Pictures at 12:16*

Marybeth sent pictures of the wee fuzzy chickies -- including one IN THE MAILER BOX.






Everybody say, "Awwwwww..."


*FOOTNOTE (asterisked - going old school): I missed my "pictures at eleven" window.

CHICKENS!

Because a day without mail order chickens is like a day without a Monty Python bit. I mean, you can do it, but it's so much better when you don't.

Sylvia's Last Stand

Sylvia's House of Fuzzy Crack is no more. The last truck took its last load this morning.

Posh will forever be the place I found knitters. People to knit with. Social knitting. Competitive knitting. Supportive knitting. Showing off knitting.




Women who can always be counted on to ooh and aah over Nathan's package.†

[SUMMARY: It's fibrelicious!‡]

Posh will forever be the place I learned about mail order chickens§ from Marybeth.




Without Posh, I might still be knitting endless scarves every football season¶... and endless baby blankets in the spaces in between.

I might never have met Bonnie# or Kate†† or Leslie...




...or (gods forbid) Genius Sarah. Who would hit me on the arm and say, "I have a question," all the way through baseball playoffs and untangle my yarn for me when I got too eager and couldn't wait until I got home to winder and swift and muddled it all up at Drunken Knitting?




Or Meg. Meg of the Mini Cooper and the motorcycle and the intense, funny intelligence. Or Heather, whose baby shower continued my knack for walking in on big, happy Posh parties.




Or Leslie, self-professed skincare whore and funny, erudite knitting writer.




Or Natalie, who makes me spit wine out my nose laughing.




Or Liza-Spelled-Lisa who accidentally got married, then accidentally adopted a second child.




Or Rosie who loves perfume, or Ligia who is an Capital-E-Educator and lives around the corner from me.




[SUMMARY: These are the people in my neighbourhood.‡‡]

It's the end of a soft, many-plied, colourful, beautiful era.

XOXOXOXO, Sylvia. It'll be sad knowing I can't just drop by on a random Friday afternoon.

See you around.

[SUMMARY: *sniffle*]

Don't ask how much I spent at the moving sale.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Oh, look what I did. Now he feels violated and I feel twelve. heheheheheh

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): And I'm not just talking about Nathan's package.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Thus continues the Summer of the Chickens. By the way, Marybeth says the chickens would, indeed, look fetching in sweater vests, but if we want to knit them we have to do it fast -- and I'm guessing not get too attached to the results -- because the chicks have already doubled in size.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): College boyfriends, high school friends, roommates... nobody was safe from the annual football scarf, twelve feet long, double-thick and ten inches wide. heheheheh. Sorry... had a moment.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Who is new, but noteworthy and has, in fact, cut her hair since this photo (just in case you see her around town).

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Who talks more than I do and gets captioned in the footnotes for it.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Y'know... my *spiritual* neighbourhood. The family you choose. The next-door neighbours of my soul. People who certainly deserve better photography than I've given them here.

Hooray Football!

Don't get me wrong, the Rockies have given me a little something to hold onto through the long, dark days of summer and I'm grateful.

Golf has been pretty good, though Tom Watson missed it by * * that much and my boy Phil was out for a chunk of the season.

[SUMMARY: Sports summary. ESPN needs me.]

But it's time.

I fancy I can feel a nip in the air† and see that particular slant of the light that means the season is changing. Maybe not quite from summer to autumn, but from baseball to football.‡

Did I mention I'm a Denver Broncos season ticket holder now?

[SUMMARY: *wham!* Bad horse! Get up! *wham!* *wham!*]

Because of the, y'know, mail thing, I set up my tickets to be picked up at will call.

Last week I called, if you will.§

I took the Mile High Walk through Broncos Country...






...past horses of sky and water¶...






...to the gates of Valhalla, that sacred space I've longed to tread.#




And my dorky little heart almost burst with all the extras.

I would have been content to just get my season tickets in a plain brown wrapper, but, like a good independent sock yarn dyer,†† the Broncos know those little extra touches will keep me coming back for more.‡‡




Here it is, my peeps.% My own personal, long sought, symbolic and literal, plegmatic and devine... my holy grail:




And get this: I had them print my name on them.




For those of you who care nothing and know nothing of football, we will return to our regularly-scheduled programming@ next time.

