As I’ve gotten older, I’ve gotten to the point where I rather enjoy the wistfulness & melancholy that accompanies the transition from Summer into Fall. The leaves on the trees have taken on a tinge of what is to come, certainly still describable as “green”, but they are hinting at the future. The air has changed, and the clouds fill in the sky with a grayer hue.

While driving home the other night, my mind bounced around and I thought of all the Falls I’ve spent alone, and how much harder my “melancholera” was back then. (I’m all about making up words this week.) I think growing up, and having my husband, have helped me feel more grounded, more centered, and so the feelings I have now are more like gentle reminders to be grateful and enjoy what is here, now.

My mind also skittered to a memory, one that never fails to bring tears to my eyes, and I think it also explains who I am. I don’t think I’m that different from everybody else, but I know that I am incredibly sensitive to everything, and it’s been a long haul to work on insulating myself so I can cope “normally”. After all, one can’t just spend every day weeping! Back to the story: my mom is a school psychologist (yes, even the trained can have f-d up relationships), and she came home every day with stories. But there was one little boy, a 1st or 2nd grader, who will always stay stuck in my mind and heart. He had a speech impediment, and coke-bottle glasses. My mother had to go out and pick him up to bring him to school one day, because his mother “forgot” to get him out to the bus in time. The little boy was also forgetful, but with his speech impediment, his explanations came out as: “I dah-dot.” Back to this little shrimp of a boy, sitting in my mom’s passenger seat, feet not touching the floor, talking to her in his nasal voice. He told her he was saving his money. She asked him why – and he said it was to buy him & his mom a Christmas tree. Because they’d never had one. I begged my mother to let him come and live with us.

I’ve had to stop typing this twice, because it still makes me cry. My little Insulating Gnomes rush around my heart & put up plywood barriers, because I know there are a million other little kids, just like him, still out there today, and if I think about that I may never come up for air. Who knows what became of him. All I know is in that moment, hearing his heartbreaking wish for one simple thing, that symbolized happiness to him, and his desire to please his mother, I realized how fortunate I am and how much I take for granted. And I was maybe 10? Obviously, I’ve not gone on to live a great life of sacrifice and selflessness, and I’m the first to admit I’m materialistic & want nice things surrounding me. But fuck, people. They say you can judge a man by how well he tips, or by how well he treats a dog. I say we as a society are judged on how well we care for our indigent, for the mentally handicapped, for those who have less. I think we’ve neglected the poor for so long, they’re pissed & desperate, and somehow that attitude fuels the dominant belief that if they’re ungrateful, they don’t deserve anything. The current stuff doesn’t work. We have too many smart people in this world for me to believe we can’t find a better way.

That’s my rant for the week. I think of that little boy every year, and blink back my tears. I am grateful to have a job, a secure and happy marriage filled with love & laughter, dear friends I can clutch to my heart, great people out there who send me nice emails & like me just from what they read. If there’s a lesson in this, it’s to appreciate the moment, what you have, and if there’s an opportunity to help someone less fortunate, to take it. On an up-note, I can’t wait to take pictures this year of the maples on Ward Parkway, one of the many things that make my commute each day so contemplative & beautiful. It’ll be a few weeks, but they truly are breathtaking.

I keep thinking about the word “Blogeur”, which is probably not original, but I did come up with it on my own, & the definition of the word (as I’ve defined it) speaks to the very nature of blogs and specifically, reading other people’s blogs. You know, the voyeuristic nature it takes. Blogger – voyeur – blogyeur, blogeur, blogheur. A quick search shows that Blogeur is how they spell blogger in France. Feh. It’s interesting, though. All these little cyber-windows in which to peep, some of which become daily stops, friendly waves back & forth, like little Blog Village neighbors….

As another Random Ort, in all my years on this planet, I continue to marvel at the human body’s ability to generate mucus. Mmmm. That’s a nice word, too.

Well, I’ve felt a little like a knitting machine the past couple of weeks. I’ve been posessed to do this crazy thing: finish what I’ve started, and wait to start new things! What UP with that???

In any event, I finished my Clapotis, along with a simple scarf knitted from handspun given to me by Kristin, and am about halfway through the Vintage Velvet from Scarf Style. I also am nearly done with a goofy hat for JWo for duck season, just gotta attach the “googly eyes”…. more on that one later. ;)

Pictures! Pictures!

Clapotis:

Handspun Scarf:

The Completed Lady Eleanor:

The colors in this are a bit more muted in real life – I also did a unique fringe, making strands of i-cord, tacking them on the bottom & to each other. The idea was to mimic the overlapping effect of the entrelac.

