Although I do feel as if somebody removed my head, squished it around a little and then stuck it back on wrongways, I'm doing pretty well after my surgery October 1. And, although I don't have a report from the pathologist yet, it appears that -- yet again -- we caught the melanoma early enough, before it decided to wander.
The interesting thing about having such surgery under local anaesthetic (aside from how it feels as the anaesthesia wears off mid-procedure) is that you get to experience just exactly how brutal it is. Not to imply that my doctor was unnecessarily rough. In fact, he's excellent and I'm very lucky to have him. No. It's just that, well... Here's what he did.
He scissored out a circle about 1 1/2 inches in diameter from the top center of my head. Initially, he didn't think there would be enough flesh left to close the wound, so we'd just let it heal, slowly. But during surgery he decided that he could do it. So next he elongated the wound by creating new incisions with a scalpel, one leading from the hole towards my forehead, the other to the back of my head.
Then -- and this is the fun part -- he used clamps or forceps or something to pull my remaining scalp away from my skull and stretch it for a few minutes. Seemed like an eternity. Then he skillfully pulled it all together with a series of subcutaneous and surface stitches. I can count nine cute blue stitches on the resulting 6-inch incision.
All the while, he was cauterzing blood vessels and carrying on amusing banter with me. Well, mostly laughing at me. Probably kindly. I told him I hadn't seen "Head Shrinker" on his business card, for instance. And asked if he were embroidering his initials into my scalp. He said he'd decided not to.
I'd probably be feeling far better by now if I had been able to stay in Anchorage for more than just the night. As it was, I had to check out of the hotel at 1 p.m., wait for a 6:30 p.m. flight back to Fairbanks, which lasted 45 minutes, and then endure a beyond-belief bumpy ride home which lasted another 45 minutes.
All in all, I do know how lucky I am. But pain makes the best of us ungrateful at times, and so does sleeping sitting up in a recliner.
Still, day by day, I'm a bit stronger, and Wednesday some of the stitches will come out, which should relieve a little of the pressure on my head. Which might make it pop. I'm not sure.
I'm having a much harder time coping with the fact that, also on Wednesday, G. will be having a very scary-looking mole removed from his forehead. It has all the classic signs of melanoma, unlike mine: Grew very quickly (less than four months). Bigger than the diameter of a pencil eraser. Multi-colored: dark brown and blue. Scaly. The only thing it missed is having an irregular border and being assymetrical.
So, my friends, please keep us in your thoughts. It seems like a twisted joke that he might now have to go through what I've just been through. And that I've been so self-absorbed I didn't notice what was in front of my own eyes -- right there on his forehead -- a lot earlier.
I'd been planning a long-deferred trip South for mid-October. I haven't seen some of my friends and family for seven years or more, and my 25th college reunion is here. (Aack.) Everything now hinges on what happens Wednesday.
Monday, October 08, 2007
Sunday, September 23, 2007
Seeing Stars
I just heard a statistic that breaks my heart: Because of light pollution, only one in five persons alive today has ever seen the Milky Way.
No wonder we seem to have lost our way. Our ancient connection with the night sky is broken. I can't imagine having never experienced the overarching awe of lying on my back in the grass and watching the stars wheel overhead, realizing just how small I really am in comparison to the inifinity of the stars -- and yet how special I am to witness such glory.
All of this brought to mind one of my mom's favorite poems. Enjoy.
The Old Astronomer to His Pupil
Sarah Williams
No wonder we seem to have lost our way. Our ancient connection with the night sky is broken. I can't imagine having never experienced the overarching awe of lying on my back in the grass and watching the stars wheel overhead, realizing just how small I really am in comparison to the inifinity of the stars -- and yet how special I am to witness such glory.
All of this brought to mind one of my mom's favorite poems. Enjoy.
The Old Astronomer to His Pupil
Reach me down my Tycho Brahe, I would know him when we meet,
When I share my later science, sitting humbly at his feet;
He may know the law of all things, yet be ignorant of how
We are working to completion, working on from then to now.
Pray remember that I leave you all my theory complete,
Lacking only certain data for your adding, as is meet,
And remember men will scorn it, 'tis original and true,
And the obloquy of newness may fall bitterly on you.
But, my pupil, as my pupil you have learned the worth of scorn,
You have laughed with me at pity, we have joyed to be forlorn,
What for us are all distractions of men's fellowship and smiles;
What for us the Goddess Pleasure with her meretricious smiles!
You may tell that German College that their honor comes too late,
But they must not waste repentance on the grizzly savant's fate.
Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light;
I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.
When I share my later science, sitting humbly at his feet;
He may know the law of all things, yet be ignorant of how
We are working to completion, working on from then to now.
Pray remember that I leave you all my theory complete,
Lacking only certain data for your adding, as is meet,
And remember men will scorn it, 'tis original and true,
And the obloquy of newness may fall bitterly on you.
But, my pupil, as my pupil you have learned the worth of scorn,
You have laughed with me at pity, we have joyed to be forlorn,
What for us are all distractions of men's fellowship and smiles;
What for us the Goddess Pleasure with her meretricious smiles!
You may tell that German College that their honor comes too late,
But they must not waste repentance on the grizzly savant's fate.
Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light;
I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.
Sarah Williams
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Life Lessons
Fourteen years ago, my life changed. A lot. And, I think, for the better.
That's the year I was first diagnosed as being bipolar. After that, I had a basal cell cancer removed from my left cheek, just under my eye. That was traumatic: I was surprised how weirded out I was that they were going to cut my face. But shortly after that, I found a melanoma on my left arm.
During the time when I thought I was dying faster than usual -- because, of course, we are all dying, all the time -- I decided I'd better reevaluate my life and what I was doing with it. By the time I found out the melanoma could be dealt with surgically, I had decided to leave my career and the city and to return to Sewanee, Tennessee, to help care for an elderly lady who was one of my dearest friends in the world.
I had come to the conclusion that never again would I work for the money, nor would I keep a job because I thought I had to do it. As soon as my work became miserable, I'd walk away.
I've done that, more than once.
And somehow I also ended up marrying a long-lost high school sweetheart and moving to the farthest ends of the earth: Alaska. We've had some ups and downs, some great happiness and some devastating disasters. Sometimes our marriage hangs by a thread; other times it is the cable that holds both our lives together.
Somewhere along the line I think I must have forgotton some of those lessons I thought I'd learned at the feet of Master Cancer. I can remember the joy I felt when I realized it didn't matter how long I had to live: It only mattered that I spend my time well and, as much as possible, happily. But I haven't felt that joy -- or serenity -- in a long time now.
So I guess it should be no surpise that I learned yesterday that I have melanoma again. So far all I know is that it's in a spot on top of my head. I'll fly back to Anchorage Monday to see the dermatologist again to discuss excision and treatment.
I was in shock when I got the call yesterday morning, and I also was surprised at how afraid I felt immediately afterwards. Oddly, I had fully expected to be told I had another aggressive basal cell cancer that would require Mohs surgery (as I had in March), but melanoma had never crossed my mind. And apparently the doc was as surprised as I was.
I've been sick with some horrible crud since August 3rd, unreasonably exhausted and have had a hard time working because of pain in my hands, so of course I immediately began wondering if all of this is related. But it does no good to speculate about that. Best to wait until there are some facts to go on, no?
I still alternate between cold fear and tears, but now I'm beginning to feel some of the pools of peace I remember from the first time around. It's amazing how simple life becomes when you realize that most of the things you obsess about are pointless wasters of time and energy, and that the really important things aren't that difficult to figure out.
Now, let's hope that I remember enough of my lessons from 14 years ago that it isn't too hard to cope with the new ones coming my way.
That's the year I was first diagnosed as being bipolar. After that, I had a basal cell cancer removed from my left cheek, just under my eye. That was traumatic: I was surprised how weirded out I was that they were going to cut my face. But shortly after that, I found a melanoma on my left arm.
During the time when I thought I was dying faster than usual -- because, of course, we are all dying, all the time -- I decided I'd better reevaluate my life and what I was doing with it. By the time I found out the melanoma could be dealt with surgically, I had decided to leave my career and the city and to return to Sewanee, Tennessee, to help care for an elderly lady who was one of my dearest friends in the world.
I had come to the conclusion that never again would I work for the money, nor would I keep a job because I thought I had to do it. As soon as my work became miserable, I'd walk away.
I've done that, more than once.
And somehow I also ended up marrying a long-lost high school sweetheart and moving to the farthest ends of the earth: Alaska. We've had some ups and downs, some great happiness and some devastating disasters. Sometimes our marriage hangs by a thread; other times it is the cable that holds both our lives together.
Somewhere along the line I think I must have forgotton some of those lessons I thought I'd learned at the feet of Master Cancer. I can remember the joy I felt when I realized it didn't matter how long I had to live: It only mattered that I spend my time well and, as much as possible, happily. But I haven't felt that joy -- or serenity -- in a long time now.
