Oo-oo That smell, Can't you smell that smell?*

Gorgeous, right? I impatiently wait all winter for the all too brief time these lovely trees in front of my typical suburban home to bloom. I gleefully drive about admiring these Bradford pear trees, and marvel at the larger specimens knowing that one day mine will be tall and glorious. I take delight in the field that is next to the community ballpark, where these grow wild by the hundreds, although many are just wee little trees.

I also love the view from my deck. Our neighbor to the back whose property abuts three yards, mine being in the middle, 12 years ago selflessly planted 13 of these beauties.

In spite of my allergies, I love this time of year. Except, Jay-Z on a cracker, those trees stink! Oh, good Lard! When I open the windows to blow out the stink, as my mother used to say, a worse stink comes in with every breeze! There's just no getting away from the rotten stench permeating the air.

As much as I love these trees, I wish they would hurry up already and show some leaves already.

*Lynard Skynard

 

My Morning View

The lovely fellow on the right is a 5 month old, 50+ pound, Golden Lab puppy, service dog in training, who thinks he is a lap dog.

Once he completes his training, he will be partnered with a child with either autism or epilepsy. He is destined for great things. I just have to keep reminding myself of that when I have to stop him from falling into the pool to retrieve a ball, or when I see him trotting about the yard with a log from the wood pile in his mouth, or when he is chewing on the chair in the restaurant, or....

The other guy? He just gets cranky with the whippersnapper.

This Never Gets Old

Have you ever had one of those moments when you accomplish or finish something that you are so proud of, that it makes you want to run out in the street and stop every person and point out to them that, yes, you are awesome? But instead you hold your bubbly joy inside?

I had that happen last week. Over a year ago I cast on Gwendolyn by Fiona Ellis. I finally finished it two weeks ago. It takes a little bit to finish a sweater if you put it down for 6 months, because your irrational crazy self has convinced your sane self it's too small, even though you were spot on with the gage. So you spend those months knitting things were size doesn't matter, like scarves and wraps and shawls, for example.

Six months later you decide to pull up your big girl pants and wet block what you have done so far in order to shut up Ms. Crazypants. And here's the best part: when you've finished all the bits of the sweater, you get to seam it!

I love that the super simple mattress stitch can make this

look like this

 

After you soak and block it, it looks even better! So much better that you will receive compliments from the nurse at the doctor's office and also the doctor (obviously a female, men as a rule don't notice such things) within minutes of each other. Resist the urge to go on and on and on about how awesome you are. The doctor might consider calling in a psychiatrist for a consult.

 

Aahhhh

A steaming hot cuppa in my new favorite tea mug, and I'm prepared for the morning. Maybe I'll start with cleaning my desk.

 

A Sort Of Bad Dye Job

Pull up a stool and sit a spell. I'm here to tell you a story of a scarf. Many years ago, I put Ene's Scarf on my mental to do list. That's what we did back then, make mental notes, because we didn't have these electronic knitting tools like Ravelwhosit or iThingies.

I knew that I couldn't just use any yarn for this project. It had to be Blackberry Ridge Silk Blend Laceweight, as was called for. Being frugal, I trolled the online auction sites looking for the yarn in the amount I needed, the color did not matter. Days became weeks, and weeks suddenly grew into years, but my dogged perseverance paid off. Finally, I obtained the coveted fiber in the needed amount in natural!

Jubilant, I cast on at last.

I knit and knit and knit, loving the pattern and the yarn the whole time.

 

 

Until, one day, I had to start with a second ball of yarn. After several rows, I noticed something...the color of the new ball of yarn had a slight grey tinge to it. I decided that is was just probably a little of the oil from the spinning machine left on the yarn after processing. I convinced myself that a proper wash after completion would sort that right out.

See the difference in color as it floats in the bath? One bath didn't wash the"oil" out of the yarn. In fact, after three trips in the bath, I was deflated by my slow witted realization that it was simply a different color. The only way to move on would be to dye the thing.

This being my first attempt at dying, I only had a vague idea how to do it.

I knew I needed dye, I only happened to have red and green. I also knew I needed vinegar, a pot, and water. So I soaked the scarf first, got some vinegar water simmering in the stove, added, dye, added the scarf, and let it continue simmering until the water was clear. Then I rinsed it a couple of times, and, well, it didn't turn out too bad. I think this could be the beginning of another hobby.

 

 

Spreading Holiday Cheer

 

The Husband the police officer took this photo while on duty today. That is a live tree, with the lights turned on!

 

I've done something right!

For those of us that are mothers, you know what it is to constantly worry about whether you are doing the right thing as a parent.  It's normal to sweat the small stuff, like if you allow your child to have that extra piece of candy, are you setting them on the road to years of dental work and Type II diabetes?  Or if you allow your teenage daughter to wander the mall with the other packs of teenage girls, is she going to come home with an extra piercing that is not in her ear?  You know that when your toddler hits another toddler in his playgroup, because he feels that some injustice has been done to him (the other toddler took your child's toy train), you know deep in your heart that you are raising a serial killer.  Just me?

These fears begin to fade when you see your nose buried in the computer teenage son hold open a door for a lady that is not related to him.  Or when you are running errands with your beautiful teen daughter, and she suggests that rather than driving through that burger joint, you go somewhere to get a salad or a turkey sandwich.