human. I'm in charge and you don't get gravy 12 times a day and you can just find your own damned straws and socks to kill."

Knitten: "Woman! You are not LISTENING! I have NEEDS and ohfuckohfuckohfuck ijustfellinthetoilet A LITTLE HELP HERE?!"

Dude. I have just no clue how this happened.

Thursday, August 25, 2005


Getting There

Not nearly as good as "Being There" which, from what I understand, was a good movie. Wasn't it Peter Sellers?

Anyhow, just to prove that despite my brutal schedule I'm actually working on Oliver's Wool, I present for your viewing pleasure:

Three batts.

I'll get the rest done up tomorrow. I just love this colour!

Wednesday, August 24, 2005


Sleep or Sheep?

I can't believe I actually grew an ounce of sense and chose sleep over sheep! Oh well, there's a first time for everything.

I worked 2:30-8:30pm Wednesday and was going to finish carding Oliver's Wool before heading off to my graveyard (12:00-8:00am) shift at my "other" job. Somehow my addled brain decided that it made SENSE to sleep for two+ hours before going to do my second shift.

Hence, no wool on eBay today. I'm going to sleep (see? There I go again!) from about 8:30-1:00 before work on Thursday, but I'll be home by 9:30pm and fully intend that cardage will be complete before I succumb once again to the lure of Morpheus or whoever the hell's taken me over these days. If I can find my postage scale so I can tell people how much it actually weighs (or if I get it carded before 11pm so that I can take it to the post office) I'll get it listed Thursday night; otherwise stay tuned for Friday morning.

For anyone who wants to chastize me for working double shifts again, skip it, mmkay? The wolf's at the door and knocking hard (and threatening to repo. the door, in fact) so I had no choice. However, hubby's just been offered full time work at a slightly higher rate of pay, so things are looking up. (And for anyone who feels sorry for me, please note that apart from the four phone calls I've answered in the last hour and a quarter, my most difficult tasks have been to decide whether to eat my ham or my turkey sandwich first (turkey) and to fish the accompanying potato chips (Lay's Salt and Vinegar) out from my bra, where they seem to wish to reside.

Hmm. I need to get myself some hand carders and a portable wheel and bring 'em on these shifts. And oh, look! There's a microwave for dyeing ...

Tuesday, August 23, 2005


Last (close) Call!

or, "How Likker Saved the West". A silent movie by Rabbitch.

The story opens with our heroine, the small and valiant Rabbitch, quietly sitting at her computer, reading blogs and minding her own business.

{cue ominous music-type stuff}

Unbeknownst to her, a shadow hovers over her happiness. A shadow that can only bring grief to all concerned. The shadow of ...

The Moth

Smiling a little to herself, Rabbitch reaches out and raises a can of the world's (or at least the province's) finest, beloved by rabbits and skeins of purple wool completely lacking in moral fibre:

Tipping her head back to let the last golden drops trickle into her mouth, she spies ...

The Moth

Much shreiking and whapping ensues, because to paraphrase Stephanie when your house is mostly made out of wool, there is no level of horror and destruction that is inappropriate in reaction to the sighting of a moth.

I think I got it. Either that or it fell into the uncarded Clownbarf, but I think it's close to dead if not already there.


And to think, if I was all daintylike and drank out of a GLASS instead of the CAN, the creeping evil would have remained undiscovered.

Who says having no class is a bad thing?

Monday, August 22, 2005


In A Cottage, In A Wood

Today I received news that the house we are longing to move into is a couple of steps closer to being vacant.

I haven't posted about it much (if at all) because a) I don't want to jinx the deal, b) the reason it's going to come empty is that the current tenants are hopefully going to be evicted and I didn't want you all to think I was beneath contempt for hoping for someone else's misery (when there are already so many valid reasons for thinking so), and c) I'm old and often by the time I sit down to post anything I've forgotten all about the house.

Anyhow, the current tenants are evil, and if anyone actually "deserves" to be evicted, it would be they (them? Whatever). A friend of mine lives next door, and has done for about 12 years now. The setting is perfect, the street is near-silent, there is a forest out back (hence the title of this post), and it's pet-friendly.

Since the new tenants moved in next door 20 months ago, there has been at least one incident of their vicious dog biting someone (I think it's more like twice) and several incidents of their dog being off-leash and out of the yard and chasing people, with clear intent to harm (this is NOT a puppy who "just wants to play". Think Cujo, but not quite as nice.)

