Archives for September 2007

Four of them. Miss Idaho is up top, and Harriet, Willie and Waylon are the Black Hole. Boy, they’re cute. They like me just fine even though my new hobby is stepping on animals. Every time I take a step, there’s a little foot underneath mine. I used to think it was cute when Harriet and Miss Idaho followed me into every room. Then we got Clara and she did the same. Then Digit came home (o, frabjous day) and he took up the following, now that he is Mr. Indoors. The kittens don’t follow me — they just want to be where the action is. Adah, happier than she’s ever been, just watches from the top of the fridge. She is the only one escaping the wrath of my heels. No wonder she’s so cheerful.

But really. I feel badly every time I hear a high-pitched squeal because I know it’s my fault. But they PUT their little feet there, they really do. They stick a paw out, right under my foot, I step, they scream, and I pick up and cuddle. Hey. Wait a minute. Is that a plot?

The kittens (who are not kittens anymore, look at them!)  have an amazing trick: They run at speeds of up to eighty-seven miles per hour through the house. I walk through the house at a normal human pace, maybe a bit slower. I raise a foot because I plan on moving forward, as one does while walking. Suddenly, an entire cat is beneath my foot. Right under it. I stumble, trying to place my foot somewhere other than the floor, where I’ll crush that poor cat, but that poor cat has by that time circumnavigated the entire house three times.

It’s just safer when they’re on the couch.

I don’t have that much to say. I’ve been working too much, I think. I find I can work on no knitting but socks. I swear, I have a sweater that’s got to be three-quarters finished, Lala’s yearly sweater, and I can’t look at it. It’s too big. Too much work.

The house is a mess. And I don’t care that much. I care in an exhausted, can’t-be-bothered kind of way. There’s this one ledge that I’ve been noticing lately — it has a layer of fine dirt on it (the window next to it is always open), and it’s something that I would normally clean off during the weekly house-clean, but I haven’t had time in WEEKS. We had people over about a month ago, and the house hasn’t really been cleaned since then, other than a sweeping or three and one toilet-scrub. I just can’t stop thinking about that ledge, but not enough to clean it.

Struggling to do my writing. I tried to write in spare pockets of time last week, and got a thousand words which all felt like they had been ripped from under my nails. Then I wrote for an hour on Monday, my day off, and got more and better words in that hour than I had the whole week prior.

Extended-family drama is occurring around us, sad drama that is exhausting, especially for Lala. There’s not much we can do but watch and wait and hope, but that’s hard.

However, the animals are fine, and Lala and I are fine, and last night Digit was curled on my chest, purring, and I realized that it’s all okay, it’s all going to be okay, someway, somehow, and it’s all right just to be tired, to rest.

The Whining is Followed by A Fun Thing Or Two

Lala’s band The Whoreshoes is playing Hardly Strictly Bluegrass! DUDE! If you know about this yearly event, you know it’s so exciting —  it’s HUGE and it’s FREE in Golden Gate Park. This year, the Whoreshoes will be playing with the likes of Gillian Welch, John Prine, Robert Earl Keen, Michelle Shocked, Steve Earle, and Emmylou Harris. You should come! Obviously, I’ll be knitting at the gals’ Saturday gig, and I’ll be wandering the rest of the time — knitters represent!

Also, they’ll be on an episode of the upcoming reality show, Girl Meets Cowboy, premiering October 14th on the WE network. Not sure which episode, but it should be fun to see ’em play on national TeeVee!

Oh, and I’m working the Good Vibes (link not safe for work — unless you’re Lala and you work there) booth for the Folsom Street Fair this Sunday, 10-2 – come say hi!

There. I am in a better mood already.

Hooray! I made it to the second round of that romance-novel competition! Woot!

So now I’m totally freaking out.

I really, really need your vote. The three with the most votes out of the twenty-five semifinalists go on to the final round (where the WHOLE manuscript is read by Simon & Schuster — oh, how I would love that). There are some people with really big voting nets, but I know I can count on my knitters to come to my aid. (If you voted on the last one you can still vote on this one, since this is a different chapter.)

Will you come read my chapter? And if you like it, will you log in and give it a ten? (Only tens are counted, votes of 1-9 are thrown out — you have to join the site to vote if you haven’t already, but they won’t spam you or sell your email to anyone.)

And then there’s another part of me, the part that probably won’t surprise you, the part that says, "um, what the hell? A contest that collects votes to move on? Why am I doing this again?"

