bekka

bandwagon, snotwagon, sinwagon?

So chaletgirl, Keetha, and Katie did this, and I know I've seen it on at least 2 or 3 other blogs whose name I've forgotten, bad Bekka! It seemed like a fun Wednesday thing to do, especially since I don't have anything special or exciting to blog about from the past four days except for my very bad sinus infection with violent hacking that made me think I'd surely need Emergency Room attention, Stat! But, the appointment I made in March with my allergist just so happened to be today, so I got good meds and can't wait to truly enjoy a snot-free pregnancy.

1. Not available, 2. Macaroni & cheese, 3. Not available, 4. Green Womble House, 5. Not available, 6. iced tea, 7. Not available, 8. #2 POTTAWATOMIE: Coconut Cream Pie at the Friendly Cooker, Wamego, KS, 9. The Writer, 10. Not available, 11. Not available, 12. Armadillo in the road

Bah! Six of the photos I chose didn't appear because they aren't available.

If you want to play:

a. Type your answer to each of the questions below into Flickr Search.
b. Using only the first page, pick an image.
c. Copy and paste each of the URLs for the images into fd’s mosaic maker).

The Questions:

1. What is your first name?
2. What is your favorite food?
3. What high school did you go to?
4. What is your favorite color?
5. Who is your celebrity crush? (I don’t have any crushes. But I do like Colbert for his humor.)
6. Favorite drink?
7. Dream vacation?
8. Favorite dessert?
9. What you want to be when you grow up?
10. What do you love most in life?
11. One Word to describe you.
12. Your flickr name. (kid version: favorite animal?)

like dew on the roses

This rose bush wasn't pink when I bought it, or when I planted it. Somehow it morphed into pinkness. It's not so bad. I kind of appreciate it's delicate color and scent.

time to harvest the lavender

quilting queue

Naturally, being surrounded by fabric took its toll on me. But I ended up only buying almost 8 yards of plain white fabric at Tennessee Quilts Monday. See, I have this appliqué project in mind and I need a lot of plain white fabric on which to appliqué my design.

I have lots of red fabrics, and green fabrics, and my design only includes green and red. While I'm mostly set with what is already in my fabric stash, I found a few other reds that I liked and a yellow, that has nothing to do with this long-term appliqué project, that I had to have. Yellow is one of my least favorite colors. It surprises me when I cannot say no to it.

This aqua and red plaid-like fabric at the bottom of the stack will be the quilt's sashing. I'm sure I bought enough. At least, I hope I bought enough. Maybe come pay day I'll return to the shop and buy the rest of the bolt. No reason to let anybody else have it, right?

Also couldn't resist an intermediate quilting book called I Can't Believe I'm Quilting: Beyond the Basics by Pat Sloan. I grabbed it because the projects were so beautiful. I want to make most of them:

This one

and this one

and this one, too.

what we did on may day

Planted and weeded and prepared our flower beds for some upcoming rough stuff. I eyed the annuals and perennials at Mize, my locally-owned feed & seed for days and days until I got paid. With money to back my flora fueled compulsion, I picked out three boxes of plants to bring home, including two tomato plants. Hooray. Fresh grown tomatoes in my own backyard. The rest is just to look at.

Mize didn't offer the same shade of very light pink geraniums that I bought last year, so I went with the slightly shrimpy color. It's more soothing to the eye than the electric red and electric hot pinky other geranium selections. Although, in this photo, my geranium appears pretty electric. And what am I talking about subtle colors for when I bought a super-brilliant orange begonia (below)?

Actually, I planted a few things in my containers. I've always loved getting my hands dirty. I remember playing in mud puddles and building dams in the rainwater run off at my Mamaw's house in the summer. And the best thing ever was rain coming down as the sun shone. What I wouldn't give for one more barefoot frolic in a mudpuddle under those conditions.

Ian did all the heavy shoveling and hoeing and demarcation of flower bed boundaries. He wants to buy a roto tiller to properly turn the soil and prepare it for what we decide to plant in it. Our half-acre is surprisingly barren given the almost ten years we've lived here. Whilst living in an apartment I yearned for a yard of my own to landscape and work in. But once I had that yard of my own I determined that I really wasn't up for much working and weeding. Planting and watering I could do, but other than that?

Still, I'm stymied by too many choices. What if I plant that and hate it? That's why we've mostly only planted hostas, spirea, and a few rose bushes. Other foundation plants and trees are so permanent. It's the indecision that had led to our home being the least landscaped one on the block.

Then today I returned and eyed their roses, ferns, echinacea, hydrangea, and sedum. I may return yet again tomorrow with Ian so that we can decide what to plant in which bed.

maurice, sheep & lyrics

For some reason listening to Steely Dan calms me and makes me happy. I'm so rediscovering those fabulous seventies bands like Steely Dan and Yes. A Peter Frampton CD is on my list. My favorite Steely Dan songs is "Hey Nineteen." It's simply groovy. So smooth. Just niiiiiiiiiiiice.

