Woolly Mutts

Closing one door and opening another.

In March of 2005 I started this blog. Having just quit a full time job (which I loved) and finding time on my hands, I renewed my love of knitting. While researching new patterns I discovered that "the knitting blog" was a thing....like a BIG thing, so I decided to jump on that band wagon and give it a go.  At the time we had 3 dogs, 4 cats and obscene amounts of yarn, so I decided to call it Woolly Mutts.  Over the years it became less yarn and more life as our family expanded and my interests continued to ping pong all over the charts.  Woolly Mutts helped me make new friends, stay in touch with old friends, and more than once gave me a place to organize my thoughts from chaos to creativity.  It's been the map of my life and truly, a gift to myself.

Well, you know, life moves us onward and we have said goodbyes to all the cats (boy, I miss having a cat) and two of the mutts.  Samten, the last survivor will be 14 this spring and though we wish he could stay with us forever, we know we are enjoying his last years with us. I still knit, but the stash is greatly diminished and I am much more discerning in both fiber and project. If feels like the time is right to put Woolly Mutts to bed.

This will be the last blog post here on Woolly Mutts.  The blog itself isn't going anywhere.  Until I find the time (and funds) to publish its entirety in a book form, Woolly Mutts will still hang out here, just in case I need it for reference or if you want to revisit a favorite post.  To this day "Tales of Naked Barbies" continues to be a hit.  This blog has served me well, but the time has come to make some changes.  Henceforth, all blogging will be done at my new blog home "Ferocious Dandelion".  We are still, as they say, under construction, but I'll link all the posts on facebook until our domain name takes hold.

To every single person who has spent any amount of time reading, commenting, and encouraging my writing life, I can't say thank you enough. Big hugs from my grateful arms and heart.  Hope you'll stop by the new home and hang out with me there.

Namaste. xo

Patience

I finally got some snow yesterday and it was glorious. I will now cease with the begging.  Everything in it's own time.

So, I cut my hair.  Well, I didn't cut it.  The in-all-ways-beautiful Jenny cut it for me.  I thought about it for a very long time and I thought I was ready for a change. I had done long hair and now I wanted the cute, long bobs that everyone else and their mother is sporting.  This should have been my first red flag.  I NEVER want what everyone else wants.  It's a rule.  Jenny, who has the patience of Job with me, gave me every opportunity to pull up on the reins, but no, no I say, do it. Cut all that heavy boring hair off.  Do it now.  Hoo boy.

Some things to know about my hair; I have a lot of it. When I voiced a concern over early female baldness Jenny assured me that I could stop worrying on that account.  It is fine with a tendency to frizz and during the low humidity months I frequently look like what happens when you place your hand on that electrical ball they have at museums.  It sticks out all over.  Finally, it is wavy.  Not curly, so much, although it can put up a good fight with the flat iron. It just bends and twists with no rhyme or reason. Something to know about me and my hair; I am lazy. When you put all these things together, a cut involving any sort of layering is, well, ill advised.  I know this.  Knowing all this, I was still positive that I was ready for a break up.  As it turns out, what I really needed was more of a rest period.  A few things happened to to illuminate this fact.

The first three people I see after my new hair gave me total crickets.  Nothing. I finally asked what they all thought and got awkward attempts to say something positive when their brains were feeding them something more like what-were-you-thinking.  Then my husband, the man I love and respect above all others says to me, "Well, I've always preferred it long."  Say what? Now you're telling me this.  I watched six inches of my hair being swept off the floor while telling Jenny, "no, my husband doesn't really care how long my hair is" and now you care?  Again....hoo boy.

I attempted to do it myself. Girls, you know what I'm talking about here.  You leave the salon looking all spiffy and then you try and recreate the magic and all you get is toads. Toads and maybe a plague of locusts thrown in for good measure.  I panicked and messaged Jenny that my hair was in full revolt mode and something needed to be done to make friends with it again.  She (who by now I'm sure has placed me firmly on the naughty list) calmly says not to worry and offers me an appointment.  I'm thinking maybe more layers so the curl/wave has more freedom.  This is a really big risk, because, you know, grow out.  What if I want to grow it out?

Finally, we went to see The Arrival (very good film) and I sat for 2 hours watching Amy Adams beautiful, long, wavy, not curly hair and I wanted mine back. Turns out I needed to let it go to know for sure that I wanted it back. I am ridiculous.

Let me make it very clear that none of this hair drama was in any way Jenny's fault.  In fact, Jenny did the exactly right thing; she cut it, but she left the layers long so that if I did decide to grow it out (she might be slightly psychic) I could do so with as much ease as possible.  Which I am going to do. Grow it back.  It's only hair and all it takes is patience, which surprisingly, I have an abundance of. In the meantime I will make better friends with my blow dryer and curling iron and life will go on.

