Messiah Frog...

I spoke too soon. The frog isn't dead. I've heard two different explanations for why he looked and acted so totally not alive. One is that he's in some sort of hibernation mode. The other, which came from Biff, is that he is molting. Do frogs molt? I have my doubts, as I prefer to believe it is some sort of mini amphibious miracle. In any case, he still has not moved from the spot he was in yesterday. But he has a tank full of food and he's covered in calcium powder, as it looks like Biff had very poor aim yesterday in dousing the crickets. So I guess Mr. Jingles wasn't such a silly name choice after all. All hail the messiah frog.

The Green Mile is so long...

It's a sad day here in our household. Froggie, aka Heff, aka Frogbert, aka Mr. Jingles, our beloved amphibian, has gone on to that big lily pad in the sky. I'm not sure exactly when he expired. It could've been while we were away for the weekend. It could have been yesterday, when temps. reached into the thirties and since Biff agreed to change the furnace filter, I waited till he got home to turn the air on. Perhaps I waited too long.
In any case, Heff is no more. For a while, we were convinced that this day might not ever come. He was just a regular tree frog, plucked unceremoniously from a golf course and transplanted to a terrarium where he outlived his life expectancy by a good four to five years at least. Once a cheerful sort who chirrped at the sunshine, he had grown lethargic and tired looking of late. Perhaps world weary and more than ready to shake off this mortal coil.
We more or less inherited him as a member of our household. He started out as Biff's cousins pet, then I believe he may have taken at turn a Biff's brothers place for a while. He spent a great deal of time at Biff's parents home, where he was lovingly cared for and talked to daily. When they went to Holland on an extended vacation, he survived the trip here to Windsor, where he's been for a year or so now.
We did the best we could, but I suppose he was always a little fragile. I felt bad for him though. Not much light in our living room, not much room to roam. I did build him a ladder though, and every evening after his tank timer switched off his light, he would jump from his platform to the ladder and take that hour long climb down into his pool (he took it reaaaal slooow). Once there, he would just kind of hang out, watch some tv.
But to be honest, I think I kind of knew that the end was near. He just didn't seem all that excited about his last bunch of crickets. Usually he would hunt with a great deal of enthusiasm, but the crickets lingered in the tank weeks after we bought them, and Heff seemed to pay them no notice.
In any case, farewell frog friend. You certainly were a facinating and, oddly, frequent topic of conversaion. I'm sorry I scared you that one time when I came near the tank to talk. I'm sorry we didn't clean out the tank a little sooner. Perhaps your last few days would've been a bit more pleasent.
I really wish I had more to say, as I find it a bit creepy to be in the living room, knowing you're dead. But dealing with you will be Biff's job when he gets home from work. Ish.

Incessant honking...

In the history of car alarms, has anyone ever responded with sincere concern for anothers property rather than sheer annoyance and irritation at the bloody sound?

May 2-4 road trip sock...

