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| Rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated |
| 05.09.06 (1:05 pm) [edit] |
I've started a new blog over at Blogger. My plans for hosting my own appear to have died a quiet death and therefore I'm splitting up my meandering chatlike posts over to http://reasonablefemale.blogs... I'll still be posting knitting related stuff here though, for now anyways.
Take care all,
tRu
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| She's done it again... |
| 01.23.06 (8:20 am) [edit] |
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The Yarn Harlot (my current and long time knitting hero) has managed to take a cute little idea and turn it into an international personal challenge.
She's in the middle (with some helpers) of organizing a list of participants in the first (quad?)annual Knitting Olympics.
I have a feeling that she's still reeling from the response she's gotten :). Last time I checked it was up to 864 participants and that was no where near the over 1000 comments she'd gotten on the two posts regarding this event that I've read.
So just as soon as I figure out how the buttons for the Knitting Olympics and Team Canada will be on my sidebars.
For now, my event is a lace shawl in a kidmohair. The premise, challenge yourself with something that you will cast on at a preset time (to accomodate the timezones) and finish by the extinguishing of the flame. I've done lace, and years ago, worked with mohair, however the two together are not something I've yet attempted.
My 9 yo has also decided to rise to the challenge and will be knitting a Learn to Knit Poncho from Bernat.
Gotta dash, more details to come.
tRu
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| Who is theREALunicorn? |
| 01.19.06 (5:50 pm) [edit] |
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It's come to mind lately, that I probably should explain where this name came from. Names are very important to me, as I believe they do a lot more than denote someone. I believe they also create someone into who the name says they should be.
I've enjoyed the idea and ideal of THE UNICORN for a very long time. Probably from childhood; but my earliest recollection is from age 14 or so. I joined a writing club in the Western Producer (a weekly farming paper popular with...well farmers of which my dad was one) The club was called the Young Co-operatives and we were encouraged to choose a pseudonym. I chose Unicorn. Imagine my chagrin when some 20 years later I showed up online and found that I would have to be unicorn7438920 or some other ungodly number.
I fiddled around with this and eventually became theREALunicorn on Spiritwars www.spiritwars.com (great game go... play... them tRu sent you ;) ).
Which ended up shortened to tRu as it was impressed upon me that theREALunicorn was just too much to type to send me private messages in the chat room o.O
Anyway, back to the why of Unicorn (the real one or otherwise). There's any number of legends and folk lore and fantasy stuff (Elizabeth Scarborough's Song of Sorcery, The Unicorn Creed and uh oh... blanking on the last two or is it three books... anyway those...) and I grabbed a little here and little there. Ignoring the stuff that didn't jibe with my feelings about this ideal of a unicorn.
Eventually over time I've created my own tale of fantasy and unicorns have a prominent position in the story. I see unicorns as mythical beasts as well as achievable standards. I see them as altruistic, keepers of faith, fair minded, empathetic, possibly sympathetic at times, maybe even sometimes gullible so intent on believing in the good of the moment.
I strive to be a real unicorn in my life. I prefer to govern myself instead of trying to live within the constraints of an organized religion. That doesn't mean I run around skyclad ;) but it does mean that I question, instead of accepting blindly. Except for, you know, the times when that's all you can do is accept blindly and place yourself in someone else's hands.
Maybe I'll elaborate more on this another day.
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| 4 things... |
| 12.15.05 (8:23 pm) [edit] |
FOUR JOBS YOU'VE HAD IN YOUR LIFE:
1. Stablehand/groom on the thoroughbred track in Calgary.
2. Schwan's Sales
3. Revenue Canada
4. Shithauler/truckdriver.
FOUR MOVIES YOU CAN AND DO WATCH OVER AND OVER:
(FOUR? I can name like 12? but four it is)
1. Lethal Weapon
2. Secondhand Lions
3. An Affair to Remember (cary grant version)
4. Arsnic and Old Lace
FOUR CITIES YOU'VE LIVED IN:
1. Calgary, AB
2. Langley, BC
3. Prince Albert, SK
4. I've only lived in these three cities, the rest of my life has been in the country.
FOUR TV SHOWS YOU LOVE TO WATCH:
1. CSI
2. Criminal Minds
3. Big Brother
4. Cold Case Files
FOUR PLACES YOU'VE BEEN ON VACATION:
1. Vernon, BC
2. Davenport, IA
3. San Diego, CA
4. New York, NY
FOUR WEBSITES YOU VISIT DAILY:
1. Darkthrone
2. Google
3. All of my blogroll.
4. Internet Movie Database, while not daily, on a regular basis.
FOUR OF YOUR ALL TIME FAVOURITE RESTAURANTS:
1. Edo's of Japan
2. The Golden National (peking/cantonese)
3. Taco Bell
4. Trio's Pizza
FOUR OF YOUR FAVOURITE FOODS:
1. STEAK.
2. VENISON/ELK/MOOSE STEAK.
3. NANAIMO BARS
4. TOMATOES
FOUR PLACES I'D RATHER BE RIGHT NOW:
1. The middle of nowhere, on a horse.
2. Camping.
3. Camping on horseback.
4. Riding horses for a living.
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| Another "only me" moment |
| 12.05.05 (7:00 pm) [edit] |
I'm baaaccckkkkk....
Aren't you glad? :P
Suffice it to say that life has been there, and we'll go on from there, 'kay?'
Today, at lunch break, I found myself with a dilemma worthy of 'only me' status. I'm working on a sock, in Opal of some no longer remembered colourway. (so don't ask ;P) I've been working on these for myself only recently, having finished up a pair or two for the girls. So having a lull before their feet grow over night, again, thought to make myself a pair. I picked up the Opal in the second wave of the first craze, however. It's now properly aged from being in my stash for about 2 years and needs to be socks.
A couple of things about these socks. They're gonna be YUMMY. I really like this colourway and the way it seems so random but actually has a subtle patterning after all. The blues, the purples, the creams, coffees, browns and greens... YUMMY I tells ya...
See? (insert pic of half completed sock)
The second thing, about all that random colour stuff above? Everyone who knows me, and sees these in progress asks if they're for me. Yes, I proudly state or mumble or nod as the case maybe. Of course they are, they reply. Now they are larger than the socks I normally knit, given the whole #4 and #5 thing, but... Hmmm... why do they all think that a random mishmash of colours somehow suits me...
I have a series of questions like that... some that just make me wonder, and some that really make me boggle at the out and out rudeness of some folks.
