Becca's Blog

A fool's errands.

I've always enjoyed running errands and shopping, something I have in common with my late dad. And because I'm a freelancer, I end up taking care of a lot of home-related tasks like arranging for repair people and being home to let them in, or taking the dogs to vet appointments and such. And as I said, it's usually an enjoyable thing.

This summer I'm working onsite for a client pretty much full-time during business hours, which restricts my errand-running hours. (And I see that Miss Lucy is way overdue for a nail-trimming visit to the lovely people at Wizard of Paws. Gotta fit that in, maybe next Friday afternoon.)

So I feel like I need to be very efficient about errands, and get as many done in one trip as possible. And the pressure is getting to me. My love of driving around town, gettin' stuff done, looking at what's new in the stores, and having snacks (hi, Dad) is dying a little bit. Here's a snippet of why. 

Last Saturday I had to make two separate trips to Richmond (about 15 miles round-trip) to borrow a cage to house the feral tomcat who needed fixing. This morning I wanted to return the cage, and it had to be done between 7:30 and 9 a.m. No problem. I decided I'd combine that task with a few others that I could do on my way back.

• Got the cage returned, with only the slight hitch that my paperwork was misplaced. Realized that my morning coffee had hit bottom, and I needed to pee. 
• Headed for the El Cerrito Recycling Center, which accepts all types of plastic for recycling, which Berkeley is too ideologically pure to do. (I really enjoy that my city makes it a little harder to do the right thing, just to teach me a lesson.  </sarcasm>) I am there 15 minutes before the opening hour of 9 a.m. And my need to pee is more urgent.
• Drove a few blocks and stopped at the nearby donut shop and got a donut (plus coffee, against my better judgment). Their restroom is out of order, but I tell myself I can hold it.
• Got my plastic recyclables dropped off; headed south on San Pablo toward the hardware store that I know will exchange my empty propane tank for a full one. Wonder if and where they have a restroom.
• Spotted a gas station with a cage full of propane tanks and a restroom. Made a wild U-turn, filled my car's gas tank and bought a fresh tank of propane, used the restroom and felt relieved. Then felt embarrassed because the toilet wouldn't flush. Got totally busted because someone headed into the restroom as I was heading out. Vowed never to visit that gas station again. 
• Pulled into the self-serve car wash only to hear the workers yell "No power!"
• Stopped at the bookstore to get a replacement power cord for my e-reader only to hear "we're out; you should call first." This was the second time--I'm starting to really believe that anything more I spend on my crappy Nook Color is throwing good money after bad, and that Barnes & Noble deserves any misfortune it experiences. 
• Headed south again; got car washed at another place and dropped off sofa cushion for restuffing.
• Returned home, exhausted by 10:15 on a Saturday.
• Started list of next set of errands.

An ofrenda for Dad.

If

I were to create a Day of the Dead altar for my dad, it would have some pretty gringo things on it.

• A commuter mug of coffee, room temperature
• A portable TV with a football game on
• Ritz crackers with peanut butter on them
• A nicely grilled steak, rare in the middle
• A picture of Dad with one of the family dogs who's passed on, probably Haley.

For the rest of the day I'm going to imagine Dad in his den, with all the family dogs of the past 40 years dozing on the floor around him. I wish I could have a picture of that.

Home, cookin'.

After several days of sophisticated eats in New York City restaurants (and one street-cart hot dog that was really nothing to write home about—and some cruddy convention-center lunches for Jane), dinner tonight is going to be tuna-noodle casserole with crushed potato chips on top.

It's mostly the genuine old-school article, with a couple of twists: bottled alfredo pasta sauce instead of canned cream of mushroom soup, and a frozen peas/carrots/corn/green beans medley instead of straight peas. Ordinarily I would shun the bottled alfredo sauce, but I'm on deadline, so I took the shortcut.

I was inspired by week-old leftover potato chips and a craving for comfort food brought on by the cold that I picked up somewhere in the big city.

I have lots of pictures and lots of experiences to share; I'll aim for getting some posted here late in the week.

 

Mostly it feels unreal, but then it doesn't.

This is really not the way I wanted to reanimate my poor, moribund blog. And I don't want to be Debbie Downer. But life—and death—happens, and life's been eventful lately in a way that I wouldn't have chosen.

My dad got ill suddenly in early May, and a week later he passed away. I wish that no one I care about would have to experience anything like it. Being with him and the rest of my family during his hospitalization was one of the most difficult things I've ever been through, and incredibly surreal much of the time.

At this point daily life has gotten back to more or less normal for me, but then something will bring our loss back into sharp focus.

 

Tina's a trouper.

Tina came through her surgery OK yesterday, with only a minor complication to follow up on. She's gradually shaking off the effects of being under general anesthesia, and she is being so good about all the medicines she has to get. (I am terrible at administering eyedrops, though. I'm never sure if I've gotten any in her eye at all.)

I think by the end of the weekend she should be back to jumping over the little dogs when they're in her way and pokin' them when they annoy her too much.

Today's going to be a little scary for us.

Our oldest dog is going in for eye surgery in a couple of hours, so if you could hold a good thought for her and us today, I'd really like that.

She's having an ulcer on her cornea repaired to prevent further deterioration of or damage to her eye. I hope the surgery goes fine and she recovers well, and quickly. I don't really want to think about the other possible outcomes.