Henceforth, if I mention cutting my hair you have my permission to knock some sense into me. Kindly, of course. :-)

Did I mention it snowed?

Namaste. xo

Those that shine.

By now I'm sure you are all aware that a few weeks ago we had to say goodbye to Miss Magnolia, fanciest feline you'll ever meet. We knew the end was coming, so we emailed with Mobile Veterinary angel Beth to come to the house and help us send Noli over the Rainbow Bridge.  Beth came and we were able to say goodbye in a place where Noli felt safe. Beth hugged us, cried with us, and when it was all over she carefully placed Magnolia's tiny body in a basket lined in fleece.  It was awful and beautiful and I can't stress enough how much better it is to be able to say goodbye at home. This was a particularly hard goodbye because Magnolia will be our last cat.  Emerson is terribly allergic and as much as we love cats, we love Emerson more.

Cards came in the mail.  Not just the simple "sorry for your loss" cards, but cards from both Beth and our current vet clinic, Frost Family Pet Clinic, with actual notes from the staff sharing our loss and commenting on how Frank will be waiting to be reunited with Magnolia again.  In my book, the kindness of these cards was above and beyond.

Then yesterday's mail brought an official looking card From the University of Illinois College of Veterinary Medicine. Curious, I opened the card to find this:

I gotta tell you, I was shocked.  I had to sit down and read it again.  Frost Clinic, who had only seen Magnolia once in her life, sent a donation to memorialize her at her death. I cried. I'm still crying. Right now when every news feed is full of people behaving horribly, here in my life I am blessed by people who shine. Sweet little Magnolia's life will be remembered in a way that will help other animals in the future. I can't say thank you enough times.

I think it was Mr. Rogers who said, "...look for the helpers."  Beth Christensen and the staff at Frost Family Vet Clinic have been my helpers.  They have decided to lead lives that shine.  What lovely examples, especially at this time of year.

Namaste. xo

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The bond that never breaks.

I find grief to be fickle and maybe a little bit fascinating.  When you first lose a person, I'm going to use my mother as an example, I thought okay, this is bad, but it can't last forever.  At some point I'm going to feel better.  No body can endure that early, raw vulnerability, that shock and emptiness for very long. At some point that completely set adrift feeling has to end. It's different for everyone, but it does get better, sort of.  It changes, turns in circles and around the corners of my life and heart.  Some days I don't think of her at all and other days I know she is right here with me.  Just out of reach, but there. Today I miss her desperately.

Maybe it's because, and please forgive the pity party here, the last few months have been just sh*t.  Truly they have sucketh. Maybe this lingering ennui has left a crack in me that only she had the power to fill.  Our relationship was complicated and occasionally messy, but she was the best mother ever.  The best. All the finest moments of my younger life had her in them.

Look at her up there in the picture.  She is the one in the middle, my father in the blue shirt.  Next to Mom is her sister Ramona who was the only of her siblings to give physical evidence to the Native American blood lines from way back when.  The other gent is Ramona's husband, Fred.  They were up north on the deck and really happy.  Mom was always a little bit more herself around Ramona.  I think Ramona was her safe person. This is the way I want to remember her.  Happy and safe.

In the end, I think grief is a kind of gift. It's hard to be sad, but the remembering, each time a new little walk down a memory road, is truly lovely.  I will never, ever stop missing my dandelion loving mother or all her many faces and for that I am endlessly grateful. 

Thanks for listening.  Namaste. xo

"Once more into the breach, dear friends, the dandelions beckon."  Mr. Breathed always manages to get it right.

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To get it off my chest

In this post I am going to be completely honest about the way I feel about our new (this is incredibly painful to type) President and how he got there.  Today I'm going to feel the appropriate grief associated with the loss of a dream and tomorrow I will put on my big girl panties and hope for the best.  If you would rather not read my opinion on the subject, move along.  No hard feelings.

Donald Trump is our POTUS. (I just could not post a pic.) Hil gave him a commendable run for his money, but in the end, the people have spoken. I've had a feeling things were going to come down in this manner, but hope springs eternal.  The Cubbies won, miracles happen.  Still, I have a real, personal struggle with this and I need to put it down for posterity. Someday my grandchildren are going to wonder how Nana felt about this time when history was so closely watching.