Anyway, back to the dilemma. Since I usually make socks for #4 and #5, I pretty much know that 3 sequences of the colour band repeats in Regia or Confetti will fit #5 and 6 bands will fit #4. However, here I am with a barely discernable pattern, no idea how many of them will fit my foot. The dilemma? I just started being in this lunchroom. I don't know these people. Do I take off my shoe and sock and try on this new sock for length or do I try to figure out some body part to body part ratio that will allow me to measure without being an utter philistine?
I opted for quick trip to the washroom for those who are wondering :P. But it got me thinking. I measured my hand against the top of my foot, ankle to toe and lo and behold that matches... no more 'moments', no more squirming around the front seat of the car, trying to get my shoe off to measure and no more chilly feet.
I'm going to get a measuring tape now, and see what other body parts correlate... you know I always thought those sayings were just rumours... didn't you?
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| darn.. now I gotta stay in Canada :P |
| 11.29.05 (4:22 pm) [edit] |
| long time no post.... |
| 11.04.05 (8:07 am) [edit] |
You appear to be a Knitting Guru. You love knitting
and do it all the time. While finishing a piece
is the plan, you still love the process, and
can't imagine a day going by without giving
some time to your yarn. Packing for vacation
involves leaving ample space for the stash and
supplies. It can be hard to tell where the yarn
ends and you begin.
http://marniemaclean.com" title="http://marniemaclean.com" target="_blank"http://marniemaclean.com
What Kind of Knitter Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
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| My Own Special Talent |
| 10.11.05 (10:19 am) [edit] |
So to those of you who know me this won’t come as a huge surprise. More like another piece of evidence of the aura that surrounds me.
Things break around me. I don’t mean I walk down the street and buildings crumble in my wake (looks over her shoulder...) but things have a habit of going wrong or breaking when no breaking is expected, anticipated or usual, when around me.
Case in point, years ago I had a Chevy Cavalier. We were rear ended and when we took the car for an insurance assessment at the shop, I noticed the one mechanic/adjuster looking under my car and appearing puzzled. I went over just as two others joined him, all looking under the car and then nodding to each other and appearing puzzled.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“How’d this happen?” one fellow asked me.
“We were rear ended.” I replied.
“By what?” asked another.
“mmm, Grand Am I think,” said I.
“Huh, I would have said a gravel truck.” He laughed and I stared.
“You see, miss (grins, I was younger then) that part,” I looked and sure enough, there it was, some little brackety piece hanging down from the underside of my car, obviously broken. “That part never breaks.”
This is a true story, I kid you not.
Some dear friends online were quite disbelieving of my ability to break stuff without even trying. However after a couple of them helped with installations of various OSs and other apps and found annoying little mishaps happening when no such incident has happened before, to them, to anyone…ever. They changed their minds.
We went from this is so easy, it’ll take us about an hour. To, well let’s see I can probably help you on Saturday I’ve got a few hours free then. To, want me to just do this for you? What’s your password? To forget it, I’ve still got the access I set up to fix this for you and I’ll do it myself.
Some might think that tells you that I’m simply an idiot. The perpetual loose nut behind the keyboard. I’m not. I can do these things and do, do them. However if there’s a little niggly thing that can screw things up I appear to have a multi-leveled talent for finding it.
We won't even get into the whole 'get this car, it's the best car and you'll never break it' thing. :P
Which brings me to this.
And the flipside of things.
Go figure huh? That’s after 5 days too. The kicker? I did this sitting down. Well, sitting on a horse. And not the obvious way of falling off the horse, I did this sitting in the saddle. I did eventually fall off, but my ankle was already done in well before I hit the ground.
Here's how this little fun house event happened. The horse I was ponying had an issue with being led (suddenly and out of the blue) and popped up (bucked). Since I’ve walked home a time or two, I’ve learned to never let go of the reins. This was enforced as a habit when I worked as a studgroom on the track. The last thing anyone wants to deal with (other than a whiny owner who can’t understand why his horse isn’t winning) is a loose stud, so you just never let go. Guess what? I never let go of the lead line, so when he popped he also tried to climb the horse I was riding. My horse is pretty cool but when another horse tries to get into the saddle, most horses have issues. So he shied away from the popping horse. Strangely enough, the lead line is still stupidly clutched tightly in my hand. By now I’m stretched between one horse who simply wants to get away and another who’s having a pretty cranky attitude attack. Something had to give. For most people it’d be a shoulder, but I’d gotten yanked off center when he lurched away in a buck and my foot got twisted in the stirrup. See that dark bruise, that’s the part that stretched. I really don’t think that your foot is supposed to bend that way. In fact, once I climbed out of the patch of thistles, (why is it always thistles? Or manure?) and up on my feet I was pretty damned sure that your foot isn’t supposed to bend that way.
My horse hadn't gone too far so with some assistance from hubby and a low spot I was back up in a few minutes. I was very pleased to see that my fear that I've spent the last 4 years conquering hadn't cropped back up and it felt good to get back in the saddle. I rode back up to the barn, caught hold of the idiot stick horse that had caused all the uproar and led him back too. Alls well that ends well after all.
And the next time someone tells you the best way to get over something is to get back on the horse, listen. This is the voice of experience telling you so.
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| The questions just evolve as time goes on... |
| 09.15.05 (5:21 pm) [edit] |
This blog post raises an interesting question. I stumbled upon this blog while hitting 'next blog' like a vlt player last evening. I wasn't really reading blogs, just cruising them. But the subject stuck and I returned today having had the foresight to bookmark it. I dunno if it'll enter my blogroll or not, we'll see as I read further but this question bears discussion.
This is the modernday version of do you read your daughter's diary? I did a quick straw poll of various friends on this one night in a chat room. Some people say yes, others say no. Others still say maybe. All say, never let them know you did. Not all of these people were parents, in fact very few of them were.
What do you say?
Please post your comments regarding this and I'll post what I think tomorrow.
tru
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| Not just another crop circle idea |
| 09.13.05 (8:32 pm) [edit] |
Sometimes the rooster has ideas that aren't all about weird uses for crop circles. Sometimes he makes a shitload of sense. Like this little gem of an idea.
I suggest the governments get together and send a shit load of garbage to outer space and launch it back at earth where it came from. Wait a moment and just think about it. When anything reenters the earth’s atmosphere it burns up right? We’re sitting on the universe’s incinerator, right here. So when it reenters the atmosphere it burns up and turns to dust or ash.
One of the first signs of civilization is the gathering of refuse and disposing of it away from the general living area. I'm sure that we've got that part down pat, except for the stupid garbage collector in my town. For the past 5 years garbage day has been on Tuesday...but according to the bags of garbage waiting on the curb up and down my street, apparently not this week. Damn I thought it was the CBC and Telus on strike not the civil servants...ah well.