After Vintage Velvet, I’m going to start on a new Einstein jacket soon…..ran out of yarn on the first one & in a fit of pique, decided to just begin again…..got new yarn from Elann in a cranberry-wine color. Pretty!

That is your knitting update!

Oh, lordy, what a freak-out I had last night. I met JWo at Harpo’s, before his backgammon tournament began, and then went home & took care of the dogs. This meant letting them speed around the back yard at full tilt, while I inspected some plants. I discovered my Meyer lemon tree was ant-infested, so I went bonkers & hosed it off, and then let the dogs in to eat. I got some ant dust/poison, the dogs & I went back outside, and I covered the cement where the pot sits with ant dust. (This keeps the poison out of the plant, and I’ve got to get some horticultural oil to treat the plant itself, because I know there are still ants a-lurkin’.) The dogs did their race-around squirrel-patrol thing, and then we all went back in the house. Dogs on the pillows, me watching some tv & knitting. About half an hour later, Polly looked at me straight on, and I knew something was wrong. The side of her face I couldn’t see was so swollen. I had her come to me, and her eyes were swollen, one really badly, and her muzzle was also really swollen on one side. My first thought was “ant poison”, followed by “emergency vet clinic”. We all went outside & I saw that the ant powder was untouched. Race upstairs. To the internet, search term “Dog Face Swell”. By this point, my Brain Gnomes are running around, knocking each other over, general panic and confusion. Then, a bell rang. It was Useless Information & Observations Gnome, you know, the gnome who just randomly notices & writes things down here and there. UIO Gnome had, while I was bent over my lemon tree, noticed a bee on some daisies. And had jotted down, “Seen a lot of bees lately.”

I had landed on a website for raising guide dogs, and I immediately found the part about bee stings. Benadryl is the recommended treatment, 1g/per pound, body weight. A solution! My poor Polly. She was acting fine, with a little discomfort it seemed, and panting quite a bit. Downstairs we all race. Benadryl. Damn the fact we buy generic equivalents. I do not have a degree in chemistry and my patience was shot. I raced back upstairs to the Benadryl website to determine key ingredients. Good God. I have no idea what we have in the medicine cabinet. All of it certainly fatal because I cannot decipher all of the ingredients. To the Osco, Polly!

We drove to the closest drugstore, where I purchased Benadryl and Pup-eronis. This is an odd combo, in retrospect. I had a crazed look, I know, because the woman who had finished her transaction & was enthusiastically talking about mice with the checker OBVIOUSLY did not want to finish her conversation, but took one look at me and said her goodbyes. MOVE, bitch, get out the way! I got a dog that needs savin’! I was comforted by Polly’s reaction to the Puperonis (positive, wanting them all), and I gave her two li’l Benadryls smashed into Puperoni pieces. We drove home, I called JWo & gave him the whole story, he reassured me, and informed we had generic Benadryl. Well, never mind, I was In Crisis, and wasn’t taking any chances. In less than an hour, her swelling was down, almost gone, and she was reveling in a nylabone.

I, on the other hand, am still recovering from the scare, and yes, I’m sending my Useless Information & Observations Gnome a fruit basket of gratitude. And if you’re between me & my dog who needs my help? I’m gonna knock you DOWN. Mama gonna knock you OUT.

We went to Weston on Saturday, for their annual Apple Festival. On the way up, we met at Mike & Gordon’s, where our start got delayed when someone spilled their drink in the carpooling process. (I was laughing because I heard Gordon say, “DRAMA!” and I knew we were delayed.) So JWo drove around & around the cul-de-sac, like a spinning teacup, until I shrieked “ENOUGH!”

Weston is an adorable little town, lots of classic storefronts & shops, plus vendors & artists in the streets. Opting for a shuttle, we boarded a big yellow schoolbus that dropped us off a block or so from the start of the action. This becomes important at the end of the story.

Traipsing about, we ended up in an Irish pub, minus Roger, who was antiquing. We had awesome food & beer, Roger joined us, and then we roamed the vendor booths & people-watched. And then? We proceeded to eat even more. EVEN MORE. It was the sharing that made it seem “ok”. An apple dumpling. A bottle of root beer. Suddenly, we’re each eating what was, quite possibly, the best ear of corn ever. OOF.

This man had built his own mini-hay-baler. They had them in two sizes, and it was fascinating to watch.

We waddled up the hill to catch our shuttle back, and you’d think, ok, we’re in this small town, it’ll be a short zip-zap back to the school where we left the car. But noooooo. We ended up driving probably 8 miles out of town, because that’s the way the road went, and there was no place to turn around. Cornfields, hayfields, ponds….. it started to feel a little scary-movie-esque. I was in the seat right behind the driver, and all the boys were in the back. After two drop-offs (and we’re still not at ours), I turned around and said, “I have to sit behind the driver because I’ve been BAD.” That cracked ’em up. It did feel oddly familiar….