The dog barks day and night, the yard is covered with cars in different stages of disrepair, their mobile home, which was ordered off the street due to either a lack of insurance or to parking bylaws is now on my friend's lawn rather than their own, etc. etc. etc. My friend's garden hose was "mysteriously" cut and the neighbours across the street have had rocks and dirt thrown at them (as well as a lot of abuse). Nobody in the house works, which in and of itself isn't a crime, but it seems that several dozen of their friends have no visible means of support either and are in and out of the house day and night.

The noise level, coupled with the belches of blue smoke from the barely-functional vehicles is indescribable.

Sound like people you'd like to live next to? I didn't think so.

Anyhow, my friend has said that after many complaints to the District (the houses are properties held by the District, and the rent is cheap) the mayor finally came down to visit her and the other neighbour last week, accompanied by two "ghost cars" full of policemen. I guess she took the threats seriously.

The mayor and/or her office are reviewing the logs of incidents and the complaints, and will be talking to my friend about what they can do next, some time this week.

I've been on the District's housing rental list for at least a year now, so there is the possibility that if they manage to get rid of the evil people, we will have a chance to rent it.

A house. Backing on to forest and with enough room to lay out and dry a couple of fleeces at once. Three bedrooms and a family room, next door to someone I already know and like. For less than $100 a month more than what we pay now for a small two-bedroom apartment with no decent garden to speak of.

I should know what'a happening within a few weeks. All good thoughts and crossed fingers (as long as that doesn't hamper the spinning and knitting and such) are appreciated.

Oh shit. You think I can get my entire stash into a one-ton truck?

Sunday, August 21, 2005


I'm Walkin' on Sunshine

And now, the story of the yellow/orange wool.

I dyed this with a very special purpose in mind. As many of you know, Emma has a darling boy, Oliver, who is her sunshine. He's in need of some specialized medical equipment, and seeing her family is "rich", having 21 pounds a month left over after expenses, they don't qualify for a whole lot of public assistance.

This reminded me of when I tried to go back to school and found out that although I had a good credit rating and a solid 25-year work history, I was ineligible for a student loan, as I was too "wealthy" to get one. Yes, it makes sense to give loans to those who have no credit rating and no work history over those who have demonstrated their ability to pay back their debts. But I digress (again ... how startling!)

Anyhow, despite being allegedly wealthy, I have approximately sweet-fuck-all left after paying rent and food and utilities, and the bills go in the hat every month to see who's going to get paid this time. I do, however, have one great resource, that being about ninety billion pounds of wool, and a whole lot of dye and determination.

I therefore dyed this wool for Oliver, and asked Emma's permission to put it up in an eBay auction, the proceeds of which will go to "Olivers Fund". She has given me her permission to do so and the fleece is dry enough to card, so I did up the first batt tonight, and it's even lovelier than I had hoped it would be.

Viola, the Rabbitch-dyed "Sunshine":

This has got to be my all-time favourite colour -- almost exactly the same shade as the yolks of free-range chicken eggs.

I'm going to get the rest of it carded up within the next few days and it'll go up on eBay for auction by Wednesday at the latest. There should be at least 10 batts of it. Keep an eye out for further details if you're interested. My eBay name is rabbitworks_studios.

I'm tempted to bid on it, myself, dammet ...

Saturday, August 20, 2005


Rachael's Not-Clownbarf

Step one:

The fleece on the drum carder. The beer watches over it.

Step two:

The first batt. Not clownbarf, at all.

I'm pretty pleased with this. I think that there will be some fairly major colour variations, and this certainly isn't wool you'd want to knit underwear with (if you're inclined that way), but it'll be very pretty.


My fears of being whapped for making something ugly are assuaged.

Thursday, August 18, 2005


A Roast To the Bride

I was going to write a post about how I went out to lunch with this very neat lady today, one with whom I have been speaking online for nine months or so but with whom I have never previously met up, but dude, it was going to be all about coffee and cake and stuff and ended up being about a VERY bad lunch culminating in one of us finding a dead fly on our plate underneath a hamburger and being very sick, and really, it just wasn't great. She's fantastic. Denny's should burn in hell, even though they didn't charge us for her lunch. I mean, we've rechristened the Denny's at Burrard and Robson in Vancouver as "Satan's Sphincter". The coffee sucked, also.

Any time you're on Weight Watchers and want to create a "negative points" situation, I would highly recommend going there. From what I hear the bathroom wasn't even clean enough to be ill in.

Dude. Not ok, especially right downtown in a city that makes a huge amount of its income from tourist dollars.

