Archives for June 2004

I’ve got Slaid Cleaves cranked on the stereo, and I’ve been puttering for about an hour – putting away old things and finding homes for new things, like the wind chime that I bought earlier today. I’ve been wanting one of those NICE ones for, let me think, almost ten years, since I first brushed up against one at Sycamore Hot Springs in Avila Beach. Before that, wind chimes meant the nice tinkle of random bits of metal. But dang, like the Avila ones, my new ones are TUNED. I stood in the store for a good fifteen minutes, playing each of the different ones. People were considering assassination. But it was important.

I hung them on the end of the house, where I’ll be able to hear them from the living room, the bathroom, and the bedroom. Of course, it’s an almost perfectly still day today. I’m going to go blow on them again.

Okay, I’m back.

I’m driving home on Monday to see the little mama for her birthday. This was a secret. Dad and I had been plotting – he had asked her to lunch in SLOtown, saying he wanted to try a new restaurant for her birthday – she had turned him down. We were in the middle of plotting again today when she picked up the phone, right when I was saying, “So I’ll just meet you at home at one?”

Dude. There’s no recovery from that. So at least she has time to pick a movie to go see after lunch….

I’ve actually rented a car, since my convertible’s getting WAY up there in miles, and it doesn’t have air-conditioning. I know that’s a dumb thing to say about a convertible, but convertibles are good for nice weather, not hot weather. They SUCK in temperatures over a hundred degrees when the drive lasts more than a couple of hours. And to get home, there’s a three-hour corridor of heat to be navigated through Steinbeck country. Ugh. So for less than $20, I’m driving something like a Ford Probe there and back, air-conditioned all the way. I swear, I’m so excited about that part.

Off to sit on the porch. And to blow on my wind chime.

Freeway thoughts:

*In a metropolitan area as large as the Bay Area, why isn’t there a bluegrass/Americana/celtic music radio station?

*I dislike it when someone cuts me off on accident and then waves their cell phone in apology.

*I very much like it when a 1971 VW bug passes me in the fast lane.

(These are some of those blogging thoughts which you think will make good blog-fodder, but when captured later land rather flatly. Thud.)

Sitting at home thoughts:

Okay, I have none. I’ll go photograph the Thing I’m Working on That Needs a Name. “Cabled hoodie by Debbie Bliss” is BORING. Standing up. Oh, I don’t WANT to stand up. All right. Here I go.

Dude, that was harder than I thought. Sleepy….

Here you go. A sleeve (note the wrong-way cable third repeat up on right — my trotting horse):

And I just like it seen this way:

Hi, Adah! (At present she’s keeping watch at the sliding screen door for rats. Ew. But she looks so happy.) (And I know from reading comments that I have to do something about them, but… sigh. They’re so big-grin cute in a really ugly way. Anyone know a good piper?)

I’ve got both sleeves done, and I’m five inches up the left front. And I’m about five minutes (literally) from finishing the last strap of the green ChicKami with the lace front panel, but I’ve been lazy. It’s laughing at me from the work basket. I do want to wear it this weekend, so I think I’ll finish it now.

Happy Friday!

https://rachaelherron.com/freeway_thought/

Y’all rock. I’m not even going to address the comments yesterday because I’m embarrassed by the richness. I thank you, though, from the bottom of my heart (and on top and all in between, too). I am truly blessed.

I’m in the back yard, and there really ARE the biggest rats you’ve ever seen out here. Cheeky beggars, too. They come out, grin, and dart back into the overgrown ivy. The weird thing is that I don’t even mind. I think I’d mind more if my cats were outdoor cats – these look like the kind of rats that would beat up a tomcat and then take his wallet. The two juvenile cats who live next door consider my backyard theirs (as well they should), but they haven’t figured out what to do about the problem yet. The rats make this crazy weird chattering/shrieking noise and the kittens scatter.

The tomatoes are coming along. I had wondering at their growing straight up, as opposed to the normal out, but right now I’m watching the sun go over them (they get direct sunlight for perhaps only an hour a day—doesn’t bode well for the fruit), and I’ve figured out that they get more sun the higher the leaves reach. So they’re reaching.

