Sanna's Bag

“I never seem to have what I need when I need it. I’m going to make a belt-bag that’s bigger on the inside than on the outside, and just carry everything with me.”

Monday, September 29, 2008

Another quiz

Your result for The What type of MAN turns you on Test...

Action movie star

You scored 85% masculine, 65% athletic, 73% exotic, and 63% refined!

You love a manly man and you don't have time for boys. You like someone who looks exotic and who takes care of his body and hygiene. That is a good idea in case you are trying to eat jello shooters off of his beautiful 6 pack. Someone like.....Jean-Claude Van Damme, Belgium's hottest export. But let's face it, the whole point of this was to look at a bunch of hot guys. If you liked what you saw, please rate my test!

Take The What type of MAN turns you on Test at HelloQuizzy

Akshully, Steven Segal . . .mmmmm.

Thank you, Amy!This was an unusually fun quiz!

On the knitting front, I'm still turning out baby bonnets. My lord I am sick of yellow acrylic! And how big IS a baby's head, anyhow? I'm trying to do some bigger and some smaller, but I'm just firing shots into the dark. Soon, though. Soon I will be alll done and I can ship them off to the orphanage. Without babies, how am I going to get those bonnets modeled for photos? Maybe the cats? No, I can't get them all to sit in the same place at the same time under any circumstances, let alone after tying them into arcane ear-flattening torture devices.

I finished the acrylic sweater I'm doing in exchange for a watercolor portrait of our cats, and have yet to photo and post. Tomorrow, maybe. I have some mallard blue handspun that wants to be a surprise sweater sized up for me. With pockets!! It's nudge, nudge, nudging at my awareness. And then there are all those brand new merino voices wanting to be spun up RIGHT NOW, and two baby surprise sweaters worth of scraps to knit, and, and, and, . . .

Sunday, September 28, 2008

Septober bounty

DH pulled up the tomato plants, so I grabbed the last of the produce. That's it for our horticultural efforts this year. The apple and pears grow in spite of us, so they don't count. Oh, and I picked up another bag of daffodil bulbs. Is that horticultural? I hear that you can lead a hor ta culture, but you can't make her think.

Today, Sunday, is the nes plus ultra of Indian Summer. Cool in the morning, up to 84 degrees right now with a lovely, leaf-laden breeze. I'm enjoying it by sitting in the back yard with handsome Fly cat and old, blind, crippled Jack cat. The neighbor's dog has been scooting under the fence, and we don't dare leave Jack out by himself anymore. Even for a few minutes. Poor old cat. When I get feeble and forgetful, I hope someone will take me out in the fresh air now and then, too.

Last week I was at work every day. Good for the paycheck, not so much for blogging. Next week, I start two days a week at the jail. Lots of stories, but confidentiality issues preclude sharing them. So the blog may languish a bit, but I'll be with you as often as I can, even if I have to make stuff up. Oh, and next weekend, we're back to LA for an Eagle Scout awards banquet. Yay Alexander!

The weekend after that, knitting at our house. This month's theme is honey. I'm gonna bake up a big batch of scones and put out the various honies I've been collecting. I have some honey with chunks of the comb included. What am I supposed to do with that? Strain it through cheesecloth and make candles with the wax? Anyhow, I'm also looking for honey cooky recipes and maybe some sort of quick bread or coffeecake. for fruit, pomegranates and grapes I think. And something savory. Any suggestions?

Saturday, September 27, 2008


!At 7AM the Saturday sky looked like something you might pull out of your lint trap after drying a load of white towels. But DH and I walked two brisk circuits of the mall with all the other gray hairs, had a quick soak in the hot tub at the gym, and by then the cloud cover had burned off and the day bade fair to be glorious!

We adjourned to Sully's, our favorite cafe, for breakfast. By this time, my endorphins were throwing a party in my brain what with the exercise and the sunshine and the pleasure of my dearly beloved's company. I was bouncing in my seat. DH stabilized me with a substantial breakfast, took me home, gave me a shopping basket, and told me to go and have fun at the Oregon Flock and Fiber Fest.

And oh my I did! Where to start, where to start? The first thing I did was go into the main building and saunter a bit. A woman came up to me and said, "Are you Roxie?" Now, I must confess that I really have a problem with names and faces, and my mind was just racing, trying to place this nice person. this must have shown on my face, because when I said,"Yes, I am." she kindly said, I'm Willow's sister-in-law. "You're Flower!" Oh, the relief! I've never met her, only heard about her from Willow. Then the question, "But how did you know it was me?" "Willow said you would likely be wearing a hat, and you're tall." Yep, I was about the tallest woman wearing a hat in the area. What a delightful surprise!