I didn't bring the camera with me, so unfortunately there are no 'in progress' photos, but I truly did knit this mostly in the car on our long weekend road trip. I made Biff stop at Micheals on the way out of town Friday morning so that I could purchase some cheapo-fillipo (name of a restaraunt in town which I've co-opted to mean anything cheap) yarn, because of course, despite the numerous balls of whatever in my stash, I truly had nothing to knit. Apparently, the big M has stopped selling any kind of sock yarn altogher, so I settled for this TLC acrylic baby yarn, which, yet again, because of my limited camera skills, you can't really see how shiny it is, nor can you see the flecks of colour.
I cast on shortly after we left the Windsor city limits, on our way to Kingston via a stop in Whitby to meet up with Biff's brother and sister in law. They were going to drive us the rest of the way to Kingston where the sister in law's sister lives! Did you get all that? Do I need to construct a flow chart?
In any case, I was glad I brought a project along because the weather was absolute crap, as it has been since, lets see...dirt was new? It's been for freaking EVER! Rain, rain, rain, rain...break...more rain, cold, crappy, wondering if they cancelled spring altogether. I'm a bad passenger as it is, so anything to keep me occupied makes Biff quite happy.
The first leg of the trip was mostly uneventful, until I unwisely rejected the opportunity to pee, foolishly thinking that our first destination wasn't that far off and I could wait until we got to Whitby, as public washrooms just give me the creepy crawlies. Bad choice. We got stuck in rush hour, long weekend, insane Toronto traffic and we ourselves became creepy crawlies, moving like an inch every fifteen minutes. This is the part of the story where I get very cranky and desperate and at one point began to whale on Biff as he thought it might be funny to tickle me in the midst of my mood. I tried not to complain, knowing full well that it was my own fault for not seizing the day when I had the chance. But as I am sitting there in traffic trying to keep my cool, I am absolutely seething with rage at how civilization was never meant to be like this...logjammed on a highway, stuck in little metal boxes on wheels, desperate to escape. It just isn't humane.
In any case, we eventually got to where we needed to go and then onto Kingston where we spent a very enjoyable weekend amusing ourselves indoors, despite all of our grandiose hopes of being able to enjoy ourselves outdoors. It was a beautiful spot on a little lake too, with all the opportunity to have campfires and sit outside. But, that's the nature of the May 2-4 weekend I suppose. Just like a box of chocolates, you never know what you're going to get. And what we got a one point was hail. Or frozen rain, depending on who you talk to!!
I did knit a bit whilst visiting and got the majority of the cuff done and the heel and most of the instep. From Kingston back to Whitby I didn't knit at all, as we drove in the dark. But from Whitby back to Windsor, I managed to finish it. From about Toronto to London, I finished the foot and shaped the toe. I was done grafting when I looked up and saw the Chatham-Kent sign, signalling that we were on the home stretch. And once we reached the edge of Essex county, the sky opened up with this brilliant sunlight and the in car thermometer went up four degrees. Just in time for us to have suppper and wind down from our trip.
So all in all, an incredibly pleasent weekend and I'm glad we went. I did have one very important fact reitterated in my travels though...Ontario is big. Very big. Like crazy big. We drove a total of eight hours, not including break time, and even though we started at the very southern tip of the province, we still weren't anywhere near to it's most northern tip, even at our final destination. It's something you always know, but until you actually drive it, or some portion of it, you just don't really think about.
Big. Crazy big.

Bibs...

...and washcloths. Knit from Bernat Handicrafter cotton and using a pattern that I kind of came up wtih myself. I saw these bibs while flipping through Mason-Dixon Knitting in the book store the other day. The pattern looked perfectly simple, just what I was looking for in terms of an easy knitted bib. I've tried other bib patterns and they were a little involved for my liking. Kinda curvy and I think I used the wrong sized needles anyway, so it left a bad taste in my mouth. Not these though. As you can see, I ran out of the varigated yarn once I got to the other strap, so I just compensated the best I could! It may not show up in the photo, but I made three buttonholes so that they are somewhat adjustable. This was a nice, quick project. Knit up in no time at all. And of course, they're going to Biff's sister in law! I wonder if she's sick of all of these handknit gifts yet...

Sunday mornings over-easy...

Biff makes fried ham and egg sandwiches...



...AND does the dishes! Even wished me a Happy Mothers Day,
even though I've yet to become one! He kicks ass.

Old Man-isms....

I have to believe that it's about this age, nearly thirty, that the whole phenomena of starting to feel 'old' takes place. Our entire group of friends is fast approaching the 20-10th marker (what a ridiculous term) and many have already aquired marriages, mortgages and children. The vein of conversation has shifted from parties and speculations as to how wonderful life will be in the future to landscaping one's yard and disputes with neighbours and how crazy our parents are getting. Vehicle repairs and home repairs and the price of gas and career advancement and money, money, money. Who has it, who doesn't, how much everything costs and "I remember when the price of a pack of smokes used to be THREE DOLLARS!" And herein is the point of this post.
Every once in a while, Biff will let fly a comment that totally sells him out. I make fun of him when I hear these comments. I just say, "Oh alright there, Old Man Thomaes." Allow me to illustrate.

Just yesterday, I had to borrow Biff's Jeep to go out of town cuz as I have told you before, my car sucks. Sucks even more now that there are electrical problems on top of it's leaky nature, but that's a rant for another time. Knowing I needed to put some gas in this beast, I asked what type Biff prefers.

"Premium. It's a buck twenty five right now too."
I give a disgruntled look, as if to say, is that really necessary?
"You put the regular stuff in, the truck knocks. Put the premium in, doesn't knock. You put in the expensive gas and you'll save your engine. You might pay a little more now, but you'll save a lot down the road."
He's 28 by the way.
This of course justifies my typical response: "Okay, Old Man Thomaes."