So I guess it should be no surpise that I learned yesterday that I have melanoma again. So far all I know is that it's in a spot on top of my head. I'll fly back to Anchorage Monday to see the dermatologist again to discuss excision and treatment.
I was in shock when I got the call yesterday morning, and I also was surprised at how afraid I felt immediately afterwards. Oddly, I had fully expected to be told I had another aggressive basal cell cancer that would require Mohs surgery (as I had in March), but melanoma had never crossed my mind. And apparently the doc was as surprised as I was.
I've been sick with some horrible crud since August 3rd, unreasonably exhausted and have had a hard time working because of pain in my hands, so of course I immediately began wondering if all of this is related. But it does no good to speculate about that. Best to wait until there are some facts to go on, no?
I still alternate between cold fear and tears, but now I'm beginning to feel some of the pools of peace I remember from the first time around. It's amazing how simple life becomes when you realize that most of the things you obsess about are pointless wasters of time and energy, and that the really important things aren't that difficult to figure out.
Now, let's hope that I remember enough of my lessons from 14 years ago that it isn't too hard to cope with the new ones coming my way.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Happy Birthday to me...
And in celebration of my birthday (which has been very nice, thank you), I make these wishes.
May the coming year bring all who read these words more happiness than you thought possible; a body and mind healthy enough to do all you desire; and a gracious plenty of the things you need and love.
My presents to you are these: Flowers.
And more flowers...
And finally, chickens!
Happy Day, everyone.
May the coming year bring all who read these words more happiness than you thought possible; a body and mind healthy enough to do all you desire; and a gracious plenty of the things you need and love.
My presents to you are these: Flowers.
And more flowers...
And finally, chickens!
Happy Day, everyone.
Monday, July 09, 2007
Lost days...
Has it been so long since I last wrote? The days just seem to pass me by.
I did do a photo record of one week (a photo a day) for Swap-Bot. This is my favorite of the bunch:
Okay, what's so special about that? Well, I've been trying to get a good photo of those petunias since I bought them, and I could never get the color and focus together in one picture until this one. So it's called "Petunias: Finally."
You can see the rest of my week here. And if you look at my whole album, I've posted a few others that didn't make the cut for the swap. Also, I've got some good chicken pictures coming up, but I don't want to post them just yet.
If you don't want to hear a litany of health woes, stop here and skip down a couple of paragraphs to the stuff about bears and moose.
I've been coping with a slight bout of depression, compounded by some health concerns. Last winter I had a severe Raynaud's episode that lasted several hours, caused the most extreme pain I've ever experienced (including gall bladder pain and broken bones) and left my hands and arms numb and weak for several days. I've never fully regained the strength in my hands. That and some other problems led my doctor to suspect lupus, but while the ANA tested high, there has been no definitive diagnosis.
Now I'm experiencing a lot of pain in the joints of both hands, especially my thumbs. I'm trying to get in to see a rheumatologist, but there's only one in Alaska -- in Anchorage -- and so far no luck getting an appointment.
Of course, since I make a living with my hands, this is terrifying.
The pain and weakness has hampered my work enough that I did finally decide to skip Girdwood this year. I just didn't think I could manage it alone. But I fully intend to go back next year. They've agreed to save "my spot" for me, and I'll hire somebody to go just for set-up and break-down if I have to.
I really was disappointed to miss seeing everyone. Girdwood is my one big opportunity to interact with customers every year (aside from the holiday bazaars, which are different), and it feeds my spirit to hear people express delight in my jewelry.
The other thing that I'm trying to come to grips with is that I'm going to have to have Mohs surgery on my face for another suspicious spot, this time below my left eye. I have a long history of skn cancers, both basal cell and melanoma, and this March I had a four-inch incision across my forehead at the hairline: Mohs surgery for a particularly aggressive basal cell cancer. The doctor (another Anchorage one, and again, the only one in Alaska who does this surgery) did an amazing job of it, so I don't look like Frankenstein. But I'm not looking forward to this whole process again.
Enough complaining.
A couple of interesting events:
A pair of grizzly bear cubs (3 to 4 years old) have been haunting the area. I woke one morning to the phone: my neighbor calling to tell us they were in his backyard wrecking things and to be careful. Our poultry might be a draw for them. We haven't seen them, but Millie has lost her mind a couple of times in an odd, restrained sort of way -- not the all-out pulling at her chain howling/barking for all she's worth that she usually does for a moose, but a weird muffled bark/howl.
These bears had a couple of siblings that have been shot in other neighborhoods this summer, and I think their mom was killed last year. The extensive wildfires the past couple of summers have destroyed a lot of their habitat. We've been told that the bears have become too aggressive and not to hesitate to shoot, but I hate that thought. (Besides the fact that I don't shoot anything anyway. But G. would if one of our lives were in danger... Only then, I hope.)
We've had bear on our property in the past, but they didn't hang around and we only knew after the fact. And I got scared pretty good a couple of years ago walking on the gravel banks of the Chena by myself; when I retraced my steps to go home, I discovered huge bear prints that had been following me for awhile. I couldn't stay there, so I just sang at the top of my lungs all the way back. Didn't see the bear, thank goodness. (My singing might be an effective bear deterrent, huh? It has worked with moose, but that's another story.)
So, I don't just breeze out to the chicken coop these days. For awhile I carried a walkie-talkie just in case, but now I'm just very cautious, especially when rounding corners.
The other cool thing is that I saw a medium-sized bull moose feeding in the Chena a few days ago. I'm used to seeing cows with calves and have tons of pictures of those, but I've never seen a bull standing still in all the 12 years we've been here. My only experience has been having them cross the road in front of my car: scary enough. So I was really excited about seeing this one bobbing for river greens and munching away. Unfortunately, I was so excited that my picture-taking skills went right out the window, so the only visual record I have is a bit like the Loch Ness monster photos: grainy and blurry. Oh, well.
Must go and accomplish something on this lovely day. I hope not to leave the blog so long again -- and to be much more cheery the next time.
I did do a photo record of one week (a photo a day) for Swap-Bot. This is my favorite of the bunch:
Okay, what's so special about that? Well, I've been trying to get a good photo of those petunias since I bought them, and I could never get the color and focus together in one picture until this one. So it's called "Petunias: Finally."
You can see the rest of my week here. And if you look at my whole album, I've posted a few others that didn't make the cut for the swap. Also, I've got some good chicken pictures coming up, but I don't want to post them just yet.
If you don't want to hear a litany of health woes, stop here and skip down a couple of paragraphs to the stuff about bears and moose.
I've been coping with a slight bout of depression, compounded by some health concerns. Last winter I had a severe Raynaud's episode that lasted several hours, caused the most extreme pain I've ever experienced (including gall bladder pain and broken bones) and left my hands and arms numb and weak for several days. I've never fully regained the strength in my hands. That and some other problems led my doctor to suspect lupus, but while the ANA tested high, there has been no definitive diagnosis.
Now I'm experiencing a lot of pain in the joints of both hands, especially my thumbs. I'm trying to get in to see a rheumatologist, but there's only one in Alaska -- in Anchorage -- and so far no luck getting an appointment.
Of course, since I make a living with my hands, this is terrifying.
The pain and weakness has hampered my work enough that I did finally decide to skip Girdwood this year. I just didn't think I could manage it alone. But I fully intend to go back next year. They've agreed to save "my spot" for me, and I'll hire somebody to go just for set-up and break-down if I have to.
I really was disappointed to miss seeing everyone. Girdwood is my one big opportunity to interact with customers every year (aside from the holiday bazaars, which are different), and it feeds my spirit to hear people express delight in my jewelry.
The other thing that I'm trying to come to grips with is that I'm going to have to have Mohs surgery on my face for another suspicious spot, this time below my left eye. I have a long history of skn cancers, both basal cell and melanoma, and this March I had a four-inch incision across my forehead at the hairline: Mohs surgery for a particularly aggressive basal cell cancer. The doctor (another Anchorage one, and again, the only one in Alaska who does this surgery) did an amazing job of it, so I don't look like Frankenstein. But I'm not looking forward to this whole process again.
Enough complaining.
A couple of interesting events:
A pair of grizzly bear cubs (3 to 4 years old) have been haunting the area. I woke one morning to the phone: my neighbor calling to tell us they were in his backyard wrecking things and to be careful. Our poultry might be a draw for them. We haven't seen them, but Millie has lost her mind a couple of times in an odd, restrained sort of way -- not the all-out pulling at her chain howling/barking for all she's worth that she usually does for a moose, but a weird muffled bark/howl.
These bears had a couple of siblings that have been shot in other neighborhoods this summer, and I think their mom was killed last year. The extensive wildfires the past couple of summers have destroyed a lot of their habitat. We've been told that the bears have become too aggressive and not to hesitate to shoot, but I hate that thought. (Besides the fact that I don't shoot anything anyway. But G. would if one of our lives were in danger... Only then, I hope.)