So perhaps Mr. Rooster isn't too far off the mark. Maybe all that intelligent life out there in the universe has been looking at our lovely lil planet and icking to each other in a genteel sorta way of course. Remarking to each other that we seem to have a lot of good ideas (and some not so great ones) and that it might be nice to visit there someday if it weren't for the positively archaic living conditions.
Do you believe it? They LIVE in their GARBAGE. Burying it right there in the ground where they WALK... Ick.. shudder...
Hmmm... prolly not... I think I'll go get my fix of alien life forms by buying this soon.
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| From the actions of animals.... |
| 09.01.05 (9:56 am) [edit] |
The other day I watched our Papillion, Dexter discover a partly eaten bagel that #5 (4 year old) had set down. He sniffed all around it, knowing that he’s not allowed to snatch human food and dash for his kennel but very obviously wanting to. He paced about, came back, sniffed all around it again, ears splaying out flat as he puzzled out what to do. For a while he simply sat there, head down, nose inhaling the luscious, enticing scent and then finally with a sigh that was worthy of an Oscar folded himself down on his chest and tummy to guard it.
He grumbled a little when Huggie the pug walked by and even curled his lip as Duke the cat sauntered over. Duke was astonished, sitting down on his haunches and watching his normally cuddly buddy snarl at him. Usually these two are as cuddly as two hippies at Woodstock, sniffing ears and nosing cheeks and rubbing against each other. It’s down right disturbing to watch them at times and here was Dex snarling at his chum over this piece of human food, forbidden yet oh so desirable.
After a time, Dex needed a drink or a food dash and went to the washroom to get it. Huggie swooped in, snatched up the bagel and dashed behind the armchair to enjoy his ill-gotten goods. And the fight was on. Dexter descended upon Huggie with the all the offended sensibilities of a righteous person fighting for their beliefs. A brief scuffle, lots of snarls and growls and off dashed Dexter to his kennel with the bagel. After all, now he was rescuing it, not taking it when he wasn’t supposed to. To his mind, it was justifiably his reward for the right behaviour.
I retrieved the bagel, broke it into smaller pieces, deposited it in the communal animal food bowl and reflected upon what I’d just witnessed.
How often do we do that in our lives? How often do I do that? We discover something we want with every fiber of our beings. Something we dream about, something we fawn over and generally WANT. Something we should snatch up and enjoy every bite of, every instance of, every breath we take doing that job we really want to be doing. Yet there we sit, ears splayed out denying ourselves this bite of heaven. Denying ourselves the job of a lifetime or chance we should embrace. For some rule of society, some more or training or just a sense of what’s right we deny it to ourselves. We hover over it, watching it, coveting it from afar. Telling ourselves that when we win the lottery we’ll surely do it. Go on that vacation. Write that book. Toss aside the safe job and fly by the seat of our pants doing what we truly love, Truly living our passion. Yep, one day that’s what we’ll do. Meanwhile we snarl at our friends, work ourselves into a tizzy about stuff that we could change if we really wanted to and congratulate ourselves for doing the right thing, yet can't escape the hollow feeling.
Then along comes someone who has different mores, a little more gumption or sense of self or confidence, and they swoop down on our treasured something and make off with it, leaving us angry at the loss, annoyed at ourselves for doing the right thing and generally downcast at missing out on the treasure.
How many missed chances are in your life?
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| Grade Four |
| 08.31.05 (4:18 pm) [edit] |
My 9 year old is starting grade 4. I remember grade 4. It’s the year I got glasses, learned to handwrite and found out that my good friend had a serious right hand. Of course looking back I did hit him first but he had made fun of my mom. He didn’t know it was my mom and I didn’t know he could punch that well so it all worked out in the end.
Funny the things we remember hmm? I remember that my grade 4 teacher, Mrs. Billay, teaching us sayings to remember how to spell Arithmetic (A red Indian thought he might eat tobacco in church) and Never Eat Shredded Wheat to remember the directions, complete with pointing. I also remember her losing her husband in a sad farming accident that year; their teen sons coming home from school; walking up their long winding driveway to find their dad caught in the hydraulics of a 3 ton grain truck. Driving his body to the hospital, getting stopped by the RC’s cause neither of them could really drive. Exciting stuff to whisper about at 9, I tell you. It turned out he’d had a heart attack, and was already dead when the boys found him, but what heroes those boys were thought to be.
So back to the 9 year old, affectionately known herein as #4. She has to make a title page for Science. The subject at hand is ‘Waste and Our World’. Well, that’s dead easy, right? Picture of a globe surrounded by garbage. I’d so rock as a grade 4’er.
If only the assignments I get as an adult were that easy. Wouldn’t it be fun to solve things like being short on your bills by making the envelope all creative?
Picture it.
You walk into the utilities office and hand over your bill payment all done up in lavenders and blues, “I’m a little short this month…”
The teller, with the soft voice and happy smile that everyone hopes to get, opens it carefully and looks at your payment. “Yes I see. She glances at the payment, makes note of it and continues, “but we’ll definitely give you extra credit for this lovely envelope.” Another note, “there…all paid up for the month. See you next month.” A cheery wave and off you go.
Next month, same scenario, only you get the teller nobody likes. You know the one, the guy with the funny jackets? People call him TellerFeller behind his back and snigger. You try to get one of the other tellers but the only free one only takes payments that are on time so you walk reluctantly to his window.
“Well, well, well, what have we here? Another late payment, hmm… that makes 3 this year alone. What are you planning to become Ms. Unicorn? A ditch digger?” You quail a little but you can hear the other payees milling around in line and you want to show you aren’t afraid of TellerFeller so you hold your head up high and toss the envelope on his desk. This time you’ve carefully braided strips of paper in a plaid pattern and added sequins to the corners. It is, after all, your second late payment in a row. He sneers at it and pokes it with his pencil, glancing up at you with that evil smile that you know means no good. Out flashes the letter opener and there lies your carefully braided envelope in pieces. “OH dear…” he exclaims, not at all sincerely, “Your envelope seems to have fallen apart. Not your best work this month, you’re certainly capable of better than this. We’ll have to deduct for that now won’t we?” He pokes at your careful work yet again pulling out your payment. “Short again, are we?” He nods, making that annoying clucking sound with his tongue and you know he’s just prolonging his pleasure at your discomfort. He makes a show of counting out your payment and tallying up your bill. “There, I’ve given you as much credit as I can for this,” another disdainful poke at your envelope, “but you’re still short. Guess you’ll have to make it with extra next month.” He trusts it back to you and dismisses you with a glance over your shoulder for his next victim. You turn slowly and slink away, catching the sympathetic glances from the lineup you shrug and smile and trudge off to make another attempt.
