Will George Clooney “friend” me?

You know, I used to be fairly up to date on computer and communication technology. Sure, I didn’t get a cell phone until everyone and their dog had one, but I regularly replaced my computer so we (ex-hubby and I) could play the latest games and we regularly played Diablo when it was THE innovative online game to play and I had a PDA when they first came out and I had a micro-computer way back before laptops became popular and crowded the micros out and thus I crack up whenever I hear that micro-computers are coming back.

But the PDA drove me crazy with its tiny pen and tiny keyboard and I refused to buy a portable, fold-out keyboard for it because HELLO — micro-computer/laptop! And my cell phone is not top of the line and can’t even take photos because I also own a digital camera and I don’t have an X-box or a Wii and I no longer play multi-player games online because 1) they aren’t free and 2) you have to play with everyone* and I refuse to text-message on my phone because IT’S A PHONE AND YOU CAN DAMN WELL CALL ME and while I have, of course, a blog, I refuse to Twitter because I DO NOT need to know what someone else is doing/thinking/eating/reading/farting every damn minute and I cannot image anyone else wants to know the same stuff about me.

And despite the above grumpiness, I really am a lovely person *in person*. Unless I have a migraine. Or I’m in the middle of a really good book. Or you’ve just woken me up out of a sound sleep. But otherwise, lovely. Really.

But you’ll understand why I felt very grudging today when I finally caved and opened a Facebook account. I did it because many of my friends are on Facebook and they regularly invite me to “friend” them (which reeks to me of middle school and who the hell enjoyed that?) and they post pictures and invite me to view them, and I really wanted to see Jennifer’s new tattoo.

So I joined. I see on a knitting board that I frequent many folks asking questions about Facebook that also reek of middle school — so-and-so wants to friend me and I don’t want to friend them, or I posted while drunk and my boss who’s also on Facebook saw it, or how do I unfriend someone because I can’t stand them but I don’t want to actually let them know the extent of my can’t-stand-you-ness.

So my question is, is it possible to be on Facebook without the drama? Can I ignore friend requests from people I haven’t spoken to in 20 years without feeling like a bitch? Am I too far down the road that leads to shaking my fist at passing teenagers to even be on Facebook? Does Facebook have any redeeming qualities (other than Jennifer’s tattoo, which I *still* can’t manage to see) that I should know about? Convert me, folks, or justify my grumpiness. The comments are yours.

*As a Quaker, I really do believe that there is “that of God” in every person and we all have worth. But that doesn’t mean I want to spend my evenings with a few hundred thousand strangers.

Not in Kansas Anymore….

I just returned from spending 8 days in Peabody, KS, with my sister and her family. It was lovely. We chatted, we crafted, we shopped,* we snacked, we didn’t find time to play Scrabble, but that just means I didn’t lose.

I came home Wednesday to find my yard overgrown and maple seedlings colonizing my rock garden. Today, I get to clean out my gutters, which are also full of maple seedlings. Looks kinda pretty, though — like windowboxes for the roof line.

*nothing bonds two women more than buying bras and then eating Chinese food.

Neighbor Girls

Growing up in Yerington, Nevada in the 1970s, I was a Neighbor Girl.

My next-oldest sibling is 5 years older and didn’t want to hang around with me, and there weren’t many children my age living nearby. My school friends lived out of town. So I was often on my own, walking or biking around the neighborhood. I knew all the dogs by name and often stopped for skritches and a chat — I particularly remember a golden-colored Great Dane named Johan, a total sweetheart that other kids were afraid of. I regularly visited my adult friends, too: the childless couple who lived next door, a pair of gentle alcoholics (although I did not realized that then); and my father’s boss’s wife, a wonderful, wacky school teacher.

Now I understand how utterly, utterly patient and kind these adults were. They put up with my endless chatter (my family nickname was Mighty Mouth), appeared interested in my ideas and problems, always seemed glad to see me, and very gently sent me on my way when a visit was inconvenient or I had simply been there long enough. I *belonged* in my neighborhood and, unlike my older siblings who had to move fairly often, I had a stable, safe, and reasonably idyllic childhood.*

Now I’m the friendly, slightly wacky Neighbor Lady and I’ve attracted my own pair of Neighbor Girls. Niomi is in 3rd grade and just moved into the house behind mine; I expect her family will be around for a while. Melody is in 1st grade and lives next door in a rental house, or possibly just visits — there seem to be multiple connected families living there or hanging out — and I can’t begin to predict how long she’ll be around.

Both Niomi and Melody offered to help me garden yesterday because when you’re a kid, work that is novel and not assigned to you by a parent is fun, right? Niomi came over first and planted sweetpea seeds around the 5-gallon tubs I was readying to hold tomatoes and peppers,** and helped me transplant two sweetpea vines a neighbor wanted to get rid of. Then she helped me move some large rocks in the front garden. During this, I learned a lot about her older brother and sister and about Hannah Montana and the Jonas Brothers. Melody came over when we were getting ready to move some small rocks from the back yard to make a path in the newest garden section in the front yard. Those girls worked hard putting rocks in the wheelbarrow and bringing it up front, while I planted shrubs. Niomi and Melody had never met before, and it was very sweet to see Niomi making sure that Melody felt included and was given tasks appropriate for her size.