We've had bear on our property in the past, but they didn't hang around and we only knew after the fact. And I got scared pretty good a couple of years ago walking on the gravel banks of the Chena by myself; when I retraced my steps to go home, I discovered huge bear prints that had been following me for awhile. I couldn't stay there, so I just sang at the top of my lungs all the way back. Didn't see the bear, thank goodness. (My singing might be an effective bear deterrent, huh? It has worked with moose, but that's another story.)
So, I don't just breeze out to the chicken coop these days. For awhile I carried a walkie-talkie just in case, but now I'm just very cautious, especially when rounding corners.
The other cool thing is that I saw a medium-sized bull moose feeding in the Chena a few days ago. I'm used to seeing cows with calves and have tons of pictures of those, but I've never seen a bull standing still in all the 12 years we've been here. My only experience has been having them cross the road in front of my car: scary enough. So I was really excited about seeing this one bobbing for river greens and munching away. Unfortunately, I was so excited that my picture-taking skills went right out the window, so the only visual record I have is a bit like the Loch Ness monster photos: grainy and blurry. Oh, well.
Must go and accomplish something on this lovely day. I hope not to leave the blog so long again -- and to be much more cheery the next time.
Monday, June 25, 2007
To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket--safe, dark, motionless, airless -- it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable.
Feeling inexplicably sad and a bit bruised today. It will pass.
Am happy about one thing: Last night I cast on for one of the scarves from Victorian Lace Today. Love that book! And I got through the first three pattern repeats on the first border before quitting. I haven't been knitting at all, so it feels really good. Plus, I love this wool! It's the laceweight Swedish yarn from my Dye-No-Mite swap partner in lovely greens/burgundy. I'll post pix of the scarf in progress later, but for now, here's the yarn (and all the other goodies she sent).
In the meantime, I've started Round Two of the Textiles Postcard Swap on Swap-Bot. The system won't let me create a graphic for it, so for now this will have to do as the link. The first swap was great fun, although I admit to stressing myself silly about how to make my postcards. They turned out fine in the end. I heard a few others felt the same way, so the only new rule in Round 2 is No Stressing!
Here are the postcards I made.
They turned out stiff as a board: I used diluted white glue to adhere the fabric to the cardstock, then hand stitched through all of that. (Ouch! Couldn't find my thimble.) Then I pasted a spare blank postcard on the back for the address. I think that besides being heavy, they're probably almost "nuke certified," as G. would say. I know one of my cards has made it through the post; so far so good.
One of the best things about the swap is that I've learned a lot from the other participants about fabric PC construction. I'm not a sewing or quilting person, so I didn't know about Timtex and hadn't thought about using a foam core for the cards.
If you're interested in seeing some of the postcards, go to FlickR and do a search for "swapbot textiles postcards" or "swapbot fabric postcards," and then make sure you're set to view most recent first.
The thing weighing heaviest on my mind right now is whether or not to go to Girdwood for the Forest Fair. It's a gargantuan three-day outdoor music and art festival that draws crowds from all over Alaska, and I've had a booth there for the past three years. It's actually a lot of fun, and I'm guaranteed to make a lot of money: about a quarter of my entire yearly sales, to be exact.
But it is a daunting amount of work, especially for one person. Thinking about the 7-hour drive in an unreliable pick-up truck, and then having to unload everything and set up the EasyUp all by myself (again) is just... almost too much. I don't mind sleeping in a tent and using PortAPotties, or feeling grungy and bug-bitten for most of a week. And I love seeing customers face-to-face: Direct sales is the best, and this is one of the few opportunities I have for that anymore.
But I'm just so tired. G. says I felt the same way last year, and I probably did, but I don't think it was quite this dire. I haven't got a single piece of stock made for it, either, and if I go, I'll have to leave next Wednesday. Guess I've got to figure it out today, huh?
Anybody want to come help me set up and tear down?
C.S. Lewis
Feeling inexplicably sad and a bit bruised today. It will pass.
Am happy about one thing: Last night I cast on for one of the scarves from Victorian Lace Today. Love that book! And I got through the first three pattern repeats on the first border before quitting. I haven't been knitting at all, so it feels really good. Plus, I love this wool! It's the laceweight Swedish yarn from my Dye-No-Mite swap partner in lovely greens/burgundy. I'll post pix of the scarf in progress later, but for now, here's the yarn (and all the other goodies she sent).
In the meantime, I've started Round Two of the Textiles Postcard Swap on Swap-Bot. The system won't let me create a graphic for it, so for now this will have to do as the link. The first swap was great fun, although I admit to stressing myself silly about how to make my postcards. They turned out fine in the end. I heard a few others felt the same way, so the only new rule in Round 2 is No Stressing!
Here are the postcards I made.
They turned out stiff as a board: I used diluted white glue to adhere the fabric to the cardstock, then hand stitched through all of that. (Ouch! Couldn't find my thimble.) Then I pasted a spare blank postcard on the back for the address. I think that besides being heavy, they're probably almost "nuke certified," as G. would say. I know one of my cards has made it through the post; so far so good.
One of the best things about the swap is that I've learned a lot from the other participants about fabric PC construction. I'm not a sewing or quilting person, so I didn't know about Timtex and hadn't thought about using a foam core for the cards.
If you're interested in seeing some of the postcards, go to FlickR and do a search for "swapbot textiles postcards" or "swapbot fabric postcards," and then make sure you're set to view most recent first.
The thing weighing heaviest on my mind right now is whether or not to go to Girdwood for the Forest Fair. It's a gargantuan three-day outdoor music and art festival that draws crowds from all over Alaska, and I've had a booth there for the past three years. It's actually a lot of fun, and I'm guaranteed to make a lot of money: about a quarter of my entire yearly sales, to be exact.
But it is a daunting amount of work, especially for one person. Thinking about the 7-hour drive in an unreliable pick-up truck, and then having to unload everything and set up the EasyUp all by myself (again) is just... almost too much. I don't mind sleeping in a tent and using PortAPotties, or feeling grungy and bug-bitten for most of a week. And I love seeing customers face-to-face: Direct sales is the best, and this is one of the few opportunities I have for that anymore.
But I'm just so tired. G. says I felt the same way last year, and I probably did, but I don't think it was quite this dire. I haven't got a single piece of stock made for it, either, and if I go, I'll have to leave next Wednesday. Guess I've got to figure it out today, huh?
Anybody want to come help me set up and tear down?
Friday, June 22, 2007
Happy Summer Solstice
Both the Summer and Winter Solstices are important days for me in Alaska. Because it heralds the return of the sun, the Winter Solstice always brings pure joy. The Summer Solstice, though, is a bittersweet day, a reminder of how quickly summer goes.
We've still got 24 hours of daylight here, but before long we'll be losing six minutes of light each day. Add it up, and that's about three quarters of an hour each week. The change in light is dramatic if you pay attention -- probably more dramatic if you don't. I can imagine looking up one day to find that it's getting dark a couple hours earlier than I expected.
Except that I'm always paying attention to the light. It's one of my favorite things about living in Alaska.
The first five or six years we lived here, we spent every Summer Solstice in the canoe, me paddling from the bow and G. fly fishing from the stern -- backwards, but that's how we do it. I miss that tradition.
Last night we decided to take some sandwiches and folding chairs and sit down by the Chena River for part of the evening. The past few days have been almost unbearably hot: Up to 80F. (Don't laugh! I grew up where it stayed above 100 degrees for days on end, with horrible humidity, and I hated it. After years in Alaska, 70 is warm.)
The evening started under the shadow of a huge cloud. I love the way its shape seems to echo the treeline. I thought it would rain, but eventually the cloud just moved away, probably dropping its rain somewhere miles from us.
The light turned golden after that, as the sun slanted low.
I've noticed this summer we seem to have more songbirds than usual. I can remember summers when we would have heard no birdsong at all, but this year the robins have moved in with a vengeance. They were singing and scuffling all around us, and I heard other birds I can't identify, too. I can't think of too many things more pleasant than sitting by the river, watching the water flow by and listening to the birds singing their little heads off.
When we got home, I wandered around taking more photos. I particularly love the midnight blue velvet of these petunias.
Wild roses blanket most of Alaska in June with vivid pink and sweet fragrance. Rosehips feed the birds and animals, and they make a lovely syrup, too.
These groundhugging plants are called "dogwoods" by Alaskans. The flowers do resemble those on the trees in the South, but still, I'm tickled by the name. In the fall the bushes bear bright orange berries.
Like the wild roses, wild irises carpet the land for a brief spell in June. And like so much here, their beauty is brief but intense.
These were all taken between 10 p.m. and midnight, with no flash.
Happy Midsummer, all.
We've still got 24 hours of daylight here, but before long we'll be losing six minutes of light each day. Add it up, and that's about three quarters of an hour each week. The change in light is dramatic if you pay attention -- probably more dramatic if you don't. I can imagine looking up one day to find that it's getting dark a couple hours earlier than I expected.
