Tilt-a-whirl

When Good Dogs Go Baaaaad

Can you hear the dulcid tones of the voice-over actor telling you about how a mild mannered, family dog went to the Dark Side, one night? Yeah? Me, too. I hear voices... I digress.

I was happily ensconsed in my Woman Cave last night, having done all of my dinner chores, settling in for a nice evening of spinning. Trixie would come and go, during the evening, checking in on me and sometimes acting out the pantomime; I need to go outside, Mama. Up and down and just plain restless, which I attributed to no Big Walk yesterday.

It had to be about 9 pm when she sauntered in for a regular skritch and I noticed some sort of odd material on her face and coat. My mind started running things but nothing came to me, immediately, and so I got up, asking her pointedly, "what did you do?". No destrucion in the living room. No destruction in the laundry room. No destruction in the hallway to our bedroom and then, there it was... I apologize for not whipping out my camera but I was too taken aback by the scene. Here was our bedroom floor, covered in FEATHERS. Tank was lying on his bed, looking at me, as though to say, "don't look at me, *I* had nothing to do with it". It was all that I could do, to keep a straight, stern face, telling Trixie that this was BAD and that this was NO. She gave me this look:

I swear, it took me back to the evening when Lauren and her clever friend, Jenny, were in her room, crank calling people. I KNEW that I should not laugh. I knew that it was WRONG but it was really hilarious.

The feathers and ruined little fancy shmancy pillow are tied up in a neat bundle, in the garbage can and the floor has been vacuumed. Needless to say, TODAY, we took those dogs for a nice long run in the woods, until their tongues were lolling out of the sides of their mouths.

Trixie really is a good dog. She is still a big puppy and is just happy, all of the time, running straight up dirt walls and bounding down to the pathway, over and over and over. Tank seems content to be on a leash now, watching her wear herself out. He has been on pain meds and this Tuesday, we take him for his knockout drops and big x-ray, to see if he does need surgery. He seems to know his limitations, these days, unless SOMEONE wants to romp. I guess that any surgery will hold, until we come back from our trip and Stitches West. Then, I can stay home and keep him quiet (yeah, right). He looks a bit like Sad Sack, don't you think?

One last bit of stuff about Trixie; she loves the cats, to pieces. Remarkably, they think that she is a nice goofball and allow her to come up in their faces, nudging and nibbling, while they lick her nose. It is her gentle nature that is so great and perhaps it is in the genetic code of a Farm Dog to gently herd her "friends".

Here's to a beautiful weekend with a visit from our buddies, Brenda and Milt, who need to come up here and taste some liquid siphoned out of barrels. Barrel Tasting Weekend, baby. Nothing like Futures to look forward to, with friends.

Cheers!

Getting Excited For Stitches West

It's time to play "paper dolls" (yes, I age myself with that term, don't I?) with all of the possibilities for a new look at Stitches West. Why? Well, I decided to splurge on three booth spaces this year, giving me more space and less stress during the "where am I going to put everything?" set-up and the crowded feeling that seems to happen in the booth during the show.  I just want to try something a little bit different. 10 x 30! Holy Schnikies, really?

Every time that I come back "home" to Stitches West, I have to remember that my friends and customers at this show have not actually seen so many of the new colorways or some of the new yarns that have crept into the line-up over the year and I am excited to bring EVERYTHING; hence the need for some more space. I can say it over and over...has it really been a YEAR?

By the end of Show Season, Rod and I are pretty adept at set-up and don't sweat or bark at each other, much. For some reason, even though the lay-off time is not really that long, it is as if we are doing it all from scratch, re-inventing ourselves in February. From what I hear, from colleagues, I guess that it is natural.

When we were doing Juried Craft Shows, the first show of the season was in March, in San Francisco. Every artist buddy of mine all had the same lament about not being "ready" with product, simply because we had all taken a month off, to recharge batteries before beating ourselves about the head and shoulders to get back into the "production" mode. Of course, back then, I kept hearing yarn customers at that show chide me for not "doing Stitches West". What? It happened in February? You spent all of your yarn money THERE? Ai-yi-yi.