So instead, I am going to talk about a friend's wedding (to which I was surely invited but the invitation got lost in the mail and I was working that day anyhow so I couldn't go).

My friend, Kate Hammett-Vaughan, got herself hitched just recently. (As an aside, Mr. Hammett-Vaughan's last name is Smith; therefore she is now Kate Smith. I keep waiting for her to start waddling about belting out "Gawd Bless AmeriKUH". She will, too, if you buy her a couple of drinks. It's pretty scary.)

Anyhow, as my invitation got lost in the mail, and seeing I know that Kate would have wanted me to do a speech of some sort, because she doesn't know hundreds of interesting people who can do that sort of thingie far better than I can, I thought I would just post my roast toast to her here, so that she doesn't miss out and such. (And yes, I'm going to send her this link. She will likely hunt me down and kill me for it.)

When I first met Kate, six years ago, she was a tall, thin, beautiful, internationally-recognized Jazz Diva. Now, after all this time, she is still a tall, thin, even more beautiful and even more internationally-recognized Jazz Diva. Dude, you'd think she would have moved on from that. I mean really ... six years? Honey, you should learn to type or something. Drop me a line, I'll give you the name of a good career counsellor. This success stuff has just got to stop. I think I know a place that's hiring, too, if you can get that typing speed up to par.

Kate and her sweetie met online, from what I understand. Now, we all know the evils of meeting men online. Some of them are real creeps. My first husband taught me how to access that internets thingie, and I'll tell you, he thought that the guy I met and ran off with was a real creep. Ten years and one child later, I'm inclined to agree.

I think, however, that Kate's got herself a winner, and at least she was smart enough to run off with a man who lived in the SAME FUCKING COUNTRY ... *koff* ... but I digress. This isn't about me.

Although I was unable to be at The Blessed Event, I would like at this time to share the most touching love poem that I know. The name of the author has been lost in antiquity, but the words have held true throughout the ages.

Please excuse me, I always get a little choked up when I read this one:

If you're happy and you know it,
Clap your hands.
If you're happy and you know it,
Clap your hands.
If you're happy and you know it,
Then your smile will surely show it.
If you're happy and you know it,
Clap your hands.

And so, Kate and Guy, as you embark upon the puddle sea of matrimony, I hope that your boat floats, that you're happy and you know it, and that you always have the clap. Um, or something. That came out wrong, didn't it?

Cheers, baby.


A Public Service Announcement

One can't be too careful. Himself has just worked a thirteen-hour shift.

Behold my latest dyeing project. For anyone who likes yellow and orange, it's gonna be nice. For anyone else, oh well, avert your eyes.

It was done the same way as Rachael's "not clownbarf", with the colours and the wool layered in the pot and then heated.

This wool has a special purpose, which I shall reveal in a couple of days after it's been rinsed and dried and carded.

Stay tuned for breaking news.

Wednesday, August 17, 2005



Clearly, my landlords have far better connections than do I.

I went and saw one of them on Tuesday to give him a cheque for the utility bill, and told him that seeing they weren't going to pay me to take care of the garden, then taken care of it would not be.

I informed him that the front yard looked like it was going to go up in flames at any minute because it was so dry, and that they should arrange for someone to do the watering, as I wasn't so interested in spending hours hand-watering for no compensation whatsoever.

He agreed that it wasn't reasonable that I would do the work for free, and said he'd get on it.

Well, I figured he'd get someone to come in and hose the place down. A landscaper, a kid from down the block; someone. I certainly didn't expect what we got.

I hardly expected him to call in Mother Nature.

It's now raining cats and dogs. These boys obviously know who to call.

I'm thinkin' it might not be so good to piss them off much.

Tuesday, August 16, 2005


Not Clownbarf

I haven't had a chance to card Rachael's wool yet, but I'm pretty sure that despite LaLa's concerns, it isn't going to look like clownbarf one little bit.

I'll try to get it carded up later today, but for now, I'm just home from working a graveyard and I have to get some rest while trying to prevent The Cat from killing The Kittens.

Diamond seems to think that he can take Sasha on. I believe he may be miataken ...

Monday, August 15, 2005



And this is Diamond.

OK, all done now.

Shut up.

Saturday, August 13, 2005


Introducing ...

This is Tracey:

And this is Tigger:

We're not going to be getting a lot of sleep for a while.

To follow up on the bank situation, I had called the bank about the deposit even before I made that post, and after two or three days of messing around, they found out where the money really belonged and returned it.

