I tend not to be word-reactive. It’s always struck me as odd when friends have problems with words like “moist” or “panties.” Ideas or concepts have more impact on me, but in keeping with the letter of the list, here goes:
That’s all I got.
ETA: squee, woot, OMG, WTF, and most LOLspeak. However, I find “o hai!” endearing.
yarn:
Rowan British Sheep Breeds Chunky in Suffolk
needles:
4.0 mm / US size 6s (on top)
5.0 mm / US size 8s (on bottom)
winning gauge:
4.25 sts / inch using the 4.0 mm / US 6s.
This one is going to be a tough one. Not because I haven’t any goals, but because I tend to have too many. In my mind, time is plastic and expands to fit whatever task I set out to do. Should I try to be realistic?
Writing down “goals” causes me to pause. What’s the difference between goals and plans? Is one a sure bet? Is the other necessarily aspirational? Do they have different levels of grandiosity?
Here goes (with a mix of both):
(written as part of 30 Days of Lists)
It’s oddly fitting that this is the topic for today’s 30 Days of Lists. You see, I’m not typically a playlist guy.
Call me old-fashioned, but I listen to albums in their entirety. And when I think of albums, I mean cassette tapes. That’s what I was raised on. I’m not going to pretend that I’m a vinyl snob, but, golly, I loved my tapes. I held out on CDs until the early 90s, fearing it was just a marketing ploy for me to pay upwards of $15 for music. I no longer have a tape player (though my double-decker was very useful when I used to teach spinning—the kind for which you need padded spandex shorts and a water bottle), and I barely tangle with CDs, except to rip them to my computer.
I had lunch today with a former suitor (“ex-” sounds so harsh). He has one of the largest vinyl collections I’ve ever known. He’s a living encyclopedia of British and US music from the past twenty, nay, thirty years. He would put High Fidelity‘s protagonist to shame. Side note: he also happens to be a Brit. Another side note: he’s also how I met WonderMike in 1998, before we were knitters. Roy lives for music and I know he’ll know who’s about to break and what’s next, long before we read about it or hear something on the radio. (Do people still listen to those things, besides NPR?)
But before lunch, and before I saw today’s list, I just happened to ask my computer to make a new genius playlist this morning so I could have some mellow music as I worked. I’m lazy that way. I don’t curate my own music into playlists or mixes. I’d rather listen to something than think about what I’m about to listen to. If I am not going to listen to something as a whole, I’ll do it randomly or ask another entity to compose a collection for me.
It’s too much to type it in, but if you can’t see the picture, it’s a lot of Sigur Ròs, Thom Yorke, Radiohead, Sufjan Stevens, Iron & Wine, with some Bloc Party and Björk for good measure.
Have a musical weekend.
! My first knitting book was the hardcover version of her Knitting for Anarchists
(I’m glad to see Debbi, Carrie, Marcy and Sam are all doing 30 Days of Lists too! I look forward to seeing what they are jotting down.)
I’m going to try to wake up this little bloggish space with a little listy-loo project, called 30 Days of Lists. Goodness knows, I’m a fan. Pinning ideas down to paper in an orderly fashion bring a greater sense of control and optimism to my life.
Also, low investment of effort, plus easy successes seems apropos right now. I’m no art journal-er, so don’t expect much more than ten or so items each day.
I know, I know there are other things to write about, knit, design, do, research, but I’ll keep those on a list too and maybe they will see the light of day soon.
3.1 – things about me
3.2 – things I’m good at
A big thank you to Tammy for making me aware of #30lists.
For those who follow me on twitter or flickr have heard that we were approved to adopt another French bulldog from French Bulldog Rescue Network in January. This is Lindy.
We had applied back in November for another dog, but didn’t end up getting her. The rescue sent a lovely follow up that asked us to go into more detail about what we may be looking for in a dog, beyond the one we applied for. After filling it out and looking at who was available, we decided to apply for Lindy. Although she was an older girl, and beyond what we thought we were comfortable adopting, there was something about her that both C and I wanted to try and be her forever home.
We went through the application for her and were lucky enough to be contacted by her foster mom. After a few emails back and forth (and nothing set in stone as to whether or not we were approved) she asked to see if we wanted to meet her. This was just before the New Year and we went over to Concord, a suburb about an hour away from San Francisco, to see the old gal.
She was being fostered in a home that also ran a pug rescue. There was a resident Frenchie (also a FBRN graduate), four resident black pugs, Lindy, and two other foster dogs (one a Frenchie, the other a pug). Janie loved being in a house with tons of toys to grab and steal, plus the joy of a backyard. We got to me the slightly overweight, hard of hearing, visually-impaired, poop-eating sweetheart. We learned about how she was working on losing her weight, she enjoyed exploring and didn’t really engage with the other dogs. I could tell C was smitten when she fell asleep in his lap, like a 30-pound sack of flour. (Just one that happens to snore and fart a lot.)
Well, fast-forward through a home visit with another FBRN volunteer and more waiting, I finally received a voicemail from the foster mom to say we were approved and Lindy was ours, but could I please call her immediately. A cryptic message, but she said everything was OK. I was down in Long Beach at TNNA at the time, so I called as Wendy and I drove back to her place.