Except that I'm always paying attention to the light. It's one of my favorite things about living in Alaska.
The first five or six years we lived here, we spent every Summer Solstice in the canoe, me paddling from the bow and G. fly fishing from the stern -- backwards, but that's how we do it. I miss that tradition.
Last night we decided to take some sandwiches and folding chairs and sit down by the Chena River for part of the evening. The past few days have been almost unbearably hot: Up to 80F. (Don't laugh! I grew up where it stayed above 100 degrees for days on end, with horrible humidity, and I hated it. After years in Alaska, 70 is warm.)
The evening started under the shadow of a huge cloud. I love the way its shape seems to echo the treeline. I thought it would rain, but eventually the cloud just moved away, probably dropping its rain somewhere miles from us.
The light turned golden after that, as the sun slanted low.
I've noticed this summer we seem to have more songbirds than usual. I can remember summers when we would have heard no birdsong at all, but this year the robins have moved in with a vengeance. They were singing and scuffling all around us, and I heard other birds I can't identify, too. I can't think of too many things more pleasant than sitting by the river, watching the water flow by and listening to the birds singing their little heads off.
When we got home, I wandered around taking more photos. I particularly love the midnight blue velvet of these petunias.
Wild roses blanket most of Alaska in June with vivid pink and sweet fragrance. Rosehips feed the birds and animals, and they make a lovely syrup, too.
These groundhugging plants are called "dogwoods" by Alaskans. The flowers do resemble those on the trees in the South, but still, I'm tickled by the name. In the fall the bushes bear bright orange berries.
Like the wild roses, wild irises carpet the land for a brief spell in June. And like so much here, their beauty is brief but intense.
These were all taken between 10 p.m. and midnight, with no flash.
Happy Midsummer, all.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
A Midnight Rainbow
I was working hard at my bench, hammering away, when I noticed a lovely rosy glow coming thru the window. On a whim I grabbed my camera and headed out the front door. The first thing I saw was this:
A rainbow at midnight!
I've lived in Alaska since 1994, and the perpetually changing light is one of my favorite things. I've been outside at midnight every summer solstice, and I'm a horrible night owl anyway, so I'm often outside in the middle of the night, summer or winter. But I've never seen a midnight rainbow before.
This one seemed to end at the bottom of my driveway. Makes me feel lucky. And look at that lovely red glow on the birches!
So then I looked around the corner of the house, towards the Northwest, and this is what I saw:
The sky is on fire! Yes, I've seen lots of midnight sunset/sunrises, but this is certainly one of the most dramatic. (If you look at the larger version of this pic, please try to ignore all the junk in the goose play area... That's their kiddie pool and bucket. Messy, messy gooses. But notice how much light there is? This is as dark as it got.)
I've been terribly remiss in sharing all of the delightful swap packages I've been receiving. Life is rather "interesting" at the moment (when isn't it?), and these goodies -- and the postcard and letter swaps, too -- are often the high point of my day. I've put swap photos in my Flickr albums, but I want to write a bit more about the love and craft that so overwhelms me when I open the packages. Soon, I promise.
But go and take a look at Ralph the Turtle, or my lovely Dye-No-Mite package, or the sweet maneki nekos, or the heart pin cushion. I can't help but grin when I see these things.
In the meantime, wherever you are, I hope the joy and energy of the Midnight Sun are contagious: May you catch them just by looking at the pictures!
A rainbow at midnight!
I've lived in Alaska since 1994, and the perpetually changing light is one of my favorite things. I've been outside at midnight every summer solstice, and I'm a horrible night owl anyway, so I'm often outside in the middle of the night, summer or winter. But I've never seen a midnight rainbow before.
This one seemed to end at the bottom of my driveway. Makes me feel lucky. And look at that lovely red glow on the birches!
So then I looked around the corner of the house, towards the Northwest, and this is what I saw:
The sky is on fire! Yes, I've seen lots of midnight sunset/sunrises, but this is certainly one of the most dramatic. (If you look at the larger version of this pic, please try to ignore all the junk in the goose play area... That's their kiddie pool and bucket. Messy, messy gooses. But notice how much light there is? This is as dark as it got.)
I've been terribly remiss in sharing all of the delightful swap packages I've been receiving. Life is rather "interesting" at the moment (when isn't it?), and these goodies -- and the postcard and letter swaps, too -- are often the high point of my day. I've put swap photos in my Flickr albums, but I want to write a bit more about the love and craft that so overwhelms me when I open the packages. Soon, I promise.
But go and take a look at Ralph the Turtle, or my lovely Dye-No-Mite package, or the sweet maneki nekos, or the heart pin cushion. I can't help but grin when I see these things.
In the meantime, wherever you are, I hope the joy and energy of the Midnight Sun are contagious: May you catch them just by looking at the pictures!
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Bat in Fairbanks...
but what kind? In past years, little brown bats have roosted in this birdhouse scorned by the chickadees (its intended inhabitants). Much to the delight of my friend, who is hosting the bat, this year's resident seems to be a different kind, but we're not sure yet. We think it's a silver-haired bat, which has only been reported in Southeast Alaska, not the Interior. Gonna get the bat experts on it soon.
Meanwhile, isn't s/he adorable? And you can't see it, but there's a perfectly good, very nice bat house, made to spec especially for bats, on the same tree. This bat can't live by our rules and would rather scrinch around in a birdhouse. That's good... We can see him almost face to face when we sit on the deck.
Aside from spiders, I think bats may be the most misunderstood creatures on earth... and like spiders, they're one of my favorites. I know they give a lot of people the shivery creeps, but that's mostly because of old myths (that they'll fly into your hair, for instance. Not gonna happen. They use echolocation to navigate, and they're perfectly aware of where your hair is and have no desire to get in it.).
Unfortunately, we know very little about bats, and deforestation and other environmental problems are wiping out whole populations. We're just beginning to understand the important role bats play not only in controlling insect populations, but also in pollination. (This could be critical with the huges losses of honeybees in North America.)
In Alaska, we don't even know whether bats over-winter in the frigid temperatures (as low as -68F in my own experience) or if they migrate, which would mean flying hundreds of miles and crossing vast, rocky, barren mountain ranges. I'm excited to be able to report a bat sighting to help the biologists here get a better picture of what's going on.
Oh: And I almost forgot! My friend made me a bat house last year, exactly to spec, and I hung it on the Southwest wall of the house, on the second floor, where it gets a lot of sun for warmth. Last summer, no joy: no bats. But this year... I think I might have a bat. Haven't seen it, but I think I see guano on the metal shelf under the house. There's no way a bird could get in there, so it would have to be a bat. (Crossing my fingers.) We have an overabundance of mosquitos, flies and yellow jackets, so a bat could dine very well here.
If you're interested in learning more about bats -- and seeing lots of cool pictures -- visit Bat Conservation International.
Friday, June 01, 2007
Swap a Goat (for charity)
I really wish I had thought to mention this swap here before today. (The swap button is on the right.) I hope any of my swapper friends who visit will check it out and sign up; the deadline is June 8.
Here's part of the swap description:
Did you know that a mother in Africa loses a child to Malaria every 30 seconds? A malaria net costs just £5 and can save the lives of a whole family of children.
This is a swap for swappers who are willing to give the cost of one swap (or a few crafting items) to help others. Here is how it works....
There are several charities who operate an alternative gift project....
They work by you giving an online donation in exchange for them sending a person you nominate a card explaining that you have bought them an alternative gift, such as a goat, a fruit tree, an emergency blanket or immunisations for a child. There is a very wide choice. Some charities actually buy the exact item. Others pool the gift money to buy bigger items or to enable them to respond to need. So say if you buy a goat and they have enough goats they might actually buy a sheep. Either way the money goes to someone in need.
The cost depends on what you choose but starts from about £5 so that is all this swap need cost.
Choose a charity you want to support.
Choose a gift you can afford. This is not a competition to show how much spare change you have though - the smallest gift is all that is required and will be a very generous thing to do for someone.
Nominate your swapbot partner to receive the gift.
The charities I have used before allow you to add a message or to personalise the card. If yours does not, wait a little while then send a swap-bot message, email or a postcard so that your partner knows who it was that chose their gift.
It would be wonderful if the swap-bot community could really unite on this one so that we can 'swap for good' as it were. So can I ask you, if you are willing to do this that you publicise this swap. Tell your partners in other swaps about it. If you are a hostess perhaps you could add a note on your swaps to come here. If you blog please mention it on your blog.
I plan on donating to Heifer International, one of my favorite charities. There are several others listed on the swap page, or you can choose your own.
Let's get together and do some good.
(Thanks to Helen Conway for hosting this cool swap.)
Here's part of the swap description:
Did you know that a mother in Africa loses a child to Malaria every 30 seconds? A malaria net costs just £5 and can save the lives of a whole family of children.
This is a swap for swappers who are willing to give the cost of one swap (or a few crafting items) to help others. Here is how it works....