Yesterday's wool is not going to look like clownbarf, so I need not fear the Wrath of Lala. I'm heading out to work in an hour -- more photos tomorrow.


Friday, August 12, 2005


The Evil Hotness

Take large pot, originally used for making pasta or cooking corn. Fill with hot water, a cup of vinegar and some dishsoap:

Do not think about the fact that total strangers will be looking at this on the internet. Do not clean your stove. It's just fine.

Add a lot of wool to the pot.

Leave it for about an hour and then turn the heat up. Tell your daughter not to go near it, because it's hot and she could get hurt. Watch her race down the hall screaming "Run away from the evil hotness!"

Haul out the previously-pictured tasteful coffee mug and mix up some blue easter-egg dye.

Take about 2/3 of the hot, wet wool out of the pot and put it in a large bowl. Take out about 2/3 of the hot, wet water, also.

Add the blue dye to the wool.

Mix up a batch of red dye, put back about another 1/3 of the wool and some water, pour the red dye on the wool.

Become very frightened that you might be making more ClownBarf and resolve not to send the wool to your friend if that's what it turns out to look like because, after all, her fiancée is a trained pugilist and might object to such a gift.

Mix up some purple dye, put in the last 1/3 of the wool and some more water. Pour the purple dye over the wool.

Top it up a bit and cook it for an hour or so.

That whole "turn off the heat and leave it overnight" thingie worked so well on Juno's wool, I think I'm going to do the same with this. Anyone see through my pretense of being innovative to the fact that I'm tired and lazy and am just going to go to bed?

Yeah, I thought so.

More pix tomorrow.

Thursday, August 11, 2005


It's all about Mememe

I seem to be "it" this week.

Hockey Mom has asked me to list five things I miss about my childhood. Micky has also tagged me for the same meme. Without going into great detail, there was a hell of a lot about my childhood that I and the rest of the world would be better off forgetting. However it wasn't all bad. I'm pretty sure I can find five things.

1. Getting to go out and pick my own apple off the tree in the orchard, and then eating it before going to bed, when we visited my grandparents in England.

2. Eating ice cream with raspberry sauce from the truck that came up and down our street.

3. Going down to the railway station to see the trains with my Grandpa.

4. Pony riding down on the flats (after we came to Canada).

5. Playing with paint and clay and doing all sorts of art projects like making my own paper dolls and their clothes until someone told me I had no talent and I stopped. (I have talent, but really it isn't for making paper dolls. They all looked like they had some sort of eating disorder and were bred from parents who were regrettably closely related.)

Stacey has asked me to list five idiosyncracies. I, of course, have none, however as an act of Xian charity or something I shall make something up:

Idiosyncrasy Meme

id•i•o•syn•cra•sy - a structural or behavioral characteristic peculiar to an individual or group.

Write down 5 of your own idiosyncrasies, then if you wish, tag 5 people.

1. I can't eat food with bones in it. If I am eating a steak or a chop and my teeth hit a bone, it reminds me I'm chewing on a dead animal and I get disgusted. Don't even talk to me about fish bones and oh my god canned salmon, I'll never be that hungry. Despite this, there is almost zero chance of my becoming a vegetarian. I have respect for every animal that gave its life so that I could eat and I try to waste as little as possible but if dog didn't want me to eat them, he wouldn't have made them so tasty. I also make soup from animal bones all the time without a second thought.

2. I am a packrat. I have no concept of how much "stuff" I have (and hence usually have insane living conditions because I have no idea of the storage requirements) and I also have no idea why I shouldn't have more stuff. Especially wool. And llama (duck). And baby alpaca silk and ... well, anything but bamboo. NEVER bamboo fibre. Burn tests have proven it to be explosively combustible (and if that's redundant, so be it. It explodes so bad you gotta use two words.)

3. I have no idea what money is worth. I will buy one brand of bread over another, because it is 30 cents cheaper, and then buy an $800 suit because I feel like it. I have fed the cat off a $40 salad plate.

4. I often place insanely high value on things I cannot use. I have a piano and a knitting machine. I cannot use either. I would fight you to the death if you tried to take them. Well, not to the death, but I'd poke you with a pointy stick all righty. One day I shall sit and elegantly play the piano as the knitting machine whirs in the background. I believe I value them because they fit an image of myself that I may never attain, but to which I aspire.