I have been yearning for pounds of Fantasy Fibers Mystery Batts, but when I got to their booth, they had completely sold out - within the first 90 minutes of opening, they had sold out alll their Mystery Batts! Woe! Sorrow! So I consoled myself with 24 ounces of merino (2 8oz balls of amethyst, and one 8oz ball of thistle) and 8 ounces of merino and tussah (in a luscious pink and grey subtleness).

Then I found a booth where a spinner was selling glorious yarn for astounding prices. I asked her if I was reading the numbers correctly. She smiled and explained that she had already gotten such pleasure out of spinning the yarn that it was reasonable for her to pass it along for other people to get pleasure out of it. Very zen! I succumbed to an aqueous colored skein of merino. Plus four varied bars of soaps, and I had blown my budget.

I wanted to stop by the Blue Moon booth, but it was packed. I would have had to sharpen my elbows in order to wedge myself in, As it was, I had to swing my shopping basket atop my head just to squeeze past. About halfway through my progress, I heard an authoritative young voice speaking from about my waist level, saying, "Excuse us, please." I backed up a few inches (all I could manage,) and saw a serious young man of about 8 who had decided it was time to go. His mom was remonstrating, "Bobby, be polite." He replied, "I am polite, mom. Excuse us, please." He got them speedily out of the crowd. If Bobby wants to run for president, I will vote for him. He's a natural leader.

.I lusted after further shopping baskets, but the money was really all gone - even my extra lunch fund. But oh, there is yet another shopping basket in my future. My resistance is weak.

Other years, the rovings have been dark, mysterious, serious stuff. This year I saw rovings that were as happy as Easter eggs! Lots of them,thank God. I'm ready for happy colors!

This is Melissa, a PDX knit blogger wearing a splendid sweater. She was remarking that in her mind's eye, she is tall and willowy, but photographs of her rarely make her look that way. So here is a photo of Melissa as tall and willowy.

The musicians on break. Rockers smoke, drink and do drugs. Entertainers at a fiber fest spin between sets.

This is Rebecca with her fleece acquisiton. I saw her struggling with these two huge bags of wool on the way back to the parking lot and offered to help. "No thanks," she replied with a big smile. "I'm not letting go of this till I reach the car!"

This little princess is wearing a precious sweater knit for her by her grandma. I felt just as exhausted as she was after only a couple hours at the fest. There were still animals to see and people to find and yarn to fondle, and I was just full to the brim. Sensory overload was kicking my synapses. If there had been about a thousand fewer people . . . and I had all the money in the world . . . and a cool quiet place to sit and regroup . . . naw . . . I did all the damage I could. Now, where to start?

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

Catching up to myself

One of the things that the change in seasons engenders in me is the urge to inventory and organize. Cleaning out files today brought up the Brilliante Weblog award that Willow awarded to me. I have tried and tried, and am unable to post the button to my blog, but it was such a sweet honor that I couldn't just leave it there, so I am going with the text of the thing, if not the pictures.

Here are the rules for accepting and passing on the award.

1. Please put the logo on your blog. (or not if you're a gormless sheepbiter when it comes to computer stuff.)
2. Add a link to the person who awarded you. (see above)
3. You must nominate 7 fellow bloggers for this award. (Anyone out there interested in the nomination? After an excess of LOL cats, any nomming sounds yummy)
4. Add links to the recipients. (see #1)
5. Leave a comment so the recipients know they have received an award. (See #3)
6. Write an acceptance speech in the style of the Academy Awards, thanking everybody's mother, father, sister, brother, aunties and uncles and kitchen staff at your favorite restaurant! OR write 6 random facts about yourself.

OK, acceptance speech. THIS I can do.

None of this would have been possible without the patient and implacable encouragement of my Darling Husband, and good as I am with words, there are none that fully encompass my gratitude and joy in his company. He is the one who led, coaxed, nudged, cajoled and occasionally tripped and shoved me into computer use and eventual ownership. He is the one who keeps our computers clean and updated, and he it is who insisted that I get my own laptop, and rejoiced in my happy play with it. All I have is yours, Beloved, up to and including my life and sacred honor.

Of course, I could not be blogging were it not for the continual assistance of Lucia (rhymeswithfuschia) who managed to explain the process in tiny baby steps, using gentle words of one syllable. We met on a knitting bulletin board, and have been fast friends ever since. Lucia, good luck and much happiness to your arm of the galaxy, and thank you for your constant friendship!

I followed the lead of Janette in Sydney, and though she bloggeth little lately, she still warms my heart and makes me smile inordinately. Thank you Janette!

Shannon, Linda, Lyssa, Dave the wonder weaver, Tara, Tamara and other lurkers, and everyone else who drops by to read and comment, thank you! Thank you for caring,for sharing my life, and for inviting me into yours. I think you ALL deserve awards, hugs, cookies and kisses on the nose. And some day, maybe I can deliver them to you personally. Hugs and great round love to you all.