And thus, the Neighbor Girl tradition lives on. And I’ve realized just how settled into this neighborhood I am, and how happy that makes me.

*it all went to hell in Junior High, of course, but I think it’s that way for pretty much everyone.

**I figured that keeping the plants above the ground would keep them safe from dogs and rabbits, especially considering that two years ago, I witnessed a rabbit eating the last little stump of my last tomato plant while, 6 feet away, Ricky was staring at a squirrel in the neighbor’s yard.

Drill Chuck-a-lucka-lucka

Some peole are born handy. Others get divorced, buy a house, and have handiness forced upon them. Guess which one I am? In fact, three or four years ago, you could have easily convinced me that “drill chuck” was a hockey team position or a cut of beef. Today, I walked into Ace Hardware and bought a new drill chuck, because I couldn’t find mine, and also a few other small items. Then I came home and

*repaired my back garden hose by chopping off the balky end and installing a new one (yay once again for internet tutorials).

*shoveled the potting soil out of a 1/2 whiskey barrel left here by the former home owners. Not only did I get some good soil for my rock garden,* but I found they’d half-filled it with some nifty rocks.

*Using a 3″ diameter hole saw (something I had no idea existed before last weekend — yay for the nice men at Bomgaars), I drilled a hole low in the side of the whiskey barrel. THAT was work, let me tell you; the barrel is hardwood and I had to brace the drill against my knee and follow the hole saw with a couple of runs with a 1/8″ bit before I could knock the hole out.

*Using my woefully inadequate muscles and grunt-chanting “lift with you knees,” I moved the barrel to the front of my house to serve as a hose pot for my front yard hose. Not as decorative as the lovely metal and pottery ones you see in catalogues, but $100+ cheaper and the hose doesn’t have to be coiled as neatly.

And now I’m going to take a handy little nap.

*which I weeded and hoed yesterday, preparing empty areas marked out last summer for plantings this weekend.

A nifty parrot factoid

I *just* learned, from an ornithologist, that parrots’ tongues have lateral preference — that is, they have “handedness.” Thus, as you can see in the pic at the bottom of the previous post, Zeke has a “right handed” tongue! Who knew?

He also seems to be right-handed in his foot preference for tricks, holding food, and stepping up to my finger.

A fluffy omelet with Kal-Kan filling would be nice….

I spent Sunday morning doing laundry, cleaning myself up, and planning my day. And taking pictures of Ricky, to document his terrible, miserable, how-can-he-bear-it existence: (sorry for the slight blurry)

"You know, that camera flash is annoying."

"And isn't it about time for you to make my breakfast?"

"Now go away, lose the camera, and get cracking in the kitchen."

And here is a bonus phote from last week, of Zeke enjoying a bit of carrot cake. If you look closely, you can see a bit of parrot tongue:

"Yum! We should have cake every day."

Various, mostly grading.

Saturday was graduation at BVU. It’s my fourth year here, so a fair number of graduates had been in my classes as freshmen and sometimes once or twice in later years. Yeah, I got a little misty-eyed at one point. It could have been sentiment, it could have been the grading I have yet to do, but a couple of tears were shed.

I am actually anxious to start gardening, which is a sentence I never thought I’d type. I’m going to put in an asparagus bed, plant lilacs along one section of backyard fence, put in a couple of tomatoes and peppers, finish the front rock garden with catmint and Japanese iris in one section and spider wort and impatiens in the other sections, with a section already set aside for some type of outdoor seating. I’m going super cheap this year — the river rock I need I’m taking from a big back bed (where the asparagus and other veggies will go and the tomatoes, peppers, and Japanese iris are the only plants I’ll have to pay for (yay for fellow gardeners who share their established plants). The seating will either come from a yard sale if I find a score or just wait until next year — I want something comfortable enough to sit on for some time and read or knit. I may also put in some rhubarb. I was contemplating putting in a cold-tolerant, blooming cactus garden, but just looking at the list above, I’m thinking I’ll save that for next year.

I’m also going to set a few mornings a week aside to write fiction, all summer long. My plan is to complete a really slip-shod rough draft of a novel, which I can then polish over the school year.  I’m coming around to the idea that the only way to get it done is to get it down quick and then tinker with it, and fortunately I love revising.*

I’m planning two trips this summer — about a week in Peabody visiting sister Linda and family (if she forgives me for the snarky birthday card I’m about to send) and a week at Scattergood School for the Iowa Yearly Meeting (that’s Quaker talk).

What else? Oh, this evening when I was walking Ricky, we passed a boy about 6 years old who asked if he could pet the dog. He asked me about Ricky’s blue eye and I explained that he’s half husky and half beagle. The boy said, “A blue eye and a brown eye, that’s crazy!” I said well, Ricky’s a crazy dog. Then the boy said, “My dog is half poodle and half…..reindeer!” I agreed that was a crazy dog, indeed.

