Tis the Season!

It's hard to believe that Christmas is just 10 short days away.  I confess.  I don't care.
I care - but not for the right reasons.  This job I have sucks any remnant of joy I might manage to muster for the season.  I care because that means I am 10 days closer to having some sort of normalacy return to my world.

Other than Sundays and holidays, days off don't exist. If I am not "doing" a route, I am assisting in delivering the hundreds and hundreds of parcels that need to be delivered.  Today it was parcel delivery.  Got to work at 7:30.  Got done at 6:30.  I made repeated trips with my gas-sucking SUV filled to the brim,   Thank goodness I get a fair and reasonable mileage reimbursement. 

One of my stops today was at a farm I had delivered to before.  There is a beware of dog sign at the driveway.  In my previous experience I had never spied a dog.  Always cautious, just in case, but never a dog to be seen.  Today I was in a hurry.  I didn't give any credit to the clearly bogus dog sign. I pulled into the driveway and turned around so that my car was facing the road and the back of it was facing the house.  I got out of the car and went around to the back hatch and opened it up. A brown rottweiler seemed to come out of nowhere.  Not particularly aggressive but why take chances?  So I backed up slowly toward the drivers door and a black rottweiler magically appeared.  The two had me pinned to the car with no where to run.  I inched back toward the back of the car.  I had so many packages there wasn't really room for me, but that was the least of my problems.  In the most non-threatening manner I could manage I reorganized so I could sit inside the opening.  Then I gently brought my legs inside, forced to place them somewhat up in the air over some parcels that were in the way.  The dogs got so close they took the opportunity to smell my feet and legs.  They drooled.  They didn't bark or growl but they were BIG and showing their proportionately big teeth.  I talked to them.  They didn't seem to care that I was being friendly.  My phone was in the front of the car so calling for help was out of the question.  The dog spray issued to me was also in the front.  After a few minutes the brown dog started to get bored with me and turned away.  Reaching for the door in order to close it was apparently interesting and the dog returned to it's post - keeping me pinned to my spot.  I did not know where the black dog had disappeared to so my imagination convinced me it was waiting just around the corner of the car to rip my throat out.

I was NOT having fun. 

I eventually managed to get the door closed but found I was in quite an awkward position, in a tiny space, surrounded by parcels and my feet in the air. But at least I was safe.  I moved packages around and shifted my weight, eventually getting on my hands and knees.  I crawled through the inside of the SUV to the front but still had to get over the two front seats - with ridiculously high head rests and a ridiculously skinny gap between the drivers seat and passenger seat.  I am very glad it is unlikely I was being filmed.  Nothing about my climb through the car was graceful or dignified.  These people did not get their parcels today and I don't care.

On another seasonal note, Peter roasted a turkey today.  She... I mean IT is very delicious.

Peter has never cooked a turkey before. But that's not what makes this note worthy.  This turkey is a natural, free range bird.  Acquired from the people that had Rosie.  I was told that Rosie has gone to live in Palm Springs and is happily enjoying the weather there.  I was told that this is not Rosie.

I choose to believe.

Happy Thanksgiving!

I hope you have had, or are having a fabulous day.

We are spending the day leisurely hanging out at home, trying to figure out how to get the Seattle Seahawks game on the computer - since we don't have cable TV.  I have been working an insane number of hours - Christmas season is upon us and things are crazy at the USPS.  No time off for little old me so no time to run to Oregon to see my kids.  We are having salad and whatever we can scrape together for dinner.

We had a much different day planned than this though.  Several months ago we traded a rooster and hen to a fellow (Mark) for the promise of a Thanksgiving turkey.  The intention was that he would raise it, and then "dispatch" it, and have for us a very not-like-a-REAL-turkey bird.  On a whim I named this faceless creature Rosie (short for roasted).

A week ago I contacted him to make arrangements to pick up our processed bird.  Mark had completely forgotten the agreement.  I reminded him and he cheerfully agreed to bring a bird over to us.  Alive.  "Eeek!"  I shrieked.  No.  NO.  Absolutely NO!  He agreed to dispatch her for us and bring us a dead bird.  Still very much a real turkey.  Only dead.

My stomach began to feel queazy.  I didn't sleep well.  Peter agreed to do the cleaning and we discussed methods of removing the bird's feathers.

This did not make me feel better.  And then it turns out, to ensure freshness Mark would bring us a live bird, and kill her here.   This also caused me great stress.

Mark and Rosie were supposed to come over Tuesday night, but got lost on the way here.  He took her back home and released her to the rest of the flock.  He told me a story how easy she is to catch because she really likes grain and comes eagerly to him when he offers it to her.  Awwwww....  I love animals that love food!  He promised to bring her by this morning after enticing her with promised yummy grain.  :(

I have not slept well.  Peter had dreams about turkeys.  I worried and stewed.  Peter confessed he wasn't eager to do this either.  Early this morning I contacted Mark and issued Rosie a pardon.

Maybe someday I can do this.  Maybe.  But probably not likely.

Rosie.  Long live Rosie!!

Standing on the Edge

Today I stood on the edge of the USA. 

It's been a month since "my incident" - that's what we refer to it as around here - and things are looking up.

The Sunday after "my incident" I walked almost two miles.  From that point on, I began watching the quantity of my food intake.  The food I have been eating has been very good for me - just too much of it.  I like food, what can I say.  I made a batch of cookies for my daughter and only ate one.  I passed over donuts and cupcakes coworkers brought in to work.  I made 5 caramel chews (from Halloween) last 3 days!

I have been walking and cycling and being generally more active, slowly building up my stamina, hoping to get back to running like I used to.  I have lost 7 pounds and dropped a clothing size.  My blood pressure is nice and low.  Almost too low at times, for a girl who is used to being propelled by a compression engine. 

I would have sworn I did not feel bad before, but I feel so much better now I must have.  My attitude is better.  My energy level is better.  I spend less time on the sofa.

Today I walked about 4.5 miles at an average of about a 15 minute mile  (not fast, but a nice steady pace).  I even jogged or trotted for small intervals.  I made it to the edge of the USA, just 2 yards from Canadian soil, and turned around and came home.  When I walk from my house, this is the scenery.  You really can't beat that with a stick!