I feel sick that Donald Trump is president, but it isn't his politics that concern me.  Honestly, after watching all three debates I'm not totally sure what his politics are, with the exception of building a wall and a deep disregard for women in general.  What bothers me is how half the population of this country could completely ignore the fact that Donald Trump is a horrible excuse for a human being.  He has lied, cheated, mistreated women, spoke with fervor against immigrants and anyone in the LGBT community, made fun of any woman over a size 0 and those with handicaps, AND he has done this openly and with no chagrin or apology. He is loud, crude, obnoxious, has a massive god complex, and that is all on a good day.  But all of that seems to be ignored or forgotten.  As long as he is not Hillary, he's okay....except that he is not okay.  At. All.

I was thinking this morning that maybe this is just me.  Maybe I'm the only one that requires that my President be a person of character.  Or, maybe we assume that all politicians are a&%holes and Trump is just more transparent about the whole thing and somehow that transparency cancels out the ugly.  Either way, I would not trust DT alone with my grandchildren.  How could I vote for a man like that? What the heck is wrong with the human race when they can vote a man into the highest office of our country after having watched him openly make fun of a journalist with cerebral palsy? Have our expectations of human behavior really fallen this low?

And then there is the fact that Hillary is a woman.  Is the US not ready for a female leader? Let's ignore the fact that 22 other world countries have female leaders.  Let's ignore all the pant suit jokes and the stupid emails and just get right down to the issue of her gender. She is a women with the audacity to want to lead a country that is still patriarchal. I truly believed we had evolved past this, but maybe a black president followed by a women was too much to ask for.  Maybe next time.

If you are white, wealthy, and male, the next 4 years will most likely treat you well.  For the rest of us, well, I hope I'm wrong.  I would really love to be wrong.

Mr. Trump, speaking as a woman that did not vote for you, I'm going to need you to step up. I, WE need you to rise up and take your place and do your job.  Enough with the jokes and the bings and bongs.  Enough with the superficial name calling and lying. The American people put you into a job that will require all the wisdom and courage your have to give and I'm calling on you to do just that. Show us you have it takes to lead this country.  Prove me wrong.  I dare you.

 

When a Journey Begins with a Book

A few months ago I finished one book and was hunting for a new something to read.  Amazon is incredibly helpful during these times of transition by offering many suggestions.  I don't know about you, but I get a little twitchy when I don't have anything to read. So I glanced through the many options and landed on "America's First Daughter", by Stephanie Dray and Laurel Kamoie.  I have to confess that I was not a huge fan of American history.  Give me books featuring a Tudor or Plantagenet and I've got a little bit of a mental road map, but of my our country's history, I've been slacking. But, you know it was near election time and there is always a lot of conversation throwing the words "our founding fathers" around like weapons and I decided to give it a go. It is fiction, but it was meticulously researched with all dates and cast of characters accurate.  It was on my kindle so I swiped the screen and started reading.  I read and I read and I kept reading.  At one point I looked to see how far I was and it was less than 40% to which I was thrilled, because this book could not end until Jefferson did. It's 642 pages and with each swipe I fell more in love with Jefferson and his family.

It is beautifully written from the point of view of Jefferson's oldest daughter Martha, who is referred to as Patsy throughout the book. It begins with the death of Jefferson's wife and follows his life through tragedy, slavery, Paris, his political career, and his relationship with Sally Hemmings. I'm not going to give you a Jefferson 101 here, but he was extraordinary.  As I read I was mentally planning a trip to see Monticello.  I HAVE to see Monticello.

Sadly, I finish the book and then head to the library to get every other book on Jefferson I can find.  I read biographies, books about the gardens at Monticello.  Books about Sally Hemmings and the Hemmings family.  I scour Netflix for any film, documentary or otherwise, on Jefferson and his life.  I am obsessed in the best possible way.

So a week or so later I am sitting at Emerson's birthday party talking with my sister about her upcoming trip out East and right out of the blue she says, "......and I think we'll visit Monticello."  SAY WHAT!? YOU ARE GOING WHERE? Oh boy, I am green with envy, but she is my sister so I give her the scoop on the book and she finds it in the library and reads it all the way to Monticello, and like me, she joins team Jefferson. She called me from the car as they left Monticello to tell me how amazing it was and how much she wished we had been there together.  She brought be me back a guide book that I have read again and again.

Then, just by accident I am channel surfing and land on the PBS special about "Hamilton" the musical and I am transfixed.  There is Jefferson....I know him!  And Lafayette.....Adams....Washington.  These are my people now.  I know these dudes. I've read of their dreams and sacrifices.  Oh man, Hamilton, don't turn your back on Aaron Burr! I have gone from ho-hum on American history to on fire for information.  All this from one book.  One little spark to begin a journey that I'm still traveling.  I LOVE when that happens.