OK, 6 weird things about me.

1.I'm frequently the tallest person in the room. Is this weird?

2.I carried a piece of brass shellcasing in my shin for 15 years. My twin brother threw a bullet into the fireplace when we were roasting hot-dogs, and when it exploded, I caught a piece. No one could see anything in the wound, so they left it. It scarred into a weird lump. When I turned 18, it started hurting in the cold, or when I walked a lot. I went to the doctor who thought I was being a bit hypochondriacal until he took x-rays. He was amazed to actually see a bit of brass in my leg. It was neatly enclosed in a tough little cyst like a soft pearl.

3. My shortest paying job was one night as closing dishwasher. I left a note saying, "I don't like this. It's creepy to be here alone." They mailed me a paycheck for 8 hours and thanked me for giving it a try.

4. I used to be able to sing tenor, alto and soprano (but not at the same time) I'm out of practice and have lost a few notes off both ends of the range. No longer a full three octaves.

5.Fresh oranges give me hives. Clementines don't.

6.I can fall asleep floating on my back in the ocean.

Remember our unofficial city motto: Keep Portland Weird!

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

suddenly autumn

It was fourty two degrees farenheit this morning at five AM. Just a taste of things to come. A clear sky with a nice crescent moon and rather more stars than usual, a hint of woodsmoke in the air, and a few withered brown leaves on the street tell me that summer is over and the transition is begun. All too soon we will have interminable days of fourty degrees and rain, then our three weeks of freeze, then, again, the weeks of gradually warming rain, brightened by the occasional indomitable daffodil, before spring, ambling in about April amidst abundant showers, makes her first diffident appearance. We don't get summer till after the 7th of July, and sigh, it's gone already. I guess I'm holding my own little bon voyage party for Prosephone here. Off to months of darkness with her stern and selfish husband. I, meanwhile, am going to cuddle up with my warm, thoughtful and generous husband and look into comfortable hibernation.

Finished the cardigan I am knitting for my co-worker. Now to weave those seams. In the meantime, more yellow baby bonnets. And then ? Well, OFFF is this weekend. I'm intending to grab some mystery batts from Fantasy Fibers, and a spinathon may be on the schedule soon.

Saturday, September 20, 2008

Is it art - 2

From my friend Tim:

I found this free add on craigslist. I liked it.

Free: Delicate Chewed-Paper Insect Sculpture (Tigard)
Perfect gift for the ex or an in-law that needs a little perspective.

About 5" in diameter -- no longer bite-sized. Lots of little hexagonal-shaped capsules, all next to each other. Some open, some sealed. Some buzzy pointy bits.

Not really appropriate for pets category. Cuddly factor of about 0.15 (a tich above Diseased Tasmanian Devil which, I might add, still went quickly).

I have a pain-avoidance condition that prevents me from helping you load it, but I'll be happy to point it out to you. You'll probably need gloves, or, if Mel Gibson was accurate, thick banana leaves. You can use my ladder, though, if you like.

Friday, September 19, 2008

but is it arrrrt?

Ahoy, mateys! It's National Talk Like a Pirate Day. So, ye scurvy sea dogs and comely wenches, let's consider what constitutes Arrrt.

At the community college where I work, there is quite an active art faculty, and large scale sculptures have a habit of manifesting without warning. Here we have a study in balance and suspension. The potato swinging in front of the fork is actually thinly hollow - cement spread over substrata of some sort. It would be a lot more fun if it were resonant, but I guess that wasn't the point. It doesn't even swing freely and takes rather a good shove to get it moving. It doesn't even make a good sundial and it''s no fun to play with. Is it art? Does it move you? Does it tell you something, anything abaout life?

Another of the department profs is also a welder. This thing at least has the benefit of providing seating and a pleasant view of the passing students. It's aligned so that the shadows change with the seasons, and people frequently sit out here to smoke. But you know, this one doesn't speak to me either.

A solid cement sofa. perfectly molded, right down to the twisted finge. Oddly enough, though it is no harder than the welded rusty metal, no one is willing to sit on this. Do you want it in your house?

How about a welded rebar egg? Is this art? I could make up something profound about the transparency of seminal drive to bring vision to fruition, This one almost pleases me.

And it's fun to play in. There's a hole at one end you can crawl through, and then it rolls under your weight. Of course, the rusty rebar isn't tender to the skin . . .

Here, maybe this is art! It's vibrant with nuance and meaning, speaking to the virile spirit of . . . nahhh

Ferns growing on the sculpted edges of structural ornament on one of the old buildings down town. It makes me happy to look at this. I could put it in my living room and see it every day and smile. Does that make it art?