Also on the de-stressing front I have made a well thought-out decision about my goats.  They must go.  I find that dragging them or being pulled by them to and from the pasture twice a day is not a relaxing past time.  I often end up incredibly stressed over the process.  Saying things to them I wish I regretted but don't and then feeling guilty about it.  Goats pee and poop indiscrimently and are very dirty things.  The idea of turning them into milk goats and ending up with even more of the creatures, no matter how cute the babies are, sends shivers down my spine.

They deserve better.  They deserve to have an opportunity to have babies and eat too much and hang out with other goats.  They need to "be all they can be" and not get yelled at by me on a daily basis.

With this end in mind, we have found them a new home with a lovely young couple named Lissa and Jeff.  They promised not to eat them - although felt comfortable with telling us they might eat their offspring - which I am perfectly okay with.  They are going to start a dairy herd and these will be the founding members.  We still have Een and Twee until Jeff and Lissa get their pasture ready but soon we will be goatless.

Someday, when we have a different barn/pasture set up than we do now, I would like to try again.  Someday I would like to milk goats.  Someday I will.  Just not now.

20/20 hindsight

Several years ago I was laid off work.  With getting laid off, came the reality of no insurance.   I was relatively healthy (although I did have a history of high blood pressure) and I chose to forego very expensive insurance.  I decided that I would live healthily and make healthy choices.  My blood pressure could be controlled with an active life style and proper diet.

Early last week I developed a blurry spot in my right eye.  Thinking I had scratched my cornea or gotten some annoying bit of fluff in my eye I did not pursue it for several days.  After all, I had no insurance.  By Wednesday I finally decided I would fork out the dollars and go to the eye doctor.  I found a wonderful local DR who offered a 25% discount for time of visit payment.  I made my appointment for Thursday and off I went.  The doctor dilated and looked deep into my eye and proclaimed I had broken a blood vessel on my retina, which was causing the blurriness.  "This is bad," she said.  "Let's take your blood pressure."

I tried to discourage her because I didn't want to know.  She could not be dissuaded.  Her cheap little drugstore blood pressure cuff returned a very ugly number.  Very ugly.  She panicked and immediately referred an me to urgent care facility while singing tales of doom.

I went home and got Peter and off we went.  The office was unable to see me that day and suggested I try the next.  The next day the same place could not see me but I found another one that accepted walk ins and catered to low income people.  (How far I've come... sigh...)

After a painfully boring, and somewhat stressful two hour wait as a walk in I was finally seen by a nurse.  She took my blood pressure.  Calmly said, "let's try your other arm..."  Then she said "Do you feel alright?  Any numbness?  Shortness of breath?  Chest pain?"   "We are going to do an ekg..."

Then the Dr made an appearance and said, "We've called an ambulance. You are going to the ER. Now."  Very quickly 4 very handsome paramedics showed up and started plying me with questions and checking my blood pressure.  Everyone was in a quiet state of alarm.  Asking the same annoying questions over and over again.  "Any chest pains?  Numbness?  Tingling in your extremities?"  No, I maintained, just a blurriness in my right eye.  I felt fine - although I was beginning to join the party in panicking and over reacting and my blood pressure was most certainly creeping up by the second.  By the time the last paramedic took my blood pressure it was about 250/133.  They were certain I was going to have a stroke any second.  They would not let me drive myself to the ER.  I was put on a gurney, wheeled out the front doors of the Urgent Care clinic and off I went to the hospital.  I still felt fine.  I asked the paramedic if we could stop at the feed store for chicken scratch, my chickens were hungry!  While I was being chauffeured in my very nice personal limo (at least they didn't use lights or sirens!), I called Peter to fill him in and sent a text to my boss, calling in sick for the next day.   I asked  cute Paramedic Hall if I got a discount because I was being nice.  No.  But he promised he would make the bill as small as he could.

Here is a tip, if you show up at the hospital in an ambulance, you do not need to wait through the triage nurse or wait to be taken in.  It was very quick and efficient.

They hooked me up to machines that measured my pulse and my blood pressure and my heart.  They took my blood and made me pee in a cup.  They sent a student nurse in to insert an I.V.   I stupidly, cheerfully, agreed that that was fine, everyone must learn sometime.  She tried twice before the real nurse took over.  '

They started me on blood pressure medicine through the I.V. and slowly, throughout the day my blood pressure lowered.  I continued to be cheerful.  My paramedics came back in with other patients and stopped in to say hi.  Paramedic Hall even took a seat and chit-chatted about life while he waited for his partner to fill out paperwork.  My nurse, Jean, hung out in my room because she said, "She would rather be in there than in other patient rooms.."

It was a grand old time until....they gave me one more medicine for the final push to lower my blood pressure.  It was some toxic mix of chemicals that surely must have been pure poison.  I stopped being cheerful.  But my blood pressure was low enough to send me home and they signed me out and sent me on my way.  The last medicine made me deathly ill and I spent the next 16 hours alternately vomiting and sleeping.    I find it very ironic that I felt so much worse LEAVING the hospital than when I got there.

I have begun daily exercises - I used to love to run and will work toward that goal.  I am watching what, and how much, I eat.  I am making healthy changes.  I am on twice daily pills now and need to find a real doctor who will see a non-insured patient.  Doctors don't typically like our kind.  My blood pressure this morning was 136/86 - probably the lowest it's been in 15  years.  I was so weak I had to go back to bed.

The good news is that if it really drops low, I just have to think of how much money this is costing and it sneaks right back up to a reasonable level.

I probably should have insurance.  I will probably find some soon.  Now that I have first hand experience of the consequences.

Dishonest people

I trust people.  I trust them to tell me the truth and be honest.  Sometimes, that comes back and bites me on the backside.  But before I get on my soapbox and have a little rant, I need to tell you about Tesla.