That ended the Time Off syndrome (get that Christmas tree OUT of this little living room! I need my spinning space back!) when I decided to add this small, non-juried event to my show schedule, packing everything into the standard 10x10 space that I had always used at Craft Shows. I remember the first show and how we were situated across from an Old Pro who had THE most amazing booth, making me feel small and like the yarn show Newbie that I was. That 10x10 space that had never been a problem at shows where I sold my finished goods and SOME yarn, quickly became a crowded nightmare, showing me that I was going to have to really put some thought into this kind of booth.

That first Stitches West, in Oakland, was a turning point in that slow change that eventually brought me to where I am today. I just love that so many of my sweater customers became yarn customers, when knitting became what it is today...cool. Now, a lot of the customers who bought my handspun yarn are spinning and I love that, too.

You see? Stitches West is Home to me, not only because I am a Bay Area Native but because this is where my creative and wonderful friends show up, excited about yarn, fiber and color. They make ME excited about all of that stuff, too, and this is probably why all of the creativity takes place as the year progresses. I liken the big booth, bursting with beautiful things to the days that I would return to a Spinners Flock Shepherd's Shearing Day with garments made from the previous year's fleeces. Show & Tell. I expect lots of it, people. I love what YOU do with what *I* do. Bring it on.

Stand Up And Cheer

I wasn't going to listen to it. As a matter of fact, I just figured that if the recorded episode of Alcatraz, that we were going to watch, during our early supper, precluded it, there was no big deal to worry about. Our show, with the commercials eliminated, ended in time for the TV to switch over to The Speech. We had missed only a couple of sentences and so we reeled it back to listen to the whole thing. The Whole Thing.

BAM! Who was this guy? Oh, HE was the man that I heard speak at the Democratic Convention a number of years ago. HE was the orator who gave me goosebumps when he spoke about what is right and wrong with our country. HE was the one that I voted for (by absentee ballot) and watched win the election, the night that we were in Baltimore, a very African American town, much like Oakland, where Rod and I grew up. HE was the man who had disappeared under the tent flap, working behind the scenes, while the Clowns ran in and out of the little car. Well, last night, HE was back.

Last night, he spoke up for Me and You. It was one of those speeches that had me jumping and shouting like a Big Hat Lady in Church. Yessuh! That's Right! It was like the best Parent/Leader speech ever, beginning with the lines that were built to break the ice, giving the entire body of the house something to stand for. It was like the guys from American Pickers finding that first item that they could get the old guy in the barn to agree upon, so that they could grease the wheels of commerce. Troops out of Iraq...BAM. Bin Laden...BAM; greased wheels and butts out of seats.

The speech went on very quickly into the territory of what has been happening behind the tent flap and how the country CAN turn around, IF the people sitting in the congress will DO something about it. He didn't call them out, specifically, about being a Do Nothing Congress but gave them a patriotic challenge to pull together, as Americans and actually save this place that we all love. I loved all of the ideas that I heard, about giving business tax incentives for bringing manufacturing home because that is what *I* and every other partriotic small business person has probably been saying, over their morning paper, every day. I agree with the idea of taxing capital gains at the same rate as wages and don't care if our little nest-egg has that hit. Our nest-egg earns a little bit of money but the Nest Egg of someone like Mitt Romney earns SO much money that it is lucky and obscene, all at the same time. You and I pay our taxes on what we earn while the very very wealthy have lobbyists who influence congress to help them to keep their tax payments way below that of a working stiff. We have no lobbyists. No, I take that back; our lobbyists took to the streets this year and I believe that what they said and did was heard through the heavy tent canvas. He spoke to US last night.

I watched as the prime players in the Beltway Drama stood up or sat stone faced. I heard him go after both sides of the house with the call to ban interested parties from owning stock in companies that could be helped by their votes. That really spoke to me because I saw corruption and gain from the senators and congress men and women that I relied on to be "the good guys". I heard the President call upon every one in congress to do what is right for this country.

I heard him say what *I* say all of the time, how we are letting our youth go without the education that MY generation had and took for granted. I heard him say so many of the things that we all know to be true. We have to pull together, to get down the road. If we stand in the road, pulling in opposite directions, we will never get anywhere and the wheels will rot.