This --THIS is art. I'm sure of it. It should be placed in galleries and people should pay money for a chance to appreciate it, right? Am I RRRRrright, my fine fellow pirates?

Thursday, September 18, 2008

I took the reincarnation test.

Your result for Reincarnation Placement Exam...

Lol Cat

41% Intrigue, 34% Civilization, 66% Humanity, 30% Urbanization.

After much consideration, we have decided to make you a LolCat.

Actually, there wasn't much consideration at all. It was the easiest decision we've made all day.

Why? Because, according to your answers, you want to have your good times, but don't seem too interested in all that "other stuff." You know... civilization, adventure, that sort of thing.

We hope you like being fluffy.

I don't know... Can you has cheezburger?

Take Reincarnation Placement Exam at HelloQuizzy

Warning, you do need to sign up with Quizzy to get your results. Of course, if you are doing the daily blogging thing, it gives you LOTS of fodder!

And yes, I DO like being fluffy! I've always said that in my next life I want to be a rich old woman's Persian cat. My spiritual t-shirt reads, Hedonisms-R-Us!

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

rewards for loss

I took some of Teresa Ruch's lovely hand-painted bamboo yarn to the bead store today to celebrate my happy, happy weight loss. I found beads that go perfectly with the yarn. Perfectly! These pictures don't do them justice.
I am thinking about a new hat for the next Harlot book signing, using the pale blue and frosties. Last year I was the lizard queen. Maybe next time, I can be the water queen.

As for the purple and peacock, gee - I don't know. I'll wait till inspiration smites. It's soo purty!!

Meanwhile, Dave Daniels of has done an on-blog interview about my second book - Sanna and the Dragons. Go look!


As of yesterday, I have lost twwenty five pounds with Weight Watchers! Wahhhooo! I am going through the house looking for ways to visualize the loss.
Pepper weighs 10 solid, muscular pounds. I have lost the equivalent of two and a half sturdy chunky cats. Or a sturdy 18 month-old child, clinging eternally to my butt. My feet don't hurt when I get up in the morning, and (surprise!) I have more energy.

Let's see, a pint of water weighs a pound. This is five gallons of water. Two pints to a quart, four quarts to a gallon - I've lost 7/10th of this bottle of water. Eh, I know how heavy the bottle is, but fractions make it too abstract.

Here we go. This I can really visualize. This is a two pound can of vegetable shortening. I have lost more than 12 of these! Woot!

Only 12 pounds to go. Embrace the salad. Love the oatmeal. Actually, I DO love the oatmeal. I get uncut oats, also known as oat groats, cook them overnight in the crock pot, and keep them in the fridge to microwave every morning. They are sort of nutty, and definitely textury. I eat my oatmeal with frozen cherries, or maple syrup or honey or applesauce or peaches or . . .

And last night, we had pizza. Two slices, planned for and eaten slowly. Still on the program and loving it!

Sunday, September 14, 2008

more the fool me

I know better than to ever say anything implying that I am exempt from the common ill-fortune of humanity. The jealous spirits of life hear you and punish you when you do that. Yeah, I get the aura, but I don't suffer the pain of migraines anymore. Haha! I waited till I could see straight, and drove myself to a knitting group at Diane's home. She had Yummy coffee cake and fresh figs and strong black tea, and kittens. Six week olf kittens. Are they not too adorable?
Here are the two moms who gave birth within days of one another to a toatal of 7 kittens and who share the care and nursing of all of them.
this handsome long-haired black lad is the father of all the kittens.

so curious and full of zip and sweetness!

And while I was sipping tea and cooing over kittens and knitting away on another baby bonnet, a dull and rusty hatchet was forcing its way slowly, but implacably, into my right cerebreal hemisphere. I made it home, went straight to bed at noon, and slept off and on for six hours. Got up for some chicken broth with vegetables (DH knows what to feed an invalid without even being asked. He even left the lights off in the living room so I didn't have to squint and shield my eyes), and went back to bed for another eleven hours. This morning, my brain feels gummy, but no longer bruised and abused.

But the kitties were worth it.

Saturday, September 13, 2008

Hard to believe

The TGoA show is in town. I went, I saw, I fondled, and I bought nothing. Oh, there wre all osrts of little fibery voisces calling enticingly to me, but I could also hear all the lonesome little voices from my stash crying, "When is it MY turn? How long do I have to sit here, waiting to be used?" I saw some wonderfully aquatic-colored rayon that would have been beautiful held together with some sport wool in my stash, but when it came to determining which skeins of rayon to buy, I couldn't remember the precise shade of blue my wool is. If I have so much yarn that I can't remember it all, and the credit card is swollen with expenses from the LA trip, I can live without buying more yarn. Anyhow, in two weeks, the OFFF will arrive, and I want to drop a bundle on Fantasy Fibers Mystery Batts.