Tesla is surely the smartest dog I have ever had.  At less than three months she seems to be completely house broken.  She knows sit.  She kind of knows stay.  She knows the kitchen is off limits (a very important quality in a dog that might easily be able to pick and choose what she wants off the counter).  She has learned (but has a little trouble following through) that chickens are not for chasing and she seems to take complete delight in 'helping' me with the big animals.  She is a joy and is quickly becoming a fixture in this house.

Now I shall let the rant begin.

When I was looking for a new dog I SPECIFICALLY looked for Great Dane or Great Dane mix.  I SPECIFICALLY looked at rescue organisations because I thought they were the best choice and had the best interest of the dog in mind.  When I found Tesla she was listed as a Great Dane, Shepherd/Lab mix.  When I talked to the rescue people I was told a tale of how Tesla and her siblings were surrendered at the age of 5 weeks.  I was told that Tesla's Mom was a Great Dane and her dad was a German Shepherd/Lab mix.  I was told these things as fact.  We paid a premium adoption fee because of this very desirable mix of breeds.

Tesla came to us with a case of kennel cough that was being treated with antibiotics.  When the run of antibiotics was over she developed a UTI and we took her to the vet.  The vet, naturally, wanted to know all the facts about her as well as the type of antibiotic she was on.  Belatedly, we dug through the stack of paperwork given to us at the time of her adoption and discovered that Tesla was not surrendered.  She was a stray picked up off the streets somewhere in California.  We discovered that really no one had any idea what breed of dog she was and the rescue group in California thought she might be a shepherd/lab mix.  Or might not.  It was purely speculation.

The California group sent Tesla and her siblings to Tacoma where they thought she might, maybe, look like she was part Great Dane.  Maybe.  Then again, maybe not.  But Great Dane fetches a higher adoption fee. They completely fabricated the tale of surrendering and parent breeds.  Not only that, but it took over 24 hours for the Tacoma rescue group to get back to me with the antibiotic information.  My dog was peeing blood and they didn't think it was a priority.  I shall report them to the Better Business Bureau and hope future dog-seeking people are smarter than we were and will check out the rescue group before doing business.

I feel quite taken.  I feel very disappointed.  I feel foolish and embarrassed.  I have wanted a Great Dane for many years and have patiently waited until circumstances were right for such a commitment.  Great Dane or not, Tesla is certainly going to be a large dog and I'm not sure I want two giant dogs at once.

I guess all I can do is wait and see what Tesla grows into. If she turns out to be pit-bull or chihuahua it doesn't really matter (although I would never knowingly choose either of those breeds, fine breeds though they are).  Worse case scenario I will wait another 15 years or so to try again to fulfill my Great Dane dreams.

We Can!

I have been taking an on-line food preservation course.  I'm not done yet, but I have completed enough of it that I am confident there is little chance I will kill us with botulism or other food born illness created by improper canning.  A fear that has kept me from doing any canning in the past.

I will finish the course because I covet the virtual certificate they will e-mail upon completion.

But canning season is NOW and I have no time to finish studying.

Must.  Can.  Now.

Tomatoes came ripe, the rain was forecast and there was no time to waste.  Peter picked them and turned them into sauce and I followed up with the canning following proper procedures.

Some of the tomatoes were turned into sun dried morsels and packed into garlic infused olive oil.

Cucumbers were turned into pickles.

The grapes were another joint project.  Although I started, Peter finished up with the picking, plucking, & washing.

Chardonnay grapes were turned into Chardonnay grape jelly.
Pinot Noir grapes were turned into Pinot Noir jelly.
Cabernet Sauvignon grapes were turned into Cabernet Sauvignon jelly.
Apples were turned into Apple Butter.

We have a field of pumpkin, a patch of butter nut squash, some acorn squash and green peppers still to process and lots more jelly to make.

I am thinking that there has to be a market for wine grape jellies.  Wouldn't you love to get a gift of Chardonnay jelly?  Or Pinot Grigio Jam?  I have been wanting to have a booth at the local farmers market.  The market starts in June but very few vegetables are ready by then.  Jelly should sell well, later in the season I could sell the usual garden fair like potatoes, onions and zucchini - plus maybe hostas and felted bags, fiber and hand spun yarn.  I have ideas.  Lots of them.  One day one of them will actually pay off.

In the mean time, we will be feasting on summer bounty all winter long.  yummmy!

Sparky & Tesla

Several months ago my very portly couch-potato dog stopped eating regularly.  We took her to the vet and got a diagnosis of an inoperable cancerous mass in her throat.  Prognosis: terminal.

We decided to help her live out her days as enjoyable as possible.  At first her good days way outnumbered her bad days.  Then they started to even out.  Eventually the bad days outnumbered the good days.

On her good days she would insist on traipsing out to the field with us.  If we wanted to leave her in the house we would literally have to sneak out.  We would feed her anything she would eat.  Ice cream, hot dogs, scrambled eggs with cheese, meat broth and she would often eat it with gusto. On her bad days she would refuse to eat anything and we were sure she would quit breathing any minute - and in fact we checked her often throughout the night and day.

Eventually there were no good days. Breathing became difficult and eating was almost impossible  She became so thin and weak she could not stand on the vinyl floor.  She no longer wanted to go to the field.  We knew the end was near but we were afraid she would hurt herself in the mean time.  A decision had to be made.  And with aching hearts we made it.  We decided that the following Monday we would contact the vet and "take care of things."

On Sunday we took Sparky for a drive in the country.  We took her to the beach were she watched seagulls and visited with people.  We tried to get her to eat her past favorite foods with no luck. She was done.  I like to think it was her way of confirming we had made the right decision.

Sparky was not a noisy dog.  She was quite and calm.  She was just always "there."  Despite that, the house became too quiet.  Her absence was a powerful thing.  The rhythm of our home had been broken.

Sparky was not an alpha dog.  The cats bossed her around, the chickens could make her beat a hasty retreat.  I had long wanted to get a second dog (specifically a Great Dane) but I could not do that to Sparky.  I could not put her in a position where she would fall from her shaky position as top dog in this household.

With the unwelcome silence around our house, and extra time on my hands since I wasn't busy making custom omelets and fresh broth, I started to poke around on dog rescue sites.

