a simple yarn

‘Well,’ said I, to no one in particular, ‘its not going to get done just by sitting.’
‘And it’s not,’ I heard myself agree, ‘going to get any cooler, by wishin’ it so.’

Convinced this was no worse than going to the gym…oh wait, I hate going to the gym…I hauled myself outside into the relentless sunshine and its constant companion, the oppressively high humidity.

Impersonating a weaver on the odd occasion, I can forgive you for thinking this is an elaborate, oversized warp. But no, with the advent of home ownership comes the opportunity for creating a veg patch. Yes, container gardening was an option during those house-rental years, but I’m rubbish at it. Pots need watering. I forget to water pots. It’s a sad case of neglect for houseplants too. Good thing the kids keep the dog watered or the SPCA’d be knocking at my door. And we don’t want that, do we?

Since our ‘house-move-and-ensuing-chaos’ occurred during the vital ‘get-stuff-into-the-ground’ phase, we have to wait until next year for the actual ‘veg’ part of the veg patch. But this year it’s all about getting the soil ready. Long ago, a previous owner had a lovely vegetable garden—but time and neglect have taken over, so it’s back to the beginning…killing the grass.

Now, what was I thinking?
Is this me tapping into my Inner-Ma-Ingalls?
Is this me being green?
Is this crazy?
What possessed me to do this without any power equipment?
Ack!
Thankfully recent rains softened the soil.
‘How wise to wait!’ you might say.
‘Dumb luck,’ I reply.

After using the hand-edger to cut the templates, it’s a simple rock-weighted-rubbish-bag method of killing off the grass. Might as well use the Virginia heat and sunshine to my advantage, eh? Sure, there are easier ways. Of course there are quicker ways. But I’m feelin’ pretty good about the synergy of getting an all-body workout and doing this without chemicals or petrol powered machinery.

So, two more squares to cut and cover, then it’s the waiting game for me.
Autumn will bring the next backbreaker synergistic opportunity…hand tilling.

So, while the rest of the world queues up for the new iPhone, I am marveling at another little product for Mac users…and it’s free!

I am horrible at keeping up with the latest software.
That is what my husband is for.
Tuned in and wired up, that’s what he is.
Every now and again something will catch his eye that I might like.
But this sat in my email for so long, he forgot he had suggested it.

Books.
For highly compulsive book owners, like me.
Sure, Ravelry has a place to catalog knitting books, but what about all the other delicious works on my shelf?
This freeware allows Mac users to create a library of books. For me, the lists reflect categories like: cookbooks, craft books, knitting books, self-sufficiency books, L.M. Montgomery books, Kate Douglas Wiggin books, etc.

Sure, other software does that, but here’s the cool part…

See the field for ISBN numbers?

You can click the little camera icon and up comes iSight, a bar code scanner. Yep, the idea is that you can hold the book up to the camera on your MacBook and it will read the ISBN bar code. Click the ‘Quick Fill’ button and all the details about the book will fill in…even a copy of the cover!

How absolutely-time-savingly-cool is that?!?

Now, realistically, I had some difficulty getting the iSight to work each time, especially on glossy books covers…which most of my knitting books seem to have. But, alternatively, you can type in the ISBN, click ‘Quick Fill,’ and presto, it will do the same.

Caveat Ahead:
The program will only fill in the book details if they are on record at Amazon or ISBNdb.com, but the good news is that there are other sources for the Quick Fill feature that are downloadable. Antique books are still catalogued the good ol’-fashioned way, though, typing each line. Sigh.

I must say, though, this made quick work of sorting through many stacks of books!
It’s mesmerizing.
And habit-forming.
It elicits squeals of delight when the correct information magically appears.
Ack! Must…stop…family…needs…dinner.

Ah sure, just one more entry…

…seems to be teal, I think.

Models: ‘Liesl-In-Progress’ and the ‘Most-Affordable-Closest-Thing-To-A-London-Taxi-I-Can-Find-To-Drive-In-The-US’.

Warning: Grab a coffee and a danish…it’s a saga.