Pull back the tent flaps. There is a way for compromise and for there to be something for each one of us to put into our pocket for tomorrow. So many of our citizens have been listening to the addictive, negative and misleading rhetoric spewed out by For-Profit hate mongers that they have no notion that we have all been ROBBED. Shine a light on this stuff and shame your representative into doing what is Right for all of us. THIS is what I got from The Speech last night. I didn't hear some Washington Insider with a Boiler Plate Special, I heard MYSELF. I heard the President talk about universal high speed internet access so that the small business woman living in a rural setting could connect to the world and have a faster way of getting her product out to her customers around the world. Hey! That's ME. That's YOU. That's not elitist, that is like getting electricity to every farmhouse in America, during the Depression.

We CAN do this and The Speech was like a Call To Arms. Go to the streets because SOMEONE is listening. There was something in The Speech to touch everyone and if it left you scowling, you must be Mitch McConnell, the man whose only raison d'etre is to stand in the way of everything that could be done to save this country, if it is done under the watch of THAT guy. Screw that, as they say in the vernacular. Being a Bad Guy, a Greedy Guy is NOT COOL. We have become a nation of poor inner city kids who idolize the Pimp Daddy and Gang Leader because THEY have the big cars, diamond Grill and stacks of cash. Come on, people, the real heroes are the kids who did their homework and got Out. The real heroes are Gabby Giffords, Elizabeth Warren and Paul Krugman.

At the end of The Speech, Rod was sniffling and I was on my feet clapping. HE finally said it, out loud. We CAN fix this place up and if you don't want to help, we will tax you and you will help, by default. Amen.

Happy New Year

I have two words for you; Water Dragon. You know that sound, when you put your ear up to one of those "you can hear the ocean" shells? That kind of sound is coming through the wall of glass on the south side of the house. Our little Weaver Creek is roaring again, with the water tumbling madly down through the narrow slot of huge, heavy moss rocks that form the little canyon division of our land. Aquarius and The Water Dragon. It sounds like a good title for an old fashioned Japanese monster movie, don't you think?

My dad is an odd duck, to say the least, but a very smart and "sensitive" man who struggled with the madness of living in a highly populated area, during one of the mostly highly charged times of his lifetime. Imagine being in a TV showroom, with the audio up and every set on a different channel. This is how I imagine it is for someone with that much sensitivity to stimuli, both seen and unseen. He had to flee.

He pulled up stakes from the SF Bay area, over 20 (!) years ago and went to find his Peace in the beautiful Bitterroot Valley of Montana. He is there because he was searching for the place of his impressionable youth, the recreation of the place that was the Owens Valley, before Los Angeles took the water. See? There is that word again...water. He found Hamilton and settled in there, loving the mountains and the little valley situated between two mountain ranges, just as Bishop is there between the southern Sierra and the White Mountains. I have not seen him since those rough days, when he struggled with the ability to shut out the Noise but talk to him, every now and again. He seems peaceful, even though he is losing his sight to macular degeneration.

I have forgiven him for all of the childhood years that I spent without him, knowing now that my two sensitive and intuitive parents could never have survived their lives Together. My mother never got over his leaving and was dreaming about "Jimmy" as she neared the stroke that left her an Internal Being for those 11 months After the Stroke. My dad probably never gave her another thought, choosing to marry a couple of times more and finally end up blissfully alone.

I have struggled with the two halves of my DNA; my mother being extremely talented and disciplined but rigid, while my father was artistic with a wild abandon, never having much success with any of it. They both lost their sight but not their Sight. (take your Lutein, Lisa...) My mother died an unhappy human but we made peace before she had the stroke. Dad will leave the planet when he is good and ready, having found his own peace in a quiet valley.

I have found much peace in this beautiful forest and thank my mother for allowing me to pull up her roots so that I could find my own, here in this land. I made a move, much like my dad, to find a small town with a soul, old fashioned newspaper and old fashioned parades.

Dad said that the Chinese lunar New Year would bring the end to our drought. He was right.