I recognized that I should clearly have my head examined.  Peter was no help really.  He seemed to almost encourage me in this new pasttime.

I totally believe in rescue as a way to acquire a new pet.  Puppy mills are bad.  I wanted a Great Dane.  I have wanted one for many years.  But a Great Dane Mix might be best.  I was even open to adult dogs, however, the breed I was interested in are short lived.  Less than 10 years usually and for every year my future pet might be, would be a year I would not have with them.  Plus, I needed a dog that could learn to live with cats and chickens and ducks and goats and alpaca and such.  So many I saw listed on the rescue sites said things like "doesn't get along with cats"  or "needs a home without other dogs" and such.  The younger the better thought I.  The chances of finding something so specific to my needs and wants was so slim, I felt continuing to look would be harmless dreaming regarding future pets.

Thursday night I stumbled upon a litter of 4 Great Dane mix pups that had been surrendered to a shelter in Tacoma at the very horrible age of 5 weeks.  They were now 8 weeks old and ready to be adopted.

Maybe it was fate.  The pups names were Darlene, Viktoria, Bethany and Frank.  I contacted the site.  Bethany and Frank were already adopted.  If I got my application in right away they could put a hold on the other two pups so I could come and meet them.  A quick decision was required.  Aaaack. It was too soon.  Or was it?  The pups were mostly Great Dane mixed with a little German Shepherd and a little Labrador.  Two excellent additions to an already great breed of dog.

I filled out an application and sent it in.  Friday afternoon I found out our application was approved but that Viktoria was now adopted out.  Darlene was still there.  Peter and I raced to Tacoma through Friday night traffic in Seattle and made it there by 7:50, beating the 8:00 cut-off with 10 minutes to spare.  On the way there we discussed names since we agreed that Darlene was not a name that we preferred and at 8 weeks old, we could certainly change it.  We narrowed our favorites to Tempo, Greta or Tyv.

Darlene was perfect.  She almost came unglued at the seams.  She wiggled this way and that way, she went every which way at once.  I think I did the same thing.  Peter got a boyish grin on his face and was immediately smitten as well.

It was meant to be.

We eventually chose the name Tesla - as she is a live wire and such a ball of energy.  Plus she has a white blazed "T" across her shoulders.. a T name was absolutely required.

I still feel a little odd about how quickly we moved Tesla in but it was just meant to be.  I still miss Sparky.  there will never be another Sparky.  She was something else.

Outdoor Room

One of my favorite things to do in the summer is to attend the Portland Street of Dreams.  For those of you not in the know, it's 5 or 6 homes in the million dollar plus range that are open to the public.  For a not-nominal fee you can just wander around through them admiring and in theory, coveting, the million dollar lifestyle.

Usually the houses are huge.  Like 6000 square feet huge.  There are mother-in-law apartments, nanny suites, outdoor basketball courts, indoor gyms, theater rooms, outdoor rooms, open floor plans.  Every year there seems to be some new trend.

Despite all these "wonderful" features I have to feel a little sorry for the future owners of these monstrosities.  These people are living in houses and denying themselves the pleasure of living in a home.  They are denying themselves the pleasure of stripping wall paper and wearing barn boots.  I suppose they COULD wear barn boots - but it would be kind of weird.  I can't imagine children or pets running around these homes.  So much stress in keeping things pristine!  "No Johnny, you may not fingerpaint!"  "Honey!  The dog is in the house again and hair is getting on the sofa!"

That is no way to live!

But that is just my humble opinion. Despite my feelings, the outdoor room IS something that calls to me.  Back in Salem I had my pergola.  At the little house on the ditch I have the promise of a future pergola.  Of course, that is still some time away.

For the here and now I have a real outdoor room.  It may be temporary but it's just lovely.  Peter and I have pitched a tent under the trees by our pond.  We moved in a bed and ran an extension cord out there so we can have all the luxuries we need:  Electric light, alarm clock, real sheets.  If we stay much longer I think I shall need a few more things like a bedside table, a chair, maybe a rack to hang a few clothes on.

I guess I am living in my own version of a street of dreams house.  How about that?

Imaginary blogging

I recently had conversations with some friends who wondered why I had stopped blogging.  It seemed like such an odd question because I felt like I HAD been blogging.

But I hadn't.   I assured them both that the next post was coming and it was going to be very entertaining.  Let's hope I succeed!

My process for blogging goes something like this:

Something happens that is interesting and I decide I should blog about it.  Then I spend some time pushing words around in my head.  I think about what I want to say, how I want to say it and I ponder the clever and entertaining aspects because heaven forbid I should be boring!  When I'm done pushing the words around, I dig out my laptop (because it's really the only time it comes out of the cupboard anymore) and I plug it in (because the battery is completely fried and it wont work without it) and I start it up.  Then I must go through a gazillion updates, error messages and spontaneous reboots.  THEN I fight our lousy internet (ever hear of ClearWire?) and eventually I put all those words down in what I hope is the right order and push the publish button. Where upon I immediately think of more clever ways I could have said something.

It's exhausting really.

Totally by accident I have stumbled upon this new and better way to blog:

Something happens that is interesting and I decide I should blog about it.  Then I spend some time pushing words around in my head.  I think about what I want to say, how I want to say it and I ponder the clever and entertaining aspects because heaven forbid I should be boring!    Then I just forget to do the rest.  I think I I've blogged, I feel like I've blogged and I don't have the frustrations of the computer and I never worry that I have made a typo or wasn't as clever as I could have been.

Apparently this new system doesn't work for everyone.

The cliff notes version of the posts that I have penned in my head in the last few months include:

Alpaca Maintenance:

Toenail trimming turns tragic! Cadbury kicks, drives trimmers through Peters hand.  

Alpaca Shearer wanted:

Looking for someone to help us shear our girls.  Called Camelot farms.  No response.  Called Shearers are Us.  No response.  Called MoonShadow Farms - referred us to Camelot farms (gah!) and SumFunShearing.  No response from either.  again.  Contacted The Camel people.  No response.  Contacted a girl in Olympia.  No response.  