5. I am both deliberate and impulsive. I have a long history of database management; I am frighteningly anal and precise. I will manually review 15,000 records to make sure that "British Columbia" is referenced as BC rather than as B.C. and that there are two spaces between BC and the postal code. Because that is the only correct way. I make long-term plans and budgets and goals. And then I buy a pony on the way home from work because it looked lonely, completely ignoring the fact that I live in a small apartment.

Yeah, I'm wacked all righty.

And to answer your question about "Flower of Scotland", Jean, I was born in Glasgow and my parents are folk singers. That's the sort of thing they get asked to sing at almost every Burns Supper there is.

I love it.

And Elizabeth -- "The Cowwies? Awen't they the ones that sing all that Celtic wubbish?"

Extra points to you if you know where that quote comes from.

Especially since I can't remember, myself, at the moment.

Oh, and I'm supposed to tag five people for both memes. I'll skip the childhood one, but I'll tag Rachael and Ann and Juno and Marcia and Franklin for the idiosyncrasy one because I think they are all pure dead cool.

Wednesday, August 10, 2005


Think Again, Dude

Just a picture of a thistle we saw at Waughop Park.

Eleanor is very proud of both parts of her heritage, and tells anyone who will listen that she is a "Scottish Indian". (She's Scottish, Native American and Irish).

Ben told Eleanor that the thistle was the flower of Scotland, which of course started the song going in my mind. I've been well and truly earwormed. Thank your lucky stars that I don't feel like doing an audiopost right now.

O Flower of Scotland,
When will we see
Your like again,
That fought and died for,
Your wee bit Hill and Glen,
And stood against him,
Proud Edward's Army,
And sent him homeward,
Tae think again.

The Hills are bare now,
And Autumn leaves
Lie thick and still,
O'er land that is lost now,
Which those so dearly held,
That stood against him,
Proud Edward's Army,
And sent him homeward,
Tae think again.

Those days are past now,
And in the past
They must remain,
But we can still rise now,
And be the nation again,
That stood against him,
Proud Edward's Army,
And sent him homeward,
Tae think again.

O Flower of Scotland,
When will we see
Your like again,
That fought and died for,
Your wee bit Hill and Glen,
And stood against him,
Proud Edward's Army,
And sent him homeward,
Tae think again.

Tuesday, August 09, 2005


A Productive Night

Worked the graveyard at my "other" job last night, slept part of the day, hung with my kid and then tackled some fleece production.

You may remember this from an earlier post:

Which, after drying, became this:

We teased it, thusly (while yelling nanny-nanny-boo-boo all the time. We're nothing if not good teasers):

And then ran it through the drum carder:

I have no idea how to blend fibres, as my spinning instructor ran away on vacation to Ontario before we could talk about it, so I just tossed everything in together and carded it twice. When the fibre refuses to cooperate, taking a dog slicker -- um no, it's a carding comb, honest, I didn't get this for $7 at the pet store -- and running it across the fibre while twirling it about on the carder works wonders.

And we ended up with this. Nine little batts of yellow and green Cheviot and Romney with a little bit of pink and peach tossed in for good measure.

I think it looks pretty spiffy. It's heading out to live with Juno later this month.

I can't wait to see what she does with it -- she spins good!

Tomorrow, more of the white Cheviot which is destined to be a Fishermans sweater for my husband. My husband who has a 54" chest, and who is short in the arms.

THAT's gonna be a labour of love.

And of a couple of years.

Monday, August 08, 2005


The Rest of the Story

I have received a nice note from the "cute girl with sock" in front of me in line. It turns out her name is bethieee and she also has a blog, as does her roommate, Sultry Peacock. They have kindly given me permission to post the whole picture. See the cute girls? See the sock? See the walls of yarn that they refused to let me fondle?

See me plotting my revenge?

As you can see by the comments, the nice lady in line behind me has also come a-stalking. I must go to these group thingies more often; you meet great people there. Maybe next time I'll actually be on time as well.

We're going to be back in Washington for The Puyallup Fair on the 19th and 20th (and maybe 21st) of September. I'm going to see if I can score me some more of that Lopi I bought last year. Nobody at all will be invited to be my conscience, but I'm going to take ONLY cash so I can't just haul out plastic and cause myself a long-lasting injury when I'm there. If anyone I met (or anyone I didn't [hi Libby! Sorry I missed you!]) is around during those days, drop me a line and let me know; maybe we can hang out and commit some sort of public knittery.

The rest of our time in the Seattle and Tacoma areas was great.

We went to Waughop Lake (is that how you spell it?)