Finally, check out A Walk on the Mild Side, a new blog by my online f/Friend Nate. Leave him an encouraging comment, maybe a compliment about his wise choice of title emulation.

*Because I’m 1/2 German and all Virgo and probably not medicated quite enough and fiddly tasks fascinate me.**
**Until the point that I lose my temper and invoke Gene T. Schaechterle, demigod of creative swearing.

Ouch. *sigh*

Massive end-of-semester stress, now with added gouty foot pain* and lurching zombie gait.** Yeah, that’ll make a girl feel youthful and attractive.

And I did it to myself. Legumes are my big trigger and I’ve been rushing around and eating, completely without thinking about it, a ton of peanut butter because PB sandwiches and PB on a banana are so quick and easy  and cheap and filling….

*gout is not the most serious or crippling of all forms of arthritis, but, according to all the medical info I’ve read, it is the most painful. Gosh, I feel special!

**What do vegetarian zombies moan as they shuffle and lurch threateningly after you? “Graaaaiiiins…..”

I’m not mad, just very, very disappointed

Someone out there among my tiny readership had to have known about Jonathan Coulton, and didn’t tell me. Good Heavens! Can’t you discern from my posts that I’m a total dork who adores sing-along-able songs with fabulously funny and/or odd lyrics?*

The only thing better than discovering Jonathon Coulton (why yes, I spent my sad little Friday night at home in front of the computer) is discovering this adorable little Texas university student*** performing Coulton songs in American Sign Language. And even though you (I’m looking at the reader who knew about J.Coulton and didn’t tell me — yes, you in the back, in the red shirt) didn’t share, here are links to the cute-kid-ASL-Jonathon Coulton songs. Because I’m a bigger person — and I don’t mean  2 bowls-of-ice-cream-while-spending-Friday-night-on-the-computer bigger, although that’s probably true, too.

Future Soon — a fabulous rejected geek revenge fantasy

First of May — completely NOT safe for work. Or children. Or possibly my sister Linda, but I’m not sure about that last one.

*Such as those by the unfortunately now-defunct bands Love Button and The Scurvy Bastards**

**With the added fun of genuine sea shanties and Cthulhu

***Yes, I’m so old that late teens-early twenties are simply cute, and NOT in the way I meant “cute” when I was in my late teens and early twenties. They’re like puppies and kittens, silly and clumsy and sometimes endearingly earnest.

Just stuff….

A. The Reluctant Gardener

I’m not a big fan of gardening. I grew up in a climate where gardening is WORK and frankly, I’d rather read a book or knit (or Tunisian crochet, see B) or watch a movie. I’m really what you’d call “indoorsy.” BUT….last summer I started a rock garden and in the last few weeks, things have been a-sprouting. The chives came back almost overnight, the walking onions and lilies of the valley are peeking out of the dirt, the hen and chicks are greening or reddening, according to their type, the hosta are coming up, and at least one spiderwort made it through the winter. I do have to say, when it’s the stuff I’ve planted, as opposed to the stuff that was already in the ground when I moved here, it is pretty exciting. Not OMG-I’m-going-to-go-nuts exciting — I’m not going to plow up the acreage and put in ye olde English garden or anything — but yeah, I’ll do a bit more this summer.

B) Tunisian Crochet

This is a whole different type of crochet that some may be a little familiar with (the afghan stitch is Tunisian simple stitch), and I’ve got to say, it’s pretty neat. I can approach the variety and drapiness of knitting and keep the speed of crochet — what’s not to love? It’s also easier on my right wrist than regular crochet because there aren’t all the swooping and twisting motions. What I’ve done so far is in the simple stitch, but there are many more I intend to explore when the current project-of-size, a baby blanket, is finished. Here’s some pics of what I’ve been working on:

First, a dishcloth, and boy-o-boy, is this fun to make!* If you do crochet, I recommend giving the pattern a try.

6 wedges, one seam (last to first), sc edging

the back looks more like knitting than crochet

The baby blanket is also in Tunisian simple stitch, and in a technique that can be done in knitting or regular crochet, called entrelac. Entrelac is neat because it is a bunch of little squares, but they are worked onto each other rather than made separately. I’ve tried knitted entrelac and, while pretty, it takes me forever — a circle of Hell kind of forever — and with the Tunisian crochet, I can do a couple of rows of squares during a Buffy episode.

6th row in progress. Blanket is dense yet soft and flexible.

closer detail. The finished blanket will have a few rows of edging, too.

the back.

So that’s what’s up with me, when I’m not grading, which is less and less of the time as we enter the end of the semester.

As for right now, I have to go devil the dozen eggs I boiled last night and get ready for Quaker meeting & pot luck.

*WAY more fun than crouching over the dirt, poking holes and dropping in seeds. See? Indoorsy.