#4 has taken my idea one better and has created the globe picture, complete with garbage encircling it. Only she’s added a crucial feature. She’s added a force field about the earth protecting it from the garbage. At least she didn’t sneer at me.
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| It's a virtual world after all... |
| 08.20.05 (2:38 pm) [edit] |
Um...
It appears a Virtual Mugging has occurred.
Go Figure. Someone's been arrested for it too. Now, consider that as a convenience store clerk in a small town, I was just robbed at gunpoint and no one has been arrested.
Hmmm...go read the article, I'll wait.
Alrighty then...
Now on further reading you'll find that the mugging occurred in the context of an online game. The person arrested on suspicion created a 'bot' that is virtually unbeatable and was programed to 'mug' other characters and steal their virtual possessions.
Everybody get that? Virtual possessions. Uh huh. So what's the crime? Beyond the do not reverse engineer or decompile this program clause that's obviously been, if not truly broken, bent.
What makes this 'mugging' so truly mindboggling to me is that once these virtual possessions were stolen they were then fenced. Oh, and not only were these possessions stolen, but their owners were beaten. Strangely enough, no assault charges are being laid. Ahem. Am I the only person getting a little confused here. These possessions do not exist. Right? Am I right? So who was the dummy that bought them? Emperor's New Clothes anyone? Some idiot paid money for things that don't exist, thereby creating a market for virtual stolen possessions. Yeesh.
I'm trying hard not to imagine some holographic image of a guy in an overcoat accosting passersby on the street saying, "psst...wanna buy a Shield of Nightmare? Got a great deal on the Earring of Wisdom, c'mere, c'mere let me show you," as he beckons them into the dark alley.
I enjoy a good computer game as much as the next fella, but since my success rate at the current batch is limited I usually stick to blowing up lemmings. (OH no!) So maybe I don't get the way some folk take these games seriously but there does seem to me that there's an easy solution for the game producing companies. Hire the writer of the 'bot' 'cause obviously he knows your game better than you do, and ban the freakin' idiot for cheating by buying, 'nuff said.
On another note: Today begins my annual gloat. I get to be younger than my hubby till my birthday in October. So go wish the Clucking Rooster (link in the left topmost corner of the page) a Happy Birthday!
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| is it really a job if you love doing it? |
| 08.18.05 (2:53 pm) [edit] |
It’s 8 am and we’re leaving High River to head to a ranch in the foothills. Yeah, we’re running late :P but that’s the breaks with me and two kids, and Hubby is getting used to it. Sometimes he actually tries to get us out of the house earlier, but no joy for him. Guy must be an optimist or something.
Anyway, the ranch we’re heading to is about an hour’s drive away, right in the middle of the Porcupine Hills. Long sweeping hills, dotted with round bales the size of cars. Occasional ranch houses complete with matching barns and fences vie with copses of poplar and aspen, mazes of brush and willow. Tiny creeks of crystal clear water race down their beds to cross under gravel roads in culverts.
I’m home.
For a prairie girl, I really don’t hanker for the sight of my dog running away for days. There’s a quiet elegance to a prairie sunset that holds its own against the way the sun drops dramatically behind the hills but the hills sing to me (the hills are alive with the sound of music? *wry grin, sorry couldn’t resist). Riding a horse over the prairies is nice but riding on over hills is better. Trust me.
Horseback riding, yep that’s right, that’s where we’re headed. The kicker is we aren’t heading to a dude ranch, or livery stable, where we’d pay (approx) $35/hour to ride. We’re getting paid to ride. Hubby answered an ad about fine-tuning some horses for sale. We drove out to meet Carol and quickly found ourselves up and out to the hayfield for some wet saddle blanket time.
To explain, there’s nothing like practice to make perfect. Once a horse is considered green broke that’s when the wet saddle blankets come into importance. To be considered green broke in our books a horse must walk on a lead, not fight the halter, accept the bit and headstall, accept the saddle and the weight of a rider and respond to ‘step up’ and/or a cluck and nudge of the heel to move out, and most importantly, stop and stand on a steady pull on the rein and good resounding whoa.
That may sound like very little to expect from a horse if you’ve not ridden much or dealt with this skitterish animal. But consider this; a horse is prey. Many of the predators that prey upon a horse will attack from above, landing on their backs and biting at the base of their necks to incapacitate the horse. So guess what instinct can kick in when a horse that’s inexperienced feels your weight on his back? Can we say rodeo anyone?
This is where we come in. These horses are being prepared for sale. As the breeder says; if she wants to breed babies she has to sell the older ones. That’s the nature of her business. She wants her horses to be the cream of the sale and the only way that will happen is to have them be as relaxed and willing as possible in the arena when they go to auction. The only way that happens on a regular basis, is for them to have been exposed to similar situations and taught to trust humans when the surroundings aren’t familiar. She also sells privately so needs these guys; and yes all of the ones we’re dealing with are geldings; to respond whenever anyone wants to come out and try one on for size and ride.
I saw the ad in the paper and nagged. Hubby called, as he’s really the better rider of the two of us. More ability and less fear *GRIN*. Although I do better than he does with the ones that have the attitude of a 2 yo human and my groundwork is pretty good even if I do say so myself. Arrangements were made and the day before I wrote this we went out to meet Carol and the horses, had a few quick rides on a couple of horses and are returning today with gear and expectations.
I didn’t really expect to ride, but found myself on a pick up horse by the name of Bonanza rather quickly. I ‘can’ ride, don’t get me wrong, but I learnt early on never to brag about my ability lest some beast (or cowboy) try me. After a silly incident caused by my own inattention I find a little bit of unease and a frisson of fear flickering up my spine whenever I mount now. It’s dumb and I should never have let it happen but heh…what’s done is done. I’m getting over it and Bonanza is helping. He’s sound, and stable and quite willing. Too bad he’s $4280.00 *chuckle*. That’s a lot of wet saddle blankets but you never know. He’s got a younger brother, same breeding, same willing attitude that Carol says I need to meet, as he’s only $2400.00. And Carol takes payments. Hmmmm…
(added later) Bonanza and I had a good ride but today I met Perry. I'm so fickle...
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| Is it the man or the persona.... |
| 07.26.05 (11:04 am) [edit] |
Whilst reading Critter Lover I started to reflect upon how we idiolize performers and forget that they are men and women (sometimes little more than children dressed up in big folk clothing).