Hung out in the sun (ok, the picture's a little dark but I still think he's cute):

Took the dishcloth for a nice cruise down Five Mile Drive:

The dishcloth was very disappointed that we wouldn't take it over this bridge:

The bridge leads to Gig Harbor and there is a yarn store there I wanted to see, however the rush hour traffic was such that I rapidly reconsidered. I'm not all that interested in sitting in an un-air-conditioned vehicle for two hours in close to 100F weather, with a cranky five-year-old in the car. Not good for anyone's physical or mental health.

Friday night we went to The Crab Pot for dinner (too lazy to link) and while waiting, Missy Moo indulged in one of her favourite pastimes -- riding the carousel:

Friday night, Ben and Eleanor were both tired, but seeing I had the bookbookbook in my possession, I was eager to start reading it. I purchased a six-pack of Widmer's Hefeweisen (one of the reasons I would move to the US without a second thought) a set of steak knives (they don't sell them in singles at MegaFoods, it would seem) and a lemon, and set myself up in a little nest in the bathroom and drank three of them while avidly reading and trying not to spit all over the place.

It would seem that, according to this book, I knit too much. Page 294 -- "You know you knit too much when ... you take knitting to a wedding, in case there's a little time before the bride comes down the aisle. Double points if you are the bride."

I wasn't the bride on Saturday, but I was the official photographer. And I took knitting.

Saturday, as noted, was spent at Ben's mother's wedding, which was a grand success, and then driving home for 800 hours in the blazing heat. Well, it felt like 800 hours. I've always thought that a/c in cars in the Pacific Northwest was the height of pretentiousness but I've never lived in The Deep South before (apparently the border of TDS has moved north from Portland and now starts in Vancouver, BC) so this may be a position I'm willing to reconsider.

I was going to get all creative and card Juno's wool tonight but it's now 11:15 and I start work at midnight, so the carding action will have to happen (and be photographed) tomorrow. For now, I've got to make lunch. I'm not quite insane enough yet to forfeit food for carding.

Not quite.


Sunday, August 07, 2005



Dear person who put $3,425.00 in my bank account yesterday:

Thank you. Thank you very much. I'm sure I can find a use for it, however I'm startled, seeing I had thought I was $84 short of what I needed to pay my bills on Monday and was going to have to borrow some cash.

I have a feeling that somehow this money has been misallocated, and in fact it isn't mine at all.

If this money was put into my account by mistake, would you please speak up before I pay my phone bill, both credit cards, buy an old car for my husband and spend the rest on liquor and yarn?

Dude, if you don't speak up by Tuesday it's gone, and you're going to have to take it back in $100 monthly instalments over the next three years.

A Concerned and Startled Rabbitch

Saturday, August 06, 2005


Oy Vey!

What a time I've had of it the last few days. It's been long periods of utter hysteria broken by even longer periods of really good stuff.

I'm so exhausted I think I need a vacation to recover from my vacation.

Thursday, we got up, got all ready to go and let me be a faithful little Harloteer, got half-way to the border and then realized that although we had been long-sighted and had packed for every possible combination of weather and/or social occasion, had packed almost the entire bathroom and, somehow, at least eleventy-seven knitting projects and books:

(and I wondered why my bag was so heavy?)

that we had somehow managed to neglect packing the birth certificate of Her Surreal Highness, without which we would not be allowed out of Canadia and into Americaland. Although I argued long and hard with my husband that really, we could leave her at the border and just pick her up on the way back, that she was small and wouldn't eat much at all and that they really couldn't possibly mind, he talked me into coming back to the house and getting it, by which time we hit the rush hour traffic and although I drove like the Assbeagles of Acrylic were chasing me, we showed up at the Weaving Works 45 minutes after Stephanie had started talking, by which time she was into the question and answer period.

I suppose he was right, as although the wedding wasn't really heavily into the smiting part of god's agenda, I think we all know exactly where I would have been spending eternity should I have deprived gramma and (now) grandpa of the cutest flower girl in all the world.

So anyhow, I sneak into the exceptionally overheated meeting room, to join the 70 other people there (oh, yes, and I was scared I'd be all alone?), sit down elegantly and with a minimum of cussing on the floor near the door, and whip out the Dreaded Green Dishcloth on which to knit while listening to Stephanie explain all about Memphis (really, you've got to hear it from her, I almost peed!) and how the fibre for Joe's gansey is somehow possessed as it never decreases in volume no matter how much she spins, etc.