It was fascinating to wander around and look at the things people were wearing. We do have SUCH fun with textures and colors and shapes and drapings. I was surprised to see so few vendors, but really, the purpose of TKGA is the classes and seminars and all. And there were so many smiling faces that I can only assume the show was a success. There were also a lot of faces that had the dazed, glazed look of a python that has just swallowed an elephant which may still be kicking. Trying to process and digest . . . Intellectual and sensory overload.

No photos. I'm not a good enough photographer to make the most of the feast of colors, and all too soon, one astounding display of yarns looks very like every other astounding display of yarns when condensed into a 4x5 or smaller swatch.

And blast it, I have a migraine coming on, so I ca'nt see well enough to type. It's like looking at the world through the side of a prism. All I get any more is the light show and the subsequent glue-brain. The pain has quit assaulting me. Thank God for menopause!

Friday, September 12, 2008

Off to TKGA

The Knitting Guild of America is holding its annual do here in Portland and I am going to go. I intended to go yesterday (sorry Linda. I really intended to) but all the pick up and put away of returning from a trip just sucked me in, and it was 4 PM before I knew it. But today, I'm off. Yes, the floors still look like Ghenghis Khan ran his horde through here with yaks and ponies and all. And I can still sweep, mop, and vaccuume when I get back. I'm not taking any classes, and I'm not going to do much shopping, but I can look my eyes full and get ideas to tuck into the back of my curly little mind. Photos, perhaps, when I get back. Hope your Friday is fun!

Thursday, September 11, 2008


We remember.

Wednesday, September 10, 2008

What I knit on my days off.

I've begun a series of baby bonnets for the AIDs care orphange in Africa. Easy knit and hopefully easy fit. The ribbons go around the head and tie under the chin.

ON this trip I knit four and a quarter bonnets, used up all my yellow yarn, and started the emergency back-up knitting, another diagonal scarf using about two ounces of two colors of sock yarns. It's working up rather nicely, if a bit narrow.

And since everyone loves kitties, here is a picture of Red, the cat who sleeps on that lovely white 1937 ford. Red walked into the garage one day, and won Harry over with his cheery good nature. Red is a "guy's cat" and preffers to hang out in the garage, supervising work on cars, and watching sporting events on the garage TV. He is sufficiently well-mannered, however, to allow a lady (me for example) to hold him on her lap and rub his ears. Not that he actually likes it or anything . . . (male cats, in front of the other guys, sometimes need to pretend they're cool.)

Life back at home is pretty good. The weather is perfect - sunny and room-temperature. Work still hasn't kicked into high gear, and the kitty sitter did a splendid job so there isn't a lot of crap to shovel out. When we walked in the door, all the fur faces came rushing up, singing happy songs. OK so the songs were, "Where the hell have you been? We want our treats!" But obviously they were'nt used to running in fear when the door was opened, so she must have treated them kindly.

The neighbor's pretty brindled pit bull has dug a hole under the fence. Again. It looks as if the solution to this dillemma is to dig a trench about two feet deep all along the fence line, and fill it with cement blocks. Not even our dog, and we gotta break our backs and spend our money to keep it under control. Maybe DH would be willing to talk to the neighbor, a strong, healthy young man, and see if he'd be willing to help. I leave neighborhood negotiations to DH. I get too defensive of my own territory. DH is more likely to say, "You know, your dog sure seems to like to dig." whereas I'm likely to say, "Your fracking dog's wrecking our fence, crapping on our lawn, and scaring the life out of our cats and I'll sue your ass into the next county if you don't shoot the bitch!!" And then, I'm likely to lose my temper.

On the other hand, I am silk and razorblades when it comes to phone work, so I do all the calling and talking to beaureaucrats. We make a damn fine team.

Tuesday, September 09, 2008

LAX attitude

Yesterday, I managed to get on-line at DH's aunt's computer using a Frankenstein connection of mis-matched cables and computers jury-rigged sideways. The hotel, as I believe I mentioned, offered WIFI for $12 a day, but it wasn't available on our floor. Talk about nickle-and-diming the customer to death. They charged $26.50 per day for parking for hotel customers, and we found out this morning that there is also a daily parking tax of $2.60. And then, because we are not complete barbarians, ya gotta tip the valet at least a buck for running down to the parking lot and driving your car up. So we paid over $30 a day just to park. I forsee a precipitate drop in travel in our future. The unexpected expenses are eating us alive!

And now, I am paying $10 to blog from the Los Angeles Airport. Internet connection is rather addictive! Thanks ever so for the comments, ladies. It's so nice to stay in touch.