New Handler Syndrome

Chupa has it.  I am sad.  

Applied for a new job!

No response.

Drowning in Zucchini

Zucchini bread.  Zucchini stew.  Zucchini boats.  Zucchini chips.  Zucchini salad.  Zucchini Zucchini Zucchini. 

Goats are NOT us

Seeking loving family for two high-maintenance goats.  Must promise not to eat them.  If you don't PROMISE you can't have them but you can have some zucchini.

Sparky has a personal chef

My beloved pup is unwell.  It is hard for her to eat so I am her personal chef.  She get's cheese omelets.  Chicken, hot dogs, fried dog food (not a hit), cat food, ice cream, cheese, zucchini..

Going to College

Taking an online food preservation course.  Learning how to can and freeze and dehydrate.  Not only do I get college credit but it will certainly come in handy for the zucchini.

Chicken update

We now have a thriving population of 12 chickens ~ 10 hens and 2 roosters.  Loving them!  

B&B

Pondering opening a bed and breakfast.  We only have one room but I've found a great zucchini fritatta I could feed guests for breakfast.

Sightseeing in Seattle

How many activities can YOU cram into a day in Seattle?

Master Jack, Ruler of the Universe

My grandson.

Imaginary Blogging

This one.  Except this post actually made it to the blog.

If I had actually managed to get these typed up it would have been a lot of blogging.  It sure felt like a lot of blogging.  I shall endeavor to try harder to do ALL the steps in successfully publishing posts.  Wish me luck!

Finally, in a store near you!

In a store near you if you live in Lynden.

I've been busy busy busy.  Knitting and felting.  SharonTopia has been getting filled with this and that and those and these.

I knitted and felted a basket:

I knitted a bag out of ribbon and lined it with some lovely yellow satin:

I researched ETSY and and other on-line sources to sell my lovely creations.  I was not happy with the process involved in selling through those avenues.  

Since I live in a tourist town.  Or at least a town that is desperately trying to be a tourist town I figured maybe there was a place for me here locally.  We have a Dutch Village Mall downtown that is undergoing renovations trying to put life back into our downtown core.  (Mind you, our downtown is one street, three blocks long...)  The Dutch Village Mall houses a local theater, a Thai restaurant, a hotel (in the windmill portion) and a canal that runs the length of it, filled with large koi.

A cute little chotskies shop called "The Hen House" has recently opened it's doors in our newly renovated mall.  

Today I bundled up most of the bags that I have made in the last few years and carted them down to the shop.  Paige (the lovely shopkeeper) seemed quite pleased by them and gladly put them in her shop.  I'm sure her pleasure had little to do with the nice commission she will make and more to do with the fine work I was stocking her shop with.  Despite her commission, if the bags sell for what we priced them at I will still make a fine profit. 

I'm excited and eager to see how they sell - or even IF they sell.  I'm ready to start knitting and making more items.  I'm ready to quit the post office and make this my career.  Hahaha.  Kidding.  I am sure I will never get rich, but it WOULD be great if I could at least get this hobby to pay for itself.

Our flock became 16

More about chickens..

Just a little more.
and then I'm done.
Probably.

The "egg guy" gave us a beautiful silver laced cochin pre-named Helen.  Naturally I had to name my other silver laced cochin Helen.  Now I have the two Helens.

I used to have an Aunt Helen.  She was my mother's older sister.  This got me to thinking and I was compelled by some unknown power to name my cuckoo marans Ruby, after my father's sister.  I've had them a year.  It's about time I named them.  Now I have the two Ruby's.

The cochin breed of chicken has quickly become my favorite.  They are very sociable and they have cute little feathers on their legs and feet.

Peter had tempted me last week with a couple of buff cochin and I resisted as best I could but finally caved in.  Unfortunately there was only one buff one left by the time I got there. I compromised by getting a white one to go with the buff one.  I have named them Leila because I have an Aunt Leila.

While I was busy picking out the Leila's, The Carmela's caught my attention.  (Yes, I have an Aunt Carmela..) They are partridge cochin.

Aren't they cute?

From Left to Right:  Carmela, Carmela, Leila, Leila

I also have or had an Aunt Bette, Aunt Louise, Aunt LuraMae.  It seems I will need to get a lot more chickens...

Chicken Swappin'

Once upon a time there was a woman named Sharon who just loved chickens.  After struggling with disease and predators, she managed to get a happy little flock of 6 established.  5 hens and 1 rooster.  A flock who merrily scratched at the ground, laid delicious eggs and generally entertained the woman and made her happy.  The rooster pleased her greatly with incessant crowing and strutting about.

Then along came Sam, a neighborhood dog.  One fateful day, Sam jumped the ditch, grabbed one of the beloved silver-laced Cochin hens, carried her back across the ditch and down the road.  Finally releasing her at the south end of the property, where the bird promptly landed in the ditch.  Having witnessed the assault, Sam's owner came to report the incident.  A shoe-less Sharon ran down the road and jumped into the ditch, not thinking for a second about the leaches and crawdads and other creepy crawlies that live in the water.  The beloved hen was not well.  Innards had become outtards.  She was alive and in shock.  Despite our efforts she died during the night.  (The hen, not Sharon).

Our chicken flock had become 5.

Sharon's loving husband brought home 10 bantam chicks. 5 frizzled cochin and 5 blue silkies.

Our chicken flock had become 15.

Unfortunately, the first night we had them one of the blue's perished - apparently crushed by the weight of it's siblings all huddling for warmth.

Our flock had become 14.

The second night we lost one of the frizzles.

Our flock had become 13.

No more chicks have been lost and they are growing fast and become stronger every day.

Shortly after, Sharon received a phone call from the local egg guy.  "I'm bringing you a chicken," he said.  "Why?" She asked.  "Because I hear you lost a silver-laced cochin." Was his reply.  Can't argue with that!

Our chicken flock had become 14.

