a simple yarn

…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.

So what’s on the needles? Nothin’ really.

Am I a seasonal knitter? Perhaps.
In the Dublin mountains, no on-site husband, no garden, no distractions.
In America, there are too many other summery pursuits.

The stair tread work is stuck in a suitcase.
Will probably run out of yarn and would hate to buy more for a ‘recycled’ project.
Received a lovely yarn donation from Holly to keep it moving along.
A bit too hot to manage a lengthy wool felted snakes.

The black lace bolero is history.
Love the daisy lace pattern.
Too distracted these days to focus on a fiddly project.
Dumped the pattern but will use the lace design for a manageable lace pashmina.
Backed with a silvery, shimmery fabric to highlight the lace.
Think it’ll be a stunner.

I would really like to buy a new knitting book.
One with lovely patterns that get the creative juices flowing again.
Haven’t found anything.
Guess that means I have enough patterns waiting in the queue.
Oh wait.

Stumbled upon Ysolda’s Liesl.
Pay Pal is just too easy.
Downloaded it in an instant.

Have some teal cotton I’ve been storing until a pattern came along.
Perhaps it’s enough yardage.
This just might be the incentive I’ve been looking for.
Next thing is to unpack my needles.

So, is it a problem that what the Kiddies know about American history comes from ‘National Treasure’? Ehm, perhaps we ought to ‘supplement’ their education…

Warning: Sad Representation of US Tourism Brochure to Follow
In other words, poor attempt at a little Board-Failte-American-style for my Irish friends.

We live 8 miles from Mount Vernon.
Mount Vernon is the home of George Washington.
George Washington was the first president of the United States.
Having the same first name does not make you related.
Having the same job does not make you related.
Contrary to what Son-Alex thinks, George Bush is not related to George Washington.

Living so close, it had to be one of our first Sunday afternoon outings.
Mount Vernon enjoys a beautiful prospect overlooking the Potomac River.
Of course photo is from opposite-non-river-view-side of house.

Being firstly a farmer, George Washington created a unique 16-sided grain-threshing barn.
Toss in grain sheaves.
Let horses walk round and round, trampling sheaves.
Kernels fall through cracks in floor to level below.
Example of good ol’ early American ingenuity.
Wonder if the flour had a faint ‘hoof’ taste?

Couldn’t experience it all in an afternoon.
Good thing we live close.
Good thing we bought an annual pass.

Yep, everything is big in America…even the supermarket is called ‘Giant’.

I think I may be able to live here.

Yes, I think it’s possible.

I know the kids will be happy here.

(Currently blogless) Marie is Commentor No. 72 and, based upon the Random Number Generator, also the recipient of the Kilcarra Tweed yarn.

You may already know this, but just in case you don’t…
Thankfully, you don’t have to travel all the way to Éire to get such lovely yarn spun in Co. Donegal! It’s also sold in the US under the brand name Tahki.  And, as Lisa reminded me, it’s also available through Debbie Bliss—Donegal Tweed.

Congratulations to Marie and thanks to all who participated!

‘Nearly all the best things that came to me in life have been unexpected, unplanned by me.’ —Carl Sandburg

I have a new header.

No, you did not miss an opportunity to vote on photos. Funny how things happen. Was reading some comments left on the blog. You know how it goes…one link leads to another and I found myself at Lisa’s blog. She did a post on Mosaic Maker.

Janey Mack!

Warning: Culturally Accented Diversion Ahead
Right, I would not normally say ‘Janey Mack’ but it’s a great expression especially if you have an Irish accent, so please read it with one, okay?

Anyway, it’s exactly what I was looking for! A great way to highlight archival favourites. No more dithering. And it’s so simple that additional favourites will certainly crop up in future. Hope you like it…I do!

But the contest is still on with 200grams of Irish Kilcarra tweed yarn to be posted anywhere on the globe. Colours available are Red, Dark Berry, Tobacco or Dark Green.

Comments will be open until Friday morning…oh let’s say until noon EST to avoid confusion…and then I’ll use the handy-dandy random number generator to pick a winner. Thanks for your input!

Post Postscript:
See, I’m already fiddling with it after only a day! Taking on board your input, I’ve taken out a photo that Elisa thought was muddy (how true) and included the felted snake that Pia liked (good choice!). Hope to stick with this for a bit, but who knows? There’s lots of power out there with Mosaic Maker!

Post Postcript 2:
Great suggestions from ye! (Yes, they do say ‘ye’ in Ireland, so throwin’ some in for good measure.) Been dithering about the felted snake, so when I received a couple of suggestions about including a Dublin-inspired pic, the snake is out and the shamrocks are in. How appropriate to the legends of Éire—the snake-free isle! As I hunt up other archives of Ireland, we’ll add those in as well in future.