Yesterday I wore myself out. In a good way, but I was exhausted by the time I got home this morning at 730. I woke yesterday at 2pm. I did my writing in the garden. I blogged. I checked email. I went for a run around the Lake (3 miles, and I only walked for three or four minutes right in the middle! Yippee!). I went to Trader Joe’s (where I ran into my sister Christy—I swear I never run into anyone in the Bay Area, but if someone passes me on the freeway and honks, it’ll be her) and did a whole lotta grocery shopping. I went home and made dinner. I dyed my hair. I sat again in the garden while I waited for the hair dye to take, and read my mail.

I got a letter from Daisy-Winifred who told me to Just Be. The whole amazing letter had been written while she sat in her Welsh garden, and I read it in my California one, and it said that no matter how wonderful a full, busy life is, it’s important to Just Be.

It couldn’t have been a better letter to read. I’m still not quite over the shock it gave me. I think it was the timing of the whole thing. Sure, I had been incredibly industrious on a day in which I still had an upcoming twelve hour shift, but where did that leave me? I was practically panting. I had brought with me into the garden not only the letter, but a book and a notepad for some ideas I thought I’d jot out. You can do a LOT in the twenty-five minutes the hair dye needed.

But I left the book next to me, and I didn’t pick up the pen; I just put my cheek on my hand and closed my eyes and listened to the garden (and the rats). I Just Was.

D-W, it was just what I needed. A reminder. And today, instead of hitting the ground running, I slept in a little (!). And now I’m going to go inside and post this, and then maybe watch a little TV. I’m going to make espresso and mix it with soy milk (my new favorite delight, thanks, Ma!). I’m going to laze. Isn’t that a great word? And then I’ll go in to work, and I won’t have that CrazyNeedCoffee feeling.

Oh, I’ll have to show you what I’m working on…. it’s that cabled jacket from Debbie Bliss’s Cotton for All Seasons, in a red/orange (of course) angora/merino I picked up in Maryland. I’m in love with it. But that would mean getting the camera out, and doing all the fiddly camera things, and I’m Just Not In The Mood. Tomorrow. Maybe.

Oh, and Bethany has a stash. Heh. Living in her PICKUP, she has a stash. That just kills me. All my fault. I take full responsibility.

Yesterday was a fantastic mail day here at ChezYarnagogo. Just lookee. Bethany (reader, not sister) sent me this! Out of the goodness of her heart, and nothing more. And I swear, I had NO idea what a really cool book it is. Updates, schmupdates. I like MY version the best.

Thank you, Bethany. That was so thoughtful, and so sweet.

And from Maggi, completely outtadablue, a Richmond bag (because I *heart* that city) that’s destined to carry many partial sweaters, and stitch markers that she made her very own self. Is there anything happier than those little things? I think not.

Thank you, Mogs. You are darling. (Digit-tail sold separately.)

Lemme just take a minute and say that I love my readers. Seriously. There are good readers/commenters out there, but mine are the best. The BEST. I used to blog because I wanted to jumpstart my writing. It was just for myself. I didn’t care who did or didn’t read. I actually preferred that no one read it. I suppose I could maintain that line and tell myself it wouldn’t matter if no one came to visit my old glass house, but honestly, it would matter to me. It’s like (how to say this without sounding cornier than all get out?), it’s like I have this fountain at my fingertips, and it’s full of good wishes and love and wisdom and advice and empathy. I don’t feel like I deserve such wealth. But know that I’m grateful, and happy, and so proud to have people like you, reading my silly ole words and dropping me these fabulous comments and emails that make my heart sing.

Why, just today, MaryB in Richmond (of course), wrote me an email giving me a name for my running style. It’s been suggested that I was SLOGGING, SLow jOGGING. I liked that. But MaryB has an even better one. She says,

Well.

I think that you are a beginner, who is thus being careful getting started. Yes? So you are a Beginning LOw-impact joGGER.

Get it?
You’re a BLOGGER!!!!

Priceless. I’m a blogger, all right. And proud of it, too.

So, thank you. We’ll leave the light on for ya. (Not sure why that needed to be said, but it did.) Mwah.