Unfortunately Helen (that's what the egg guy called her) was struggling to fit in.  She would go off by herself and we would have to find her and bring her in at night against her will.  In an attempt to help her adjust we fenced in the chickens and did not let them free-range for a few days.  The Australorp rooster and his australorp hen were bullies when faced with confinement.  They picked on the other four and had them cowering in the corner.  Rooster seemed insatiable with his "requirements" of the girls - and he was none to gentle.  Sad as it made me, it was time for Rooster and his mate to go.  A good home was easily and quickly found with the people who 'gave' us Chupa, Cadbury, Een & Twee.

Our flock had become 12.

We swapped the two austrolorps for a turkey.  We were actually offered two turkey chicks.  But Peter's mother would come unhinged at the thought of turkeys free-ranging around here.  So instead of live turkey chicks, we swapped for an organic turkey to be cleaned and dressed for us to pick up just before Thanksgiving.  Her name is Rosie (short for roasted) and she should have live a good, happy, healthy, free-range life until Mid November.

This morning Peter asked me if we needed some buff cochins to add to our flock.  I'm thinking about it.  I do love chickens.

Fabulous Felting Fun

Ages ago I announced how much I love felting, and then I go spend all my time redoing floors, quilting and other assorted things.  It recently became clear to me that it was time to felt a little.  Or a lot maybe.

For the type of felting I find fascinating I must first knit the item. I found a pattern, bought some lovely wool and began to knit.  and knit and knit and knit.  Here is a photo of the knitted monstrosity.  It measures 36 inches.  Yikes!  (and aren't I wearing lovely socks?)

Pre-felted bag & my psychedelic socks

One spin through the washer left it about the 1/2 the size - but still not shaped right. It piqued the cat's interest though!

One washing

Another run through gave me something much closer, but still not quite right, and the cat is still fascinated by it.

Two washing

Here is where it get's dangerous.  Do I run it through again and possibly ruin it?  Do I stop now?  So much at risk.  So much unknown..

One more pass through the felting machine, also known as the washer, still left me unsatisfied.
It just isn't coming out the way I envisioned it.

Three washing

That's the thing about felting, you knit one thing and plan for it to turn into something else, but there are no guarantees.  It's pot luck.  It's best guess.  It's cross your fingers and hope for the best.  Kinda like life I guess.  Oh wow.  That's deep.  Really deep.

I have a friend who just doesn't get the whole knitted/felted bag/bowl thing.  She just looks at them and says, "why?"  I don't have an answer for her but I've discovered that these are the things I enjoy making.  I don't care to knit clothing.  Knitting scarves and mittens doesn't float my goat either.  These things make me happy so these things are what I'll make.

I'm hoping to put this one (and maybe some others) in a consignment shop and actually start selling my bowls and baskets and bags and totes.  Maybe someone else will find them interesting and be willing to pay for them.  Pay big too.  I have about $40.00 in yarn invested in this bag and I'm going to ask $80.00 I think.  I'm probably crazy.

Finally.  It's still not quite what I pictured in my head but it's close.  I'm hoping once it is complete dry and shaped it will be perfect.

Final bag & Sparky's toes

So I had this trailer...

This trailer meant a lot to me.  It was built in 1992 and I bought it used in 2002.  I just brought it home.  I didn't consult the husband.  I just did it.  The kids and I enjoyed our trailer for the next 8 (or so) years.  We camped out in it in the back yard.  We hauled it to BattleGround lake on a regular basis.  We took it to the coast.  We dragged friends along for the good times.  We huddled in it playing games during rainy icky camping trips.  

This trailer represented so many good things and so many good times.  I brought it to Lynden in 2011.  It has sat in the barn for the last three years being used as storage.  Peter and I never took it out.  Never used it.  

It was time to let it go.  I considered selling it but I couldn't.  How could I sell it?  Not only is a 22 year old trailer worth almost nothing, I was emotionally attached to the stupid thing.  I'm weird I know.  I will always have the memories no matter what happens to the trailer.

Fortunately my son offered to take it off my hands.  Now that he has a baby, camping in a trailer will be way better than a tent.  THIS I thought was the perfect solution.

We tried to take the trailer to him in February but an unexpected snow storm hit the morning we were to leave and I refused to take it out in the storm.  This weekend was snow and ice free and off we went.  But first the freighbor gifted me with an old mattress we could use to build a "real bed" in the trailer - instead of sleeping on a lumpy, bumpy, poor excuse for a bed that trailer manufacturer's think fits two people.

The plan was to get one last trip in, on our way to Kyle's house, stay in the trailer for the weekend and then leave it with him.  On Thursday we set out for Lincoln City.  The rain poured, the wind buffeted us about. It was awful weather but we made it safely to our destination.

The weather was still awful when we got to the campground.  Despite the wet, we parked the trailer and quickly hooked it up to the utilities.  

I plugged in the water hose, turned it on and water poured out the side of the trailer.  Mmm.. that wasn't supposed to happen.  Not wanting to spend more time in the downpour than necessary I quickly decided to just fill the reserve water tank and use it, instead of the direct feed.  Water poured out everywhere.  Obviously something very bad had happened.  We were going to have to bring in water in containers for this trip it seemed and figure out the leak under dryer circumstances.

We finally got inside the trailer only to find the driving rain had been driven into the trailer and soaked our bed.  Completely saturating it in one corner.  All the bedding was wet.  The mattress was wet.    Perhaps three years in the barn had caused seams and joints to dry out.  

We should turn on the heater!  I stripped the bed and hung up the sheets so they could dry. oh wait.  It seemed we were out of propane.

No water, no bed, no heat.  Oh well - Low tide is quickly approaching and agates are calling to Peter.  We could take care of these other issues later, tides don't care.  I just wasn't up to agate hunting in pouring rain so Peter geared up and went without me while I poked around a few shops, drank some wine and enjoyed the beauty of the Oregon coast.  He eventually sent me a text message that said he was on his way back and safely over the dangerous part of the rocks.  When I picked him up he confessed that he wasn't ENTIRELY over the dangerous part when he sent the text and, in fact, had fallen just after hitting the send button.  He was very banged up, but nothing was broken.

Things weren't going too well.  Perhaps giving away the trailer wasn't going to be so hard after all.

