Archive for the 'Rambling' Category Page 2 of 11


Carefully controlled chaos is the best way I can describe Madrona this year. There were more people, more classes, and more vendors in the market. The only thing there wasn’t more of this year was money that I spent. Fellow Ravelers were met, much food and beverage was consumed, and it has become the one time each year I see several friends. I spun, I knit, I knit stuff I had just spun. I spent time with Steph (who cracks me up), with Judith (who I’ve decided I want to be when I grow up), and with Kathryn (who makes me never want to grow up). Most of all, the five days I spent there make me wish I didn’t have to wait 11 and a half months to do it all over again.

Like This Mohair Boucle, My Weekend Was Wild And Crazy

mohair boucle

I have many tales to tell of this years Madrona Winter Retreat but until I get some sleep this mohair boucle will have to tell them all.

Conversation With Man

The scene: My bathroom with me in the shower, complete with weird cat who stared at the curtain the entire time*.

Me (being rudely interrupted): What do you want?
Him: REI is having a sale right now.
Me: I know.
Him: It is the .83 sale.
Me: I know. And you are telling me this why?
Him: I don’t know. Just in case you want anything.

(It was at this point the poles shifted, hell froze over, and Clinton dropped out of the race for president. You get the idea.)

Me: Why, what do you want?
Him: Oh, nothing.

And he leaves the room.

Internets, I tell you this because I will find something I like. And I will be told, “Oh, not right now,” or, “Do you really need another pair of shoes?” (The answer to that is yes, by the way.) Just let it be known that he told me to go look, and in fact encouraged it.

*Seriously. Can’t I just have one normal animal?

Asleep At The Wheel

Those socks? Yeah, they’re coming, just as soon as I can find a minute so I can find the battery charger for my camera. Someone (not me, for once) left the bloody thing turned on. The same someone (again, not me) also can not locate the charger. Good hired help these days is so hard to find.

105% of my time has been consumed by school. My statistics class is fierce at it’s best, and the only bright spot in my writing intensive film class is that I get to pick what I want to watch, review, and write about. I never expected that my college education would become a great excuse to finally get a Netflix account, but it has. This week has been all about Little Miss Sunshine. Next week it is Forrest Gump, which is good because that is about the time my brain is going to melt due to my stats class.

And just to prove that my family can not stay out of the hospital, my Grandmother is having a heart valve replaced this week, at the age of 82. She is extremely healthy for her age, and coupled with the fact that the women in my family routinely live longer than 95 years they’re giving her a wicked carbon fiber replacement. The downside of this is a week long hospital stay and that, you know, it is major surgery. All this is also going down at the same hospital my Darling Little Big Brother spent his time at. Given that we sport a very uncommon last name I am sure the nurses will wonder if our family has any luck other than the bad kind. As for me, this just means I will be spending some more quality time in the ICU waiting room. Which is good, because it is quiet and conducive for studying statistics.

Skinny Legs And All


By god, I finished something. More on this knitting miracle tomorrow soon.

Unlike Disneyland, It Wasn’t The Happiest Place On Earth

I’ve spent the past five days pondering how to write this post, how to delicately say that my brother could of died without emergency surgery on Sunday.

In a move that only proves how related we are, The Tallest Little Brother (henceforth referred to as TTLB) fell while exercising in his living room, rupturing his spleen when his left elbow was shoved into it as he hit the floor. Somehow he managed to drive himself to an urgent care clinic where he was then placed in an ambulance and rushed to the ER of a local hospital. Three IVs, two rooms, and one CT scan later, a surgeon was called, our parents arrived, and we waited. Stints were placed, trips to the ICU were had, and yesterday evening after three days on his back he was released into the care of our mother, the lucky SOB.

Through it all he somehow managed to not lose his sense of humour. A good thing when you’re so doped up and in shock that you think the lamp across the hall is somehow moving up and down the wall. I’m not sure which one of us was more horrified when asked if I was his wife by the attending ER doctor. And of course, I have now seen enough of his bare white ass to last me the rest of my lifetime.

When it all ends, he will be okay. His spleen will fully heal, he’ll invest in non-skid socks, and he might even get the bills paid off before he dies (the joys of not having health insurance in the ole’ US of A). For him life will go on, fancy stint and all. Now he’ll just be more careful about where he works out.

To The Opinionated Boob At The Counter

Dear Sir,

While eating my breakfast this morning I, along with the rest of the cafe, couldn’t help but overhear your complaints on the state of politics today. I am sorry that in 1977 the DOT knocked over your mailbox while clearing off the road. However it is no longer 1977, it is 2007, and perhaps it time to let that go.

Also, while you did not vote for Christine Gregoire, there are hundreds of thousands of us who did. Judging by the escalating sound of your voice while you repeated that over and over, I am sure she heard it in Olympia too. It does no good to refer to her as, “that bitch and her wussy husband,” I can assure you they don’t give a shit.

In passing, if life here is so bad, move. Get into your “big ole truck with its 40 bells and whistles” and get the fuck out of town. The only person who may miss you is the waitress you leave that 9% tip to, because she doesn’t deserve more than God. Until then, I will be busy thanking God, Allah, and any other deity I can find that my vote cancels out yours.



Ready Thine Ark

We’ve gotten no less than ten inches of rain in the past 24 hours. This is on top of all the snow we got the two days previously (which has since melted). As a result we have standing water almost all the way around the house and our garage (just above ground level) is now starting to flood. Himself has moved all the important boxes out of the area and we’re just crossing our fingers that the rain lets up a bit.

In the meantime we’re having fun watching the county roads closed list and the photos of morons who drove their cars into water that was three or four feet deep. It never fails, there are at least a half-dozen of them each year.

This Will Only Hurt A Little

Oh, procrastination is thy name.

For the past few weeks I have been dealing with some massive oral pain. The root (har har) of the problem is a broken wisdom tooth I have been slow to deal with. I finally have a date for the removal of the bastard tooth but that doesn’t mean I fully look forward to it going away. After all, there are few things I like less in life than needles and needles in my mouth are one of them.

Now I am no stranger to oral surgery and extractions. With the exception of eight baby teeth, every other one had to be surgically removed in some way, be it in-office or a trip to the surgeon. But none of those teeth were broken, and none were removed by a new-to-me dentist. While making the appointment I had sudden visions of a Castaway like extraction, only without Tom Hanks wielding the ice skate. Thankfully I was quickly reminded there would be drugs involved, and likely lots of them.

So mark your calendars for December 12th. While you’re knitting in the afternoon, I’ll be giving a exam chair the gripping of its life and then drooling all over myself when I get home.

In the words of Silent Bob, I’ve got nothin’.

I woke this morning with a sore throat, ringing ears, and aching jaws. It seems that I grind my teeth during my sleep when I am developing a cold. The only good thing about my tonsils revolting against me right now is that Le Kidlet is at Chez Grandma, leaving me to rest in bed, coked up on Tylenol and whatever else I can get my hands on.

Of course, being coked up presents a problem when it comes to studying. It is mighty hard to concentrate when you can’t keep your eyes open for more than 30 seconds. I’ve taken to reading my International Relations text to the cat, at this point I am sure he remembers more about politics in the Ottoman Empire than I do. If only he had opposable thumbs he could take the chapter tests for me too.