Simply This

 Sunday.

Today is a good day and I'll tell you why; we got up early and were on the same wavelength, which was, "it would be a very good idea to get dressed and head down to Sweetie Pie's for breakfast" before running a couple of errands. Actually, I think that I sent the idea through the walls, and as always, he picked it up and said "I heard you". He is a little bit psychic but a lot Long Married. No matter what, we got in their door at the right time, just before the 9 am hordes, got our coffee mugs, filled them with a delicious brew and settled into chairs at this Placerville institution. Ollalieberry/Health Nut Pancake(s)...that is all. I can eat only ONE because they are filling AND as big as your head (no lie), being so packed with goodness and covered with goodness, once the Ollalieberry puree is added. My stomach thanked me for the idea and my pocketbook thanked me for the meal before heading to the supermarket. Gee, I bought fresh veggies and not a lot of C R A P. See? Smart!

 

I want to thank my friends for all of the information about recovery from canine ACL surgery. It gives me much more confidence, to say the least. I think that the Nsaids that Tankie is snarfing down with his kibble is making hime slow down a bit more, which is a good thing. He sees Trixie zoon down the hill and is not inclined to follow. Yay, drugs. :o) I will keep you posted on what we discover.

We are in a countdown mode, to Stitches West, which I look forward to SO much, simply because I get to see so many old friends again! I think that my February is going to look a lot like the days when, once I had finished a pile of sweaters for King's Mountain, we would take off for Donner Lake and a small show in Squaw Valley, to get relaxed and ready for Show Season.

It is going to be a bit different, this year. I will be working up to the first of February and then (gasp) taking a week's vacation WITH our entire family, to Kauai. I know...shut up, Lisa. It has been on my Bucket List to do such a thing and not since they were kids, have we done anything like this, with EVERYONE. Laid back, like the book. Renting a house over there and just taking it easy, playing with the big and little kids. If I look rested, when you see me, you will know why. Thanks, Mom.

Here is a gratuitous shot of one of the members of the Souza Party, in Winter Mode.

If you keep up with me on that Time Suck, you will remember the moaning and groaning about jars. For those of you out of that loop, I have used Ball or Kerr canning jars for YEARS, storing my dye liquor in the workshop. I started to have issues awhile ago but things did not hit the proverbial fan until I happened to put a jar up on the top shelf, tap a neighboring jar and have that neighboring timebomb jar shatter and cause a bloody red deluge all through my shelving unit. I was on the war path because I knew that American glass companies had begun to use cheaper glass to save pennies (probably so that the place with the W could save YOU pennies), which created the timebomb for everyone.

I showed this photo of some of the other jars that I found to have the same exact fatal flaws, all in my workshop, at the same time.

I vowed to begin the task of eliminating all of this crappy glass from my studio and once we found these magnificently beautiful French Glass jars from US Plastics Corp, I began getting to so excited about jars, jars, jars. Lorrie and Rod do not understand my giddiness but I do not care. I am a happy camper. We are in the middle of the transition (I try to do a few a day) and this is why I am so very excited.

As a little girl, I got way too excited about a fresh box of 64 Crayola Crayons (with the sharpener) and I get the same high from this.

Here are a few beauty shots of what you have to look forward to seeing at West; some yummy handspun yarn.

Blue/green Algae Baby Alpaca/silk

Handspun Cameroon silk/merino

Cobblestone Merino/cashmere

Now, it is time for me to leave the frigid workshop and head over to the house for lunch and an afternoon of spinning MORE yarn while Rod swears at the TV during the games. Sunday and here comes the rain.

The Vet Visit

First of all, I would like to thank Mother Nature for a glorious soaking that has begun the "little" creek roaring again, giving us over 4 inches of rain, so far. Much obliged, Madame, much obliged. The powdery soil in that low spot, out back, went from crunchy "perma-frost" to goop in no time but honestly, I am so very happy to have this bounty for my trees and well that I don't mind it ONE BIT. My Chinese horoscope devotee dad, was right about the timing. He said that the year of the metal dragon was going to be refreshingly wet for our land and our souls. Alrighty, then...