Leslie mentioned in her blog that Willie Nelson was a no show at a concert here, and I remembered attending a Living Legends (Conway Twitty, George Jones and Loretta Lynn) concert a few years back (er, when they were all still alive lol) and being surprised at the rather lukewarm, possibly even hostile reception that George received from the usually amicable crowd. They'd been quite receptive to both Conway's and Loretta's individual performances but went deadly silent when George began.
I was confused, since I'm not much of a concert goer. It was explained to me that George had been booked in Calgary a number of times and had seldom ever performed due to illness (which I'm told should be read in this instance as drunkeness) and had over his career (I'm so not informed) been labeled as NO SHOW Jones.
To his credit, both as a performer and frankly as a man, he stopped the show. Held up his hands to his band and turned his guitar to his back, stepping up to the mike; and maybe in my mind, to the plate. Mr. Jones told the audience that he understood their lack of interest in his performance, and while he wouldn't claim to remember not showing up he was aware that he hadn't in the past. He also said he wouldn't apologize for not showing up then, as then... he was drunk and didn't care about much but the next bottle. But... he wasn't drunk now, and was there to perform for them now, and he hoped that they'd enjoy his show. He simply stopped talking then, and turned his guitar back 'round, signalling to his band to begin. I do believe he was performer enough (if my memory serves) to do his “Ring on the Right Left Hand” song, with his new wife creeping up behind him and showing off her ring. Although it might have been staged, his look of surprise to see her when he turned around seemed genuine to me. Nothing like a good bit of theatrics to turn the rest of the crowd.
To their credit, the crowd wasn't totally mollified, but they did applaud his performance and were quite forgiving in the next section when the duets were performed. I thought it took a lot of gumption and dignity to do that and reevaluated my take on the man. I'd always enjoyed the performer and still do now. Now I also admire the man.
All that :P to get to the point.. (imagine)...
When we, the public, see performers/actors/celebs of note (and infamy as well) as idols and subjects of adoration that's really okay. But when we see them as authorities, in particular on subjects that are little more than PR soundbites, we do ourselves, and them, an injustice. Every little boy that looks up to a Kobe Bryant is deceived, it would appear by Kobe's appearance in court. That makes their adoration nul and void doesn't it? Buty let's examine.. Why was the adoration there? Because this fellow was such a great man? Or a great basketball player? How synonymous are the two? Does the fact that he was accused (and you know for the life of me I can't recall if he was found innocent or guilty nor do I give enough of a care to google and find out) of something nasty negate his skill as a ball player? Somehow I don't think so. OJ is another case in point. Wasn't some award removed from his honour as a result of his court case (again innocent/guilty not an issue for the discussion at hand). That makes absolutely no sense to me at all. Was he any less of a football player for having done (or not done) what he was accused of doing? Somehow the two don't add up to me.
When an actor such as Alec Baldwin has the balls to say that he and his then wife Kim would move to a smallish town near Calgary, if only they'd get rid of the Stampede with all its animal abuse I get a little tense. ;P I very nearly threw out 4 family favourite movies that Mr. (used here sarcastically just in case no one gets it) Baldwin was in but then I thought, hell no. We enjoy these movies, and paid our money for them. What he says in public or private as Alec Baldwin has no bearing on his ability to create a character on screen that my family and I enjoy watching. The two are so far apart on the scale of really mattering that I can't begin to explain it.
Ah, but you knew I'd try, didn't you? :P
Who's your hero? Do we have any any more? Are there any more Roy Rogers or Audie Murphys out there? There are, you know. (for me this man and a lot of others, are starting to look like the real thing) But we're looking for them in the wrong place. Audie Murphy was a war hero long before he was an actor. That he was able to make that leap is admirable and somewhat predictable given the substructures that abounded in Hollywood back then. It's all public relations, people; it's all in the spin. And if you doubt me watch a few months of professional wrestling, folks. The baby faces and bad boys change like you would your underwear and people buy it, week after week. Is it really such a stretch to think that Mr. (term used here with utmost respect) Murphy could be turned into a Hollywood star given his start as a hero?
But does the shoe walk as well the other direction? Is Arnie the best governor for California because or despite his acting ability and Hollywood connections? Only time will tell I guess. There were a lot of references to his 'heroic' action parts, but doesn't anyone remember that he was the 'bad' cyborg in The Terminator? :P
I do know however, that in my house at the very least and as far as my tentacles as a mom can reach, that heroes will be chosen on the walk they walk, not the talk they talk. And the difference between the Alecs of the real world and the characters they play on screen will be duly noted, and factored in.
We're such a fickle public. One's stock goes up and down by how well one hides one's reality of life it seems.
Have your heroes, by all means. Just don't bitch when they turn out to have feet of clay. Oh, and when they turn out to be human after all, with foilables, habits and bad parts don't be a coward and run the other direction lest you be tarred by the same brush. Be your own style of hero and stick up for the abilities you first chose to admire in this man or woman, emulate them and learn that their mistakes don't have to be your own.
It's easy to be perfect, if you never do anything wrong. It's heroic to keep heading towards perfect after you do everything wrong.
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| Is the Doc gone? |
| 07.12.05 (2:54 pm) [edit] |
Well I was going to start this off with a link to a really great article about Doyle (Doc) Mullaney but since the Calgary Herald is such an anal entity I can't do that.
There, now that I feel better for that little remark ;P let's get on with the topic at hand.
Doc Mullaney has been a fixture of the Chucks for 42 years, and for health reasons has had to leave the Rangeland Derby this year, in midstream. That seriously sucks. Now in that great article (the writing was good, the online department *comment removed in the interest of good taste) it was mentioned that it hadn't yet been decided whether Doc's wagon would be driven by other drivers (a not unprecedented occurance; the most well known incident perhaps when Richard Cosgrove's wagon was driven for the entire week following his death during a race in BC shortly before the Stampede), or whether the next ranked driver would come up the ranks.
None of that matters, although from a what's really right in my personal viewpoint, the former is the most appropriate solution.
The Doc is gone... maybe for good, from the chucks and that's the important part. While he might not be as famous as Micheal Jordan or various other *sports* figures, he's a local legend around here.
Being an afficiendo of all things Irish, I was quite enthralled by the shamrocks on his wagon, the leprechaun remarks and good natured jokes about his Irishness, when I first arrived in the big city (aka Calgary) in '79. Chuckwagon racing has to be experienced to be understood, and not just from the grandstand my friends. Not necessarily from the seat of the wagon either, but there's a certain *feel* that you either have for it or you don't. And by the way, if you don't get chucks and rodeo, please don't clutter up my comments with pita/peta remarks, 'kay? I couldn't freaking care less what those folks have to say.
*AHEM*.