Heat issues addressed, we covered the wet mattress with a plastic table cloth, pulled out a couple sleeping bags and settled in for the night.  The first problem was that the mattress was squished into the space at the end by our feet, and flopping down off the edge on the other end.  Peter slept on the inside and I on the outside, propping myself up against the kitchen wall to keep from sliding out of bed.  Peter was restless because of his injuries (possibly a torn rotator cuff or some other pinched nerve, torn muscle issue) which caused us to look at the clock every 20 minutes it seemed.  About 3:00 in the morning I propped a suitcase under the edge of the mattress which gave me the luxury of not sliding out of bed. Unfortunately, it made me roll toward Peter - who wasn't in the mood to be touched or jostled in any way.  The second problem was that water continued to drip.  Mostly on Peter.  It was a very long night.  By morning I was ready for a cup of coffee. Oh. Wait.  Forgot to pack the coffee.

Friday we abandoned our plans to linger on the coast and took the trailer to Kyle's house.  We parked it and tarped it.  We had dinner with friends, we bought coffee.  We started the night with the suitcase under the bed.  The night was better, it was dry and warm.  Saturday Peter went off to his seminar and I spent the day with my son and grandson.

Then Saturday night happened.  Peter's injuries had reached the apex of discomfort. Swelling was maximized, soreness and pain had grown.  Getting comfortable in a 19 foot trailer wasn't possible.  He was up.  He was down.  He tried to sleep in the car.  He walked the neighborhood.  He was down.  He was up.  Back to the car.  Back to wandering the neighborhood.  He did not sleep.  I got the bed mostly to myself.  That bed was very comfortable!   

It was finally morning and we were able to be on our way.  I packed up our things and said farewell to my trailer.  

Despite the very rocky trip and miserable three nights we had just spent in it, despite the leaking and the water problems and the bed issues, despite the fact that it was not being sold to a stranger but given to my son I could not help but shed a tear.

I have Proof!

We got a new oven a month or so ago.  It's a convection oven.  I am having to learn a whole new way to bake and for the most part, everything I've tried to bake on convection has turned out badly.  Coincidentally it just so happens that every loaf of bread I have tried to bake in the last few years has also turned out badly.

Yesterday I noticed a button on my new stove:

Could this be the answer to all my problems??

Although my main focus these days in on the floor, I thought it wouldn't hurt to bake AND strip the floor.  I'm a woman, I can multitask.

So I dug out my mother's 1946 copy of Woman's Home Companion that contains archaic quotes like: "Service with and without a maid, the proper arrangement of silver..." and "Even the sterner sex can bake successfully with the help of the chapter on breads." 

I mean if I don't need a maid, and MEN can bake bread from this book I figure I stood a chance.

 I took this 70 year old recipe and went back to basics.  No bread maker.  No food processor.  No mixer.  I tried to follow this recipe to the letter only running into slight difficulty when looking for the definition of the term "lukewarm."  I really was trying to follow the recipe EXACTLY and I had my thermometer out and on the ready.  I referred to Mirriam Webster and the best I could find was: "not hot, not cold, tepid."  So I looked up tepid and found: "not hot, not cold, lukewarm."  Sigh. So naturally, I tossed my thermometer aside and guessed.  I kneaded the prescribed 10 minutes.  I let it rise for 2 hours. Then another 1/2 hours.  Then another hour.  Allowing it to rise in my new oven on the "proof" setting.  

Now I'm sure you are dying to know what happened aren't you?

I will tell you what happened.  

BREAD happened!!

It's not incredibly pretty (but it's not ugly either).  But it tastes pretty darn good.  I am pleasantly surprised.  Woot!

Now if you are also wondering about the floor.  I made good progress on that too. Although after a week of hard work, my hands are blistered  (one.  I have ONE blister..) they scream in agony when I move them, my shoulders are achy and my back weeps pitifully when I try to stand up straight.  But it's a worthy cause.

Things to do.. Things to do..

Sometimes I long to sit on the sofa and veg with a book.  

Oh.  Wait.  I DO do that.  I just feel really guilty when I do.  Let me rephrase that.

Sometimes I long to sit on the sofa and veg with a book, or watch TV without feeling twinges of guilt that I should be doing something else or at least doing something in addition to watching TV.

There is no chance of getting bored around here.  I am getting a tad overwhelmed by all the things waiting for my attention so the other day I decided to make a list on the white board in SharonTopia thinking it would help me feel in control.

What that meant, of course that the first thing on my to-do list became making an actual list.  I couldn't find a marker so I decided on making my list here.  (Much easier than looking for a marker.. not.)

1.  Kitchen Floor.  I started it over a year a go and it is now my top priority.  I've been working hard on it in the last two weeks or so and I'm over 1/2 way done.  I have promised myself that I will clear at least 1 square foot of floor each day.  At that pace, I should be done in a month.

2.  Hawaiian shirt quilt.  This has been on my to-do list for 2 years - although I just started it a few months ago.  It is second on my priority list because it's currently cluttering up my dining room.  In order to make it available to be worked on, the table and chairs and all other dining room "stuff" is shoved into a corner. Not conducive to romantic candle lit dinners for two at the table or enjoying the dining room in any way.

3.  Ear Brassiere.  A small project.  But I started it as a Christmas Present for a co-worker.  It's March now.  Sigh...  I had it almost finished two nights ago when I discovered a huge error early in the project.  I had to rip it all out and start over.  Now I'm more than 1/2 way done.  If I hadn't made that mistake I would be done.  Very frustrating and now I really just want it gone.  Out of my life forever.  I hate it and I want to kill it.  

4.  Beaded scarf.  Another project I am more than 1/2 way done on.  I really love the effect of the beads in the knitting.  I love it so much I started a second one (with sparkly beads and jewel toned yarn) before I finished this one.  Big mistake.  Huge.  Now both sit gathering dust.

5.  Woven Rug.  I got the crazy idea for this project when we were in Florida in September.  I really really want to do this.  Almost bad enough to move it to position #1.  This is my self-imposed lesson in self-control.  I will NOT even start it until the floor and the quilt are done.  I will most probably get serious about it as soon as I can and I think it may be helping to motivate me on those priority projects. I have been gathering the things I need to make this and all the parts are sitting on the loom ready to go.  Oh.. I want to do this. 