There I am, snapping photos of sheep when one meanders my way. Her, or his, ear tag read 19, thus triggering the song to loop again and again in my head. There are worse things. Like when you're at Walt Disney World and you accidentally ride the "It's a Small World" ride because you thought it might be something more than it was and then you have that ridiculous song grinding against your brain pan for the rest of the time you spend at the theme park.

Hey Nineteen
No we can't dance together
No we can't talk at all
Please take me along
When you slide on down

And for some silly reason I always misheard the "no we" as Maurice. So, Maurice can't dance together. Maurice can't talk at all.  I think I prefer my Maurice lyrics, actually. Speaking of Maurice, some people call him the space cowboy.

spring sprouts

Fecundity abounds around my home. I forced a bunch of paperwhites recently. Their aroma wasn't as strong, as cloying as I thought. When my mom forced them in the past, I could not be in the same room with them because the smell overwhelmed my senses and caused a great deal of  sneezing. Instead of buying a fancy-schmancy paperwhite forcing kit from a catalog I bought dozens of paperwhite bulbs from my local nursery at Christmas and then gave bulbs in containers to at least 6 or 8 people and then had enough left over for myself. That's the way I like to shop. Something for you, and something for me, too!

Oh the other thing I forced was two amaryllises near Christmas, but they mostly disappointed. So disappointed that I didn't take the first picture of them, at all. One of the gifts I received at Christmas this year was a metal window planter with seeds for chives, parsley, and one other thing that I've since forgotten.

Finally they're sprouting. The dates on the tiny seed envelopes said they expired last year. Serves someone right for buying my gift at Tuesday Morning or TJ Maxx. Out of date seeds. Meh. I doubted they do a thing. I check them once a week or so, and two days ago Ian brought the container down from the window and let me peek inside.

wild violets on the sprout

We have sprouts. And those darling grape hyacinths in our yard.  They're all naturalized. I've never planted them or the crocus that peeked from between the tufts of grass beginning in February. I saw some other lovely purple thing, some kind of bulb, for sure, blooming on campus near where I parked the other day and I'm terribly tempted to cut them and bring them home, or at least into my office to brighten up the otherwise dreary space.

Ian opened our bedroom windows a few nights ago. I left the bedroom that night because it was so warm that I could not sleep. Neither our heat or air conditioning is on. And I absolutely love this time of year when we can keep the windows open. Fresh air is a wonderful thing. We may keep them open another month, but soon, the dread air conditioning will have to come on and the windows will close and our home will be stuffy once again.

candy tuft asserts itself

With all the fresh air coursing through my home, I have a yearning to spring clean. To gut the innards of my home and rid ourselves of clutter and detritus, dust and dander.  I've done fairly well in ridding our home of magazines of late. I'm not renewing any of my subscriptions, other than Vogue. And our outreach librarians take magazines over to the gym on campus and they fly off the racks, the magazines, NOT the librarians, though surely THAT would be something for the evening news, like hotcakes, so I can donate my old issues there and not feel guilty for simply throwing them in the trash.

cannot wait until lavender blooms

Organizing my craft room has been on my mind for some time. And that's the next big project. Mostly I want to remove everything from the room, possibly store it elsewhere, and get rid of the furniture to make it more spacious. I'd also love to re-paint the room. It's brilliant purple now, but I'd like to go with a robin's egg blue or turquoise, maybe. But who wants to paint?

Blogless Amy promised me bulbs that she dug from her grandmother's yard. The home and property are to be sold soon, and surely it's a waste to let those bulbs and flowers live outside the family. She has a bucket filled with daffodils and irises that she is bringing me tomorrow.

what not to knit

Why do I knit when my projects are plagued by problems? Must be a knitting masochist. That's it. Sure, I learn what not to knit on each project, but rarely does the lesson help me on the next project, you know? There's always some other problem I learn to solve. And I love learning, so maybe I gripe too much.  Seriously, it would be thrilling if one, just one, knitting project I attempted came out perfectly.

I stayed up until one a.m. this morning finishing this shrug. I sewed up the sleeves and then picked up stitches around the edges. Made the edge larger by two inches. Then tried to try it on.

Mostly failed. Dislocating my shoulders was not an option. Apparently I sewed up too much of the sleeve and didn't leave an adequate amount of room to shrug on and shrug off. Egads! I was super disappointed.

Then I couldn't fall asleep. I have this sinus trouble and I blame it. But my mind was busy thinking of ornament ideas for the Holiday Ornament Swap I signed up for again this year. I jotted down several ideas and hope to turn them from theory into reality this weekend, then see which ones can be easily replicated for 8 or 9 other ornament swappers.

But back to the shrug. Alas, I could wear it on my head as a tribute to my favorite comic book character, Tank Girl. She had all those perverted, mutated kangaroo friends backing her up. So I could be one, too. If only there was a Tank Girl to back up. Yeah, so I'm kidding. I love this yarn too much to leave the shrug as it is and pretend I'll wear it on my head like krazy elongated kangaroo ears.

