Rachael

It was always one of my most favorite books in the whole world. I think I’ve mentioned to you our secret garden, but if I haven’t, indulge me. If you go through the back yard, down to the back fence, there’s a gate under the trees. If you open the gate, there is a rather surprising shallow flight of wide wooden stairs, dropping five or six feet into another little garden area.

We keep the gate shut, because the back of the secret garden is city-fenced, and the fence has a large dog-sized hole in it. Clara has expressed interest in it in the past, and I need to repair it before letting her down there without supervision. The last thing we need is a border collie crashing through a ripped fence and falling into the creek below.

Yes, the creek. It is the NEATEST thing to have back there. Unfortunately, this year it just hasn’t rained enough, so the water level is still low, and will remain low all summer. But it’s so shady and green and ivy-filled back there, and there’s nothing on the other side but the high school track, which is barely visible through the trees (I never knew I would love the sound of kids playing so much. Really, the sound of games and races are so awesome to hear).

I want to do something with it, but I don’t know what. I have a romantic vision — I am sitting in a comfortable chair, with a low slung table in front of me — I am writing while my tea steeps in the pot. Of course, I am wearing something soft and flowing and lovely. I might have long, curly locks in the vision, but we won’t talk about that.

But in reality, there are issues.

Ivy, everywhere. I know enough about ivy to know that where there’s ivy, there are rats. Ew.

Black widows. Twice, I’ve gone down the stairs and broken strong, non-sticky webs, that when pulled off and balled up, give off that peculiar black widow web stink. Did you know about that smell? You probably didn’t want to know about it, but now you do. Luckily, black widows don’t want to meet me anymore than I want to meet them, and they stay pretty hidden in dark spaces, but ack.

Furniture. Right now we have two plastic chairs back there, and they get pretty damn gross. I think I’ve only sat in them a couple of times, and that was only to sit and think, how nice it is back here, we should do something with this, and then I get up and go back up to the back yard proper and forget its existence again.

So, ideas? Wooden furniture would be nice, but I’d be worried about spidies all the time. Pulling ivy? Should we plant something? It’s really compact clay back there, shaded almost all the time, a relatively high level of moisture due to the creek just below. It would be very hard to dig up, and I am essentially lazy.

I spent fifteen minutes down there the other day, just sitting on one of the steps, listening to my iPod, resting after furious garden exertion on the other side of the fence. Clara was sad that she was left out.

Right after I took this shot, Miss Idaho strolled right under the gap under the gate, giving Clara a pitying look as she came to sit with me.

We’ve all got gardens on the brain, don’t we? I spent hours this week working in the front and back yards — put in TONS of flowers, some tomatoes, some herbs. I even mowed the lawns, which left me with this:

This was an empty green waste bin, and is quite a bit bigger than our regular-sized trash can. My muscles ache today. Victory!

(Also and a complete non-sequitur, but I have to mention it — while listening to NPR this morning, the radio announcer said Crucification.
She was using it as a noun, and while I don’t normally trip on an
unreal word accidentally used, it was way too close to my accidental
confisticate. I have no idea when or where I became convinced that
confiscate had an extra syllable, but I did, and once I said it out
loud, in polite, smart company, and I almost died. I feel so badly for
that announcer, dude. That’s blush-for-a-day-worthy.)

So we’re sitting in the hotel restaurant that overlooks the ocean. It’s just sunset, and as we are seated, the hostess says "Happy Anniversary." It isn’t until we’ve settled in and gaped at the view that we really look at the two women seated at the corner window, right next to us. I would guess they’re in their late fifties, or early sixties, and they’re watching the sunset, just finishing their dinner.

Lala and I look at each other. Are they together? Are they sisters? We don’t want to make any assumptions…. Then one leaves for a moment, and when she comes back, she rests her hands on the other woman’s shoulders as they stare out to sea. As they leave, one of the women kind of stops, and turns, and says to us, "Have a good night," and smiles. I instantly regret not having asked them what they were celebrating (they have the same ribbons on their table, the ribbons that cued our hostess to wish us Happy Anniversary). They are together, and it makes us happy.