We knocked off from work yesterday at 2, so that Lorrie could follow me over to the house and exercise her poor middle finger with some MUCH needed scissor work on my mop. When she got hurt that day that Trixie arrived, I knew that a haircut was out of the picture for good length of time but yesterday morning, she announced that she had brought her scissors and that I REALLY needed a haircut. Hah! Nothing like having your hairdresser/friend/assistant/dog sitter stare at your overgrown hairdo to get her recuperated enough to wield the scissors again. I, for one, am mighty happy to get the hair out of my eyes. :o)

The dogs had no idea of what was coming, as they hung out in Hairdo Land. They were just happy to be with us. When Lorrie left, it was time to get the car ready and the leashes hidden until the last minute before the first car ride with Trixie and her buddy, Tank. No WAY did they want to just "hop in", even though she can bound like Superman. No WAY would they try the ramp and so Rod had to lift them up into the back of the Pilot. Tank was the only one getting worried, as we drove the 10 minutes to the Smith Flat clinic and by the time we arrived, he had worked himself into quite the tizzy. Trixie was calm and quiet.

Doctor Kennedy is a bay area transplant, like us, and loves to be a teacher to his patients people. He worked with Trixie, who was pretty nervous when he came to her with the microchip reader but by the time she was done with HER exam, she thought that he and his treats were ok. All of the time that she was being worked with, poor Tank was hyperventilating and acting like a goofball. It really was embarrasing, to tell you the truth. (here come those Souza's with their two ring circus) but after he was checked by the doctor, I had a better idea of why he was acting like a nut.

The Doctor had asked why Tank was in and I explained to him that he had an episode of pain, while playing with little Myles, right around Christmas. They had been "rough housing" (Tank was doing tug-o-war and those juking moves that dogs do, in play) when he cried out, fell down and held his leg out at an odd angle. At that time, I was worried that he had pulled his hip out of the socket or something and we watched him and when he seemed to improve in a day, I let it go. It happened again, to a lesser degree, and when I saw him recover, I put it in the back of my mind. It happened one more time, when he and Trixie were play fighting outside and I knew that I needed to alert the doctor. I honestly just thought that it was arthritis or something like that.

Upon examining Tank's knees, the doctor told me that he was worried that Tank not only had arthritis in those knees but that he may have torn his ACL's in one or both knees. (!!!) This dog has been hiking with us and trying to keep up with Trixie heading up the hill but really slow on the way down. He is only 6 but a purebred Lab who was diagnosed with an elbow issue, as a pup and this was and was not shocking. We did get scolded a little for his extra 10 pounds, which we vowed to whittle away, as we did once before, when he and Sasha came in a little too well fed,  years ago. (knock off the treats, Mama.) The doctor said that this would help his joints but we have to take him in on Tuesday to be sedated, x-rayed and evaluated, to see if he needs surgery. Surgery.

We came home with a bottle of Nsaids for his pain and were told to up his fish oil to 8 capsules a day as well as get some Sam-e and human Chondroitin (he said not to trust the dog formula) and to look into Nutro-max for more joint issue treatment. Dogs can be so stoic and I can only imagine the amount of pain that he has been suffering, now that we have been clued in to the doctor's suspicions. Poor Tankie! It is just good to know that if the worst case is a reality, he can still have that surgery to keep his knee from slipping and wearing and can have a good quality of life. At this point, I will hope for "just arthritis" but prepare for the worst case scenario.

I guess that it took these younger dogs coming in for a romp with him to expose the flaws in this big boned dude. I just want him to have a happy and healthy life as a grown-up Lab, being able to play with Trixie and be her walking companion for years to come.

Take it easy, Tankie...you are on a diet, buddy.

The Forest

We have had no measurable rain here since October, that is, until last night. I have to tell you that the impact of the first rain in months turned this environment of mixed conifers into a perfumed wonderland. The thirst of this land was given a sip of water and in return, she went from brown to green, overnight. That, my friends, is the poetry of the rain. The reality of the rain is that I now need to keep a pile of old towels close at hand. Why? I adopted a LONG HAIRED DOG.

