Woolybuns

Assorted Little Smile Makers At Home

Almost 3 months old now, German French crossbred angora buck, still nameless, though I am considering calling him Dirty Hairy.  

Almost impossible to wear out these two.  They had a good hard romp with each other for about an hour earlier this morning but clearly think it's time for another.  

 

Itty bitty FO (finished object for you non-knitting muggles) because the pattern is cute and I wanted to learn the construction.  The pattern is free on Ravelry.  But be kind - free pattern, unless otherwise specified, means for your own personal use, not to sell.  I plan to donate these... somewhere.  Perhaps a women's shelter.  Which means I will likely make more to donate.  They take very little yarn.  I'm hoping left over yarn from my own socks will be enough to make a pair.  

Tomatoes continuing to grow and ripen.  Brandywine has been a thin harvest but the grape tomatoes are much more enthusiastic.  Some of these will be in my salad soon, others will perk up scrambled eggs for supper.  

What little thing makes you smile?  

Assorted Little Smiles From Maine

 

 We pulled into a farm shop in rural Maine to this.  Such a sweet Warm Fuzzy with a view.  He is half Old English Sheepdog and half Traveling Salesman, and all  love.  Me Mum chose to stay in the car, so this sweet guy happily came over to snuggle her where she sat.  The store itself was equally full of goodies to stoke nostalgia and encourage happy healthy eating.  

 

We waited for my sister's car in the shop at nearby bodies of water.  Such peaceful scenes. Day one at Biscay Pond, mid-coast Maine, with a rock and wooded shore, just a hint of beach for boat access, it's pristine and clean waters lovely to look at, and for my sister, perfect for strolling, bare toes hugging submerged sand while the cool clear waters bathed her feet in natural goodness.  I stayed on shore with my camera, joined by this little bit o'bug who hung out with me for a good while, first on my hand, then ... well, must be a boy, my sister said.  Here at home, I see dragon and damsel flies a plenty, but of the blue and green varieties.  This one is the first red I've seen outside of photos, and it seemed nature chose to color coordinate wonders for me that day.  

 

The view from the base of this tree also called to me.  "Look up, find bright sky somewhere up there."

 

The car was not ready at the end of the day, a bit of a bother since the repair shop is about an hour from Mum's.  But that did mean another visit to the picturesque little village
of Damariscotta, a charming little spot I've visited pretty much every one of the last 31 or so years.

 

  This time, I lingered with my camera at the river.  On one side of the bridge, it is like a bay on the ocean, dotted with fishing and tourist boats, wharf dining, and pricey hotels and housing with a view.  

Then there is the other side of the bridge, quite dramatic when the tide is moving.  Tide was low for this visit, just barely coming to life as time dictated we move on.  But I liked it's serenity on that other side of the bridge, gentle ripples of nature meandering off to the distant lake, instead of immediately to my right the bustle of tourism and the hustle of a village overloaded with end of season money spenders.  Many a time I've been among the money spenders, particularly enjoying dinner at Salt Bay Cafe a short walk from the bridge.  Further down is my big favorite, Main Street Cafe and Book Store.  

Those places will be memories for me now, not likely destinations anymore.  Much is changing in life, as life is wont to do.  Many of the wooded acres surrounding the scenic drive where me Mum lived near Damarascottia are now up for sale, and houses are likely to spring up.  When I visit Mum in her retirement community, and want to wander, I will seek out new to me lakes and ponds and villages.  I want to leave my memories as they are.  

 

Jammin'

Yesterday I made jam.  First time for me.  Raspberry peach jam.  It's a refrigerator jam.  I do not have the equipment nor desire for water bath processing to keep my jam safe on the shelf.  And refrigerator jam, like microwave fudge,  jells nicely with my desire for instant gratification at times.  

Ooo, microwave fudge, raspberry jam in the same sentence - there is a taste treat to figure out in there somewhere.

After that batch of jam went into it's jar, I cut up more peaches in preparation for another batch of jam  this morning.  Mind you, I should have been packing and preparing for another trip to Maine today.  But when the days tend to start with "Did Mum wake up today?" what should be done isn't necessarily what gets done.  

I've spent a lot of this past week taking care of shoulds.  One big should is new roofs on rabbit hutches.  Several of those hutch roofs will not last the winter.  Power tools intimidate me.  I grew up unschooled in power tools.  Public education decreed I would learn to sew and cook, but no tooling around for girls.  The men in my life ... well, that suited them just fine.  So I never had to learn to use a drill. Oh, heck, even my hammering is a bit less than elegant.  And my daughter will warn you: do not trust me with a tape measure.  

You do know why women can't judge distances, right?  Because men keep telling us  this

|                                                                               | is 6 inches.

But I have these bunnies and it is up to me to properly house them.  Look at that face.  Scowling power tools with dials and numbers and lost instructions are no match for the force of that amount of cute.  

Besides, there is youtube.  And now, while I am clearly still in need of much practice with my drill, I am no longer intimidated by it.  That is a very good feeling.

Making jam is a treat for me.  Not just the tastebud kind of treat, although this batch of cinnamon peach jam is chock full of Yum.  Getting excited about making jam tells me I am processing those things which life foistered on me no matter how much I said NOOOOOO!  They still hurt.  I'm still grieving.  But for the first time in months, I'm looking forward with a bit of a smile.  And that's just jammin'.  

 

A Wee Bit of Nature

Quiet early morning under a clearing sky.  A peaceful time, lovely to relax on the  deck, sip Earl Grey in the company of a curious doe, and enjoy the gentle nod of dahlias as a squirrel tiptoes quietly behind them so I won't notice.

"AACCKKK mad dash skurryskurryskurry RAHHH! RAHHHH! RAHHHH!"