Anyway, we got to the car 15 minutes later, and parted ways (we went on to a banquet, more on that later). BUT! I forgot the funniest part, which was on the drive, before you get to the airport? There’s a restaurant called PUFFY TACO. And that, dear friends, is why we have focus groups. Though I bet their t-shirts are funny…..

We went to the American Royal on Friday night, and had a great time. We had passes to a media tent, so we got free food & drink, as this picture makes abundantly clear:

L-R: Mike (standing), Roger, Gordon

Just to prove we didn’t go country-western on y’all, I give you: Doc Martens in the Dust.

And as I promised, photographic evidence that Elvis does, indeed, exist:

Our friend Greg & his buddies compete every year in the BBQ contest; they’re “The Gristle Brothers”, and their booth was representative of what nearly every other booth was doing: having a kick-ass party in a contained space. Elvis was just part of their whole party experience. I marveled as we walked back to catch the shuttle, how elaborate & yet contained all the parties were – one booth had a disco. Another had a band (one of MANY bands out there.) Since the weather was so perfect, there were thousands & thousands of people there, and it was enough to make our group want to compete next year. Because my husband loves to BBQ, and the gay men love to decorate for a party….. It’s pretty hard to top Elvis, though.

(The rest of the pix are over on my Flickr account. Stay tuned for the rest of the weekend adventures & pictures!)

Whew! A long fun night of traipsing, sitting, getting bbq sauce everywhere, beer, bbq, more beer, and running into friends. And missing phone calls from more friends.

Tomorrow morning, we haul ass to Weston for the Apple Festival, a pumpkin patch, and who-knows-what-all-else, then it’s on to Oregon (MO) for a Waterfowler Banquet, and then back home by uhhhhhh, midnight. Depending on the time zone you are in, you will feel the earth tremble a bit under your feet, and that will indicate the moment I fling myself onto our bed in a state of utter collapse.

But plan for lots of pictures by Sunday/Monday. While I may not have any pics of Tony Danza (that meet & greet happened too early), I DO have the best pictures of Elvis. He’s alive. Don’t try to tell me otherwise.

All this reminiscing about college & I’m suddenly craving “Scotties” which were a drink specialty of a restaurant at Grinnell. Shocking news, but I was quite chummy with the bartender, a behomth of a woman and foul-tempered, but I’ve always had a knack with (most) people & she liked me – thus assuring that I was never carded. We’d sit at the bar & get pitchers of Scotties & order french fries to keep us from completely falling off our perch. I can still see the french fries they served: crinkle-cut & never fried to a full crisp.

A pitcher of Scotties consisted of regular ol’ beer (Bud? Pabst? The Beast?), tequila, and Rose’s lime juice. It sounds really weird but holy toledo they were good. I’m totally making them soon. I’m not sure why they were called “Scotties” because they were neither Scottish nor similar to a short black dog. I’ve never seen them served anywhere else, either, and the Longhorn restaurant is long gone. A perfunctory Google search yielded nothing, except a lot of margarita recipes. If I perfect the recipe, I’ll let you know!

Meanwhile, tonight, think of me & my oh-so-glamorous life: I believe I’m getting a meet & greet with ……..drumroll……….. Tony Danza. At the American Royal, so don’t think it’s fancy or nothin’. Yes, the girl who was raised without television, and never saw an episode of “Who’s the Boss?” will stand in line to say howdy and have my husband take my picture with him. I guess I did see him in “Taxi” re-runs, but I remembered all the other characters more, and was chastised at knit night for my faulty memory. Damn Andy Kaufman & Christopher Lloyd for being so much more memorable!!! I promise, this celebrity encounter will not involve me losing my mind & telling him I’ve had a sex-change operation, like I did with Bryan Adams. And Kristin’s Mom has already given me an ultimatum: if I have the opportunity to get his autograph & don’t? My Frango Mint Underground Railroad is gonna get SHUT DOWN. She also wants me to tell him she hates his hair (I guess he is looking for a new hairstyle b/c a 63 year-old woman told him his hair’s bad), but I’m a little too Midwest-polite to pass that along. I’d rather share obscene lies about myself……

ahhh, a quote from one of my all-time favorite bands, Concrete Blonde. Song: “God Is A Bullet”. Anyway. At book club, I was asked if, since I identified so much with the main character, could I, as he did, stand by as his friends murdered their loose-cannon friend? (They pushed him off a cliff, mind you. Happened quite fast.) I pondered it briefly and said “Yes.” And they alllll moved away from me on the Group W bench.