Meanwhile, sit back, relax and enjoy the fact that we didn't talk about chickens for the fourth day running, despite the fact Marybeth§§ got them in the mail yesterday and posted a couple of wee, fuzzy chickie photos¶¶ on Facebook.##

[SUMMARY: Oops.†††]

My grail runneth over.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Despite the fact that the Weather Channel app is telling me it's going to be nearly 90 today. Did I mention I got a phone that has apps?

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Y'know... the seasons that *matter*.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): There is a chance I don't just think I'm funny, I may also think I'm clever.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): The photo doesn't quite show it, but the bronze Italian horses are running up a river.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Like sainthood with shoulder pads and cheerleaders. Ooooh... when I get all my saint points do you think I can get my own cheering section?

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): You may be witnessing the first time the Broncos organisation has been compared to sock yarn dyers.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Because you know if it wasn't for the stickers and the sweepstakes, football would just be unwatchable.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Not to be confused with Marybeth's wee fuzzy chickie peeps.

@FOOTNOTE (atted): I can hear you laughing.

§§FOOTNOTE (I get mixed up sometimes): Who is, indeed, Marybeth, and not Mary Beth as I've been so callously calling her.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (peep peep): And they would look SO fetching in tiny little sweater vests. Oh, and that's pictures of wee fuzzy chickies... not photos of chickies that are the size of a postage stamp and kinda blurry.

##FOOTNOTE (pounding the point home): If you are my Facebook friend, you've probably seen the tiny, fuzzy chickies. If you aren't my Facebook friend, what's keeping you? Tiny, fuzzy chickie pictures, people!

†††FOOTNOTE (it's your cross to bear): Chickengate: Day 4.

Confession

I was telling Hans about Mary Beth's chickens yesterday.

"When I heard about mail order chickens, I suddenly wanted chickens. I've started sizing up my deck for a chicken coop."

"Aren't they loud and smelly?"

"I'm pretty sure. And I have no desire to have birds of any kind. I just want to get chickens in the mail. And have a chicken permit. I wonder if I could get a chicken permit to hang on my wall if I promised never to keep actual chickens."

My shiny objects get weirder every day.

Once again, I wanted to share with you.

Once again, you're welcome.

Tuesday, Tuesday... la laa la l-la laaaaaa

I played hooky yesterday. It was marvelous.

For some reason, sitting around knitting and reading and communing with the North 40 is just so much better when I realise Hans is in the office working.

*************

You know what those 13 little stars mean... we're going to lick the pig!

*************

This is not my story to tell, but I feel I must relate it anyway.† Many of you don't know Mary Beth and most of you weren't there when she was telling it. I feel I would be remiss if I didn't spread the word.

Wherever you live, there's a good chance the question of urban chicken coops has come up recently. I thought it was that way in Denver because of recent changes to city ordinances, but it turns out it's just part of this big push toward organic self-sufficiency.

Anyway, Mary Beth is going to raise chickens. Which takes a lot of paperwork and governmental meddling.

First, she had to be issued the application from Community Planning and Development and Neighborhood Inspection Services. The completed application was then filed with Animal Control.

Somewhere in here, she bult a chicken coop which apparently rivals the Ritz Carlton and Mary Beth wants to move into it herself and maybe let the chickens have the run of her house.

Animal Control did a home visit to see that the chickens would be clean, comfortable and pest-free. She was approved for six chickens, a feat only slightly less bureaucratically arduous than fostering a human child.

THEN she paid $50 for a chicken permit.‡

Finally, she ordered -- I love this part -- an assortment of chicks.% Which come by post. From mypetchicken.com.

Getting on the Internet and ordering the six chicken assortment and "mypetchicken-dot-com" made me so happy. Some days, just knowing things *exist* out there is totally happy-making.

*************

You will all be delighted to know the sleeves of the guitar sweater for TFN's birthday are on their holders§ and I'm roaring down the sweater body with speed and something approaching accuracy.

Intarsia also makes me happy.¶ Frankly, I'm usually not that big on the look of a lot of it, but it's engaging knitting, the kind where time flies.

*************

I'm beginning to think the new Big Girl Phone may be too much phone for me.

I'm wondering if I want to be *that* connected. Ah, well. I signed a contract. I'll live with it for a couple of years and probably become one of those asshole people who can't leave her phone alone for two minutes and insists on texting at her own wedding.#

It does take nice pictures, doesn't it?

*************

My father is getting married August 22nd. I am in charge of two things: the music for the wedding itself†† and the food‡‡ for the "bachelor party"§§ the night before.