 

 

"Whut da heck?"                                 

 

 

 Oh.

Apparently I Woke Up With Neil

September morn, it stays for just a little while, bows too soon before afternoon sun.  September morn, that glorious crisp hint of chill on rising that makes a morning cuppa tea so welcome in the hands.  September morn, its crisp that seems to clean the air and you just wanna throw your arms wide, turn up your face to the sky, eyes closed, and breathe in deeply of Earth, perhaps gather a bowl, candle, water and flowers for a spontaneous solitary ritual of thanks.   September morn, I wanna sing with you for a while.

Oh, ok, here.  I know you wanna go there and say hi to Neil.  But come right back, k?  

Summer hasn't left yet.  There are still tomatoes to ripen and harvest, to slice and season to taste and eat, not in gluttonous gobble, but to savor with grateful  countenance.  And dahlias in bloom still gracing the deck.  

But this September morn sent out its invitation as a reminder: get your ass in gear, clean under the hutches, replenish the compost.  Autumn is coming and close on its heels is that blustery grump winter.   You don't have as much time as you want.  

I keep that message in mind every time I tell myself to get up and move, and my lazy butt whines "I don't waaaaaahnna."  It bears repeating.

We don't have as much time as we want.

And that's why this beautiful September morn, I spent some time with my rake and pitchfork under a bright blue sky sporting those pretty, somewhat lacy cirrocumulus clouds, with Neil Diamond in my head.

Cobbling

As distance and uncertainty and fear conspire against comfort, the mind craves distraction, busy work, or massive amounts of chocolate.  Massive amounts of chocolate won't wear as well as it tickles the tongue.  So.  No chocolate - at least, not massive amounts.  Dammit.   No, once again, I turn to knitting.  

Distance and uncertainty and fear conspire too against focus.  A knitting project near and dear to my heart demands periodic counting, and it alternates between knit and purl at the start of rounds.  I am not such an accomplished knitter that I can bid needles to hop to and just do it.  Nope.  My needles like to fling counts and stitches like M&Ms fleeing a suddenly busted bag.  My near and dear project must languish.  I pulled out another skein of handspun and cast on some more ribs.  In the last couple  weeks, I have knit two simple rib hats and three simple rib ear warmers.  I intended another simple rib cap in knit two purl two knit two purl two soothing repetition.  I cast on, full speed ahead, another rib hat it is.

Surprise!  Noggin says no.  

At around 5 inches of rib, the prospect of another 5 inches of knit two purl two knit two purl two loomed like 3 feet of snow on my sidewalks and driveway.  I slogged through another inch, offering my first born to the god of fat yarn.  And the back burner brain jiggled.  I am not a slave to this knit.  I can   do what I want with it.  Including change my mind.  Sometimes you just have to give yourself that permission.  So I did.  And in less time than devouring an entire chocolate cream pie, I cobbled together a flat crown instead of the rib's rounded version.   And voila, my finished Cobble with it's pleasing pinwheel like crown.  

Still simple.  But done.  

And I find myself ready to move on from simple knit two purl two.

Turns out, the back burner brain in it's magical musings has taken distance and uncertainty and fear and cobbled it into acceptance.  Not resignation that this is it for my dear loved one.  It may be but I can't know that right now.  All that magical musing left hope intact but replaced fear and uncertainty with the acceptance that this is simply out of my control.  And now is the time to replenish me so when my loved one needs me, I can answer her call.

 

Staring It In The Face

Sudden death or slow fade out?  Most of us would likely choose sudden for ourselves.  We want our loved ones as long as possible.  But no suffering.  

Slow fade is its own kind of suffering.  

One of my loved ones is elderly, frail, with a badly compromised spine from one end to the other (a long time progressive thing) and an equally compromised heart (also long term progressive but the newest two issues only recently discovered).  She has just been approved for a relatively new procedure in the US referred to most commonly as TAVR.  Transcatheter aortic valve replacement.  TAVR is considered a gentler non-surgical aortic valve replacement procedure, rather than the traditional cut your chest wide open and route your blood through a machine while your heart is also cut open approach.  With TAVR, the docs thread a catheter usually through the femoral artery into the heart and, through that catheter, push the replacement valve into place.  Some people, like my loved one, have uncooperative femoral and other arteries, which then requires a transapical approach.  Transapical means docs cut into the chest wall between a couple ribs and into the tip of the heart for direct access, then push the valve into place.   Not quite non-surgical, that.  It promises a 6 week recovery with significant pain.  The list of potential oops is... well... impressive, including death during surgery, stroke, paralysis, and a thing called silent brain infarct.  

Yeah, silent brain infarct.  That is a type of stroke, a blockage kind, that is generally considered non-symptomatic.  Except.  Well, turns out it can cause subtle behavior changes, increases the risk of subsequent stroke, and can lead to dementia.  

How do you make that choice?  Sort of half live for... a while, weakening and tiring along the way until the heart either finally gives up or just stops dead tomorrow; or roll the dice for better or worse.  

I've seen in her face fear.  She wants to live and she wants to live actively.  She wants to participate not just watch.  She wants to experience.  

I want to be with her, as company, as comfort, as help.  We both want to make more memories together, like gazing out over the bay on a bright pretty day.

Life isn't all that good with wants, though, is it.  

I live a few hundred miles from her.  Mostly I am grateful dogs and bunnies need tending.  Except with fewer critters, I would be able to spend longer time away, making memories and just being there for   idle chat.  Ours is not a huggy kiss kind of relationship, but surely each of us would find comfort in sharing a cuppa tea or the hues of a dawning sky, a silly bit from years ago, a silly something tossed out now.  Fear is just easier to take with company.