There have been countless comments like this in the past. And not just from Biff either. A year ago, Biff and I went on a little vacation with a group of our friends. We all chipped in and rented a cottage. It was this totally charming little place on Pelee Island, decorated with a nautical theme and in my opinion, cute as a button. It was rustic and small and pretty much exactly what you picture when you think island cottage.
Upon arriving, we're all pretty excited, perhaps having envisioned a ramshackle hut that leaks or has bugs or something. We were all gathered in the kitchen, putting things away and shelling out alcohol and we noticed an old stereo on top of the refridgerator. Really old. As old as we were. Like circa late seventies type of old, with the wood paneled speakers et. al. Perfect. We turn it on, or rather, our friend Aarssen turned it on. The reception was clear as a bell, much to our collective pleasure. Upon this revelation, Aarssen, who has worked with, around and in electronics his entire life, launches into this diatribe about how, and I quote: "they just don't make things the way they used to" and the sound emanating from this thirty-some year old piece of equipment was "warm and clear, and you just don't get that from stereos today."
"This is a quality piece of manufacturing and look, look how well it's lasted all these years."
Please feel free to join me if you like: "Okay, Old Man Aarssen."

One more.
Biff coached hockey this past season, juniors, which range in age from 16/17-18/19 I think. Every Tuesday night, practice night, the phone would ring from the time Biff got home from work to about an hour before practice started.

"Uh, yeah, uh, can't make it to practice tonight. I've come down with a sudden case of teenager-itis."

One night we're watching television, a reality show, where the mom is berrating her teenage son because he wants to punk out on his soccer practice. The mom tells her son that the only reason you miss a practice is if you're too ill or there is a legitimate family emergency. I was on the couch watching this and Biff was in the kitchen, but still within earshot of the tv. Upon hearing this comment, Biff pipes up, "THAT'S RIGHT!"
Old Man Thomaes.

So I think I'll keep a running log from now on. Until later...

Blame it on the rain...

It's supposed to rain until Tuesday. It's been raining since last evening and already, the amount of water that has fallen from the sky and accumulated in our laneway is of biblical proportions. I dare not drive today, for my eleven year old inherited convertible leaks like seive and therefore it's more like riding around in a giant sponge than a sturdy, reliable, practical automobile. A word to the wise; if you live anywhere in the middling climate zones, forego the convertibles. To use a more common vernacular, they suck. Totally suck.

I guess it's appropriate that it is raining today, although I hope it lets up later on. I live in Windsor, Ontario and today is going to prove to be a bummer day. Late last week, a police officer was shot and killed here in the city when he was trying to prevent or break up a drug deal. Some idiot eighteen year old kid killed him.

It's the first time in 124 years here in the city of Windsor that an officer has been shot and killed. Watching the local news last night, I learned from the police chief that just last year, there was a grand total of five officer weapons fired and four of those were at animals. And for those who may not be familiar with the geography, Windsor is on the Canada/US border with Detroit, Mich., a notoriously violent city. Does anyone else see the irony in this? There's no denying there is a distinct cultural divide at play here.

The officers funeral is today and seven thousand are expected to attend. The only venue large enough to accomodate is the university athletic center, which is practically in my back yard. Yesterday I watched as the gigantic tents were constructed in the parking lot for the reception afterwards, and watched as volunteer students tidied up the boulevards, cutting grass and raking debris. The guys from the fire station just down the road were out hosing down their driveway and polishing up one of their trucks.

The whole city seems to be in mourning. Blue ribbons are tied everywhere in rememberance and most flags fly at half mast. Two nights ago they held a candlelight vigil down at the riverfront plaza for the public, which looked to me to be overwhelmingly attended. Today, once the service has ended, there will be a long processional going right by my front door. The streets are supposed to be lined with officers and citizens alike.

So I hope the rain lets up by then.

Everywhere I turn...

Tis the season for babies. Everywhere I turn, bam, someone has had another baby. It's great for me for two reasons. One, I get to craft like crazy and two, I get to live vicariously through these people for the time being. Babies are cool, and I'd really like to have one or two someday, but I still want to go to Vegas for my thirtieth birthday, so for now, I'll settle for knitting bootees for others.
When Biff's brother and his wife announced in November that bam, they were going to have a baby, let's just say I went a bit nuts. Between the announcement and Christmas, I came up with the first pile of stuff, which included a quilt, knitted blanket, wash cloths, a robe for mom-to-be and matching pairs of mom and baby socks (plus one or two purchased items thrown in for good measure). I got the biggest kick out of making all of this stuff.


The quilt has got to be my favorite pattern that I've done so far, and I'll admit I haven't done many quilts. It's quick and easy and I love the sawtooth edge finish. Voila...