Back to Doctor Doyle. He's never been a *star*, not going to hold the records, or post the times of the Bashaw Flash, and he doesn't have the 4 generation standpoint of the Glass family but he's been my favourite driver since '79 and since this is my blog that counts a lot. :P
His career thus far
In the early '90's not only was he my favourite driver, but he was also my favourite veterinarian. I doubt he recalls the hug I gave him following Richard Cosgrove's untimely death, when I arrived at his clinic that monday to pick up some meds for a pet. There he was, a giant of a man, with tears in his eyes, doing what he did because what else was he to do. His friend had died, that was the chance they all take.
But I can sure tell you I recall the one he gave me when he put down our cat (he'd been severely injured and we'd waited some time to see if the injury would heal); enfolding me in his large arms and holding me close as I sobbed like a 5 yo who'd lost her best friend. Telling me all the while how hard I'd worked to save him and how I'd given him more chances than most would have to get well and that yes, this had been the best solution and I was brave to have done it.
I'm also not likely to forget the tears in his eyes when I told him that the pug puppy he'd saved from parvo had been killed by smoke inhalation during a fire at the campground we were at. This vet who has been described to me as unfeeling, rough handed and abrupt (by some) held this tiny dehydrated puppy in his hands, putting in a line, swearing a blue streak I'll give you that, but the hands? The hands were as gentle as he held a newborn babe. He fed this pup baby food by finger tip and his assistant even told me he'd taken her home to give her extra TLC. The bill? It wasn't much, Tushi survived and loved to visit the Doc.
This is the fellow that I recall a few years ago, after a rather bad wreck at the Stampede, shouldering past the eager reporter who put a mike in his face to get a sound bite. Doc growled, something to the effect of: do you mind, a friend of mine is hurt. The friend he's referring to? His horses. Quite a sound bite if you ask me.
Doc has been graced with the following awards:
1980 Battle Of The North Champion
Meadow Lake Stampede Champion
1982 WPCA Active Supporter Award
1983 WPCA Active Supporter Award
1984 WPCA Active Supporter Award
1985 WPCA Most Improved Outfit Award
1986 WPCA Active Supporter Award
1993 WPCA Chuckwagon Person Of The Year
1995 Fort Nelson Chuckwagon Champion
1996 Fort Nelson Chuckwagon Champion
2002 WPCA Clean Drive Award
Not a bad record for 42 years by any one's standards.
Here's my hat, Doctor Doyle. Here's my cheer when you leave the barrels and here's my thanks for being my favourite driver for all these years.
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| Just another hero story... |
| 07.08.05 (5:41 pm) [edit] |
I've mentioned the BoxerBrats mailing list I belong to here before, when we were struggling to let BeBop and Keys make their way to the Rainbow Bridge. The Rainbow Bridge is a 'waiting'room for dogs and other pets who've preceded their humans to heaven. I believe that this originated as a poem, but there've been many stories written based on it; fanciful (perhaps to some) takes on how these animals await at this lovely place, where ills are forgotten, missing limbs restored and age washed away to leave them in their most glorious state. One of the ones that sticks with me, is the version that circulated via email after the World Trade Towers fell. It linked all the lost souls with all the lost pups and kittens euthanized each year as unwanted. Little bit too much of a *public service message* perhaps, but I understood the sentiment involved.
Anyway.. in my 'brats folder on email, a day or so ago, was this message...
Dear Brats, in February of this year, our mommy adopted a boxer named Odie to a very nice couple, The Tarters in Texarkana. Odie had been pulled from the Little Rock Animal Shelter several months previous. Everybody loved him; he had a sweet disposition and he was beautiful besides. He came through heartworm treatment with flying colors only about a month ago. He was just now enjoying his new life with the Tarters. There was a house fire yesterday and Odie saved the life of their son who was sleeping at the time. He woke the boy up to alert him about the fire. The son was burned (not severely) while trying to get Odie to leave the house with him, but Odie wouldn't leave without checking to make sure that the parents were not in the house. They weren't; they were at work. Odie died in that fire. Mommy talked with the mom a little while ago. Naturally, she is beside herself with grief. They are living in a motel having lost their whole house and everything in it. Please, would you guys send some howls to help Odie on his trip to the Bridge and keep this family in your prayers? Our mommy's eyes are leaky cuz she is so sad over this.
After much tears, as this sort of thing just tears at my heart, at most hearts I'm sure... but the 'brats list seems to be rife with emotion of late, with far too many old friends passing on at alarming rates. A few rants to my family about how I'm so going to stop reading this list (so not gonna happen) I sent my Howls and found myself reflecting on my own two that passed last year, which led me to a daydream about the Bridge that I'd like to recount here.
First however, a bit of background on Odie. He was rescued from the Little Rock Animal Shelter at the last moment. His time was up and the rescuer that wrote about him to the list was full up, however she was able to foster him with a friend. He'd been adopted by his forever family after only a couple of months partly because of how much he looked like their recently passed boxer. In this picture it's plain to see that he was quite content and much loved from February till now. And certainly forever more.
This isn't a new story to me. I've heard many awe inspiring versions of this sort of thing. A family or person adopts a rescue dog and sometime during that dog's life he does something to save a family member from lethal harm, sometimes paying the ultimate price himself, as in this case. Karma, good will, God's hand... whatever you feel comfortable calling it; has a way of balancing the scales. Could there be a better reason to rescue? Before this starts sounding like a (God forbid) PETA ad, let me just say that I simply find it comforting to see this type of balancing act going on all around me. Good deeds beget good deeds. Sadly bad beget bad as well. More on that another time however.
The sun shines softly, bathing everything with an etheral glow. The ever present rainbow shines through the newly washed air; a backdrop of jeweltones to the brilliant green of the grass. Many dogs and cats wander about the gentle grassy slopes, some playing, some settling down for a pleasant snooze in the sun. Every now and then a new resident arrives. A good dog (and all dogs at the Bridge are good dogs) that arrives at the Bridge to wait for their loved ones is welcomed with woofs of greeting, much nose touching, sniffing, rubbing, pawing, and in the case of boxers, hula heinies and fishwiggle dancing. The newcomer quickly feels physcially better, shedding any ills and with only the odd sensation of waiting for something goes about his days in pleasurable pursuits of rabbit chasing, bone chewing and snoozing.
I imagine that when a hero such as Odie arrives, however, there's a sudden stillness that runs through the throngs in a wave... a drawn in breath collectively held in honour of the blessed hero who did what every good dog would do without hesitation; lay down his life to save those that are his. This breath would be held till the dog in question made his stately way through the throng and then the whispers will start... "He saved his boy..." the whisperers would say. "From a fire..." other whispers would reply and sage heads would nod. "Gave his life being sure that all were safe," still others will say, a bit louder now. Some of the older dogs would stand tall and salute this newcomer, a tear in their eye at the thought of their own boy or girl and how they miss them. The others, younger perhaps and also older, as well as the the ones without this type of experience would also stand in awe, gratified to be in the presence of greatness, of trueness of heart, the epitome of loyalty and all things good and wonderful. Inspired to be a that most highest regarded type of dog, a good dog.