Then we have the most amazing meal. We share a bottle of New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc, and I have steak, she has swordfish. From time to time, Lala whispers that the couple behind us is being super sweet — an older man and woman are holding each others’ hands and laughing. That makes us happy.

When THAT couple leaves, the woman touches my shoulder and says, "How long have you been together?" One year, we tell her. "Congratulations, I remember our first year." She smiles at her husband, "This is our thirtieth." A few more pleasantries are exchanged, and they leave.

I am almost in tears. I feel like those two couples, sitting on either side of us, have blessed us, much like Mandy’s Zak did last year, when he doubled back to say that Mandy was his best friend, and that he hoped we felt about each other they way they did. But intead of crying, I eat the creme brulee and we toast each other.

It was the BEST.

And look! Today, the 3rd, is our second first anniversary — this is the legal one, one year since the day that we got really truly married in Canada. And to celebrate, Lala’s gone to work, and I’m sitting here in my pajama pants and a tee shirt, trying to decide what to do with my day. I have some unpleasant things I simply HAVE to do, so instead, I’ll show you some pictures, shall I?

 

There is a great toy store in Mendocino. I did not come home with this guy, although, there is a great yarn shop, also, and I might have come home with a couple of unmade socks. Maybe. I’ll never tell. (There is also a great music shop, and neither of us came home with another instrument. We are very proud.)

Honestly, holy hell, has no one told them? The only way this sign would be right is if the store in question was celebrating an un-named something belonging to ONE season, but Lala noticed it was a store full of all four seasons’ stuff (note how I mark possession? Hmmm?), so it’s just wrong. We loved it. (Oh, I just found their website, which I will not link, out of courtesy, and the possessive apostrophes are there sometimes, and not there other times. Wow.)

Hey, good lookin’. That’s my wife, standing on OUR DECK at the hotel. If you can swing it, someday you MUST stay at the Albion River Inn, five miles south of Mendocino. True, one night runs the price of three nights anywhere else, but it is worth every penny (especially when you book it as soon as you get your tax refund, and then you forget that they charged you back then, so when you get there, it’s as if it is free! Yay!).

We stayed in room 20, which is the best room, I think. It’s on the end, a little cottage right on the cliff edge. They left us a bottle of wine in our room, and provided things like robes and binoculars.

They also provided my favorite feature:

That cliff is private and fenced off — no one, not even guests can walk on it, so no one is going to walk in front of your bath. We watched hawks wheel right in front of the window. It was a.maze.ing.

    In front of the restaurant.

    Our view at breakfast.

    What the ocean saw.

And here’s to many more. It’s been the most amazing year, if crazy-busy, and for our second year, we wish for health, happiness, enough money to pay the bills, and enough time to cut the grass and then watch it grow. Love is good.

I did it!

On this lovely, warm afternoon, I made it to 100 miles! I did it this afternoon, and you can read a bit about it HERE, but I did it.

I’m glad. And proud. A really great feeling, isn’t it? To accomplish something, anything, is a great feeling.

And then to follow it with a knit-out is even better! A good little whack of knitters showed up — and the cafe we always knit at was CLOSING at 3pm, so we moved it down the street (but some moron stole the first notice I pinned up, so I hope everyone found us that wanted to).

See?

And Celia brought her AMAZING sock-leftover baby blanket that is almost done — isn’t it gorgeous?

And Writeagogo starts fer REELZ tomorrow, but for those of you writing with me, I’ll start when I get back from my trip up the coast. We’re going up to Mendocino tomorrow for one night, to celebrate our one-year anniversary. One year! I mean, really. I know time flies, but it really DOES feel like just yesterday we were getting hitched. Twice in three days. Man.

Marriage is really good stuff.

If you come on Saturday to the Knit-Out (see below), Christina at Article Pract has said that anyone who says they’re "a friend of Rachael" that afternoon will get 15% off everything but books. Kind of like a friend of Dorothy, only yarn-ier (and less gay).

Also, they’re having a Dulaan knit-in on Sunday, if you’re looking for more knittin’ in public goodness.

That is all. As you were.

