I think I do dare say it:
There it is, folks: The traditional first-crocus-of-the-year shot.
And here is the non-traditional first-dog-rolling-on-the-grass-of-the-year shot.
Yes, I do realize that he is not actually rolling in that photo. But he had just rolled. So it’s kind of an action shot. A post-action shot, really.
Buddy and I had a nice little romp outside in the back yard last week. It was actually WARM here–69 degrees F and heavenly, just heavenly. Unfortunately, the wizards of weather have decreed that this week it is cold and rainy and grey. Even Sir Dog does not wish to roll around in the mud puddles.
In spring, I get shawl-crazy. All right, yes, I know I am shawl-crazy most of the year, but in spring, I lose my mind just a wee bit more than usual about such things. My excuse this time is that I am knitting a gift for someone.
That’s not a hat on poor Thaddeus, that’s the beginnings of a shawlette. And it’s not a gift for him (sadly, his wings get in the way of anything about his shoulders), it’s for a human. The pattern is Traveling Woman (Ravelry link) by Liz Abinante of feministy.com. That photo is a bit behind the times; I’m nearly done with the final edging. Woot! Yarn: Lorna’s Laces Shepherd Sock; Colour: Tahoe.
The yarn is so soft that sometimes I just hold the project in my lap and pet it. No lie.
[singsong] Someone’s getting a giftie in their mailbox in April…(I say “April” because we are, after all, dealing with the vagaries of PostCanada. One must be realistic when dealing with The Vagaries.)
As for me, I seem to be stuck in a colourway ditch:
That, my friends, is Indigodragonfly‘s work. It’s merino, cashmere, and nylon. If you haven’t met up with one of Indigodragonfly’s skeins yet, then you need to, because her yarn bases are wicked, her colours are evil, and the colour names themselves are funny and smart-ass.
I have trouble resisting a good smart-ass colour name.
The colour above? House Drop. As in, what would a wicked witch look like afterwards if you dropped a house on her? (Yes. Ewwww, indeed.)
Even the wild sparrow…
Last weekend, we saved a wild bird that had gotten stuck in our woodstove pipe. For a while there, however, we weren’t really sure if the little Winged Thing was going to make it or not.
Early Friday morning I’d heard this terrible scrabbling and scraping noise as the poor bird fell two stories from chimney to the bend in the pipe right over the stove itself (just out of the photo, below).
The landlord was called. The landlord’s henchman was called. The henchman’s henchmen were called. At one point, there were so many people standing around the woodstove that it looked as though we were all freezing our arses off.
Except we weren’t. And besides: No fire. (One of the henchman’s henchmen tried to light a fire, “to smoke ’em out ‘top” but the rest of us quickly larned him that killing a bird in cold blood–in Sandi and Nicholas’ home, anyway–is Bad Bad Karma Indeed.)
The henchmen left (all of them). The landlord left, saying that he thought we ought to either wait until it fell down into the stove or else just sort of died (“because dead birds don’t smell, you know, so no worries”–WTF??).
Nicholas and I don’t like dead birds. Nicholas and I happen to love LIVE birds, especially since one of our most beloved cats ever was named Sparrow (he’s the one at top right in the header). So Nicholas and I pushed a bit of whole-grain bread up inside the flue opening, along with a couple of slices of cucumber (for water), and hoped. And wouldn’t you know it? A bit later, Nicholas was calling to me saying, “The bird’s in the stove! The bird’s in the stove!” When I opened the door to the woodstove itself, there it was, this poor little shocked thing huddling in a corner, its eyes glazed over a bit. (Your eyes would be glazed over a bit, too, if you had just spent a day-and-a-half inside a well-used stovepipe.)
It was a starling, filthy, clearly exhausted, and breathing with difficulty. But when I nudged it gently with a stick, it flew out the stove and right out the open front door and didn’t stop until it reached a tree branch on the other side of the driveway.
Hooray! One for Mother Nature!
Yes, it is just a bird. But it, like me, is a very small thing in a very big universe. We are sisters, that little winged creature and I, for sometimes I struggle in a small dark place, too.
A final silliness
Want to see the original shot I took for the Indigodragonfly yarn photo above?
I put it into the post editor…and then broke up chuckling.
Take a closer look.
Bit naughty, no?