So today as I cast my vote I thought about Thomas Jefferson and his co-patriots and I quietly thanked them for their part in bringing me, a woman, to a place where I was able to cast my vote for another woman. What a day to remember.

I hope that your voting experience was positive and that, as the ballots are tallied we remember the words of Thomas Jefferson:

"I never considered a difference of opinion in politics, in religion, in philosophy, as a cause to withdraw from a friend."

Namaste. xo

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Time it was, oh what a time it was.

This is the view from my office window.  Look at that glorious orange tree.  It inspires me every day.

Well, let me tell you, we've been having a time over here in Muttville. I'm still coughing, though there has been improvement.  Will see the doctor again next week. I continue to work on my sexy voice since my vocal chords have been trashed.  I think it lends a bit of mystery. (not even)

These two sad sacks.....

...are having their own struggles.  Miss Magnolia has begun walking in circles and has lost most of her balance.  Most likely a brain tumor, which sounds really dramatic, but considering her age and symptoms is a real probability.  We'll continue to watch her and hope she'll let us know when it's time to let her go.

Samten has a horrible bacterial infection caused by licking and scratching from allergy itching.

See his little naked back leg? Both legs look like that as does the underside of his body.  This has required multiple vet visits, two antibiotics and now a medicated shampoo where we bathe him 3 times a week, each time leaving the shampoo on his skin for 10 minutes. He's been so good about it, poor thing.  He's so sad right now.

However, there has been good news!!!! Last week we had the front window replaced!  This house was built, I think, in 1980 and has been aging, as we all do, in some not so attractive ways.  One was the leak in the thermopane of the big front window.  I give you exhibit A.

Boo.....hiss......ugly...bye, now.  The installers demoed that thing out of there in no time.

Getting the new one in took much longer, but the results are just amazing.

That is Adam.  He is the crew chief and a really great guy.  He is from Poland and he tells me, as I cough away, that he has remedy that can fix me right up.  I take the vodka, the good kind, this very important, add some lemon and ginger and bottoms up.  Cured in no time. Couldn't hurt. :-) 

These guys were such perfectionists and we are just thrilled with the results.  They also recapped our front and garage doors and replaced some front siding.  Taking this opportunity to spruce things up even more, Tom took down all the outside lights, cleaned them and then spray painted them a new color.  He is also repainting the front of the house. In case you're wondering, the house is all brown because I want it to look organic; like it grew here.  (I know. Consider the source. I'm never going to win any awards for conformity.)

He just finished putting up the house number that was made for me by Leif Bjornson, a potter from St. Croix Falls, WI in 1993. It's the little things.

Please send us good thoughts as we heal and continue to try and find the beauty in every day. A little seasonal weather wouldn't hurt.

Oh, and Go Cubbies!.

Namaste. xo

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The cough

Dudes, I am sick.  The Cough has once again visited my lungs and it sucks.  I don't cough like normal people, who quietly hack into a hankie.  I cough and gag and choke and gak and occasionally puke. My father was the same way.  I remember he used to carry around licorice flavored lozenges in his shirt pocket.  My mother's father always had a tube of Vicks that he would stick up his nose and sniff.  Apparently I am genetically predisposed to breathing issues.  Lucky me.  I feel just disgusting.  My entire body hurts from the coughing and the major lack of sleep.  I even had to miss my nail appointment, which is so bad.  So bad.  But my whining is not the purpose of this post.  That sweet faced dog up there is.  He is deeply offended by my coughing.

Seriously.  I start to cough and he leaves the room, but not before giving me a look of complete disapproval.  This is an animal that is pretty much deaf to everything but high pitched whistles, but my coughing, he hears that and is not amused.  In the middle of the night he tries to get me to let him outside, like he's going to go out and wait until it's over.  Then he comes back in and I cough again and he gets up and goes to the door again.  I'd like to think that he feels some sort of doggie empathy for my suffering, but no.  He's just pissed.

Last night I got up and went to sit up in my office chair for awhile (it's really comfy) and he came in and just stared at me. Believe me, if there is a technique to ease this coughing, I've tried it and I tried to explain that to him, which just made me cough more because talking is a major cough trigger.  He went to hide in the bedroom closet. Aren't dogs supposed to have a deep need to offer support and comfort?  I think my dog is defective.  Then again, he's old and we all get a little cranky with age.

I emailed with the doctor's office and got the usual response; if I'm not running a fever just let it run its course.  If I'm still coughing after a week to 10 days give them a call.  I'm pretty sure that if I'm still coughing in 10 days Sam will have packed up and moved in with Kysa. I might be okay with that.