I'm kinda hoping I get some ripe tomatoes from my garden before then.¶¶

*************

Speaking of gardening, did you know cucumbers don't put out big root systems? They have to be watered more frequently than, say, tomatoes or peppers because they won't go looking for the water, you have to take the water to them.##

This was a lesson hard-learned. I lost many baby cucumbers††† before I read that particular bit of cucumber wisdom.

*************

[SARAH! DON'T LOOK! AVERT YOUR EYES!]

Hammacher-Schlemmer apparently heard from my nephews about my spider preferences. They sent me an email about this today.




I'm assuming Batman is posing under the spider arbour rather than Spiderman because he's better colour-coordinated...?

*************

No. 4: Diagonal - Gareth Pugh & Emilie Coppermann (Part 4 in the series)@

Marin says: Dill! Seconds of dill, then off to a very close-to-the-skin, very warm woody scent that could be a spice or richer floral tempered by a delicate amber. I certainly like it, which is good since nobody else is likely to know it's there.

For the record, I put this on mid-afternoon and the next morning I still had a very steady amber/musk finish clinging to my wrists. This would be great for long meeting days when I don't necessarily want to be remembered for my perfume, but I may still need surreptitious sniff during water breaks to boost morale.

Six Scents says: "Contrast, ambiguity, duality. Gareth Pugh said about his style: "it's a struggle between lightness and darkness." this is what I tried to translate in this perfume. The contrast between different raw materials, masculine and feminine, rough and smooth, dark and light, fresh and sensual." - Emilie Coppermann, Perfumer

Ingredients: Dill,$ Black Pepper, Nutmeg, Palissander, Black Tea, Amyris, White Amber,$ Musk.$

Hans says: Well, now, that smells like some kind of food. Mushroom? Fried mushroom? Actually, it doesn't smell like mushroom at all, but I'm sticking with it.

*************

Speaking of Hans, he went to his college roommate's wedding this weekend. The photographer had a ring of lights thing set up, so the wedding guests took turns seeing who could take the best cheesy prom photo.



I believe Hans and Trav‡‡‡ win.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): If nothing else, it's the foundation for this whole pig-licking and I couldn't very well leave it out.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Annual. $50 a year for a chicken permit. You have to pay $50 every year for your chicken permit. By "you," I mean, "Mary Beth." I just love saying "chicken permit."

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Apparently, chicks can live without food through the first 72 hours after they hatch so they can be packed up in boxes and mailed.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): In the grand tradition of circus knitting, I am going to attempt to knit both sleeves at once on two circular needles, in situ. I see no reason it can't be done. Speaking of circus knitting, did you see some guy at Sock Summit was knitting seven pairs at once? Hmph. Been there, done that -- way ahead of you, big guy. I guess if SOME OF US had just gutted up and gone to Sock Summit, we could be famous for our Xtreme Knitting too.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): And intarsia in the round makes me feel like a superhero.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): This is not an immediate danger, just an example.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): The temptation to abuse this power is fierce. I could do two hours of very pointed songs. I won't, of course... the Electric Slide will almost undoubtedly feature, but I *could* propagandise.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): I'm thinking a couple of homemade pizzas, a big ol' salad, some finger food in case a poker game breaks out and a cherry pie made from cherries I picked myself. Hi! Remember me? Susie F. Homemaker?

§§FOOTNOTE (backhanded bachelor party): In quotes because, as Brother said, "You have to have some kind of activity, but clearly we won't be making the bachelor do shots of Jager until he barfs, and the standard substitutes (like paintball) probably won't work..." There will, of course, be no naked girls. Or boys. Or porn of any kind. So it's not so much a bachelor party as a "get Dad from underfoot so the evil stepsister doesn't kill him before the wedding" gig.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (round, ripe tomatoes on the vine): Not quite so much because I'm looking for quality ingredients as I'd like to show off.

##FOOTNOTE (cucumber trellis): Thank you, Dr. Science!

†††FOOTNOTE (stake the cucumbers!): Very sad -- they go dark brown and crispy.

@FOOTNOTE (atted): You should go check out Nathan's pictures of the packaging. Kinda freaky, in a skully-good sort of way.

$FOOTNOTE (on the money!): And if I weren't so lazy at the moment, I'd Google "palissander" to see if it might qualify as "woody."

‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (long and winding road): Trav is a friend of the groom's from out of town. Hans found him delightful.