6.  Shrugigan.  This project I started in 2010 - When I was still working.  Peter gives me grief on a regular basis over this project.  I mostly want to get it done so I can wave it about in his face saying "Ha Ha Ha Ha! Neener Neener Neener!!" and doing a most ridiculous dance.  Once it's done I suspect it will go into a drawer and never be looked at again.

7.  Woven basket.  A fun little project.  This one is a good "car project" or for taking places that require waits.  I've made a couple small baskets and it's a fun technique.  I'm not in a hurry to get this done and it's really only on my list because it's started and does need to be finished.  Eventually.

8.  Shearing.  It's spring.  The Alpacas haven't been sheared in nearly two years.  It's time.  It's more than time.  They are shaggy and filthy and complete wrecks.  This is Cheeka.  Of course, once they are sheared then I'll have pounds and pounds of fiber that will need cleaning and washing and carding and spinning and.. Yikes!!  What was I thinking???

9.  Silk spinning.  Because I enjoy torture.  Spinning silk is a completely different thing than spinning other fibers.  Silk is fine and delicate.  I can even only TOUCH the silk when my hands are in the best condition.  If they are dry or cracked they snag the fiber something awful.  I most certainly can't touch it after working on the floor or messing with concrete.  Silk has intrigued me since I first learned to spin.  I have often looked at silk and silently ogled it.  A few months ago a fellow spinner gave me this "hanky" of silk.  Now it must be included on the to-do list.

10.  Cleaning Pads.  Back when I lived in Salem and Peter and I installed the wood flooring in my house I bought a swiffer sweeper with a large box of disposable pads for it.  I just used the last one this week.  Clever me, with time on my hands, has decided to make reusable swiffer sweeper pads out of an old towel.  It should be a quick project.  I may even sneak this one in before I'm done with the kitchen floor.  After all, I will need to be able to clean the floor once the lino is pulled up..

11.   Soap.  I need to make more soap.  I WANT to make soap.  I've been gathering supplies at discount prices.  I scored on 99 cent bottles of Olive Oil, a clearance on lard (yum!) and other assorted things.  I'm ready.  But where do I find the time??

12.  Blogging.  This is a continuing to-do.  I confess it's getting hard to write creatively.  My life is more boring than it used to be.  I assume any readers I have left aren't interested in daily postal fun, or the fact that the cat likes to sit in a box or it rained, again.  Blogging takes time and when something interesting IS going on, finding the time for quality and entertaining documentation is challenging.

All of these things are just the "my" projects.  As the weather improves we have a driveway to finish, the garage to convert, a garden to plant, additional pastures to build, SharonTopia to finish and so much more.  It's a good thing I don't have a dead line.  I tell myself to just keep plodding along and it will eventually get done, breath deep and relax.  And most importantly, appreciate the fact that I'm in a position to do these things at all.

I feel better.

EGGceptional..

Have I mentioned I love chickens?  It seems we have finally eradicated our ugly chicken virus and my chickens are healthy, happy and approaching their first birthday.

I had purchased 6 little chicks - all sold to me as hens.  As they grew, one didn't match the others.  It turns out I ended up with a fine and handsome rooster who takes his job very seriously.  He struts and crows and protects his harem from pesky interlopers.  He is truly magnificent.

But then I'm a little partial.

Since we seem to have beaten the virus, the worst of the winter weather is behind us and I conveniently have a rooster to do a rooster's job I have decided to allow my chickens to make more chickens.  Cuz, again... I love chickens and 5 chickens is not enough.

Since I'm trying to encourage my chickens to make more chickens I am not gathering their eggs on a daily basis.  I want one of them to get broody and start sitting.  They need a batch of eggs to do that.

I am still unsuccessful at convincing my hens to sit on eggs.  Today I gathered up the existing clutch preparing to try again in a week.  I immediately became concerned.  I was thinking that one of my poor hens must have gotten VERY hurt in this process. It had to hurt.  How could it not hurt??  Yikes!

I took this 'ostrich egg' to Peter to seek his input.  He has experience at these things.  He's a doctor even.  He could assure me that this was normal, or at least that I did not have a hen with problems.

His first comment was "that seems a strange color..."
Then I looked at his eyes.  They were twinkling and he had a repressed grin on his face.

Yep.  I was on the getting end of a practical joke.  Seems THIS egg was layed by one of our geese late last week.  Peter had put in the chicken coop three days ago and was just waiting, waiting waiting for me to make this discovery.  I did not disappoint.  Someday I hope to be less gullible.

I have a new love

I have a new love and my new love is called German Pancakes.

I was hanging out at the second hand store yesterday flipping through cookbooks.  One book had a recipe for German Pancakes.  I considered purchasing the book at the exorbitant price of $1.99 but it was the only thing in the book I wanted, so being frugal as I tend to be, I just memorized the recipe.

Last night, before dinner I whipped up a pancake as an appetizer.  I'm sure that somewhere pancakes make a perfect appetizer.  

It was so good, this morning I made more for breakfast.

They are fun, tasty and quite easy to make.  And I must write the recipe down before my brain purges it to make room for more stolen recipes and other important things like walking, talking and delivering mail.

• Preheat oven to 450 degrees.  
• Put 2 Tablespoons of butter in a pie pan and put it in the oven while it preheats.  You want the butter melted and the pan hot but be careful not to BURN the butter (I tried that already, it doesn't work so well.)
• Mix together (I used my hand blender) until fluffy:  3 eggs, 1/2 cup flour, 1/2 cup milk and a pinch of salt.
• Pour the mixture into the hot buttery pie plate and bake for 20 minutes.

(oh man - I just noticed how disgusting the front of my oven is.  please ignore the smears and finger prints!!)

Remove from pie plate (it should slip right out), put on a plate, sprinkle with melted butter and cinnamon sugar, or powdered sugar, maple syrup, warm jam, fresh fruit or any combination.