I felt somewhat pressured throughout the evening to explain my response, which I think I eventually did, for it wasn’t an indication that I condoned murder, or thought I could truly be a party to it, but I understood, in Donna Tartt’s oh-so-visual text, that horrible feeling when a moment in time freezes you, when you feel stunned by the endorphins & it’s like all the Brain Gnomes are desperately trying to put the right connectors into the right sockets, and failing miserably, and you are trying to process and trying to understand and meanwhile, time is still moving for everybody else.

The example I gave made it clear.

When I was first starting out in advertising, I worked at the biggest agency in town. We were little worker bees, putting in long hours, partying like mad, and sticking together at our worker-bee level. Three of us worked for this woman who was Awful. Dreadful. And rather Stupid, which for me is the kiss of death. Anyway, she never exactly knew what she wanted, but she would sound like she did & send you off to do days of hardcore salt mine labor, only to completely 180-degree-it when she saw it and result in you doing it ALL OVER AGAIN with the new parameters. Do you see why we disliked her so? It was after several days of us slaving away, we had handed it off to her, waiting for the inevitable, and our bitter, motley trio who’d sweated it were gathered in a cube. She in her office chair, me in the guest chair, him standing by the “doorway”. Said supervisor came by, and FUCKING PROCEEDED TO UNDO everything she’d asked for and basically puked another 20+ hours worth of work onto us. She strode off, and at the general space she had occupied seconds earlier, I had both arms outstretched, both hands with middle finger raised, wildly waving them up and down, much like you would at, say, a Chiefs game where you’d just gotten a bad call, your chest is painted red & gold, and you were into bad sportsmanship.

But she hadn’t strode off very far. In fact, I only had started to get warmed up with my Fuck You Gyrations, when she suddenly re-appeared in the doorway. In that split second before she actually looked at me, I wrapped my arms up around myself in the most awkward, bizarre position, and blithely pretended I was starting a yoga movement, years ahead of my time. Our faces said it ALL. We were caught. Time was frozen and our mouths were open and we were waiting to see if she’d seen me, were we caught, what was happening. In fact, she had come back to add one more thing she’d thought of – another many hours worth of work – and in our terror, we quite chipperly agreed to do it. She knew something was up, but what was it? Nobody was going to speak, since we were all simultaneously experiencing massive coronaries.

And that’s what I mean, when the sound goes out and your blood rushes at breakneck speed and your mind races, sprints, bounds and trips, trying to figure out what you should do next, when fight and flight round the corner travelling in opposite directions & flat-out clothesline each other, leaving you transfixed, unknowing, blinking.

Being a quick learner, let me just state that I’ve never repeated that behavior. I’ve done plenty else to get myself in trouble, but neeeeever again with the wild bird-flipping Fuck-You gestures. And you KNOW we had a hell of a lot of fun with it all later, once our heart rates slowed down – re-enactments and re-telling at many a happy hour for years after it happened. I haven’t got a real moral to the story; just know that I’m not a proponent of pushing people off cliffs, and if you want to flip off your boss, you should think twice about it…..or at least be working in an office with hard floors, not carpet, so you can listen for footsteps & be sure they’re gone. I heard through the grapevine, many years later, that she was fired/let go. In my mind, that just further supports the notion that when the Karma Bus comes to town, you better have a ticket – otherwise, it’s gonna run you over.

Woohoo! I finished my book club book (“The Secret History”, by Donna Tartt) with 53 minutes to spare. It took me almost that long to drive to the Hinterlands, where book club was meeting!

I really liked the book, as did everyone else. There was lots of lively discussion, and it was interesting to discover that some people liked characters I hadn’t liked at all. In any event, a book I’d suggested last go-round was brought by another person, and was voted as the next selection: A Million Little Pieces, by James Frey. Here’s the extra bonus: I’ve already read it! I’ll probably re-read parts of it/skim it as we get closer to meeting, but I loved the book. Absolutely loved it. I even loved the book cover design, and I don’t normally get wound up about that. And now that it’s Oprah’s book club pick, I guess a whooooole lot more people are going to read it. (Get your copy quickly, is what I’m sayin’.) We also noted that we were going from a book where drugs & alcohol were used freely & in the utmost bacchannalian sense – to the starkest description of recovery & withdrawal. The not-so-pretty side of it, and there are some graphic, painful descriptions of his autobiographical account of getting clean & then trying to stay that way.

Well peeps, the morning is slipping through my fingers. I awoke to the oddest color of sky this morning & now it’s grown darker & darker with thunder rumbling & rain is starting to fall. Once again, I will be challenging myself to drive to work safely & under the speed limit, wishing I were curled up in bed with a good book, some yummy tea & a dog at my side for pettin’ and yarn for knittin’. Have an excellent Wednesday!