This was Big Daddy. A beautiful rooster who lived in my daughter's barn along with another rooster pal and a whole mess of chickens. My 5 year old granddaughter adores these chickens and loves to hold them and tell them to relax and that everything will be alright. We call her the chicken whisperer.
She feeds them in the morning and checks on them in the evening. She names them, holds them and loves them. She is now without Big Daddy and the other rooster....he had a name as well...because of the stupidity of adults at play. Adults who were old enough to know better and adults who thought it hilariously funny to try to get a rooster drunk because they themselves were so drunk.
Why people think it's okay to have a roaring bachelor party in a barn is one thing. Why they felt the need to go into someone else's barn and take the roosters in order to force vodka down their throats is another. And who is ultimately responsible? It wasn't the owner of the party barn who killed the roosters but weren't a drunken, sodden mess of a men in a barn on his property his deal? Does it matter that he was passed out on a hay bale at 3 a.m. when the rooster massacre occurred? I believe it was.
Besides wishing that this never had happened I also wish that the police had been called and the authorities concerning animal cruelty had been contacted. And I wish that the killer's answer to the question of what happened to the roosters hadn't been 'I don't know. They were only chickens'. My heart just aches for my daughter's family and the inhumanity of man makes me sick.
Things happen in life. People are horrible to their children. They are horrible to their pets. They are truly horrible in ways we can't imagine but I can't wrap my head around why. Why does the mean and hateful win out over the good? As I get older I seem to see more and more people taking no responsibility for their half-assed actions and asserting their freedoms to do what they want no matter what the cost. How is killing two roosters and breaking the heart of a little girl a thing to take a stand on and be proud of? I hope someday all the booze filled guys who thought this kind of thing would be hilarious end up in rehab and eventually realize what they have done. And I hope they feel as bad as they possibly can.
I gave myself a swift kick in the pants the other day and began to work a bit on my never-ending Master's project. It was hot. I was sticky. I came home from work sticky and didn't want to go back outside for any reason so I powdered myself, got a cool drink, and began to work on just one question. Just one, I thought. One a day like I vowed I would.
Wonder of wonders.....I was knee deep in answers before I knew what hit me. I think it might have been the air conditioning cooling my brain off that allowed me to answer one and then the next one and then the one after that. I somehow got all my scribbled notes together and made sense of them. I'd never been very high on the organizational scale so there were notes and more notes all over the place. I found the one I had written on the edge of a cross word puzzle in the newspaper. The Post-it notes had all come unstuck and were fluttering around me but I corralled them. I even-gasp-threw some of them away because they had no bearing on what I was doing. One was a previous weeks grocery list and the other was a list of stuff I had to do. No wonder I coulnd't find it.
What really seemed to make it work this time was that I began to type it all up. It looked official typed and tricked me into thinking that I couldn't screw around anymore. I couldn't leave questions unanswered that I just didn't want to think about. I had to have references listed for everything and I found them just so I didn't leave any blanks that I would have to go back and fill in later. The printer is upstairs in the really hot part of the house and I only wanted to go up there once to sweat over the thing.
This is the answer for me: air conditioning and typing. Wednesday is supposed to be a stinkin' hot day. I feel a finished blocking report coming on.
Why yes, that is a shelf full of booze behind my Master's Notebook from Hell. I have taken to drinking now just to deal with the whole thing. Fuzzy Navel, anyone?
I have hit the Master's wall. Hard. The booze helps with the pain. I just can't work on this project anymore without groaning and wanting to bury my head in a couch pillow. The maniacal knitting was fine. Now it's the never ending questions I have to answer that are steering me towards the bottle. A stiff drink helps lessen the pain of all the paper cuts I'm getting from flipping pages back and forth trying to find the correct answer to what other type of knitting a yarnover is used in. And then listing the reference in the correct manner. At this point 'who gives a shit' is my answer. And my middle finger is the reference. I have a very naughty set of answers to the 18 questions that I don't think the review committee will appreciate. Right now I'm tired of it all and it shows in my inability to write a clear and concise paragraph on gauge. Or a two page report on blocking. Gak. I'd rather teach a monkey to work an iPod than finish this thing up.
I kind of figured this would happen being that I know myself but I had hoped it wouldn't. I had hopes of getting the whole thing done and sent off into the knitter's great beyond with a tear in my eye and a fond farewell. I had hopes of cleaning up my piles and piles of knitting books and yarn and papers and all the stuff that collects when working on a project. I had high hopes a couple of months ago but now all I want to do is sit on the couch during my down time and knit something else while using the big blue binder for a footstool. Or lay on the couch and read and not have to think about the difference between K2tog and SSK. One slants one way and the other slants the other way. What else is there to say? And really....who cares? This is like math class. I can show my work but I can't or won't tell you how I got there.