She had her first taste of living in the woods, the WET woods, last night and while I was stirring up some sort of mushroom pasta in my cozy kitchen, Rod was dutifully walking the dogs out in the rain. I could do nothing but laugh and then rush for a towel when that big wet girl came careening around the corner of the carpeted hallway (yes, I am not a fan, but it came that way) slipped and skidded her way around the wood floor of the kitchen, leaving great swaths of wet floor. Niiiiiiiiice. This is going to be how we roll, around here, for the rest of what we hope to be the "catch-up" time with rain and snow, now that the "storm door" has been cracked open.

Now, I need to see about 1. whether I can find raincoats for these dogs and 2. whether these knuckleheads will put up with wearing these elusive things. These are NOT Chihuahua's, after all. She, certainly, is going to need her hikes but I don't think that she is going to be a big fan of being soaked to the skin. Hey, Michelle G, what do YOU do, with your English Shepherd? Tank, with his close, Lab coat (Labrador, you silly people) seems to have less of an issue with rain but this girl and her silky soft stuff gets W E T.

This afternoon, we have an appointment at the Smith Flat Vet Clinic, to have Trixie chipped and licensed, sealing the deal between us. When I called to ask for a Well Dog appointment for her (and a check-up for Mr Arthritis), I encountered what I had almost expected, when the receptionist asked for Trixie's breed. I piped up that "she is an English Shepherd" (I had, thanks to Michelle, done my research.) and after a few moments of silence on the other end of the line, I heard her say, "I will have to put her down as a Shepherd Mix because our computer program does not list that breed." I was not surprised but will be curious to see what Dr Kennedy says, today. She has all of the characteristics of this old breed and I aim to stick up for her. :o) Farm Dog. I like that.

This is going to be a test run, our first car ride and first trip to the clinic. Tank can't just hop up into a car anymore (how can a 6 year old dog be hurting like this?) and well, she is an unknown in the equation. All that I know is that when the leashes are brought out of the utility room, the dogs get antsy and nutty, in anticipation of a long walk but we'll see how they do, getting into the car, won't we? Wish us luck.

Today, Trixie will officially become our Forever Dog. That has a nice ring to it, doesn't it? Forever Dog. I have never adopted a young adult dog and while we had a bit of a period of adjustment, she has come around quickly. No more being cooped up in a crate all day and no more "leash only" walks. This sweet smelling forest IS a dog park and while Sasha is buried here, she has got to be happy about the new arrival. I think that she sent her...

Ohhhhhh, so you want bigger type, do you?

 Testing, testing, tap, tap, tap. I got the message, yesterday, that I was not the only one squinting at the size of the default text on Typepad. Did it ever occur to me that I could CHANGE it? Oh, you mean that I should tinker with that stuff in the header? Yes, excuse my dust but I am tinkering.

 

Fingers Crossed

Two days ago, I put a CD with my best Beauty Shot arty-farty photos and a couple of pages of paperwork into a padded envelope giving it all an imaginary kiss for good luck before doing the hand-off to Arlene, our wonderful mail carrier. I set my Intentions and at this point, what happens will be the decision of others. I applied for "Rhinebeck".

I did a big career show shift, many years ago, when I decided that I was going to pull myself from the juried craft shows that had been the mainstay of the small world of my California-only artisan knitter/spinner/dyer days. It was a big move and I knew that if I did not spend those long hours creating the garments that sold for a fraction of their actual worth, I would never put myself back into that particular world. I became simply an artisan dyer/spinner, in the eyes of others, because that was where I was meant to put my emphasis.

I used to sit and knit all day, every day. That was how I identified myself; Knitter. It just wasn't something that people did anymore but the finished item was what people wanted. It helped me move through the grief of letting go of The Dream of my youth; my music career. I had a single-minded focus and threw myself into what had always been a part of my life but this time from the ground up, learning by doing, before the advent of the internet, where knowledge is now speedy and easy. Sheep shearings, sunny day fleece washing, handspinning and then letting the yarn that I made "tell me what the garment would be". It was as though I was back in art school, learning to mix guache and copy anatomy drawings, to create the layers of knowledge that as an artist, you eventually peel away, to get to the core of something.