There are several charities who operate an alternative gift project....
They work by you giving an online donation in exchange for them sending a person you nominate a card explaining that you have bought them an alternative gift, such as a goat, a fruit tree, an emergency blanket or immunisations for a child. There is a very wide choice. Some charities actually buy the exact item. Others pool the gift money to buy bigger items or to enable them to respond to need. So say if you buy a goat and they have enough goats they might actually buy a sheep. Either way the money goes to someone in need.
The cost depends on what you choose but starts from about £5 so that is all this swap need cost.
Choose a charity you want to support.
Choose a gift you can afford. This is not a competition to show how much spare change you have though - the smallest gift is all that is required and will be a very generous thing to do for someone.
Nominate your swapbot partner to receive the gift.
The charities I have used before allow you to add a message or to personalise the card. If yours does not, wait a little while then send a swap-bot message, email or a postcard so that your partner knows who it was that chose their gift.
It would be wonderful if the swap-bot community could really unite on this one so that we can 'swap for good' as it were. So can I ask you, if you are willing to do this that you publicise this swap. Tell your partners in other swaps about it. If you are a hostess perhaps you could add a note on your swaps to come here. If you blog please mention it on your blog.
I plan on donating to Heifer International, one of my favorite charities. There are several others listed on the swap page, or you can choose your own.
Let's get together and do some good.
(Thanks to Helen Conway for hosting this cool swap.)
Friday, May 25, 2007
Things that make me happy...
I've been sensing the breath of my faithful companion, the Black Dog of Depression, close behind me, so today I want to think about (and share) a few of the things that have made me happy recently.
First, a lovely surprise from Michelle, my partner in the Swap-Bot Felted Sweater Creations swap: These sweet handwarmers. They're soooo soft and warm, and of course the little birds are exactly perfect. When they arrived in the post, I put them on and didn't take them off all the rest of the day. These will be amazing when I'm having trouble with the Rayaud's.
Next, here are the moose mama and calf in the Chena River. Moose make me happy because they're so unlikely. I never could have imagined an animal that huge, and they're surprisingly graceful on those ungainly-looking legs. I love the strange horse-y, mule-y face, with the soft nose, and their color, which is so much more than brown, but which I cannot name.
Here's Leaf, doing his best imitation of Jabba the Hut. He looks disgusted, no? That's because he follows the sun around the room, and he'd worked himself into this position to get maximum belly exposure, but the light has moved on and he's almost too lazy to move again.
This is my hoya plant, which has just begun to bloom for the first time since I've had it. Actually, until last summer, it was just a stick in a pot of dirt. I'm not sure why it decided to grow leaves all of a sudden after five years (or why I kept it that long with no sign of life), but it did and I did. This pic is just before the buds popped open. I haven't gotten a good photo of the full bloom yet.
The twig was a gift from a former client, when I used to do respite care for elders. I know she told me she'd had the plant for at least 40 years, probably more, and I think that it had come from her grandmother. (That seems to happen a lot, which is why I guess they also call it "Grandma's wax plant." )
The pink and brown Sugar 'n Cream dishcloths are pure instant gratification. I never used to understand why anybody would knit a dishcloth -- until I did it myself. I don't particularly like knitting with cotton (too rough on the hands), but there's nothing better when you need to do something quick, if only for the satisfaction of actually binding something off not too long after casting on. (I made the finished one yesterday.)
Also, it's true that these things beat store-bought rags and sponges all to heck and back. I love how soft they are in the water... almost makes washing dishes pleasant. (This colorway is just like Neapolitan ice cream: Yummy. And like the ice cream, not something I'd ordinarily like, either, but I really really do.)
It's 4:30 a.m., again, so off to bed I go. Later today I have marigolds, petunias, gloriosa daisies and geraniums to plant. G and I visited the Plant Kingdom, and I behaved resonably well... Will have to go back again soon to snag the herbs and pothos and lantana and bamboo I pretended to ignore today.
First, a lovely surprise from Michelle, my partner in the Swap-Bot Felted Sweater Creations swap: These sweet handwarmers. They're soooo soft and warm, and of course the little birds are exactly perfect. When they arrived in the post, I put them on and didn't take them off all the rest of the day. These will be amazing when I'm having trouble with the Rayaud's.
Next, here are the moose mama and calf in the Chena River. Moose make me happy because they're so unlikely. I never could have imagined an animal that huge, and they're surprisingly graceful on those ungainly-looking legs. I love the strange horse-y, mule-y face, with the soft nose, and their color, which is so much more than brown, but which I cannot name.
Here's Leaf, doing his best imitation of Jabba the Hut. He looks disgusted, no? That's because he follows the sun around the room, and he'd worked himself into this position to get maximum belly exposure, but the light has moved on and he's almost too lazy to move again.
This is my hoya plant, which has just begun to bloom for the first time since I've had it. Actually, until last summer, it was just a stick in a pot of dirt. I'm not sure why it decided to grow leaves all of a sudden after five years (or why I kept it that long with no sign of life), but it did and I did. This pic is just before the buds popped open. I haven't gotten a good photo of the full bloom yet.The twig was a gift from a former client, when I used to do respite care for elders. I know she told me she'd had the plant for at least 40 years, probably more, and I think that it had come from her grandmother. (That seems to happen a lot, which is why I guess they also call it "Grandma's wax plant." )
Finally, a couple of knitting pix. The first is a pair of Peace Fleece socks I finished sometime in February (I think) for Afghans for Afghans. I took the photos and then forgot about them, so it was a joy to find them again... I think they may be my favorite knitted object ever: Not the fanciest, but certainly the most cheerful.
The pink and brown Sugar 'n Cream dishcloths are pure instant gratification. I never used to understand why anybody would knit a dishcloth -- until I did it myself. I don't particularly like knitting with cotton (too rough on the hands), but there's nothing better when you need to do something quick, if only for the satisfaction of actually binding something off not too long after casting on. (I made the finished one yesterday.)
Also, it's true that these things beat store-bought rags and sponges all to heck and back. I love how soft they are in the water... almost makes washing dishes pleasant. (This colorway is just like Neapolitan ice cream: Yummy. And like the ice cream, not something I'd ordinarily like, either, but I really really do.)
It's 4:30 a.m., again, so off to bed I go. Later today I have marigolds, petunias, gloriosa daisies and geraniums to plant. G and I visited the Plant Kingdom, and I behaved resonably well... Will have to go back again soon to snag the herbs and pothos and lantana and bamboo I pretended to ignore today.
Monday, May 21, 2007
A few of the promised photos...
I'm supposed to be at my bench, but I thought I'd play hookey long enough to post a few pix.
First, here are the socks and hat I just finished for Afghans for Afghans.
Next is the handbag I made out of a felted sweater for Swap-Bot. I'm a little embarrassed by the (lack of) quality of construction... My sewing machine hasn't been used in so long that it just refused to do anything for me. So that meant hand-stitching the lining and then stitching it to the bag... and I'm not very good at that. I mean, it will stay together, but it isn't exactly lovely. Also, I think my Gramma Dolamore would shudder at the embroidery. Obviously haven't done that in years, either.
Still, I think the colors are pretty and the overall effect is what I intended. Sure hope my partner likes it.
Here are four mandalas I drew for another swap. I used to do this a lot as a way to meditate and let my spirit play, but these are the first I've done in years. I forgot how much I enjoy just letting go and seeing what happens. In this case, the process really is more important than the product, but I do hope my partners like them.
And finally, here are the trumpeter swans. I didn't catch them forming the perfect heart with their necks, but close. Still wish I could have gotten them standing on their heads.
Okay, now back to the bench. I have more photos to share, especially of the moose and the Chena River. Maybe tomorrow.
First, here are the socks and hat I just finished for Afghans for Afghans.
Next is the handbag I made out of a felted sweater for Swap-Bot. I'm a little embarrassed by the (lack of) quality of construction... My sewing machine hasn't been used in so long that it just refused to do anything for me. So that meant hand-stitching the lining and then stitching it to the bag... and I'm not very good at that. I mean, it will stay together, but it isn't exactly lovely. Also, I think my Gramma Dolamore would shudder at the embroidery. Obviously haven't done that in years, either.
Still, I think the colors are pretty and the overall effect is what I intended. Sure hope my partner likes it.
Here are four mandalas I drew for another swap. I used to do this a lot as a way to meditate and let my spirit play, but these are the first I've done in years. I forgot how much I enjoy just letting go and seeing what happens. In this case, the process really is more important than the product, but I do hope my partners like them.
And finally, here are the trumpeter swans. I didn't catch them forming the perfect heart with their necks, but close. Still wish I could have gotten them standing on their heads.
Okay, now back to the bench. I have more photos to share, especially of the moose and the Chena River. Maybe tomorrow.
Sunday, May 20, 2007
Busy, busy, busy... and a migraine.