I guess it’s this: I’m still proud of myself that I finished the book. That I like the characters. That I like the premise. It’s not great literature, and it won’t change the world, but it changed me somehow, and oh yeah, there’s a small nod to EZ in there, too.

So, it’s HERE. Come over and say hello. I will now go and gibber in a corner and try not to watch the number of votes other people are getting….

Or I will go take a walk in Leona Canyon, where Lala took this picture of me a couple of weeks ago: up an oak tree!

I love climbing oak trees….. In fact, the main character in the novel falls OUT of an oak tree later on when she’s out searching for her lost alpaca….. I was lucky enough not to fall that day.

Hello, kids.

I read the BEST book last week. I can’t recommend it enough.

A Three Dog Life, by Abigail Thomas. From the Publisher’s Weekly review:

Stephen King’s front-cover endorsement of Thomas’s memoir as the best
he’s ever read—and a "punch to the heart"—will surely pique interest in
this wrenching, elegiac portrait of her third husband, Rich, who
flounders in a miasmic present after a hit-and-run in their Manhattan
neighborhood shatters his skull, destroys his short-term memory and
consigns him to permanent brain trauma.

I realize that might not grab you — sounds dark and depressing, and indeed, much of the book deals with dark, depressing things. But it’s not a medical memoir, nor is it a book about dogs (although dogs are featured, wonderful dogs), it’s just the author, grabbing vignettes in her life and illustrating them so clearly and immediately that I sat stunned in front of phrases, unable to move on, mumbling them to myself in wonder. Seriously. When did you last do that with a book?

It’s a quick read, sadly. I tried to make it last, not allowing myself to read it in bed, only at work, lines snatched between phone calls and emergencies and gossiping co-workers. Now that I’m done, I’m considering re-reading it. I never re-read books anymore, but I want to read this one again, to live in her language some more.

Here, from page 30:

   Twenty years ago I asked a friend if he felt (as I did) a kind of chronic longing, a longing I wanted to identify. "Of course," he answered. We were having lunch by the pond at 59th Street, watching the ducks. The sun was out, the grass was thick and green, the ducks paddled around in the not very blue pond. I was between lives. "What is it?" I asked. "What is it we are longing for?" He thought for a minute and said, "There isn’t any it. There is just the longing for it." This sounded exactly right. Years later and a little wiser, I know what the longing was for: here is where I belong.

"I was between lives." That sentence! Just smacked in there! Completely knocks me out. And I’ve never read that longing we all have so clearly described.

I’m in love with the book. Plus, she knits. (Buy it from your independent seller, though, obviously. Amazon link is just there for convenience.)

It’s autumn here today! Crisp, cool — the house was chilly when I woke up and I put on wool socks. How I love to have to put on handknit socks. I’m at the cafe, and I’m going to write for a while. Then I’m going home to meet the roofer — get the leaks fixed before the real rains. And I want to make pumpkin bread. Then, maybe, if I have time, I’d like to go to the movies. I want to see Becoming Jane (oh, looks like I missed that one), 2 Days in Paris, and Death at a Funeral. Perhaps The Jane Austen Book Club (although I couldn’t finish the book). We saw 3:10 to Yuma yesterday, and DAMN was that a good western. I’d highly recommend it. Full of recommendations today, aren’t I?

I also recommend y’all love on someone today. Yep.

I made a scarf for my sister Christy’s birthday. It’s Slytherin in color and has a hidden Dark Mark that you can only see when the scarf is turned on its side.

Viewed head-on, it’s just stripes. Free pattern is HERE.

And another pic, with your favorite dude:

Look! He looks like a cat, doesn’t he? Oh, my Digit. (Tiny Miss Idaho in the background, in her permanent place on the couch.)

I am at the coffee shop. Surrounded by people talking, yet so very alone. Heaven.

This is the very first time I’ve had to myself in…. I don’t want to know how long. I think it’s about….. Oh, crap. I looked at the calendar. I haven’t had time to myself, all alone, since the 5th. Fourteen days ago. You mothers roll your eyes and mock me, I know, and you should. But I lived alone until a year and a half ago, and I love my time alone, and I realize now why I’ve been jumpy. Granted, being with Lala is in many ways better than being alone, and I’m completely comfortable with her — I am no one but myself with her, which is what’s hard about being around other people — you always have to make sure you’re acting like a responsible member of society (they’ll never know).

