Blog

Turns out I can’t just NOT write. I feel like I’ve abandoned ship and left the sailors on board gasping for financial help while I drink a hot toddy in the nearest pub. Well. You know what I mean.

I confessed to Christy that I hadn’t been able to help myself, and had cheated by looking at my personal marathon webpage, the one they maintain. But they’ve been so shortstaffed that fundraising updates are at least three days behind schedule, so *I* can’t even see what’s been raised. Darn it. That’s what I get for cheating. But I can call on Friday afternoon when I wake up and ask the office, and they’ll be able to look it up for me. You KNOW I’m tempted to do that now. But I won’t. I’ll wait. I’ll be good. Promise.

And you’ll be the first to know. I’ll add to the marathon webpage when the total changes in the future, and I’ll make some kind of progress bar on my site to show how close I’m getting to $3000. August 31st (the fundraising deadline), here I come! I can do it, I can do it…. When I DO hit that $3000 mark (‘cause I will, you know), we’re havin’ a party. As Becky would say, kir royales for everyone! BBQ at Rachael’s! Everybody knit!

And for those of you who’ve given, or who might, I thank you, from the bottom and top and sides and middle of my heart.

Oh, and Bethany’s in Jersey!

***ADDED LATER — I freaking hate asking for money. Please know that if you can’t (or just simply don’t want to) donate anything, I still adore you. And every pledge, even if it’s $3.75, is vastly, incredibly appreciated. Okay, just had to add that. Back to it (and to my break).******

https://rachaelherron.com/added_later_i_f/

Okay, this is difficult to write. And harder to post. But I’m going to do it anyway.

I’m running the AIDS Marathon. And I need your support. That’s the simple, bottom line. If you’d like to click away now, please go on. I won’t mind. I won’t even know.

You know that I’ve never been a runner. And I mean never. Several times recently I’ve told friends about the marathon, and the response has been an uncontrolled bout of hysteria. I hate having to hold my friends up while they laugh.

But last month, my body told me it wanted to run. And I don’t do anything without a reason. That can be a fault, but not in this case. While I’m learning how to run, I’m doing something important. I’m raising money that will go to the San Francisco AIDS Foundation and other national HIV/AIDs clinics to assist in furthering HIV prevention programs and assisting in food, housing, and health care for those living with the virus. A portion of the funds raised will go to global care, for treatment and an eventual vaccine.

I think I feel so strongly about this because it’s my community. In the United States, without a doubt the gay population has been the hardest hit. One million Americans are living with this disease. Half that many have died, and thousands more are infected every year. In the world, twenty-five million have died, and forty-two million are infected, most of whom have no treatment options. Read those last few sentences again, if you don’t mind. It’s a war, and it’s still being waged, and what’s hard is feeling sometimes like people aren’t paying attention anymore. I want people to know that we still care! That a difference can still be made.

I figure this training is going to be one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I can’t make it all the way around Lake Merritt yet, only a three mile run. And I’m thinking about waking up early three times a week to go run long distances? About putting my body to a challenge that seems almost ludicrous in its intensity? About running 26.2 miles? Me? Couch-potato knitter extraordinaire? I only knit because it’s an excuse to sit in one spot. Are you crazy?

But when I think about the men and women in this world who wake up every morning, knowing they’re infected, or knowing they’re sick, then I figure that running a marathon is a freaking piece of cake, and the very least I can do.

Raising the money, though, is the hard part. I need to raise $3000. I can’t even imagine raising that kind of money. Will you help? I’m going to put up the link to my running webpage, where you can donate online. It’s tax-deductible, and it’ll make you feel good, knowing you’re making a difference, no matter how large or small the amount.

And hey, if you donate $50 or more, I’ll send you two rainbow stitch markers. I’m not sure how stitch markers are made, but I’ll figure it out. Heck, if anyone donates $500 or more, I’ll make you a sweater of your color/design choice. That’s a promise. (Can you imagine?)

Regularly scheduled blogging will resume on in four days, when I get back from my trip-south-to-mom’s slash blog-break. I’m not even going to look at how much is raised until Friday. I know it’ll be somewhere between $30 and $3000, and any amount in between will be PHENOMENAL.

In advance, I thank you. Peace.

DONATE HERE.

Mwah!

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.