Marty 'n' Me

First of all: Thank you all (and y'all) for the kind and comforting emails and comments. As you know, bereavement tends to make people very receptive for warmth and kindness, so please know that I appreciate every word. This is not the only thanks you'll get, but I'm so hopelessly behind on my emails that I didn't want to leave it all unacknowledged until I'm caught up.

I'm feeling a bit more like myself today. Sad, yes, but not sleepwalking while a voice in my head whispers, "It can't be, it can't be". The voice, I'm happy to report, has returned to its usual chorus of story ideas and suggestions for extravagant yarn purchases. I tend to ignore the latter. I also tend to ignore the state of my office/knitting room/general hanging-out place, except I've got the sinking (or rather tripping and falling) feeling that I need to do something about the 14 bags on the floor (6 months worth of stuff I took to my parents' house and back) and the general air of neglect, spilling yarn and none too fresh coffee mugs. And I need to do it while I'm still 35. Kind of a tight deadline. I thrive under stress, did I mention?

Speaking of upcoming birthdays, here's what Marty did today. (Yes, I named the gift bag Marty - what do you want from me? Andy is on a business trip, I've been talking to myself all day, and things with sunglasses just have to be named.)

Here's Marty having coffee and basking in the morning sun. In case you can't read the sign the demonstrating cows on the mug are holding up, it says "Make coffee, not war!". There are also signs with "Coffee is the answer" and "Teabags go home!" I'm always a fan of the relly constructive political statement.

Marty is appalled at the cruel and unusual treatment of freshly dyed chenille. Uh, I think I missed some trick or other about rewinding a skein of dyed and dried chenille. Is there something I can do to prevent the yarn from curling up on itself?

Mittens, made from homedyed and -plied silk/angora, getting the Marty Seal Of Approval. I was so pleased with my very first trial skein of dyed yarn that I had to knit with it immediately (I let it dry first, but it wasn't easy). The pattern is the ever popular "I think this is how you make mittens, so I won't bother looking up a pattern", and in this case, I'm pleased (and quite surprised) to see that it worked. Stay tuned for a cautionary tale of three sweaters, wherein things didn't go quite as well.

So, as I mentioned, first item on the "Things to do before I turn 36" list: Transform this pigsty into a room.

Second item: Have a couple of shots of "Winter Apple" liqueur.

Third item: Comfort my dad when he calls back later. Sigh. The fox got two of our chickens. No, seriously, my dad had three chickens - he kept them as a hobby - and they are like family members. After eight years, the fox apparently found the one weak spot of the coop, where there is no wire mesh in the ground (to prevent foxes from digging under the fence, you see), and made off with the chickens. My dad is not having a good day. He will call back when he is done with some sort of deputy mayor activity. Sigh.

(In case you want to write and tell me that chickens don't live to be eight ... I know. Let ths fact speak for the amount of love and care lavished on our feathery folks.)

The attentive reader might have spotted the odd reference to certain dyeing activities going on here. Full disclosure to follow.