After we all stood up to go downstairs for some gorgeous cake, delicious iced lemonade and a little book-signing action, I introduced myself. Well, I thought I did. "Hi, I'm Janice," says I. "Hello," says Stephanie. "I'm sorry I was so late, but we had, well, issues getting here," I explained, red-faced. She asked me what those issues were, I explained, she forgave me and we went on our merry way. I was sort of startled -- she seemed a little off-hand or perhaps preoccupied, and of course we all know this whole gathering was all about me. I went downstairs and bought the bookbookbook, and then stood in line patiently to get it signed, while chatting with those around me. After a while we all put on name tags, so that she would know who to make the signature out to. Instead of "Janice", I wrote "Rabbitch" on mine, and then all of a sudden all of the ladies around me were saying, "Oh you're Rabbitch! Stephanie was looking for you at the beginning, asking if you were here and if you'd made it down; we're so glad you got here!

It finally sunk into my little noggin that very few of the people I've met online think of me as "Janice". Obviously I'm a total dork, and should have said "Rabbitch" right off the top. Heck, even the stalker I went out for drinks with (Hi Suzanne!) called me Rabbitch as we were drinking and knitting.

When I finally got to the front of the line Stephanie looked at the post-it note I had stuck to the front of the book and looked at amazement at this twit who had introduced herself by the wrong name, told me how glad she was that I had made it there after all and signed the book. I got the very nice lady who was in line behind me to take a photograph of us:

The two very nice ladies who were in line in front of me were also in that picture but I cut them out because I don't know who they were (even though one who was very cute and who was knitting a very nice sock was kind enough to be my moral conscience and refused to let me buy yarn) and I don't have their permission to post their pictures. (Hi nice ladies! If you read this, I have a good picture of you that I'd be happy to post if you say it's ok! Thanks for not letting me go mental and spend all of my money on yarn!)

I will point out at this time that the nice lady who was behind me was also assigned to be my moral conscience, as I know I'm weak and need at least two people to save me from wanton excess, and although she understood completely that my husband is overweight and I would actually be performing a service both to him and to the healthcare system in general if I spent all of the money for his next month's food on yarn, she also refused to even let me look at the silk that was calling my name from the shelves near the front of the room. Thank you other nice lady who likely isn't reading this, because although I told you I blog about knitting I did also warn you that I cuss like a trooper and that this isn't exactly a family-oriented blog.

Anyhow, due to the twisted sense of humour of the fates, I got to spend oh, at least a minute and a half with Steph, so now we're of course bosom buddies. I was so flustered by the lateness and the misunderstanding and all, I actually forgot that I had brought her a present. I snuck back when she was talking to someone else and tucked the morally-bankrupt little skein of purple yarn beside her camera on the table, so I hope she took it with her rather than thinking it was some sort of horrible joke that someone had given the store as a sample and leaving it behind.

I didn't have the courage to give her one of the dreaded green dishcloths, one of which had quite a good time driving around Point Defiance the next day.

Pictures of water and birds and the dishcloth to follow. No more pictures of the wedding as, although I was "the official photographer" and got quite a lot of gorgeous shots, it isn't my day to share and I have at least a tiny bit of propriety left to me.

Tiny bit.

Tomorrow I shall share my theory of how if you feel like reading a book and drinking some beer and if all of your family is asleep and you're sharing the same hotel room, that it is perfectly acceptable to put a pillow on the bathroom floor and sit there and have a couple of drinks while reading the entire book and trying not to laugh loud enough to wake your kid.

I have class. Who cares if it's mostly third?

Thursday, August 04, 2005


Tons of Giftage

So yesterday I got tons of stuff in the mail. Yarn from The Yarnhog and an amazingly gracious and unexpected package from Lynne.

There was Rowan yarn, delicious stitch markers, The Spinners Companion book, some non-green cotton, hand-made soap and such. No pictures were taken, as I'm preparing in haste for my visit to Seattle, but I have to tell you how blown away I am by the generosity of the knitting community.

I've been dreading the mail of late, seeing it usually is comprised of disconnection notices and demands for cash, but I gotta tell you, yesterday was quite excellent.

I'm off to Seattle in a few hours, and there may well be no blogging at all for the next two or three days, but I promise I shall return with many pictures of socks, Harlots, and general merriment.

Knit on, babies.

Wednesday, August 03, 2005


All By Myself ...

... don't wanna be ... all by myself ...

Yeah, I can't get that damned song out of my head either. You're welcome.

Anyhow, it would seem that I'm taking off tomorrow for the Seattle leg of the bookbookbook Tour. My "alleged" friend Gayle seems to be unwilling to risk life and limb and continued employment to join me there, so I'm a-skeered I'm going to be sitting all alone.