Stay well, people.  The Cough is evil and I'm doing my best to keep it to myself.  Darn lungs.  Darn dog. 

To brighter days ahead.  Namaste. xo

Clown lives matter

Buddha and his sun powered disco ball. (You could be dancing....yeah.)

I do not consider myself to be an overly fearful person. I mean, we all have fears, like our family members becoming ill or injured, or your big, bad natural disaster (I'm looking at you, Matthew).  I do fear being burned (been there, done that), but things that other people might shy away from, like spiders or snakes, I really like. I'll tell you what I don't like, at all, even a little, clowns.

My clown hang up is actually a subset of a bigger problem with people in costume.  This includes, but is not limited to, Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, team mascots, and the giant robin that gets led around by the hand at Red Robin. To this day, at nearly 59 years old, I will do what ever it takes to keep Santa Claus a safe distance away from me, and by safe distance, I mean miles.

We have to blame for this irrational neurosis, my father, who when I was almost 2, decided it would be fun to dress up like Jolly Saint Nick and come home that way.  He came through the door, hoisted me up whilst shouting HO HO HO and I lost my shit.  Probably in a literal sense.  We have pictures of him in that crazy get up and me, mouth wide and screaming NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. I was never the same after that.  Did I want to visit Santa at the mall? No.  Did I want the Easter Bunny to come and bring candy? No.  Did I want to leave my tooth under the pillow for the Tooth Fairy to come? No. Do you want to dress up as a witch and knock on people's door to get candy? Are you kidding me?  Anyone in any sort of a costume was the enemy in my book

Oh, but clowns? Clowns come directly from hell to steal your soul. I always suspected it, but Stephen King confirmed it and that dude is never wrong. Have you read IT, because I have and, well.....no clowns.  Just no clowns.

Now that you know my little secret, you can probably understand that the latest rash of clown attacks has had me a little uneasy.  While Tom was out of town, a neighborhood watch group I follow reported a person dressed like a clown shooting paintballs at a local elementary school, which was bad, but THEN he was sighted on my street.  Why, why must people act like idiots? Paintball Clown was never apprehended and has probably long since ditched the mask and moved on to other acts of vandalism and stupidity.  Please let that be true.

Rationally, I am aware that beneath the latex and faux fur costumes are perfectly lovely people who are just doing their thing to make the world a more fun and entertaining place.  I wish them all well, even the clowns.  It isn't fair that the good ones are being penalized because of a few nut cases.  These are hard days to be clowns. To quote the Insane Clown Posse, “So there ARE no "killer clowns"--it's just jackasses being jackasses so everyone relax!” If a posse of insane clowns says to relax, I'm going to try and relax.  No promises.

Namaste. xo

 

 

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Never say never

I have a fitbit.  You're laughing aren't you.  I know. It's okay.  Any kind of verbiage referring to myself and using the word "fit" is sort of hilarious. I am not fit, nor do I expect to ever again be fit.  (Wait, was I ever fit? I don't think so.) I was also the person who silently scoffed at the flood of fitbit wearers who exploded on the scene when it first came out.  Oh how the mighty (again, not even slightly mighty) have fallen.  Karl, who was looking to get rid of his, offered it to me for the bargain price of one good hug.  Sold.  I've been wearing it for just shy of a week and these are my observations.

1. So far, the coolest thing it does is tell me who is calling when my phone rings.  The first day I wore it I was doing yoga and Kysa's name flashed up on the screen. It took me a minute to associate the fitbit and my phone, to whom it is linked. I'm digging this little unexpected perk since I frequently keep my phone's ringer on silent.
2. I will never, ever make it to 10,000 steps in one day.  If I do, there had better be a party or a funeral, because 10,000 steps will surely kill me.
3. Having said the above, I walk much more than I previously thought.
4. I am now a little bit obsessed with how many steps I do walk.  I check the thing WAY too much.
5. I think it does what it was designed to do; be a good incentive to moving more.  I am much more motivated now to park WAY out in the lot so I get more steps and go up and down all the grocery store aisles, even if I don't need anything in those aisles. Same goes with any store.  This could get expensive.
6. It makes my wrist sweat.  I could live without that.
7. It is not cute, but if you layer it with enough bracelets it kind of blends in.
8. It's sort of a gateway drug because now I really want an iwatch. Christmas is coming.

Closing thoughts.....I need to move more and I think the fitbit is helping. We'll see what another few weeks brings.

P.S. My sister called this morning to tell me she had juncos (snowbirds) at her bird feeder.  Juncos arrive very close to the first snow.  I thought you might like to know that.  he he.

Nameste.  xo

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