Today is a day off. A day OFF! I’m going to do some writing — it’s been busy and hard to focus at work, and I’m ALWAYS at work, don’t know if I mentioned that — and I’m going to see my sisters — HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHRISTY! — and I’m going to drop clothes at the thrift store, and sell some books I purged out of my collection, and maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll get all that done in time to get to yoga for the first time in over a year. I know I’m doing too much, but this is my DAY OFF! I get to do what I want, and if I want to do too much, then hooray!

I fixed my bike! Well, really, I fixed it by plugging the cord back in, and then it didn’t work, and then Lala looked at it and did the exact same thing and it was fixed, so I’m saying I fixed it. I rode it to work(ish) yesterday, and it was great. Rode it to the coffee chop this morning, and I tell you what — it makes me feel independent, in a very strange, nice way. Using my legs! My power! Making my body take me somewhere! Granted, it’s only five miles roundtrip to the coffee shop, and it’s flat, but still! The power!

Oh, I’m babblish today. Happy.

I believe (but this won’t be confirmed till next week) that I made it into the next round of the romance novel competition, THANKS TO YOU ALL! There will be 25 people in that round, and the top three move on, so I’ll be coming to you begging again for your American Idol-style of voting (the real goal is to get into the last round, where Simon&Schuster reads your manuscript — I honestly don’t care if I win or lose, but I’d love it to be read).

Meantime, I should stop writing this and start doing the real writing. But you’re so fun.

Guess who’s doing great? Digit! Oh, my man. You know, every night when I’m cuddling him, I thank him for coming home. He’s a big jerk, and he ignores the kittens (who aren’t so much kittens anymore but rather thick juveniles) until they chase his tail and then he clobbers them while emitting a blood-curdling scream (him, not them, they just roll with the punches). Clara is back to being scared to death of him, which is just as it should be. He hasn’t even really tried too hard to get outside, thank god. Seems happy to be inside, happy to be up on the table glaring at all the ridiculous animals in his house. Likes to be the manager, watching all that goes on, disapproving of everything. Man, if he could give demerits…..

And it’s almost Fall! Can’t you feel it? Today especially, with more clouds than usual and the threats of thundershowers later today and tomorrow (guess I won’t ride tomorrow to work, no fenders yet), it just feels perfect.

Oh, and over the weekend we went to a perfect wedding, a Whoreshoes wedding. Camilla loves Kirk, and they got married in the Presidio Yacht Club, an old building where almost every window looks onto the Golden Gate Bridge, being that the place is tucked almost under it, right on the Bay. They walked down to music by the Whoreshoes and Rube Waddell, and then they got married on the dock in a wonderful Buddhist/non-traditional ceremony, then exited to Ode to Joy, performed by All on the kazoos they had thoughtfully provided. The Mexican food was great, as was the dancing that followed. Lala was hit on in a smashingly rude way by a chick that actually rolled her eyes when I introduced myself (La didn’t see that). Poor Lala doesn’t ever know when she’s being hit on, so she had some interesting extrication moments over the shot the gal insisted on doing with her, and then Lala did a fantastic job of flattering me back into happiness. I do not struggle with jealousy, thankfully, and I am not insecure, however, if you’re RUDE to me, and then hit on my wife? I will be annoyed. Also, her lipstick was ALL wrong.

(Truthfully it was one of those champagne drama-moments that made everyone feel good — Lala knows she’s still got it even though she didn’t see it coming, and I get flattered and complimented and adored all night — what could be better? And we never have drama, so when we do, it’s all interesting and over in fifteen minutes. One has to enjoy it while it’s happening.)

And really, who wouldn’t hit on her? Besides the bride, everyone agreed she was in the best outfit:

That suit, my friends, is actually shiny and blue, and her tie was gloriously peach/pink, and that tie-tack is in the shape of a saddle (a gift from my sister, I think?). I wore my alpaca wedding stole during the outside ceremony on the water, and seriously shed on all the men wearing black. I forgot how that thing reaches out to anything black and eats it.

I am a chatterbox. I think I’m done. It’s so nice here. I’m a part of all of it, near the talking, but having to talk to no one. I’m in a corner alone, and no one is talking near me, so all the voices blend into one low murmuring sound. I will get on my  bike soon and ride home and meet my sister who has to finish something for my birthday sister — oh! I finished something that I should photograph! I’ve been so busy I haven’t been on Ravelry in forever! Oh, Ravelry, I miss you…..

Are you still here? Aren’t you nice. I like you. I hope you’re having a very nice day, and that your blueberry muffin has brown sugar on top today.