Apparently, Lindy had been attacked by her foster brothers and sisters. It wasn’t clear who was responsible, just that there was a squabble and she received the brunt of it. She had an emergency vet visit and was pretty wrecked. She had stitches and drains in her wounds from bites on her front legs and ears. The vet said there was no nerve damage and she would make a full recovery. But first, the foster mom wanted to keep her for a few more weeks to get her all healed up and stitches removed. She was happy to hear that we still wanted her. It didn’t matter to us. We had already fallen in love with Lindy, now nicknamed LobsterRoll, and were eager to help her through her recovery.
Who wouldn’t?
We were invited to visit her a week or so later and she was quite the sight. Shaved front- and hindquarters, mangled ear, and an even more pronounced limp/hobble. The poor thing was so beat up, I with I could make her an “It gets better” anti-doggie-bulling video. During our visit she tottered around the backyard; according to her foster mom, a big improvement since the attack. She was obviously hurting, but still a hungry little hippo in her porkbelly body.
After another two weeks, she was cleared to come home with us and we eagerly welcomed our newest family member. She was slower than we realized and quietly explored the apartment. In all over our previous visits, we spent as much time with the bossy extroverted other dogs of the house as we did with the regal grand dame. She isn’t one to force herself on you, but loves to snore beside you. She was given two beds, her own food bowl and a prime spot on the couch each night.
In going out on walks, it’s clear that a leash was no replacement for a doggie door and unfettered saunters around a fenced in yard. She also seems upset by the noise of the traffic (we live near a busy on-ramp to the freeway in an industrial area of San Francisco). She perks up at any indication of food, but mostly hugged the wall along buildings, even when lured with treats. There are a few quieter streets that she enjoys, as evidenced by her trotting, otherwise, she freezes up stops at a standstill. We’re also in a mostly concrete environment, so we tried different surfaces, such as patches of dirt around trees, landscaped areas, anything soft that may resemble her former environment, to encourage her to be “productive.”
Her energy level is so vastly different from Janie’s, that walks had to be separate. She is perfectly housebroken with a doggie door and access to the outside, but in a second-floor loft with an elevator, surrounded by sidewalks, it’s a bit of a challenge. She’d walk for up to 50 minutes without going, but then be too exhausted to go out later. All the love in the world couldn’t make up for her impaired mobility and preferred environment. It wasn’t fair to her to force her into a new schedule with less than ideal potty conditions, per her taste, and put her in a home with a sibling that wants more playing than she’s willing to give.
As you can guess by the title of this post, our home, it turns out, is not the perfect match for Miss Lindy. On Saturday, we returned her to her foster home. After much consideration and tears (well, body-shaking sobbing) we knew it would be best for her in the long run. I feel like we failed her, but she deserves to be comfortable and happy. Lindy just isn’t cut out to be a city girl.
Luckily, there is another family who was interested in her. And whether it’s them or someone else, my wish for Lindy is her own backyard, perhaps as an only dog, with a stay-at-home guardian who can make sure she’s fed (which should be a problem for such a chowhound), continuing to heal (and maybe lose a few more pounds), and well-loved.
For us? My heart’s not quite ready to look for another dog. I need to know that Lindy’s going to be alright before I go down that path again. Janie would love a spunky sibling to run around the rough streets of South of Market one day, but until then we will just have each other. And, Lindy’s old bed, which Janie’s taken to as her new favorite spot in the sun.
My daily bread to start the year off right. This baked while I went out for a run. When was the last time I ran? Who knows, it’s been months. Why not join the masses of resolutionaries and pretend to be more fit this year.
Start as you mean to go on? I’ve walked the dog, baked, run, read, started a starter, wrote, grocery shopped, talked to my mom, embarked on a year-long project (more on this one day), made caramels, cooked dinner, watched a movie. If only I could squeeze in some yoga, meditation, knitting, designing, travel…
I know I haven’t been around here much lately. There’s much to update you on, but that will happen in a different post. To quote many a collegiate knuckle-duster, “It’s all good…”
Well, I should go knit. This is a knitting blog after all.
A dog ate my knitting needles. Well, 2.5 3.0mm dpns. Seriously.
No, it wasn’t Janie Sparkles. It was Dudley, the border collie mix that brings to my mother-in-law. I forget what an amazing girl we have, with no nervous chewing, no accidents, no major issues. Just occasionally barfy when she drinks too much, too fast. But couldn’t that describe many humans?
Not to worry, one of the consumed needles was already broken. All that remains are two whole ones and a stub of one. They were vintage (read: brittle) white plastic Susan Bates given to me from a friend’s mother-in-law’s stash (I’m seeing connections here.) So much for attaching the mitten caps onto the fingerless gloves I completed.
Alas, it was just the excuse I needed to indulge in an unbreakable replacement set from Signature. Besides, I like blue better.
(pictured is the pre-consumption breakage that occurred during the 9+ hour drive to Eugene on Wednesday – all my fault, not the dog’s)
