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Archive for June, 2010

I’ve gotten all kinds of new fibre on my travels; some Malabrigo laceweight, gorgeous colours, that I’m dying to use; some bizarre (and there is no other word to describe it) Araucania laceweight (and I’d like to know what they were smokin’ when they skeined that stuff); some Diamond luxury 4-ply silk fingering weight destined to become a shawl (isn’t it all, really?).  I have also acquired some LionBrand  Homespun which is almost halfway into a shawl for my friend’s mother, who just lost her husband of 56 years.

So what’s the problem?  What could possibly distract me from all the fibrey stuff just waiting to be used?

I may have, on the occasion of my 27th wedding anniversary, purchased myself a present.  I may have bought myself a ukulele.

Must run- chords to learn.

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an amazing woman was born.  She was the first of four sisters.  She has been married to the same man for 39 years, raised 3 children, and has five grandchildren.  She has given of her time and herself in the Guiding and Scouting organizations, and is a La Leche League leader.  She grows a mean garden and can knit up a storm of charity work.

She’s a singer, and has a soft spot for stray dogs and cats.  (Ducks too, but that’s another whole story.)  She’s not afraid to rough it in a canoe and a tent, and is brave enough to drive a school bus.  (and not just an empty one, either.  I’m talking one full of kids.)  She knows her way around a kitchen and is not intimidated by a large crowd for dinner.  She has hiked the West Coast Trail on Vancouver Island (I know, I know; just half of it.  That’s way more than most people ever will do.) and has climbed more than her share of the Rocky Mountains.  Lately she has developed a fondness for Caribbean beaches, and deservedly so.

There is not a lot of nonsense about this woman.  She is a straight shooter, and will tell you what she thinks with no sugar coating.   You will always know where you stand.   She will drop almost anything to help out someone in need,  and expects no thanks.  She does it because it should be done, that’s all.

In spite of how different I am from her, I love her dearly and aspire to be like her in many ways.  She’s my oldest sister, and the world is a better place because she’s in it.

Happy Birthday, Sweetie.

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Clarification

I’m still feeling a little lazy, having just returned from warm, nay, freakin’  hot weather, to what could very well be the pacific northwest.  Cool and a titch wet.  Since I am feeling uninspired enough for original content, I will respond to your questions and observations with answers and rebuttals.

First of all, just in case anyone thinks I am over-reacting to the whole “share-the-pool-with-the-spider” thing, check out this link and come back.  Go ahead, I’ll wait.

Ucky, huh?

Regarding the eight-legged interloper, Colleen asks “At least it was dead?” Gird your loins, kids, it was alive and kicking.  That’s how I could tell it could walk on water.  And quickly, too.

On the same subject, Charity remarks  “Okay, that’s just wrong.” Agreed.

I remember grabbing my flip-flop from the pool deck, yelling “Not in my pool, you witch!” (or something like that), whacking the offending arachnid onto the pool deck and smacking the livin’ bejeezus out of the stunned spider.  Or, I may have been a little tentative with the smacking part.  I imagined a spider carapace (do spiders even have carapaces?   Or carapi?) so hard that, like a cockroach, a  beating with with a rubber flipflop would bounce off, leaving me face to face with a fanged, enraged Shelob-like creature that would leave me wrapped in its silk (hey, I guess I could harvest it and knit something, except for the being stunned with venom and waiting to be eaten part) floating in the pool until next Monday when the pool guy comes.  And, since the no-one needs to see me in my bathing suit, I couldn’t do that to the pool guy.  I figured if a tentative little tap didn’t do in the spider, I could easily spend the rest of the week in the house and the spider could have the pool to itself if it was that important.  As it turned out, the spider didn’t put up much of a fight.  Can’t say I was too disappointed.

Ruth comments  “What, no photos? What kind of a blogger are you? :)” Cut me some slack, Ruth.  (plaintive whine here.) I was posting from my new Blackberry, and could barely see the keys, let alone figure out how to take a freakin’ picture, to say nothing of figuring out how to post one on the blog.  I would not give the spider the satisfaction of being immortalized in picture as well as words, and there was really nothing else picture-worthy.  (ooh, except Saturday’s outing for S&B, but I don’t know them well enough to start taking pictures.)  I am, I repeat, a lazy blogger.

And, lastly, Colleen (the other one) claims that she didn’t know I had gone south again, which just reinforces my suspicion that it doesn’t matter how old one gets, one’s elder sister never listens when one tells her one is going back to Arizona.

There was a little fibre activity while I was away, so drop in again in the next day or two and I’ll tell you all about it.  And I promise, no more spiders.

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There are a lot of creepy crawlies down here in Arizona, my least favourite so far being anything with eight legs. So I’m floating in my pool yesterday minding my own business when I make disturbing discovery.

Just because a spider is four inches across doesn’t mean it can’t walk on water.

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