I have to pay taxes and therefore have interacted with the US government.
I have two adopted children and therefore have dealt with the Russian government.
I have lived in Ireland for a number of years and therefore have worked with the Irish government.
None of this prepared me for the local SPCA.

Part of our Adjusting-To-America-Plan included finally granting our eleven-year-old daughter’s deepest desire to have a family dog. I must say…

Diversion Ahead:
Apologies, if you have worked, are working, or will ever work for the SPCA.

…this has been one of the more challenging agencies to negotiate with—excepting perhaps the Irish Bureau of Immigration of course. After completing the rather lengthy application, the call came and went something like this…

SPCA: ‘We reviewed your application and the committee has decided to deny your request.’
Me: ‘Ehm. Uhm. Wha’?’
SPCA: We are not allowing you to adopt the dog.’
Me: ‘Er, why not?’
SPCA: ‘Because it will not be primarily an indoor dog.’
Me: ‘And the problem with that is…?’
SPCA: ‘We only adopt to people who will keep the dog indoors.’
Me: ‘But we have a lovely garden with loads of space to run free and abundant shade.’
SPCA: ‘We only adopt to people who will keep the dog indoors.’
Me: ‘But we have a lovely workshop, with ceiling fan, a veritable palace in doggy terms.’
SPCA: ‘We only adopt to people who will keep the dog indoors.’

Clearly I was getting nowhere. Time to change tactics. Less pleading. More relational. Do it like the Irish would.

Me: ‘Ah sure, I’m a stay at home mum and will be around quite a bit—the dog and I’ll be great pals.’
SPCA: ‘We only adopt to people who will keep the dog indoors.’
Me: ‘I am an avid gardener and will be outdoors more than indoors.’
SPCA: ‘We only adopt to people who will keep the dog indoors.’
Me: ‘Our wee kids, who’ve been anticipating this moment for years, will be devastated.’
SPCA: ‘We only adopt to people who will keep the dog indoors.’

What I forgot was that this isn’t Ireland anymore, Dorothy, and the relational approach doesn’t necessarily work when policies and rules and regulations are in force. Time to get back to my communications degree mindset and dredge up some good argumentation and debating techniques.

Me: ‘Right, so if I were a double-income-no-kids-at-work-for-8-or-more-hours-a-day-while-the-dog-remains-in-a-crate-type family, there’d be no problem?’
SPCA: Silence…then, ‘We only adopt to people who will keep the dog indoors.’
Me: ‘So pointing out technically that the dog will be indoors in this lovely workshop-yet-to-be-studio-cum-guestroom is not sufficient?’
SPCA: ‘We only adopt to people who will keep the dog indoors.’
Me: My ADOPTED children do not have a television, which goes against societal norms. Does that prevent them from having a nurturing environment?’
SPCA: ‘We only adopt to people who will keep the dog indoors.’
Me: ‘What about this is not providing a safe and secure environment for the dog?’
SPCA: ‘We only adopt to people who will keep the dog indoors.’
Me: ‘Can I appeal the decision?’

Phase Two, The Appeal, then found me answering what seemed like an endless barrage of questions, including…

SPCA: ‘It’s warm now, but what plans for heating in winter do you have?’
Me: ‘Weeeellll, it’s a Husky mix, wouldn’t it like the cool weather? What are winters like in Virginia? I doubt you’d be wanting me to put in a kerosene-sure-to-catch-the-place-on-fire-heater.’
SPCA: ‘We’d like for you to email us photos of the place where the dog will reside and your garden…as many photos as you can.’
Me: Sigh.

I’m sure the words ‘gob-smacked,’ ‘blimey,’ ‘crikey’ and ‘bugger’ escaped my lips at various points during the conversation(s). But at the end of the day… meet Rocket, soon to be the newest member of our family.

Epilogue-So-I-Don’t-Get-Sued-Cuz-I’m-Living-In-America Disclaimer:
Right, so the SPCA had a few more words to say than what’s represented here, but for the purpose of story-telling, the gist of the story remains. I must say that I am an advocate of what animal shelters represent and do not endorse cruelty to animals in any sense. The point of this cautionary tale is that our situation didn’t fit into a tick-the-box category and our application was therefore in danger of being jettisoned because we had other ideas of what a safe, secure and nurturing environment could be for a dog. Only due to the tenacity of one SPCA worker gave our story its happy ending.