One of these days I will be done. I swear. I am not a quitter but I am a hider of things that I'd rather not see. I want this big blue binder off my kitchen table and my fear is that it will 'accidentally' get moved to the basement and covered by laundry. Tonight I am going to have a drink and answer ONE question without swear words. Then tomorrow I will do the same. It will be a race to see what gets done first....the questions or the bottle of Peach Schnapps.
To see which way the wind blows.....
Holy cats and dogs! I believe the weatherman told me on TV last night that it would be nice this morning and maybe there would be scattered showers this afternoon. He lied. My hubby is standing in the kitchen with his nose pressed against the window softly swearing because the weatherman told him that he would be able to ride his bike this morning. It was going to be lovely, he said. Instead, it is raining pitchforks. Damn.
We have had so much rain lately that I am squishy and achy. I can't force a hair style to suit me and the only thing that's good about it is that I don't have to water my flower pots outside. I'm pretty sure there is water in my basement but I'm afraid to actually take a look. The weatherman should be shot. He has all manner of fancy equipment and a giant Doppler but still...he can't get it right. He has computer generated maps for gods' sake! He just smiles his smarmy smile and tells us all manner of lies about fronts, stationary or otherwise.
Going forward I am going to rely on my joints and my cat's mood to tell me if it's going to rain or not. I ache so bad that I'm remembering my hip replacement pain pills with fondness. My cat has been acting very goofy and has been alternately chasing shadows and hiding under the foot stool. Last night he had a stare down with a stone cat statue I have that sits on the floor by the stairs. I thought maybe he was lonely and trying to strike up a conversation but perhaps he was just complaining about the crappy weather to anyone who appeared to listen.
The weathermen have nothing on me and my cat. I'm going to take my aching joints and my big umbrella and go watch a soccer game on what was supposed to be a lovely day. The cat will be fine. He has stone kitty to talk to. I don't know about hubby. Perhaps he can ride in circles in the garage.
Sociology fascinates me. I have never taken a class in it or even put a name to it until recently when it dawned on me, while watching PBS, that yes, this is what floats my boat. This is what it is. Sociology. I'm a Reality TV junkie and I'm not ashamed to admit it. I've never been ashamed to admit it but I like that there is another name for it. Junkie just doesn't suit me.
I've been interested in other people's lives and how they live them since I first saw the Loud family play out their stinkin' mess on PBS back in the 70's. I felt so bad that they couldn't keep it together as the days of filming went on but it fascinated me as well. I learned that you can put on a good show for awhile but eventually crazy wins out and the dysfunction rises to the surface. You can smile and joke through an awkward wedding reception but if that reception went on for days and days eventually something hideous would come out of your mouth and the fighting would begin.
Watching Frontier House, Manor House, 1900 House and Texas Ranch house has shot my brain into overdrive and given me quite a bit to think about. You can put the people in costumes but can you make them be what you want? No. Reminds me of my favorite joke: You can lead a whore to culture but you can't make her think. Ba-dump-bump. Sorry. I got off topic there for a moment.
The history of these reality shows is so interesting and lets us in on what hard work it was just to get through the day. If I had to cut wood, stoke a stove and then try to bake bread in it my family would go hungry and I'd be a sobbing, filthy mess by the end of it. Living with gas lamps would scare the hell out of me as would not having access to a potty close by. Never mind no showers and a 2 day horse drawn carriage ride to the store. The amount of back breaking work was staggering for women and a tightly lace up corset would be worn for all of it. I'm amazed that we all made it to where we are and I feel pretty silly now for putting off vacuuming the rug.
I've also come to realize that if you put a person in a position of power they will slide into it way to quickly and easily. They will make bone-headed decisions just because they can. They will treat people who they consider lower than them on the social scale with superiority and disdain whereas in their daily real life they would never do that. Or think they would never do that. They end up having little or no regard for the people who are working so damn hard and long to make their house run and keep their bellies full. It's astounding what people will do if given the chance. The fact that during the early 1900's in the large Manor Houses of England the maids had to turn their faces to the wall when the big shot master passed them in the hall infuriates me. It's the people who have to play the help in these shows that get mad at the lot they've been given...not the people who play at power.
I'm not sure what I would do if given the chance to play at living in another era. I know I would detest the corsets, And I hope I would kinder to my staff but in my head I'm one of the staff and a cranky one at that. I would be the one bucking for a raise from 20 pounds a year to 21 and I would also be the one trying to start a revolt during my one smoke and potty break a day. Ah, but then I would be fired and sent off without a good reference and my master wouldn't bat an eye. He would just be wondering why his dinner was late. Fascinating.
From what I have been led to believe today is World Wide Knit in Public Day. It would be great to sit around in public and knit all day but it's too stinkin' hot here in Minnesota to do much of anything but lay on the basement floor and pray for a cold front to move in. It's going to be so hot and muggy today that the only thing the knitting would be good for would be sopping up the rivers of sweat running down my face. There will be no knitting today. Public or otherwise.