I’ve had a lovely, knitterly weekend. Aren’t those the best? A bunch of people came over on Sunday to celebrate Janine being in town and to knit for Dulaan. Becca brought me a gift:

A martini glass full of mini-Cadbury Creme Eggs. How’s that for a charming hostess gift?

Let’s see, also in attendance were Cindy and No-Blog Rachel and Jeni and Breanna and Maia and Celia. I think that’s all, but I could EASILY be forgetting someone, because you know how I am. And I have to say, isn’t it fun to dish knit-gossip? There was a time in all of our lives when we didn’t even know such a thing existed, wasn’t there?

Me and my feral-friend Janine. I swear, I’ve appropriated her for my spinning/knitting/life mentor, and never really asked her if it was okay. Hey, Janine? Is that okay?

Oh my god, I’m sitting on my chair in my yarn room, looking out into the front yard, and I just realized my in-laws are coming in to town today and I HAVE TO MOW THE LAWN. I bought a lawn mower on Craigslist that took about 200 pulls (not exaggerating) to start it the only time I used it (but it was worth the $20), so I’m not really excited about that chore.

Either that or I could tell them we’re experimenting with a low-water form of urban veldt. Veldt pioneers. I like that better than figuring out that lawn mower again. Lala says she knows how to mess with the choke (which is broken) to get it to turn over, but she’s not here, is she? No, she’s selfishly gone off to work, leaving me to sit with little dogs, looking out the windows.

I got off topic. Knitterly. Okay, then, yesterday, I stole Janine again (because I do that) and we traipsed off to the city, blithely crossing the Bay Bridge (which she was impressed with, which validated ME, because I am FINALLY pretty comfortable with driving in the City, ten long nervous years later), picking up Lala, and going for burritos at the best place in town, Tacqueria Cancun.

And if we accidentally went looking for (and found) yarn to buy, well, that happens on accident sometimes. You know?

And last night was my last sock knitting class! I came to really adore my students, and I’ll miss them. That’s not something I thought would happen. I was flattered into doing it, but I wasn’t sure I would enjoy it. It was just something to push me, to expand my knitting horizons. (Honestly, I was worried they’d think I was a fraud. It wasn’t until I realized that yes, I do have thirty years knitting experience, and I guess I kinda DO know what I’m doing and how to fix mistakes, even though I’m more casual about mistakes than many (and a teacher shouldn’t be casual about mistakes OH FOR THE LOVE OF GOD THEY’LL SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME), that I finally relaxed enough to really enjoy being there.) And the students were AWESOME.

I mean, when your students do THIS , how can you not have a great time? (Sorry, Stephen darling, I had to.)

So. I’ll be teaching again. I guess I’m hooked.

Today, I’m just hanging out. Must go for a run, maybe a four or five miler. Then I’m only left with one short run before my Saturday 100-miles-done run! And I should cut the grass, but yawn. I should really watch The Amazing Race and 24. Oh, yeah. And I should eat more mini-Cadbury eggs. For sure.

And for fun, my dashboard bobble-head:

Hi hi hi! I have bunches of things to tell you, and as it goes, NO time to do so, so here’s a placeholder post for you. And something to put on your calendar.

This Saturday, March 31st

Runagogo and a Knit-Out (you don’t have to do one to do the other)

1pm: Meet at Lake Merritt in Oakland –  (a change in location here:) at the water fountain that’s IN the lake, across the street from the Merritt Bakery. There’s a little raised area there — let’s meet there.

Then run/walk with me (in front of me, behind me) around the lake as I finally get my 100th mile.

Please RSVP in comments for this, so if you’re coming we’ll know to look for you.

2:30pm – KNIT OUT at Temescal Cafe, on Telegraph, same block as Article Pract. All are welcome, no RSVPs needed. Just show up. I’m sure we’ll be there a couple of hours at least. I can give people rides from the Lake to the knit-out if needed.

And quickly, yesterday’s Dulaan knit-in was a hit! Lala made a hat! As she said, it wasn’t perhaps the best hat in the world, perhaps they could give it to a bad child. It’s small though, so it’ll have to be for a very, very bad Mongolian baby:

It is, no matter what she says, a very cute hat. Great fun was had by all. More to follow.