Peeling away the layers. I did that first tug, when I decided to say goodbye to 20 years in that marvelous space under the redwood trees at the King's Mountain Art Fair, outside of Woodside, where we strung my sweaters between the trees and created a huge wall of yarn, there in the elements. It was such hard work doing that show and by the end of the final weekend I was in tears as we packed the last pieces of the display into the van, completely worn out by the effort. I knew that it was time to let it go. People were shocked and disappointed when I did not appear in that space the next year but I knew that a shift was coming and I had to do something different. It took another schyzephrenic year of juried shows and yarn shows before I knew that I had little time to knit anymore. People had begun to knit again and this time, in record numbers, thanks to the internet. My decision to focus on my life as an artisan dyer/spinner seemed to be happening at the right time. 

Another shift is coming but I have not "heard" what it will be, yet. I just know that I am ready for a new adventure. Perhaps the adventure is to go back to those roots of mine and spend more time with the creatures that create my raw materials. I don't know, yet.

Trixie has come into my life to force me to get more active again, outside of the sometimes back breaking hours in the workshop. She is built for and has to have time to run and so we close the office door by 4 pm, change shoes, tug on our coats and go for a hike in the woods. It is a GOOD thing and after I do my one last chore of dinner creation, I reward myself with the pleasure of an evening of spinning, in my Woman Cave.

So, let's see if we are meant to go to New York in October. If it is meant to be, I hope to see some of my great fiber friends again, people who eschew the shows that I do now. I am a spinner and dyer and artist and need to get back to my roots...again. Cross your fingers for me, will you?

 

Trixie's Lineage

I love my readers and realized yesterday that you are still out there. I think that the whole time that The Book was being concocted, I felt as though I shouldn't mustn't and all of the other n'ts that go with the secretive process of getting a book published. It actually stunted my joy of writing. That is my excuse and I am sticking with it. Screw that...I'm BACK, baby.

On to Trixie (she would not have been given this old fashioned name but arrived with it.). Thanks to Michelle G, I was able to confirm just WHO she is, this loveable running dog. She is an English Shepherd! It's a bit like finding out (in record time) that my own lineage goes back to Hartford, Connecticut in the 1600's. Have a question about yourself, BAM, in comes the answer.

I love all of the characteristics of the breed and would never, in a million years, have brought a dog like this into my life when we lived in that little house in the suburbs. She was meant to come to me now, to live and run and blossom in these woods that I love so much. She DOES like to run through everything, collecting velcro-like weed seeds and those damned ticks but she is calm enough in my hands to allow me to do my best to clean her coat.

She is gentle with the cats and loves to do the play stance with Boopie and has lulled our little old Sugarpie into a sense of calmness with a dog.

Trixie had such a rough start here but I was determined to do my best to turn her around.

Yesterday, we put the dogs back on leashes to take them down on the shared gravel road used by  our "down the hill" neighbors, simply because I had heard the propane guy backing up into their property. I figured that it would be wise to hook them up for the walk on the path, so that there would be no issues with the truck that also services our tanks. Tug tug, pant pant. There comes a place where you can either enter their property or hang a right and go up into our hills and once we were up the hill a bit, we let them loose. Go Play. Trixie was deliriously happy and ran up and down every steep deer path, literally flying off of the hillsides. I tell you, if our big boned Tank had ever attempted this kind of maneuver at any time of his life, I just don't believe that his joints would have appreciated it. Trixie, on the other hand, seems built for this stuff as she rockets through the brambles, nose to the ground, scarfing up the scents of every critter that set foot on the land overnight. She is a marvel to watch with her exuberance and I can't imagine having a dog like this in any other kind of setting other than wide open fields for run run running, like the video, going around the internet, of the dog leaping through wheat fields. Pure joy.

She was meant to come here. Thank goodness that Lorrie owns Huskies and knows how to take dogs out and about until their tongues fall out of their mouths sideways or I would really worry about leaving here for show trips.

Good dog but keep your mouth off of the handspun. :o)