You're truly a good dog, Odie.
Rest in Peace.
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| The baton has been passed... |
| 06.18.05 (7:55 am) [edit] |
When I was about 10 years old (or so) I took over the baking of cookies in our home. My mom was a polio survivor and while she got around okay and kept the house, she didn't enjoy baking as much as she once had so I took it over (cause I enjoyed the eating part of course GRIN)and many a friday or saturday night was spent covering the kitchen table with cookies. Cookies I might add that would disappear at an alarming rate when my older brother would stop in on his way home from working and inhale 2 or 3 dozen of the little dainties I'd make. Hyperbole is in my blood what can I say? :P
My favourite cookbook of my mom's was the Joy of Cooking. I still have her copy, sans covers and much of the index pages, well stained with sauces and time. I've purchased a new one, a revised edition and don't really care for it. It's gone the political correctness way and everything is sans fat or nouvelle cusine in the oh hell who'd eat that anyways way. ;P (I wonder if anyone has ever used our cook books, recipe collections and food preferences to assess our society?) Anyhoo...I still turn to the old version when I'm feeling needful of baking.
A few of the recipes are so ingrained and personalized by my additions and subtractions through the years that I don't need the book. The girls call me on occasion for THE COOKIE RECIPE for instances. (dumplings are another but my sil doesn't like them much to the chagrin of my daughter who makes them anyways cause she does (good girl))
THE COOKIE RECIPE. It's funny. That recipe is very likely the very first one I ever made. And it seemed like the proverbial rocket science math back then. Now... It's dead simple and doubles and quadruples with ease. It's your basic (or mine anyways) oatmeal chocolate chip recipe and it's had everything from raisins to sunflower seeds to marshmallows added to it over the years as our tastes ebbed and waned.
When the olders (3) were younger they'd beg to make cookies. I'd set them up with 3 bowls and each would make their own. They'd all make the exact same recipe and then one would add raisins, the next butterscotch chips and the third chocolate. Or some other three *special* ingredients to make they batch *THEIRS*. It took them a long time to figure out that they were all making the very same cookie. :P
It's still our old standby and last night the baton was passed, #4 made her very first (on her own) batch of THE COOKIE RECIPE, and damn if they didn't turn out great. :P By the way I think my bro was on to something. There's really quite a lot of satisfaction in snitching a warm from the oven cookie that you didn't bake up (or have to clean up after baking them) and settling down in your armchair with a nice cup of tea and a book.
All hail the new baker in the family.
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| When I grow up... |
| 06.16.05 (8:01 pm) [edit] |
When I grow up this is the sort of knitter I wanna be. ;P
Ready for some eye candy?
Here you go:
And just to appease the crochet goddesses too... I'll also be a crocheter capable of producing these as well.
These beautiful lacies were worked (I'm assuming, as they were in her stuff and I found 1/2 done projects in both crochet and knit as well as some exquisite silk on silk embroidery) by my Aunt Ann. She passed away a while back and on a visit home shortly after my uncle (her brother) had me take some of her personal things. Among them a wonderful cedar chest full of souveniers of her life. Slowly over the last few years I've been bringing things out of the trunk. These are something I spied early on but was reluctant to bring out and use. They now adorn some furniture in our living room.
Been feeling very mortal of late, been sick, been stressed, been just...odd. These comfort me. The further you run from home, the harder it smacks you in the head when it catches up with you, heh... Good thing I didn't see these before I started knitting, I never would have attempted to try to match that. Now I think just maybe, I could give her a run for her money.
Back soon with more knitting pics.
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| Knitting updates, sorta |
| 06.03.05 (7:14 pm) [edit] |
It's been a while and there've been reasons, none of which most of you would care about so :P let's just say I've been busy and leave it at that.
I thought I'd update some of my ongoing knitting projects. I haven't been knitting on most of them since the move but of late the peacockfeathers shawl by our own Dorothy Siemens
And yes, this is the same shawl I've been working on off and on for the last year or so. :o.O: It betrayed me and we had *issues* to work out. But now we're all okay again.
Here we are up to row 153.
Here's a detail shot.
I've had a few distractions.
This wonderful bunch of something arrived in a box from South Africa a week or so ago. My daughter (8) saw it and said uhoh, looking over her shoulder for daddy. *hmm* Then when I pointed out that it was Mexican Wave like in this  she was all *I want a shawl*. We settled on a poncho, which other than waiting for fringing this weekend is done. More pics of it coming up. I made it from Steph's Yarn Harlot Poncho pattern. The golden brown is on the needles awaiting another shipment for another poncho for the littlest. I just couldn't get over the blends of color and wanted the whole thing in that color way. Thank you to my most accomodating friend in South Africa who sends me stuff. A few more balls are winging their way to me as we speak. Pics will be posted upon completion. Interesting side note, the brown is Mexican Wave Aran. A little heavier than the regular Mex Wave I'm accustomed (and addicted to) but knits up great on 9 mm needles for a quick and easy poncho.
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| Just a few blogthings to fill the void, back soon |
| 05.27.05 (12:11 pm) [edit] |
Your Irish Name Is... |
Aislin Malone
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Your #1 Match: ENFP
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The Inspirer
You love being around people, and you are deeply committed to your friends.
You are also unconventional, irreverant, and unimpressed by authority and rules.
Incredibly perceptive, you can usually sense if someone has hidden motives.
You use lots of colorful language and expressions. You're qutie the storyteller!
You would make an excellent entrepreneur, politician, or journalist. |
Your #2 Match: INFP
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The Idealist
You are creative with a great imagination, living in your own inner world.
Open minded and accepting, you strive for harmony in your important relationships.
It takes a long time for people to get to know you. You are hesitant to let people get close.
But once you care for someone, you do everything you can to help them grow and develop.
You would make an excellent writer, psychologist, or artist. |
Your #3 Match: ENFJ
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The Giver
You strive to maintain harmony in relationships, and usually succeed.
Articulate and enthusiastic, you are good at making personal connections.
Sometimes you idealize relationships too much - and end up being let down.
You find the most energy and comfort in social situations ... where you shine.