I'm not quite sure I get the whole 'knit in public' deal anyway. I'm a solitary knitter. After a stressful day at work I love to sit and knit and not have to talk to anyone. I will knit in airports and airplanes. I knit in the doctor's office while waiting for my appointment. I will even knit in the car. Sometimes. So I am a public knitter but I guess I'm not a public social knitter. Conversing while knitting makes me lose my place unless I am just knitting a plain old every day sock. I can't read my pattern while there is talking and I can't count stitches. I make so many mistakes there's really no point in knitting socially for me because I have to rip everything out when I get home. It would be better for me to not knit and to be the person to pass out the treats and beverages. A Knit in Public Hostess if you will.
Knit on, you Knitter's in Public. I have the utmost respect for you. I hope you all don't disolve into a pool of sweat and that you never drop a stitch. As for me......shh-h-h-h-h. I'm counting.
What shall it be? Paper or plastic? I hate this question and would rather spend the time deciding and answering it pondering which came first....the chicken or the egg. Some days I really don't know what I want. I've noticed that a few of the people ahead of me in line now throw it back and say, 'whichever is easier'. Then I think about why either one would be easier. The grocery store is fraught with too many things to think about for me. I also have to decide if I really want to spend money on a People magazine when I know full well that it is a piece of fluff and that I will just be annoyed that I spent good money on it. I don't know...do I hate the question or do I hate the store?
I try to help the earth along by not taking plastic bags when offered. If I have to use one I save them in another plastic bag at home so that they don't go into the trash but is it really sensible to carry a small block of cheese home from the grocery store in a giant paper bag? Conversely, who is it helping when my jug of milk, my giant plastic wrapped footstool of toilet paper and my watermelon are not put in any bags but left for me to juggle to the car and then into the house? It's easier for me to go to the damn store every day to buy a couple of things and have them put into a paper bag so I don't bust a watermelon on the front curb. That is, if the paper bag will be strong enough to hold the watermelon. Sigh. It's a never ending problem for me....this deciding on paper or plastic.
But now, all of a sudden, I also have to decide if I even want a bag or not. This questions has been asked of me over and over lately. Do you want a bag? Well, let me think about it.....if I have that one small block of cheese I guess I could toss it into my purse and pray that I remember it's in there. I once carried a leftover piece of steak wrapped in tin foil around in the bottom of my purse for two weeks. It didn't smell nice when I eventually found it. Yes, I can throw this bottle of aspirin and the pack of gum into my purse but what about a skein of yarn, knitting needles, a row counter and a magazine? I was asked if I needed a bag for that and I thought for a moment and decided that I did. The person behind the counter sighed but handed over the bag. Paper. At least I didn't have to decide about that.
I think, to combat this problem of shopping bag decisions, I will take to carrying a cloth bag everywhere I go. Oh, I have cloth shopping bags....I'm not late to the party...I just don't keep them in my purse or in my car. I keep them in a cabinet in the kitchen but they are not helping the situation by hiding away in there. I feel now that I will have a handle on this paper or plastic deal and the 'do you want a bag?' thing. That is, if I have enough cloth bags jammed in my purse when I go to Target and find myself at the checkout with $200 worth of stuff in my cart. Or a watermelon.
These are my last two swatches for the Master's Knitting program. They now have their little ends woven in and are tucked into their little page protectors. The project hat is knit as is the 30" I-cord deal that I have to attach to the top. I am exhausted. The obsessive knitting mania has just about done me in. My hands hurt and I have a knot under my right shoulder blade the size of a golf ball but I am done. Done.
The swatch on the left is a cable of my own choosing and I knit that thing up 4 times. The swatch on the right is the color change swatch which was also knit more than once. I figure that out of the required 18 swatches I have knit around 30 what with rookie mistakes and just plain bad looking ribbing. I got to the point where I wasn't ripping the swatches out and reusing the yarn but was cutting the yarn, yanking it off the needles, and tossing the whole thing into the trash followed by a bad word. It was some kind of bat-shit knitting mania that had me in it's grip.
The Master's Knitting Program became a really big 3-ring bound mountain for me to climb and I think I went so knitting crazy because I was afraid. Afraid to stop because then I would lose my mojo. Or I would lose the tension I had so painstakingly obtained for all the swatches. I became afraid that I was perilously close to tossing the whole thing into a corner and not finding it until next year when I would then have to download the directions all over again in case they changed in any way. And by that time I would have misplaced the yarn and the needles would have been in some other piece of knitting. And that would have been like falling. I did not want to fall off the side of Master's Knitting mountain so I knit like a person possessed trying to keep myself going upward.
I am in a little decline after all the mania and I just can't bring myself to finish up all the writing yet that is involved in the program. I need a cool cloth on my forehead and a good rest in a meadow of wildflowers before I tackle the writing. I might also need some oxygen.
RSS Feed