Had forgotten all about the May 25 deadline for the Afghans for Afghans Mother's Day campaign, so Friday and yesterday I spent knitting a couple of quickies... a little baby hat and a kid's pair of socks. I used the Peace Fleece in Baghdad Blue (probably my favorite), plus some hand-dyed stuff from my ISE-3 scarf pal and a bit of the Peace Fleece Shaba green.
They're drying now; I'll take pictures and (I hope) post them tomorrow. Keeping fingers crossed that sending them Priority Mail on Monday will get them to San Francisco in time. Even if not, they'll go in the next shipment.
There's something so satisfying about knitting with Peace Fleece. It's just good, plain wool, and you know that whatever you knit with it will be warm and comforting. That's what I want when I knit for A4A. It pleases me no end to know that some little kid will be just a little but warmer in my socks or hat. It's not ending the war, but it is sending love out into the world, and sometimes that's the best we can do.
I trudge along on dial-up, but if you have a faster connection, you might want to check out this newscast about A4A. I spent several hours downloading it and watching it little bit by little bit, and seeing the kids' joy over socks (and listening to the volunteers in the warehouse, too) inspired me again.
I spent most of today in bed with a migraine. They seem to be coming more frequently and to be more debilitating, so I've decided to give in and ask for the meds. I hate taking any more chemicals than I absolutely have to, but I can't continue to spend two to three days a month in bed, dead to the world (or just wishing I were dead).
The jewelry orders have begun to flood in: utterly predictable, as tourist season officially opened May 15, and so much of my stuff sells in galleries visited by tourists. Predictable, but have I prepared? Well, no. I have started a new design series, though, that I'm calling "Forest Floor." I'm roll printing leaves onto sheet silver and copper for cuffs and earrings. I haven't perfected the process yet, so everything is still a happy (or not-so-happy) accident. But even that is good, as I've found myself thinking of new ways to use the "mistakes." I'm trying to find new processes that are a bit easier on my wrists, tho I'll always love hammering.
G. and I drove out Chena Hot Springs Road yesterday and saw a pair of trumpeter swans with their two babes, plus a gazillion moose. Well, five moose. But all within a couple of miles of each other. Of course, just like tourists, we had to go back and take pictures. In one case, the mama moose obviously got huffy about the papparazzi interrupting their idyllic feed in the river. She raised her hackles and snorted to "junior," and they trotted off... but not before I got the pix.
I haven't uploaded the photos to my computer yet, but once again hope to post a few in the next couple of days. I really hope the swans came out okay; they were quite a distance away. When I first saw them, both adults were standing on their heads in the water. It tickled me, but as soon as we stopped the truck to snap pix, they bobbed upright and floated around making the heart-shaped neck curves.
Of course, I picked up several pocketsfull of rocks, too. Can't ever have enough rocks.
Took the clippers out to work on the Siberian pea late today, and got my first mosquito bites of the season. It's scary dry here, so there aren't that many skeeters (yet). I noticed that even the moss on the swampy parts of the property has dried out, which I don't think I've seen happen before. This is also the first year that I haven't sunk ankle deep in muck going out to the chicken pens. Break-up came and went so quickly, and there was so little snowfall, that there just wasn't any standing water or mud at all. Trying not to be panicky, but the thought of fire in all this black spruce scares hell out of me.
I still haven't finished my felted sweater purse for my Swap-Bot pal. Deadline for mailing is Monday, so guess I'll be working on it when I get up later today. As usual, haven't yet been to bed yet. I mean, haven't been to bed again. I did spend the day there, didn't I?
They're drying now; I'll take pictures and (I hope) post them tomorrow. Keeping fingers crossed that sending them Priority Mail on Monday will get them to San Francisco in time. Even if not, they'll go in the next shipment.
There's something so satisfying about knitting with Peace Fleece. It's just good, plain wool, and you know that whatever you knit with it will be warm and comforting. That's what I want when I knit for A4A. It pleases me no end to know that some little kid will be just a little but warmer in my socks or hat. It's not ending the war, but it is sending love out into the world, and sometimes that's the best we can do.
I trudge along on dial-up, but if you have a faster connection, you might want to check out this newscast about A4A. I spent several hours downloading it and watching it little bit by little bit, and seeing the kids' joy over socks (and listening to the volunteers in the warehouse, too) inspired me again.
I spent most of today in bed with a migraine. They seem to be coming more frequently and to be more debilitating, so I've decided to give in and ask for the meds. I hate taking any more chemicals than I absolutely have to, but I can't continue to spend two to three days a month in bed, dead to the world (or just wishing I were dead).
The jewelry orders have begun to flood in: utterly predictable, as tourist season officially opened May 15, and so much of my stuff sells in galleries visited by tourists. Predictable, but have I prepared? Well, no. I have started a new design series, though, that I'm calling "Forest Floor." I'm roll printing leaves onto sheet silver and copper for cuffs and earrings. I haven't perfected the process yet, so everything is still a happy (or not-so-happy) accident. But even that is good, as I've found myself thinking of new ways to use the "mistakes." I'm trying to find new processes that are a bit easier on my wrists, tho I'll always love hammering.
G. and I drove out Chena Hot Springs Road yesterday and saw a pair of trumpeter swans with their two babes, plus a gazillion moose. Well, five moose. But all within a couple of miles of each other. Of course, just like tourists, we had to go back and take pictures. In one case, the mama moose obviously got huffy about the papparazzi interrupting their idyllic feed in the river. She raised her hackles and snorted to "junior," and they trotted off... but not before I got the pix.
I haven't uploaded the photos to my computer yet, but once again hope to post a few in the next couple of days. I really hope the swans came out okay; they were quite a distance away. When I first saw them, both adults were standing on their heads in the water. It tickled me, but as soon as we stopped the truck to snap pix, they bobbed upright and floated around making the heart-shaped neck curves.
Of course, I picked up several pocketsfull of rocks, too. Can't ever have enough rocks.
Took the clippers out to work on the Siberian pea late today, and got my first mosquito bites of the season. It's scary dry here, so there aren't that many skeeters (yet). I noticed that even the moss on the swampy parts of the property has dried out, which I don't think I've seen happen before. This is also the first year that I haven't sunk ankle deep in muck going out to the chicken pens. Break-up came and went so quickly, and there was so little snowfall, that there just wasn't any standing water or mud at all. Trying not to be panicky, but the thought of fire in all this black spruce scares hell out of me.
I still haven't finished my felted sweater purse for my Swap-Bot pal. Deadline for mailing is Monday, so guess I'll be working on it when I get up later today. As usual, haven't yet been to bed yet. I mean, haven't been to bed again. I did spend the day there, didn't I?
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Snowing. Hard.
I'm a night owl, and with nights shorter and shorter here anyway at the moment, I'm really finding it hard to go to bed... or stay there.
But I wish I had last night. Because the sun is coming up, and it is snowing. Not just a little dusting, either. It's coming down hard, and there's already an inch on the deck railing.
Now, I love snow. Love love love it.
But. It has been spring here for weeks. Early, yes. But temps in the 60s for awhile, then in the 50s. The leaves appeared on the trees last week as they always do: All of a sudden. Drive to town in the morning, all is grey and brown and bare. Drive back home in the late afternoon, and everything is tinged green with new buds.
I'm sure the day will bring a bit of warmth that will turn this back into the dreary rain that has been so depressing all weekend. (Again, don't get me wrong. We need the water. I just would rather it rain during the week, and maybe take a break every few hours. But that's a bit demanding, isn't it?)
Anyway, the redpolls are attacking the feeders as if there's no tomorrow, and the juncoes have come back. (Lovely little grey things.)
I'm going to bed. I think. In awhile.
Today I found some ancient air-dry modeling clay, a terracotta color. After much adding of water and smearing of mud, I got it into workable form and made a snapping turtle. I'm in a swap for hand-made turtles. I don't know if I'll send this one or not: He's pretty rough. But the more I look at him, the more real he gets.
No turtles in Alaska. I miss them. And they, in turn, make me miss my mom. She died of a stroke when I was 19 and she was 41. I'm almost five years older than she ever got to be.
We used to love to go "riding around" when I was growing up in Georgia. That meant driving aimlessly on the back roads and dirt roads, looking at whatever there was to see. Whenever we came across a turtle sunning itself in the middle of the road, Mama would slam on the brakes, come to a screeching halt in the middle of the road, and get all excited. "DeeDee, get out and get that turtle!"
So I'd get out, pick up the poor turtle, and put it in the back floorboard of the car. Mama was convinced that all turtles lived near water, so we might drive for a couple of miles to find a creek or pond. How many dozens of turtles were forevermore confused and disoriented after these "rescues," I wonder?
The thing is, she was rescuing them... from certain death, smashed flat on the pavement by mean people or people driving too fast to see them.