It's been a surprisingly pleasant trip, but there has been almost no down time. I wrote yesterday's blog while riding in the back of the SUV on the way from La Mirada out to Temeculah. When people give us directions around here, it's all by the numbers. "You take the ten to the I5 then get on the sixty one East and exit on one seventy two for the . . . " For someone who is as innumerate as I am, they may as well be speaking Greek. DH, however, copes magnificently! We rented a Dodge Nitro, since the only time we got a smaller car I was scared to death every time we got on the freeway. And when I'm scared to death, I'm not a cheery person. The vision of getting run into by someone in a stolen BMW obsesses me worse than the vision of being smashed flatter than a bug in an earthquake. Los Angeles is a visionary city for me.

I had to get a shot of this local yard art. Recycle those old tires and give your ferns a place to hang. Why buy planters when there are all these charming and artistic options available?

This morning, we checked out of the hotel and joined Harry (DH's sister's boyfriend. Does that make Harry my brother outlaw?)and a few of his friends for breakfast. I enjoyed my oatmeal in the company of 17 gearheads and my husband. I'm having wayy too much trouble getting Blogger to load pictures, or I would show you some of the cars they arrived in. Vintage roadsters and seasoned sports cars, and classy cruisers from the days when they were teenagers. But I gotta tell you, it's good for a girl's ego when all 17 of these nice gentlement make a point of introducing themselves and shaking my hand. And I'm not even wearing makeup today! I had a splendid time. One of the guys even confided in me, very much as if it were something he probably shouldn't comment on, "I like your hair." It took me a moment to realize that I am one of the few grey-haired women in the greater LA area. I joked that the fashion police were about to make a tactical sweep, snatch me up, and administer the mandatory blonde dye, botox, and liposuction. He offered to defend my silver locks to the end.

The breakfast was at a great little Mexican place in Redondo Beach, right on the beach, and there was a morning yoga class going on in the sand. And I gotta tell you, I'm carrying about twice the leagal limit of cellulite. My God, people are beautiful around here! I guess if you get slack and lazy, the authorities just don't allow you out in the daylight. Why, the false eyelash budget for Redondo Beach alone is probably enough to run several small countries. Do YOU wear false eyelashes for YOUR morning yoga? And then there's the question of tans and tattoos. The natural pigmentation tends to alter the add-ons. Those pretty little pink butterflies sort of look like a bad rash from a distance. Glad I'm going home. I miss my bed, I miss my kitties, and I'm not like the other girls.

Monday, September 08, 2008

In as much as this is allegedly a knitting blog, here’s a picture of some of the latest work, a long-sleeved, raglan cardigan with cables up the front and nice knit-in pockets. I have just started the sleeves. Very nice, mindless knitting. One of the women I work with wanted me to knit the sweater. Well, darn it, I believe in being PAID for my work As with most part-time employees, her real career has nothing to do with money. She’s an artist. So in exchange for this sweater, she is painting a watercolor portrait of our five cats. So here is Pepper, giving the sweater her own particular catly blessing.

And now here we are in LA. The flight was a dream of speed and ease. (hooray Alaska Airlines! They still give you free soda and water and a tiny bag of crackers for your mid-flight nibbles. And for a special treat, they also offered free samples of a Northwest beer and a northwest wine!) And our checked bag arrived with us safe, sound and unrifled.

We are staying at the airport Marriot. I am delighted. It’s clean and attractive, and the room has a balcony that’s actually big enough to sit on.- about 8X10. It even has a pool view – of the Hilton hotel across the street. We are on the fifth floor of a five floor wing which gives me great comfort since, in case of earthquake, there are not 20 more floors on top of us to squash on down. As I explained to DH, the numbers of hours I’ve been in LA and experienced earthquakes are a much higher percentage of my total time in LA than his. It’s not surprising that I should be unduly concerned.

I am, however, having connection problems. They offer WIFI – oh boy! They charge $12.99 a day for the privilege. Holy crap! Worse than that, WIFI is not available above the 2nd floor. Well what a swell lot of help THAT is! I can pay $12.99 to sit in the lobby till my battery runs out? Woohoo. (I really need some punctuation that indicates the reverse of an exclamation point.) So I may not post till I get to the airport. Sorry for the long delay, mi amigos.

Reportage: Saturday: The party was great fun. Here is Roxie with the 1937 Ford – not a convertible. Additional shots of the beloved “Bondolay”

The party was held in the Laguna Hills, South of LA, - out in the dessert. The place was a small mansion, and the host flew in a chef from Louisiana. I ate catfish (it always tastes muddy to me.) and cajun shrimps (hot) and barbecued chicken, and bread pudding (yum!!) and jambalaya (HOT! HOT!) with soft-shell crab. I’ve never eaten soft-shell crab before, and were it not for the food channel, would have had no idea how to go about it. (just chomp it down) Wish I could tell how it tasted. By then, my tastebuds were incinerated – as in totally numb. I don’t know if I’ll be able to taste anything at all today.