Now Biff's sister in law is seven months along and in that time, I've crafted yet another pile of stuff, this time gender specific. I just learned though, that the doctors etc. never will say for 100% sure the sex, so there still is this little bit of lingering doubt as to what the baby will turn out to be once it's born. For the child's sake, I really hope it's a girl, otherwise there will be a very unhappy boy someday looking back at his baby pictures.


These bibs are fantastic for using up remnants of flannel. It takes such small pieces that despite my best efforts, I still have a huge pile of flannel scraps! I used a Simplicity pattern that I had already and cut out a piece of quilt batt and sewed the odd strips (a technique that I am quite fond of at the moment) right to it. Then a whole piece for the back, which I forgot to take a picture of. In any case, these take like an hour, perhaps a little more to make and I'm very pleased with the result.

I must admit however that this is absolutely my favorite piece of the whole package. It was a joy to knit, a joy to stare at and a joy to give away. I hope that there will be, and I'm sure there will be, as much joy in seeing it worn as well (please send photos!). This I believe was a Patons heirloom pattern, knit out of Beehive or Softee baby yarn, can't quite remember which. The bootees came from the Zoe Mellor book and just so happened to have similar detailing on the foot as in the sweater pattern, although I think it may be hard to tell from the photo.

We've seen this sweater somewhere before. Again, I added the bootees from the 50 Baby Bootees book...


And of course, where would a summer baby be without some fancy-schmancy sun dresses?
(I hate how my camera washes out the colour...am I doing something wrong here??? Undoubtedly)
This latest pile of stuff has now been given away, leaving a vacancy for more stuff, which, though it's been little more than 72 hours since this latest set has been out of my hands, I've already started! Perhaps I have a problem? Ah well...keeps me busy.
Until later...

I'm done with Oprah...

Nearly every afternoon at four o'clock for the past twenty years, I've either been plunked down or have plunked myself down in front of my television for roughly forty minutes of tv therapy. Now, one really shouldn't need therapy at the age of eight, but that's besides the point. One really shouldn't know about celebrities sex lives at eight either, or be privy to strangers secret addictions and other various pecadillos, but there you have it...the beauty of the day time talk show. I blame my mother of course, as I do most everything else, for she is really the one who got me started on this at such a young age.
I used to love Oprah...LOVE Oprah. She's so benevolent, so wise, so all knowing, so compassionate, so busy saving the world so that I barely have to think about how I really should be doing SOMETHING. But you know what? I'm done. Done with Oprah. I'm done with simple abundance and being grateful, done with protein diets and liquid diets and grapefruit diets and especially done with Bob Greene. Anyone THAT into fitness has something very wrong with them. I'm done with sappy, poorly written books about tragic, victimized female characters in weird situations, although The Poisonwood Bible and White Oleander were actually quite good...but don't get me started on Fall on Your Knees...that's a blog for another time.
I'm done with being my authentic self, sitting in the seat of my soul, being from Venus, and really done with hearing it told like it is. I'm done with make overs, make unders, the right celebrity jeans, the right celebrity make up, the right celebrity hair, the right celebrity diet plan, charity, foreign aid tragedy, adoption, birth, marriage, live in committed relationship, divorce, rumor, innuendo, tabloid story that in all likelihood IS true, and especially done with celebrities talking about how famous they are. And herein really, lies the marrow of why I am cutting Oprah out after all these many years of unyeilding devotion.
A while back, she had Meg Ryan on to talk about all her great charity work in India with victimized women. I'm not slagging her or the cause by the way, I'm just simply done with it. So before they actually get to the issue at hand, Oprah and Meg sat for a good ten or fifteen minutes discussing being famous. It was then that I had an epiphany, a real honest to goodness epiphany, akin I can only imagine to a quasi-religious experience. I was suddenly very acutely aware that watching Oprah was a gigantic waste of my time. I'd been doing it for so long that it had become this ingrained habit. The clock would tick over to four and like an automaton, I would lumber over to the tv set with the voice of the Dunkin' Donuts guy in my head, only this time saying "Time to watch Oprah." Here's my point:

There is nothing in this world more boring, or so I've discovered, than watching two hugely famous people talk about being hugely famous.