These were snapping turtles, usually, and the old folks always said if one ever bit you, it would chomp down and hold on until it thundered. Needless to say, the turtles made me a little nervous. And I remember more than once having one crawl under the front seat and up near my legs. Eek! Another slamming on of brakes, and this time all the doors flying open and all three of us (Mama, Karen and me) tumbling out of the car. Somehow, it was always my job to get the turtle.
I sure miss my mom. I'm surprised every single year when Mother's Day comes and it hurts. It has been 26 years, and I still feel orphaned. Having no children of my own (something I usually know is a good thing) makes it harder.
But, it's good to remember and laugh.
And the sky is now a rosy pink, and the snow really is pretty.
But I'm going to bed.
But I wish I had last night. Because the sun is coming up, and it is snowing. Not just a little dusting, either. It's coming down hard, and there's already an inch on the deck railing.
Now, I love snow. Love love love it.
But. It has been spring here for weeks. Early, yes. But temps in the 60s for awhile, then in the 50s. The leaves appeared on the trees last week as they always do: All of a sudden. Drive to town in the morning, all is grey and brown and bare. Drive back home in the late afternoon, and everything is tinged green with new buds.
I'm sure the day will bring a bit of warmth that will turn this back into the dreary rain that has been so depressing all weekend. (Again, don't get me wrong. We need the water. I just would rather it rain during the week, and maybe take a break every few hours. But that's a bit demanding, isn't it?)
Anyway, the redpolls are attacking the feeders as if there's no tomorrow, and the juncoes have come back. (Lovely little grey things.)
I'm going to bed. I think. In awhile.
Today I found some ancient air-dry modeling clay, a terracotta color. After much adding of water and smearing of mud, I got it into workable form and made a snapping turtle. I'm in a swap for hand-made turtles. I don't know if I'll send this one or not: He's pretty rough. But the more I look at him, the more real he gets.
No turtles in Alaska. I miss them. And they, in turn, make me miss my mom. She died of a stroke when I was 19 and she was 41. I'm almost five years older than she ever got to be.
We used to love to go "riding around" when I was growing up in Georgia. That meant driving aimlessly on the back roads and dirt roads, looking at whatever there was to see. Whenever we came across a turtle sunning itself in the middle of the road, Mama would slam on the brakes, come to a screeching halt in the middle of the road, and get all excited. "DeeDee, get out and get that turtle!"
So I'd get out, pick up the poor turtle, and put it in the back floorboard of the car. Mama was convinced that all turtles lived near water, so we might drive for a couple of miles to find a creek or pond. How many dozens of turtles were forevermore confused and disoriented after these "rescues," I wonder?
The thing is, she was rescuing them... from certain death, smashed flat on the pavement by mean people or people driving too fast to see them.
These were snapping turtles, usually, and the old folks always said if one ever bit you, it would chomp down and hold on until it thundered. Needless to say, the turtles made me a little nervous. And I remember more than once having one crawl under the front seat and up near my legs. Eek! Another slamming on of brakes, and this time all the doors flying open and all three of us (Mama, Karen and me) tumbling out of the car. Somehow, it was always my job to get the turtle.
I sure miss my mom. I'm surprised every single year when Mother's Day comes and it hurts. It has been 26 years, and I still feel orphaned. Having no children of my own (something I usually know is a good thing) makes it harder.
But, it's good to remember and laugh.
And the sky is now a rosy pink, and the snow really is pretty.
But I'm going to bed.
Friday, May 11, 2007
Hosting another swap...
I said I'd restrain myself, but nope. I set up another swap last night. In my defense, it's just a postcard swap. I've found that getting postcards is just too much fun. This one combines my love of posties with my love of fabrics... I'm asking folks to buy or create postcards that depict fabric, either the fabric itself or fabric being made, as on a loom. Not a terribly popular idea so far... Only three have signed up. But it did get bumped off the recent swaps list pretty quickly, so maybe that's it.
Anyway, please join me: Textiles Postcard Swap. Sign-ups end June 1 and postcards should be sent by June 15.
I finally cut the felted sweater for the purse, but I haven't begun to stitch it together yet. I found some cute 60s-ish fabric for the liner, plus some fuschia canvas strapping (for the strap... duh). And I have plans to applique some felt flowers and perhaps do some embroidery on it, too. I may be exceeding my sewing talents, though, since I have no idea where my sewing machine is at the moment. That should tell you how often I use it.
I wish I had thought to take pictures of the sweater before I felted it and before I cut it, but I guess pix of the finished product will have to do. I'm determined to devote this weekend to getting it done.
Speaking of photos... Here are the Tibetan prayer flags that make me so happy every time I look out my window.
Anyway, please join me: Textiles Postcard Swap. Sign-ups end June 1 and postcards should be sent by June 15.
I finally cut the felted sweater for the purse, but I haven't begun to stitch it together yet. I found some cute 60s-ish fabric for the liner, plus some fuschia canvas strapping (for the strap... duh). And I have plans to applique some felt flowers and perhaps do some embroidery on it, too. I may be exceeding my sewing talents, though, since I have no idea where my sewing machine is at the moment. That should tell you how often I use it.
I wish I had thought to take pictures of the sweater before I felted it and before I cut it, but I guess pix of the finished product will have to do. I'm determined to devote this weekend to getting it done.
Speaking of photos... Here are the Tibetan prayer flags that make me so happy every time I look out my window.
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
Mother-Daughter Handbags
I almost don't want to mail these, but Karen's birthday was May 3 and they're already late. I finished her felted handbag and then realized I had enough yarn left over to do a "daughter" version for my little neice, Ivy. Guess they can do double duty for Mother's Day.
I'm surprised by how much I'm coveting these, mostly for the colors, I think. They were really quick to knit, so I'll probably get more yarn to make myself a really huge messenger-style bag.
Yarn: Lion Wool in Rose, Patons Classic Merino in Leaf Green and Moda Dea Cache in Smartie
Knit on size 10.5 aluminum circular needles
Each bag took about three hours to knit and felted very nicely in my front-load washer.
I finished knitting the Folds of Function bag from Folk Bags many days ago, but as usual can't get myself to do the sewing up and finishing. Must do it, tho, because I've already told my friend I've had something red growing on the needles that belongs to her.
I'm working on a felted sweater bag for a swap partner. The sweater was a wonderful vintage 1960s handknit in white wool with windowpane checks in aqua embellished with a leafy green. I didn't feel too badly about fulling it, because it had already been washed by accident (I'd guess) sometime before it hit the thrift store. I just need to get the strap and some embroidery floss for blanket stitching around the bottom, but I keep forgetting to take it into town with me so I can match the colors. I'm thinking of knitting a couple of flowers to felt for decoration, too. Hope my partner loves it, because once again, I'm coveting this material! And the sweater reminded me of my mom, for some reason.
I'm surprised by how much I'm coveting these, mostly for the colors, I think. They were really quick to knit, so I'll probably get more yarn to make myself a really huge messenger-style bag.
Yarn: Lion Wool in Rose, Patons Classic Merino in Leaf Green and Moda Dea Cache in Smartie
Knit on size 10.5 aluminum circular needles
Each bag took about three hours to knit and felted very nicely in my front-load washer.
I finished knitting the Folds of Function bag from Folk Bags many days ago, but as usual can't get myself to do the sewing up and finishing. Must do it, tho, because I've already told my friend I've had something red growing on the needles that belongs to her.
I'm working on a felted sweater bag for a swap partner. The sweater was a wonderful vintage 1960s handknit in white wool with windowpane checks in aqua embellished with a leafy green. I didn't feel too badly about fulling it, because it had already been washed by accident (I'd guess) sometime before it hit the thrift store. I just need to get the strap and some embroidery floss for blanket stitching around the bottom, but I keep forgetting to take it into town with me so I can match the colors. I'm thinking of knitting a couple of flowers to felt for decoration, too. Hope my partner loves it, because once again, I'm coveting this material! And the sweater reminded me of my mom, for some reason.
I overdyed one of my G's Microsoft shirts (laundry accident had left it with rust-colored stains) with plain old Rit dye in Teal. I did it on the stovetop, and while at it threw in an older knit cotton dishcloth. I was surprised at how pretty the color turned out, so tossed in a ball of ancient wool from my old weaving stash... It had been dyed a strange off-green, a mistake, I think. Anyway, I didn't follow any of the rules. Didn't wet the yarn first. Didn't unwind the ball; just let it sink slowly and left it until the bubbles stopped. Put it in after the water had cooled a good bit; then stuck it in the microwave to set the dye. After all of this, it turned out to be the prettiest robin's egg blue, a bit heathery. One end is more saturated than the other -- strangely, the inside of the ball is the saturated bit. But I really like it and am glad I "just did it."
I've got to get focused on dyeing some good yarn for the Dye-No-Mite swap. I've got some beautiful hand-dyed stuff on order as a failsafe, but I want to do something special for her.
For now, though, back to the bench and the hammers.
Thursday, May 03, 2007
Love at a Distance
The beginning of love is to let those we love be perfectly themselves, and not to twist them to fit our own image. Otherwise, we love only the reflection of ourselves we find in them.