So I’m a wuss. The party was great fun, beautifully situated, and full of interesting people. And driving around in the Bondolay was a treat! I love the way heads turn and second looks are taken out on the freeway. I wanted to smile and wave, but was told that such behavior is not cool. Not cool at all. Or, as Harry put it, “Geeze, Rox, don’t act like a MO-ron!” I love Harry. He says what he thinks, he’s a bit crusty, but he’s always the one who steps up and does the right thing.

Sunday: Kyle’s sister took us to the LA County fair. What a kick! For one thing, California is a lot less rigid about booze. Every third stand was a beer booth. People were wandering around all over with their paper cups full of brew. At fairs in Oregon, there’s one little fenced in enclave where you may sit and drink, but you may not take alcohol into the fair itself. Guess folks are less concerned with underage drinking in LA

It was about 90 degrees and dry as a sauna. The sun blasted down, and bounced off the asphalt, and I sweated like an express pony all day long. Kyle’s sis asked if my sun-block had a coloring agent in it, because I have a light golden tone to my skin. Nope – but I have been eating a heck of a lot of carrots. As in about two pounds a week. Lordee, I think I AM turning orange!

We rode the giant slide. They charged $3 per person, or $6 for five tickets. So DH bought five tickets, found two little kids, and spread a little random happiness. I love him so much!!

I got up at the top, sat down on my burlap bag, settled my tote bag on my lap, grabbed my hat, and pushed off. Wheee! YeeeHAH!! I love squealing with glee on these things. When I hit the bottom, they asked me if I wanted to go again, because I attracted people with my noise. DH and his sis were “cool,” and silent, so, since they weren’t getting offers of free rides, I regretfully turned it down.

We found a booth selling pearl oysters. DH insisted I had to have one. Omigawd it’s beautiful! It’s 7mm, silver, with a pink luster.

I found only one stall selling yarn, and she had it just as a side addition to her aroma-therapy line, because she dyes her own for a hobby and her friends told her she had to start selling it. It’s superwash alpaca sock yarn. Isn’t it wild? Had to have it!

Finally found the woman’s building where the quilts and knitting and all were displayed. Wonder if I can enter the LA county fair? A lot of the stuff looked very “made with loving hands at home.” I probably ought to enter in my own county, but the competition’s a LOT stiffer in Clackamas County Oregon. At LA county they had a garment/ tunic /overshirt / thingy - crocheted quite loosely with the legs of used pantyhose. With toes dangling and unfinished ends hanging out. And it got a blue ribbon. Well, there’s a category for everything. Maybe it was in the “dress like a tramp” category.

Not a lot of Four-H stuff in LA county, which isn’t that big a surprise. When you think of LA county, you just don’t think of farms and ranches. We missed the pig races, and decided not to go into the insect barn. There’s just a limit to how much fun a person can stand!

I really scored for lunch. I found a place that sold baked potatoes and roasted corn. Plain baked potato, eat the skins as well, and unbuttered corn. Good for me! And it was yummy. DH and his sis has hot dogs. Then they had beers. It cost $20 for two bottles of beer!! Twenty dollars! Shrieek! I had some lemonade. Sooo virtuous! Only $3 for a stinkin’ fifty cent cup of lemonade. Well, it was either that, or drink out of the tap in the ladies’ room.

There were boothes with clothing and booths with magnetic jewelry to fix your arthritis and booths with pot and pans, and choppers in hoppers, and miracle-kleen cloths and wonder mops and amazavitamins and mink oil products, and emu oil, and elephant oil (in case your elephant gets squeaky) and leather goods and sexy Halloween costumes (already!) and really, more things than you could look at in a MONTH of Sundays. I ran out of go about 3:30. DH remarked that I was still grinning, but my eyes were glazed.

I slept really, reallly well!!

Thursday, September 04, 2008

"Goosey, Goosey Gander"

How did it get to be September already? It seems just a few weeks ago I was taking pictures of this family, and the kids were all cunning little balls of yellow down. Now, they are fully grown and completely inexperienced and dumb as so many buckets of goose-poo. Life around here is so easy that they may not even bother to fly south. No wonder we are having a population explosion of Canada Honkers!

"Whither shall you wander?" Tomorrow in the late afternoon DH and I will mount a great silver bird, and fly to the fabled land of the south where fame grows midst the bouganvilla and celebrity falls like upon the lucky like shooting stars. Or, to put it another way, we're headed for LA. (and for all you housebreakers out there, I think you should know our sitter this year has a concealed weapons permit. Just asyin' . . .) I will do many photo ops and take a flock of photos. Roxie and the 1937 Ford for one. It's called the Bondolette because it was discovered rusting to death in a field, and most of the body is made of Bondo.(a repair putty used by car restorers.) We will be spending a day in Dizzyland as well. Shall I try to track down Mickey for pictures? Those poor SOBs who have to run around in those suits must earn hazardous duty pay. Between the heat and the mean little brats, life can be downright dangerous for cartoon characters.