You would make a good writer, human resources director, or psychologist. |
The Keys to Your Heart
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You are attracted to those who are unbridled, untrammeled, and free. |
In love, you feel the most alive when things are straight-forward, and you're told that you're loved. |
You'd like to your lover to think you are stylish and alluring. |
You would be forced to break up with someone who was emotional, moody, and difficult to please. |
Your ideal relationship is open. Both of you can talk about everything... no secrets. |
Your risk of cheating is zero. You care about society and morality. You would never break a commitment. |
You think of marriage as something precious. You'll treasure marriage and treat it as sacred. |
In this moment, you think of love as something you thirst for. You'll do anything for love, but you won't fall for it easily. |
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| Let's go to a parade |
| 05.23.05 (6:07 pm) [edit] |
Today, in High River, the Little Britches Parade and Rodeo was held. The rodeo is for entrants 3-16 years of age and is in its 47th year. It is very much a tradition here.
I enjoyed the parade. It was a great blend of local color and well, local color. The Stampede Show Band, the Round Up Band and the Stetson Show Band are all regular visitors and put on a good show. Clan Maxwell and Scottish Tradition add the needed (to me anyways) pipe bands that make a good parade. It wasn't the international crowd you'll see at the Stampede in Calgary, although I did hear at least 4 languages other than English being spoken in the groups around me. The floats are cheesy, built in someone's garage and the few professional floats are jaded, the themes are over done and there's a desperation feel to some of them. Pretty typical small town stuff. The Shriners were as always, one of my favourite portions. They were out in force, usually we get the cars and the Oriental Band and maybe the bikes but this year we had the cars, bikes, airplanes, mounted guard and the band as well as more than a couple dignitaries and the children's bus. I have to wonder, last year I sat in a very different part of the route, and was appalled and angered to hear some of the crowd actually booing the oriental band. Given some of the remarks the arab feel of their clothing was enough to warrant booing apparently. *FEH*. So it crosses my mind that this year, rather than letting that incident fester they were out in force to show everyone what they do. Sure there's always naysayers... organizations are good to a degree etc etc etc. Frankly I enjoy the Shriners and view them a s a benign group that sadly I don't really notice unless they aren't in my favourite parades. (Go me! feh)
There was a little something that just didn't sit well with me. That general sense of ennui that seems to be perculating its way through the world lately. I watched people stare open eyed at groups of kids dressed so cute that they made your teeth itch. One of the honorary parade marshalls was Ernie Henderson. A gentleman of extraordianary stories and life experience who is 100 years old. The same as this town. He was an RCMP officer in this area in years past and had a number of other representatives in various period uniforms as his color guard. Hardly anyone seemed to care. Maybe it's me. But when I was a kid we'd have stood up and cheered that. Not so today. A few scattered spots of applause and past he went. Same reaction for the Stampede Queen and Princesses, the Steele Scouts, and even the very professional and well presented bands. Everyone seemed to be having a good time, but they sure weren't going to be the first one to holler yeehaaaw in response to the parade participants inciting them to.
Come on people, if someone takes pride in the history of our nation and dresses up one of Sam Steele's estimiable scouts and tells you to holler YEee HAW the freakin' least you can do is holler.
*grumble*
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| OH my! ;P it had to happen:) |
| 05.17.05 (12:08 pm) [edit] |
You Are: Tigger "The Trigger"
You are Tigger "The Trigger". Your head is made outa rubber and your bottom is made outa springs. What's up with that? I think that all of your bouncing is just a cover for your secret life as the gunman for the Hundred Acre Wood gang. "Whacking's what Tiggers do best!" You are currently serving as a bodyguard for Winnie the Pooh who is being hunted by Heffalumps and Woozels over a honey "misunderstanding".
What Disney Mobster are you?
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| Back onto the knitting trail. |
| 05.13.05 (9:55 am) [edit] |
Or Knit, Count, Swear, Count, decide You screwed up, count again, knit, compare pattern to knitting, decide it's the pattern, knit, count, swear LOTS as you find that nope it's you.
And get this, we do this for enjoyment *snicker*.
It's been a good long time since we had a good old fashioned WIP update, mostly cause there's been no updating to be done. :P
Peacock Feathers Shawl by Dorothy Siemans of Fiddlesticks Knitting. Still a WIP. Was a HUGE source of annoyance when I dropped a stitch and had to tink back about 18 rows or thereabouts. Got a little disheartened and set it aside for a while. Then we moved (ARGH) and finally in the last week or so I've been picking her up again. That's when the whole count and knit and swear sequence started. I have to say that none of this aggravation has been as a result of the pattern in any way shape or form. It's all been me ;P. I AM my own worse enemy. I get cocky. As some of you might just recall I was very taken with both the zephyr wool/silk blend and the pattern at the beginnings of this shawl...way back when. I still love both very much. We're still good friends and keep in touch. BUT... after I had to tink it back I realized that the reason I had to was that I had become a touch cocky. I'd stopped fingerblocking it to see the lovely feather shapes emerging. If I'd still been doing that I'd have caught the dropped stitch in a much more timely space of time and knitted stitches (when I did finally stop and admire and finger block it ran like a scared rabbit :() It's sort of like life you know? You think you got it all together and poof one loose stitch and it all unravels before your very eyes. But I digress (so what else is new?)
Now for the counting part. At the end of each section of chart there's a little checknote that says at the end of Row * you will have X stitches. I counted. I recounted and counted again. I was missing 5 stitches.. not one, or two.. but FIVE. No way I sectioned counted and this is when things got hairy. Section wise I seemed to be okay? *STRANGE* but true.
With a great deal of reluctance I thought just maybe it was a pattern error and worked the row again (after tinking it back) nope, still same count and yet the pattern *WORKS* all the little feather eyes are all where they're supposed to be. What the hell?
After a bit more anguish and selfflagelation as part of the reason this had become a top drawer project was an intention of entering it in the local fair this summer I figured, lots of galloping horses around here and continued on to the next chart. Guess what? it was me after all *CUE HEAVY SIGH* At the end where I'd dropped the stitch I'd obviously not picked all of them back up when I tink'd back. A few *adjustments* and I was back to Number equality. But is it still fair worthy? DUNNO yet.. going to see how noticeable it is when I get it done and blocked out. Stay tuned...
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![](http://www.tblog.com/">http://images.blogthings.com/couldyoupasstheusciti zenshiptestquiz/reject.jpg" title="http://images.blogthings.com/couldyoupasstheusciti zenshiptestquiz/reject.jpg" target="_blank"http://images.blogthings.com/...</a></A>" height="100" width="100"></CENTER><BR><FONT color=#000000><BR>Oops, you only got 6 out of 10 right!<BR></FONT></TD></TR></TBODY></TABLE><BR><br><DIV align=)