Oh, if only I could do this! I do believe in Jung's principle of mirroring: We are attracted to people who exhibit qualities we wish we had, and we dislike people for attitudes and behaviors they share with our shadow selves.
So is it even possible to love someone without having one's self all mixed up in it? Although I believe we're all a part of the same "being" or "soul" or even "deity" anyway, I do think that we can work on loving the whole of a person. This seems easier for me to do if I'm not with the person everyday, tho. I can smile at my dear ones' foibles if I don't have to witness them day after day.
Although I wasn't thinking of her when I wrote the above, today is my little sister's birthday. We had a difficult relationship growing up, but distance and email have made it so much easier to love each other. I've knit her a beautiful felted handbag... just have to decide on the handle or straps, and then I can mail it out. Late, as always. But that's one of my own foibles, probably harder for others to smile about.
This would be a good day to get out the camera and take pictures of some finished objects. Maybe later.
Must go out and feed and water the chickens and let the geese out of their pen. It's a gorgeous day: 60 degrees, clear sky, breezy (which should keep the mosquitos at bay; yes, they're already hatching). I have much to do at my bench, and much that I want to do, but today is one of those days I'd just like to run away and sit by myself outside somewhere. Perhaps I can do that for half an hour?
Thomas Merton
Oh, if only I could do this! I do believe in Jung's principle of mirroring: We are attracted to people who exhibit qualities we wish we had, and we dislike people for attitudes and behaviors they share with our shadow selves.
So is it even possible to love someone without having one's self all mixed up in it? Although I believe we're all a part of the same "being" or "soul" or even "deity" anyway, I do think that we can work on loving the whole of a person. This seems easier for me to do if I'm not with the person everyday, tho. I can smile at my dear ones' foibles if I don't have to witness them day after day.
Although I wasn't thinking of her when I wrote the above, today is my little sister's birthday. We had a difficult relationship growing up, but distance and email have made it so much easier to love each other. I've knit her a beautiful felted handbag... just have to decide on the handle or straps, and then I can mail it out. Late, as always. But that's one of my own foibles, probably harder for others to smile about.
This would be a good day to get out the camera and take pictures of some finished objects. Maybe later.
Must go out and feed and water the chickens and let the geese out of their pen. It's a gorgeous day: 60 degrees, clear sky, breezy (which should keep the mosquitos at bay; yes, they're already hatching). I have much to do at my bench, and much that I want to do, but today is one of those days I'd just like to run away and sit by myself outside somewhere. Perhaps I can do that for half an hour?
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
Swap Rocks!
All my life, I have picked up rocks and stones and pebbles wherever I went. I'm sure there are still sacks of them hidden in closets in my childhood home.
Even now, I have small piles of them here and there... some by my computer, some around my tabletop fountain, a few scattered amongst my plants. Often, I forget where I found them. But sometimes they retain part of the character of the place or an echo of the feelings of the day. Those are the special ones, the ones that end up on or near my little shrine.
Anytime anyone I know plans to travel, I always ask for a rock instead of a touristy doodad. I've gotten some amazing rocks this way.
I've just started my first Swap-Bot swap. As if I have time to do anything else... I'm a bit overcommited, but apparently addicted.
I really hope most folks don't read it and think I'm "dumb as a rock." :o
It would be great to get a few dedicated people who understand the spirit of rocks. We'll see. If you want to join, the link is to the right.
[Triumph! I actually got a functioning button there! Still can't get the others to work, but now there's hope.]
Even now, I have small piles of them here and there... some by my computer, some around my tabletop fountain, a few scattered amongst my plants. Often, I forget where I found them. But sometimes they retain part of the character of the place or an echo of the feelings of the day. Those are the special ones, the ones that end up on or near my little shrine.
Anytime anyone I know plans to travel, I always ask for a rock instead of a touristy doodad. I've gotten some amazing rocks this way.
I've just started my first Swap-Bot swap. As if I have time to do anything else... I'm a bit overcommited, but apparently addicted.
I really hope most folks don't read it and think I'm "dumb as a rock." :o
It would be great to get a few dedicated people who understand the spirit of rocks. We'll see. If you want to join, the link is to the right.
[Triumph! I actually got a functioning button there! Still can't get the others to work, but now there's hope.]
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Aack!
How the heck do you get buttons in the sidebar? I thought I had a basic understanding of HTML, but the new format is confusing me.
But so far, I haven't succeeded in adding their button. I'm still working at it. If you see it, give a little cheer for my cussedness, okay?
I did fiind this great site:
But so far, I haven't succeeded in adding their button. I'm still working at it. If you see it, give a little cheer for my cussedness, okay?Tuesday, April 24, 2007
A life of ease
When we long for life without difficulties, remind us that oaks grow strong in contrary winds and diamonds are made under pressure.
I know that trial by fire has made me stronger, that I work best under pressure, that I'm often most hopeful when I've just been through what seems like the worst experience possible.
It's hard to remember all of this in the midst of the current emergency or stress or conflict.
And then, there's serendipity, which led me to this quotation today.
Peter Marshall
I know that trial by fire has made me stronger, that I work best under pressure, that I'm often most hopeful when I've just been through what seems like the worst experience possible.
It's hard to remember all of this in the midst of the current emergency or stress or conflict.
And then, there's serendipity, which led me to this quotation today.
Monday, April 23, 2007
Tibetan Prayer Flags
Yesterday was Earth Day. With this early Spring weather, I decided we should celebrate by cleaning all the old bird poop and spilled sunflower seeds off the deck and scrub out the birdbath. Amazing how much gunk accumlates over the winter when you keep two tube feeders, two platform feeders and a suet feeder full at all times.
The chickadees and redpolls ignored us completely, as usual. They're so used to us that they'll land within a few inches of our hands, whether we're still or not. With their black masks, the chickadees always remind me of little bandits. They swoop in, assess the situation, steal one seed and skeedaddle, usually to the bushes nearby, to eat the seed. Then back again, over and over, taking one seed at a time.
The redpolls, on the other hand, are little gluttons. They'll sit on the tube feeders and gorge themselves for what seems like hours. I think I remember reading that they have cheek pouches for extra storage. They always look like they're spoiling for a fight: The ones glued to the feeder fend off all comers with a fierce open beak, and with the crimson red spots on their heads, it's easy to imagine them in air-to-air combat.
After we washed everything down, we put up several Tibetan prayer flags. The bright yellows, blues, whites, reds and greens have made me happy all day while I've worked at my bench. The wind has been high, and I especially love the thought that our prayers for world peace are flowing out as the flags dance in the air.
My first big wholesale order of the season (for Magic Carpet) is due Wednesday, so I've got to get back to hammering and soldering. No knitting today.
The chickadees and redpolls ignored us completely, as usual. They're so used to us that they'll land within a few inches of our hands, whether we're still or not. With their black masks, the chickadees always remind me of little bandits. They swoop in, assess the situation, steal one seed and skeedaddle, usually to the bushes nearby, to eat the seed. Then back again, over and over, taking one seed at a time.
The redpolls, on the other hand, are little gluttons. They'll sit on the tube feeders and gorge themselves for what seems like hours. I think I remember reading that they have cheek pouches for extra storage. They always look like they're spoiling for a fight: The ones glued to the feeder fend off all comers with a fierce open beak, and with the crimson red spots on their heads, it's easy to imagine them in air-to-air combat.
After we washed everything down, we put up several Tibetan prayer flags. The bright yellows, blues, whites, reds and greens have made me happy all day while I've worked at my bench. The wind has been high, and I especially love the thought that our prayers for world peace are flowing out as the flags dance in the air.
My first big wholesale order of the season (for Magic Carpet) is due Wednesday, so I've got to get back to hammering and soldering. No knitting today.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
The seasons change...
Okay, so this blog was supposed to have been created back in September 2006 when I was in International Scarf Exchange 3. I had the photo -- the last of my petunias covered in snow -- but I just couldn't commit to a layout or even to a first post. So it sat, unwritten, unseen, unloved.
And the seasons changed... The early snowfall gave way to true winter, and now all is mud, a typical Alaska spring.
I'm in so many swaps, I'm meeting so many people on-line, and it just doesn't seem right not to have a place to "talk" to you all (and to myself, although I do that all the time anyway).
So, here it is. FrostBlossoms. Gotta work on the layout, find that photo again, figure out how to put lists of stuff on the sidebars, but at least there's one post. And heck, I might even make the thing public in a day or two.
And the seasons changed... The early snowfall gave way to true winter, and now all is mud, a typical Alaska spring.
I'm in so many swaps, I'm meeting so many people on-line, and it just doesn't seem right not to have a place to "talk" to you all (and to myself, although I do that all the time anyway).
So, here it is. FrostBlossoms. Gotta work on the layout, find that photo again, figure out how to put lists of stuff on the sidebars, but at least there's one post. And heck, I might even make the thing public in a day or two.
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