"Upstairs, downstairs, and in my lady's chamber." These old nursery rhymes sure didn't make much sense, did they? A goose in boss-lady's bedroom? Someone is gonna catch hell over that! I read a scholarly dissertation once, that ring around the rosey was a song about the bubonic plague. Evidently, the "Ashes,ashes, we all fall down." was sepulchral end of the world stuff. Sometimes, I think scholarly interpretations say more about the scholars than about the works they consider. Sometimes, what they say is, "I have no idea what to write about, so I'm gonna make something up. If you buy this, then I have some oceanfront property in Montanna to offer you."

"There I met an old man who wouldn't say his prayers. I took him by the left leg, and threw him down the stairs." Did you know the last part of the rhyme? I didn't. I had to look it up. We are losing a lot of the old nursery rhymes right now. Who uses nursery rhymes with their kids now-a-days? Does any one play pat-a-cake or ring around the rosey? Did you? What's your favorite?

Tuesday, September 02, 2008

Any suggestions?

On Saturday, My sis-in-law's boyfriend is taking us to a party in LA in his 1937 convertible. I figure, the least I can do is try to dress the part. We will be riding with the top down, so if I use one of my wide-brim hats, I'll have to hold it on my lap for the drive. Any suggestions for colors, hats, silhouettes, etc?

Monday, September 01, 2008

See you at the fair

It's been very blogless out lately. Mostly, hard to get on line, but that ssems to have healed itself finally. I did two days of testing at the new jail - interesting experience. Every jail is different. One place is a warren of identical corridors, another is on straight line hall with different colored floor tiles for different sections. In one jail, they let the inmates have golf pencils at all times. In another jail, you have to keep track of even the paperclips. One jail lets the inmates come and go within the area without escort, another requires an officer to attend the prisoners to and from the testing room. Inmates are housed in dormitories or pods or cellblocks. They wear orange stripes or green stripes or solid chambray blue. Underwear is pink or peach. And by the way, you don't get to wear your own undies. You wear what gets issued to you and try to forget that someone else was wearing it last week. The one thing that is common to every jail is the plastic slippers worn by every inmate, male or female, big, little or medium. Everyone wears the same open-toe plastic sandals. You can't run in them or use them for weapons, and they can be steamed and bleached to get rid of any cooties the last guy may have had. Whoever manufactures those things is making a bundle!!!

I worked Tuesday through Friday, and then Saturday, we went to the fair. We saw a nestfull of baby goats that had just hatched.

We saw cows and pigs and draft horses and show horses and race horses and minature horses.

We saw minature horses' asses.

We saw the world's biggest cockroach wandering around. We also saw giant pumpkins, giant sunflowers, giant zucchinis, and a kalidascope of quilts!(They asked us not to photograph the quilts.)

We saw a llama with a really bad haircut. Do you suppose he's trying out for a part in the Dr. Suese musical? Good legs, but can he sing and dance?

You know it's plain folks when you see signs like this.

We went with MJ and RW, who are seen here, teasing salesmen and trying on hot-tubs. It's important to make sure the new hot-tub fits.

In the last post (almost a week ago)I was sorta surprised that so many of you mentioned you wouldn't be up for a massage. Howcome? Are you shy? Have you tried it and not liked it? I've had good massages, and bad massages, and once in Hawaii, I had a massage that was so much fun for me and the therapist that she wound up giving me an extra hour for free. Some people like to make small talk with the therapist. Some folks like to be quiet and really sink into it. I open the lid to the subconscious and relate the pictures that play behind my eyes while the therapist is working. Some cope with this, some can't. The one in Hawaii was grooving on it so much that she didn't want to stop. She was working on my upper thigh, and I was feeling the cellulite ripple under her hands and I told her, "I've always hated my cottage-cheesey butt, but all of a sudden I just saw it as a beautiful quilt wraped around to protect my girly bits and keep them warm. I have my own built-in quilt. Isn't that great?" And we both started giggling like eleven-year-olds at a slumber party.

Massages are expensive, but they can make you feel so nurtured and precious and comfortable in your body that they are worth it. As a treat. If you can go into it not feeling too shy or uncomfortable. Remember, you won't be the first naked stranger the therapist has ever worked on, nor will you be the most, or least beautiful. If s/he is a healer, then your appearance is totally irrelevant. And if s/he ISN'T a healer, then his/her opinion is totally irrelevant. I'm a massage advocate, and I give a good one because I know what feels good.

And some people just don't want to be touched by a stranger, and if that's how you feel, then God bless you, you are perfect just the way you are.