Tonight I'll rip out the ribbing, undo my gorgeous mattress stitches a few inches, and try this a second time. Then maybe one day next week I can wear this thing out.

memetime in the meantime

Athena did a neato meme and I thought I'd follow her lead. It's a cool one, I promise. Or, at least, one with great potential. Whether I'll do it justice? Eh?

Without further ado: Five Life Classes to Fix My Sorry Existence:

1. Intro to Boogie Nights followed up with Intermediate Shake Your Tailfeather. My two left feet leave me unable to join in all the fun on the dancefloor. In jazz class I couldn't get that kick-ball-change move at all. And on cruises (all two I've been on, so they don't figure much in this exercise)) I didn't join in to learn the Hustle or Electric Slide because those kind of synchronized group dances freak me out. Would love to learn to line dance though, like the country-western folk do, but that means cleaning my boots of their layers of dust, as well as horse slobber and manure.
2. Advanced In Your Face. My first response to conflict is withdrawing. I cut my mind off and distance myself from what's happening. Mostly this is in meetings or possibly conflict situations in classrooms. However, I'd like to learn to fight better, and to whip off scathing or witty responses to those know-it-alls who think they've won by cowing everyone into accepting their position.
3. Seminar in Self-Healing. If only I could rid myself of my almost-daily headaches. I could accomplish so much more without the pain. What does a day without a headache feel like?
4. Methods of Money Management. Spend less, save more. It's really that simple, or is it?
5. History and Issues in  Clutter Control. Such a big one. If I didn't have so much stuff, I wouldn't have this problem. And if I could throw everything away, that would solve my problem. But I have a double-whammy working against me: My grandparents lived through the Depression, so I learned all this saving and recycling of plastic and paper bags, as well as aluminum foil and tins from them. Then by virtue of my profession, librarianship, I feel the need to keep every magazine issue that comes into my house because--let's not even discuss the overflow of books--someday, I might need it! My mom offered to take magazines off my hands. "The hospital can always use magazines." And my response was rapid-fire: "Oh no! I keep those as archival copies."

If you've read this far, consider yourself tagged! Can't wait to read all about, and possibly enroll along with you, in your classes.

when i grow up

Dawn has a great meme at her blog. Five things I could be when I grow up. When is that? I feel like I'm still a child, yet closer to 40 than 15. And since most people change careers, or jobs, six or seven times, there's still hope for me, right? I won't be stuck in a library for the rest of my life.

There is nothing wrong with being stuck in a library. There are much worse places to be (it's my daily mantra "I could be a toll booth collector, I could be a toll booth collector"). I love libraries. I cannot stay away from them when I am not at work. But being stuck in an office all day long makes my soul wither. Eighty percent of the work I do is on the pc. It is rote and allows for no creativity. Libraries are wonderful places to work, otherwise.

Nephew Mick eats pie from the crust end, appearing slightly drugged

Portrait photographer because people fascinate me. I want to capture the depths of their soul via their eyes. Or the remarkable texture of their hair. Or the expression on their face when they hear a nasty joke or witness something of beauty.

Culinary entrepreneur would be cool if I had money. I have at least a half-dozen grand foodie schemes that I could unleash upon my city, if only I had money and time away from my day job to see them all to fruition.

There aren't enough midwives. The closest one serving my area, maybe, lives almost ninety miles away. Midwives should handle most births. I'm so scared of hospitals after reading Pushed (2007).

After I finished twelfth grade (aka graduated high school) I saw myself as a modern-day Nancy Drew. Except with a mother, no boyfriend, and friends called Jenny, Carol, and Josie. Surely my prime time steeping in shows like Magnum, P.I., Simon & Simon, and Cagney & Lacey had a bit to do with an interest in working as  Private Investigator. It's still something I think I'd like to do, but it slighty transformed to police detective at this point, completely due to too much time spent watching Law & Order. Want to know more about the time I thought I wanted to go to law school? Two words: LA Law. Yup. Impressionable me.

But most of all, I want to be paid for my ideas. And sure, I think I have fabulous ones, and that's why I'd be the perfect R&D lackey. Research and development. Who goes around saying they want to be an R&D woman? I want to work for IDEO because they have a "renowned culture and process of innovation," that I'm sure I would thrive in. My creativity would flourish and know no daily bounds.

And then, I think that as long as I approach any of those careers with elan and flair, that I can be a slash/artiste, too.

Crap! No, what I really long to do, what my dream of dreams is: Bookseller & Proprietor. It makes no sense to want to sell books to people in our age of online book retailers and bigboxbookstores. But a shop of my own where I could introduce people to books and bring authors to my region and let my dogs roam freely. Oh, sigh. That would be heavenly. I think of the lovely, thriving bookstores I've visited, like Faulkner House Books in New Orleans, and what those spaces did for me. FHB gave me a cool, refreshing respite from the heat of mid-June. Besides that, their selection of books was fabulous. I wanted everyone. I returned to the shop another two times in the five days I was in New Orleans simply because I could not get enough. Its interior was small, cramped, even. But the number of books inside was incredible because of the floor-to-ceiling shelves; it was at least a twelve foot ceiling.