Trifecta—‘Noun: a run of three wins or grand events, Origin:1970s from tri+perfecta’ —Oxford American Dictionary

Grand Event No. 1

Where there is life, there is hope.
It would appear that I haven’t assassinated the grape vine.
Might call for a bit of the bubbly…from the shop, not homemade…yet.
Need to begin fumigation with fungicide to prevent the little black rot bugger from returning.

Grand Event No. 2

Here is our work-in-progress.
The cottage, circa 1945.
Much still to be done to spruce it up but, as I remind myself, we’ve been here for approximately one month.
For friends across the sea, that flowering tree on the left is a crape myrtle.
Think I’d have bought the house for that alone.
Okay, not really, but it presents a very cheery face to passersby.

Grand Event No. 3

Today is Tuesday.
Today is my first visit to the local Farmer’s Market.
Gonna clear out the car boot with great expectations for good finds…

Relentless, that’s what it is.

It’s tiring.
Not the unpacking of boxes.
Not the high temperatures or humidity.
Not the temporary household chaos.
It’s the never-ending bombardment of unwanted information.

After years in Ireland, I had forgotten, and have once again become unaccustomed to, the unceasing flow of advertising, junk mail, one-time-only offers and choices that are part of ‘normal’ life in America. It does my head in.

Which internet service will we choose?
Which banking options do we want?
Which level of milk fat will we drink?
Which mayonnaise will we consume?

Glad we’ve continued our television-opt-out plan, or we’d also have the ‘which of the 500 channels should we watch?’ conundrum.

I’m sure that after a few months, I too will become impervious to the continual bombardment—and that’s sad, I think. To ‘de-sensitize to survive’ might also block out more pleasant sensorial pursuits…like something else I had forgotten about life in America.

The spectacular sunsets.

It comes as no surprise that at times the best things come quite by accident.

I certainly didn’t intend to go treasure hunting.
Nope, it wasn’t penned in my diary for that day.
Surely what I was wearing would attest to that.
New white Clarks shoes, white shirt…

Recent holidays found us traveling to Midwest America.
A quick visit to the inlaws.
They’re a farming family.
And farming families usually have barns.
This family is no different.

Barns are fascinating places, I think.
Interesting bits hanging and hiding.
Sometimes forgotten, waiting to be found.

An old barrel covered with dirt and straw.
Holding a trove of books.
Plunging in with little regard for shoes and shirt.
A dust and a wipe reveal old novels.
Great food for Voracious-Reader-Daughter-Kate.

Hang on, what’s this?

I know that name well.

An Irish literary giant.

Think I’m beginning to relate to medieval hysteria accompanying a plague.

After our first glimpse of the cottage, it only took a few weeks to wrap things up in Dublin. And such was the sight which greeted us upon our return to America.

Appropriately named ‘black rot,’ its appearance has caused me to take a crash course in learning grape maintenance. Ruthless as a contagious fungus—I, too, have to be ruthless in eradicating it, feeling a little like the village executioner destroying the good along with the bad after an epidemic.

What once looked like this—

Now, looks like this—

So, if I haven’t killed the vine with my zealous pruning and if I can keep on top of any new fungus, we just might have some grapes next year.

…rhymes with Kung Fu.

I’ve had a garden for about two weeks now.
Dashed into the local DIY shop for supplies, including bamboo poles.
Can’t have too many for supporting plants or making tripod trellises.

Doing a major tidy round the place.
And what do I see behind the outbuilding?

Bamboo. Lots of it.
Never considered northern Virginia to be a bamboo growing area, but there ya go, a thriving crop.
Would come in mighty handy if we had a pet panda.

Now I’m the proud owner of a renewable source of free, albeit not too pretty, bamboo poles.
Potential for yarn, to be sure, if only I could spin it straight from the stalk.