There's a lady named Patti who identifies herself as having "long silver hair and a full sleeve koi tattoo" who says she's going to join me there. I can hardly imagine being in the presence of such coolness, seeing I have not yet garnered the courage to get even a tiny tattoo ...

So, anyone else going to join me and Patti? (Patti, please dog tell me you're still coming because I don't do crowds well and I know this isn't about me but really, it is *g*).

Like I said before, I have visions of sitting there all alone, knitting one of the Vile Green Dishcloths (you KNOW I'm taking one with me, don't you?) and muttering "assbeagle" to my imaginary friends ...

And nervous as I am at going into a crowd alone, at least I'm going into a crowd full of people who understand that you have to smell yarn. And at least I'm not the one who has to do the talking up at the podium.

I'm going to the Harlotfest over at Weaving Works for the 6:00 frenzy. Be there or be octagonal.

Or not.

Tuesday, August 02, 2005


Obsession is a Nasty Word

I'm not obsessed. Merely vigorous in my enthusiasms.

A little peek at my latest spinning effort. This is it, half-way through the Andean Plying process. Nowhere near perfect but a hell of a lot more even.

And here it is after plying. I'd knit with it.

And here is a quick peek at the wool I dyed for Juno. Despite the reflection of the green bin in which it's drying (the bin is deep, there has been lots of wind), there is quite a bit of green and gold in this. I'm hoping after I card it (tomorrow) that it'll look like something she wants to spin with. Actually I'm secretly hoping it's not, as I love these colours. *g*

Due to relatively high winds around here, coupled with gloriously sunny days, I have had to come up with some creative ways of using the beautiful sun and heat to dry all of the fleece I washed without having it blow away. Upon seeing this on the front lawn my husband said, nervously, "What did that one do?"

Yes, my lawn is grey and beige and brown. They're supposed to pay me to take care of the yard. They haven't. I haven't. Well, today I broke down and did some watering, and will do so again tomorrow, but that's just because I don't want the damned place to burn to the ground. There's still stuff to spin in my house!

I set the drum carder up outside today:

Yes, I know you've all seen it before but I'm showing off. Duh.

Here, the beauteous machine's maiden voyage:

And here you see the end results. Four nice big bouncy batts, for remarkably little effort. (Well, once I started feeding the fleece through the carder there was little effort. Let's not discuss the fiber prep, mmkay?)

I am very pleased with these. Perhaps a little more vegetable matter than I would have left in if I were giving them to someone else to spin, but I'll be spinning these myself, and the few little bits left in there will come out in the spinning process anyhow.

Dog, this is fun.

Monday, August 01, 2005


100% of Your Daily Fiber Requirement

Oh, you people. Just stop.

OK, to clarify: I got a call from Bill the Sheep Man (that's what he called himself when I tried to get my daughter to call him Mister) at 10ayem yesterday in response to an email I had sent him a couple of weeks ago, saying that the little lamb fleece he had asked me to card and spin (and which precipitated all of this fiber frenzy, seeing I didn't even have a wheel when he asked me to do it) was going well, and that if he had some more fleece later on that I would take it off his hands.

Apparently later on means "right away and of course there is room in my less-than-1000-square-feet apartment for another five or six sheep and please to bring them over thank you." Well, that's not exactly true. He didn't bring them over; I had to go pick them up.

Anyhow, I went and picked up this huge sack (it's taller than my kid), came back, dumped it outside and then took my kidlet for a nature hike. At no point during this nature hike:

... did the fleece pixies appear and start throwing shit-laden wool at me.

Yes, Trixie, I WAS that cute when I was a kid.

I'm still that sweet. Shut up. Bitch.

I washed almost a whole sheep's worth of fleece yesterday when I was supposed to be napping.

I took this:

Which became this:

And then, after many washings, this:

Which then took a quick spin in the machine to get rid of the excess water:

(A move which, I would like to note, would have horrified the people upstairs who, I am still convinced, starch and iron their toilet paper)

And which ended up looking like this:

Chunks of this are out on the lawn in the sun, drying, even as we speak.

I think I've tested Blogger's indulgence far enough today with regard to the number of pictures that can be included in one post. Going out to set up my table and get the drum carder out and work on that little fleece for a while. Pictures of that, some actual knitting, and The Utterly Fearless Dyeing Project (some wool for Juno) later on, after I've had some fun in the sun and maybe a beer.

Maybe two.

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