At the time I gave Oprah the benefit of the doubt, like you might an older relative who's slowly slipping into dementia, but for the time being you're in denial and besides, it's kind of amusing at family holidays when the conversation is lagging. But it happened again! Only this time, it's an ongoing segment within the show where Oprah sets up an interview between two OTHER famous people, only this time, they're soooo famous that they've won OSCARS (gasp that the pure irrelevance of that achievement here) and they sit down in a very lovely setting, filmed with a soft lense and discuss how winning an Academy Award changed their lives. Yeah, cuz who can't relate to that, am I right?
This most recent segment featured Kathy Bates and Billy Bob Thornton, two people that I believe most of the viewing public either forgot had won or couldn't give a crap about winning an OSCAR (capitals on OSCAR cuz I guess it's a big deal or something). Billy Bob had wanted to interview Kathy, cuz Oprah was like, 'Hey famous people! What other famous people would you like to talk to so that I can put it on the air and make a billion dollars a second?' So Billy Bob goes to Kathy's house, meets her tiny dog and proceeds with the interview, wherein he talks about himself the entire time. And somehow the subject of each of their nude/semi-nude scenes in their respective movies comes up, (Kathy in About Schmidt and Billy Bob in Monster's Ball) which by god, have to be two of the worst visuals in all of Hollywood history.
Here's a basic overview, in paraphrase, of how the interview went:

BB: So, Kathy, you were once not famous, and now you're famous. What's that been like for you?
KB: Well, Billy, I...
BB: Yeah, I used to not be famous either, but now I'm really famous, the kind of famous where having unusual phobias, like being afraid of pre-1950's furniture is considered endearingly eccentric. So, you've also won an OSCAR. How's that changed your life?
KB: It's really changed my life, for example...
BB: Yeah, I've won an OSCAR too. Isn't being hugely famous with an OSCAR, like, the shiz?

You get the idea.

So yeah, done with Oprah. I hereby decree it to be so, on this very blog. I think I need a little time to mourn the death of this twenty year relationship...whew, glad that's over. Time for more coffee...until later.

Spring chickadees...

I've been knitting booties the last little while in preparation of the arrival of various babies and they've all come from this wonderful book from Zoe Mellor. There are some really fun designs inside, including bunny slippers and jester shoes (complete with bell) but these have to be my absolute favorite. These little ducky feet will make you laugh before you even see them on anyone. I was tempted, before my neice was born, to create a bigger version for my brother, so that he and wee Katie could match. How funny would that have been? Never happened though. Anyhow, had to share with y'all 'cuz now I have model to show how smile inspiring these slippers really are.



This is wee Nolan, he's brand new as of late March and his proud parents are friends of ours. I thought he looked a little duck-like himself in this photo, with that fuzzy down on the top of his head! But doesn't this picture just make your day?!


Here's one where he looks like he's showing off, kind of saying 'yeah, I'm chillin' in my duck feet, whatofit?'.
I picked the book up in the bargin section at Chapters but if you have the means, I highly recommend tracking it down. Who knows, you may eventually try the other 49 designs!

A thought before retiring...

Ever have a really lame song stuck in your head? Like Billy Joel's Piano Man? Seriously, all day today. I can't wait to be asleep.

A playoff widow channels her energy...

From about the beginning of April until the end of June, the art of conversation disappears from our household. It's replaced by the dulcet tones of a one Mr. Don Cherry, the familiar theme of HNIC or the roar of a crazed crowd mixed with the melodic crack and snap of bones being crushed against the boards. Players lose conciousness, teeth, use of joints, or even the ability to see. (anyone catch Koivu's injury...uh, ouch.) But we all love it don't we? (if we're subjected to it without options, sure) That's right, it's playoff time. And I'm a playoff widow. Little gets discussed at this time. I barely seem to register on the 'things that are audible' spectrum. It's all about hockey, and that's okay. I'm learning more all the time and rarely have to ask a quesiton repeatedly anymore (so, what is icing anyway? so, was THAT offsides? do you think Jerome Iginla is cute? I do). I still think that being a goalie during either the Olympics or the playoffs (namely game seven of a Stanley Cup final) would be just about the worst job on earth. I can't even comprehend that kind of stress. The money just wouldn't be worth it.
So in celebration of playoff season, I crafted a little jersey here for Joey Baggadonuts, a product of the Knitted Babes KAL. (I'm planning a series of Babeisodes here on the blog in the near future...little dramatic vignettes featuring my new found obession. Should prove amusing, if only to me)



Crafting around the hockey theme has taken a few shapes, this one being one of my favorites. Biff naturally is the true hockey fan, although as I said, I'm catching on. But where would Biff's best friend be without being able to show his colours as well?



Maury is such a great dog...he indulges my every knitty whim. And he actually likes putting on his sweaters, truly he does. Oh yes...sweaterS...plural.