 

 

Sweater spotted in the wild...

well, sorta. Spotted in the Knitting Today office...

 

I think I got it a little backwards.

One of the little rules I have for myself is to try to finish two WIPs before I cast on another project—although I ignore the rule often, always for reasons that seem perfectly justified, like the St. Anthony Foundation call for handknit scarves this Christmas.

Now that I've finished my second design assignment for Knitting Today, which will be in the May/June issue, I took a short break and then returned to my personal knitting. My top priority has been to finish the vest for Jane's dad that has been in the works for about 15 months. The last thing I had left to do was finish the back, which felt like miles of plain stockinette (Jane's dad is tall). I finished all the pieces, and it's blocking now. So it's close, but not really finished—there are still button bands and armhole ribbing to knit, as well as seaming the sides.

The next thing I want to finish is my Tuscany shawl, which just had its third birthday... It's kind of frustrating now, because the rows are really long, but it doesn't seem deep enough. Finishing a row takes a lot of time but there's not much to show for it. I would like to wear it to Stitches West next month, though. And it would be fun to finish it before Jane and I head to the real Tuscany—the one in Italy—in mid-March. So really, I'm not even close to finishing this WIP.

But I decided I'd like to have another sweater for myself well under way by the time we get on the plane. Preferably a top-down cardigan that I could finish and wear on the trip. And I went a little nuts.  I've been swatching for the Featherweight cardigan, and I just purchased a pretty pattern called Cherry Vanilla (Thea Colman's design skills and productivity kind of make me sick with envy) and I've been swatching for that with some Elann Peruvian Quechua from the stash. And I have a tailored top-down t-shirt started in Aran-weight cotton. Oh, and I've been dinking around with some covers for Ethel's harness, because the nylon straps seem to be giving her bald spots. And that prompted me to pull out Coffee's sweater in progress also.... And I really ought to keep sketching and swatching new designs, so as not to lose momentum.

So instead of following my finish two, start one rule, I have just lost my mind and allowed yarn to explode all over the house. I should be able to settle down in a week or two, I think.

 

Wanna buy 5 copies for my mother!

Actually, it's not my smiling face, and it's not the Rolling Stone:

But it is my design on the cover. (And my smiling face actually is inside the magazine...)

I have to confess that I have been haunting my local JoAnn store for most of the week, waiting for the hard copies to arrive, and today I grabbed a handful. And today I've been feeling like this guy:

 

I just finished a submission for the next issue, and I'm ready to start sketching some more designs.

 

 

One of those aha moments.

I was just catching up on podcasts, and listening to an old Science Friday episode about hominid fossils. I've always been somewhat interested in anthropology, and someday I'd like to have a decent grasp of the scope of human evolution (that is, how long have we actually been here?). It seems like it's a straightforward fact that I should be able to just learn, but it's slippery, and I can't conceptualize it.

This podcast actually helped me a bit to put into context all the "x million" and "x-ty thousand years ago" numbers that get attached to Lucy and Artie, and all the other fossil remnants of our ancestors. The guest expert mentioned (casually, as if it were an obvious point) that there have been many hominid species: Neanderthals, homo erectus, australopithecus, and plenty more. First little zing of an aperçu: Oh. Homo sapiens is a species like golden eagles and redtails are species. I love reminders that we people are just animals. And I like that we (homo sapiens, that is) aren't solitary or unique; we're part of a big family, and we used to have a lot of relatives.

As the interview continues, the expert describes how homo sapiens moved into territories and extirpated the other hominid species wherever they migrated to. Then the full realization dawns on me: Homo sapiens is an invasive species, like cowbirds and mitten crabs and thistles. We aren't the chosen species—we just won, a long time ago.

It's kind of obvious once yout think about it. I just appreciate that we are no better, or necessarily worse, than any other species. We do have unequaled power to wreak havoc, which is very unfortunate. It's good that we also have the power to control our environment-destroying tendencies, if we will.

And nature lovers tend to get all judgey and hostile about invasive species like house sparrows and starlings, but we're no better. I really like that idea.

Kingbird in the 'burbs.

On today's morning walk with the dogs my ears pricked up when I heard an unfamiliar call. My first assumption was that a neighborhood starling had learned a new call--this wasn't their typical wolf whistle, but it was on their turf. I looked around, and the bird was conveniently in full view at the top of an oak, in full sun.

The bird was nearly robin-size, pearly gray, with yellow coming up the sides from its belly; it has a dark eye and pale under its eye, and a shortish, dark bill. (Mind you, I didn't have binoculars and the bird was 25 feet up.) I started thinking about olive-sided flycatcher or something in the same family.

After I finished the dog walk I went back with binoculars, but the bird was gone. Based on the field marks, though, it was a Western kingbird--the first one I've seen in my neighborhood. I'm more used to seeing them in open fields in the Central Valley, or in the cow pastures at Point Reyes.

Doggy disinfection desired.

I'm tempted to slip a little hydrogen peroxide into the dogs' water bowl because of something Ethel did on our walk this morning. She disappeared into some bushes completely when my back was turned and didn't respond to calls or whistles. Really, I was standing right in front of these bushes looking, and I couldn't see her. When I was good and panicked about spending the day searching for a lost dog she emerged from the bushes--with poop, probably human, on her lips. So she just lost all off-leash privileges, and I dislike homeless people just a little bit more.