Pretending to Farm

Hey Kool-Aid!

It arrived Monday or was that Tuesday, encased in a gianormous Ziploc bag and lily-gilded with an assortment of soothing teas. With colors ranging from salmon to red to purple, it was royalty to unfold. Putting in on and feeling its warmth, I caught the subtle but sublime scent of childhood, of Kool-Aid drink mix, something which was verboten in my home, adding the slightest bit of sin to an otherwise chaste garment.

Months ago I had sent the white homespun Merino to Beth, deciding to cull my stash and concentrate my limited knitting and spinning time on the wool we shear from our own sheep and goats (and alpaca and llama). This fleece I had purchased on Ebay. As I didn’t know the name of the ram or ewe who grew it, even though I enjoyed spinning the soft wool, I decided my four-young-kids-in-tow, harried cyber-friend Beth deserved it more than I.

Little did I know the machinations of her generous brain. First she hand-dyed it (with the Kool-Aid) then spent untold late night hours knitting it. The gift was a complete surprise, a triangular shawl perfect for chilly mornings and cold evenings. I’d take a photo of the entire masterpiece but that would mean taking it off and I’m just not ready to do that.

Thank you, Beth; our friendship has been a welcome serendipitous bonus of this blog. Plus you give really good presents.

A Thing of Beauty is a Joy Forever

My mother-in-law is an amazing person, hardworking, dedicated, loyal, and strong-willed. We haven’t always gotten along, perhaps because each of us has a difficult time budging when our minds are set, perhaps because we didn’t always “get” one another. Also, as she gave birth to near-perfection in the form of a boy named David, he deserved nothing short of the best, something I definitely was not.

My insecurities about this changed the way I acted with my in-laws, squelched the fun parts of me in fear of seeming inappropriate. To add fuel to the fire, once at a party shortly before we were married, a girl I have never been fond of pulled David aside, gestured my way with her chin, and told him he could do so much better. Maybe something deep inside of me always feared she was right and thought my mother-in-law felt the same.

Twenty odd years later, years full of anything and everything which bolster and try souls such as ours, I think we understand each other. We definitely love each other and that is a good thing, Martha.

Emotional spill complete. Someone send a Hazmat crew to clean it up, would ya’?

Now Carolyn is a woman of many skills and great enthusiasm to practice them. She is an expert seamstress and, more recently, has added embroidering to her repertoire. The Amazing Matt gifted her with a fancy-dancy sewing machine that does everything but the dishes and she has done her best to discover its full potential. She attends classes, reads books, and sews, sews, sews. She has given us embroidered bath towels, kitchen towels, and clothing. Recently, she has been working on her piece de resistance, a masterpiece of fabric, decorative stitching, and, at unbelievably her first attempt, quilting.

It’s a thing of beauty, the colors, the characters, the workmanship, and, guess what? It glows in the dark and came complete with flashlights to enhance the effect.

We have a new house duck!

And a frog

And a tiger among many others.

Look how she made the quilt ties into embroidered hearts.

And thoughtfully added his name to the top.

It’s too cool for school.

What does the Pint-Sized Farmer think? He likes it just fine (it’s nice and comfy to boot).

Thanks, Mom. I'm blessed to have you for a mother-in-law.

“Tomorrow is another day.”

Yesterday, my day began with an endlessly screaming toddler and two dentist appointments for the teenaged wonder twins. This was our first visit to this particular dentist (David the Husband and Jessica had gone before us) and the waiting room was plush. No hard stackable seating lined the walls, begging for an impromptu game of musical chairs. Instead, we were greeted by an overstuffed sofa and cushy arm chairs, all full of numerous toss pillows beguiling a 2 ½ year old toddler with an arm like Randy Johnson to fulfill their moniker. Within minutes of being there, the Zoom teeth whitening display was broken and the waiting room looked like, well like my house. (I had to fill out paperwork and stupidly entrusted his care to the not-so-wonder-after-all twins.)

There were good things that resulted from this omnipresent chaos that is my life. David the Teenager has no cavities (Robert has one broken tooth only needing a filling to repair) and SR Jessica was being pampered at the Carefree Spa with a 45 minute sugar and spice scrub followed by an hour long massage, our birthday gift to her. The knowledge that she was being thus Tasha-ed (Backyardigans reference, you have to watch it) made my experience bearable.

Other than a short nap, Pint continued his demon mood all day, putting a damper on any festive birthday plans and forcing Jessica to escape the madness which is our lives in an effort to enjoy the rest of her day. I hope she succeeded, poor thing. She seemed let down and who could blame her. 18 is a huge milestone with expectations galore, many of which were not met. What’s a trying-desperately-to-keep-her-little-girl-with-her-for-the-summer mom to do? Nothing apparently as she heads back to San Diego today. Sob and sigh.

I did receive an email from Grammar Girl, a highlight of my day, that and the cat pin I am getting from Sara at Barking Biscuit but that’s another post. I probably should have listed Grammar Girl’s podcast in my favorites but, as I said, I was limiting myself to three. She and Mr. Manners (I listen to both) each run a podcast out of the QD Now network; and during each show, she answers grammar questions and offers examples of wrong and right ways to state things in a grammatically correct manner.

I had written her with an ongoing puzzle of mine, whether or not it is correct to end a sentence with a preposition. To avoid doing so, I find myself constructing stilted sentences in my writing and resenting the dismal results.

Below is her reply, no more for which-es to avoid the dreaded dangling preposition. I heart Grammar Girl.

Hi Lauren,

Here's a sentence that shouldn't end with a preposition:

Where is Claire at?

Here's a sentence that is fine with a preposition at the end:

What did I step on?

The important thing is that prepositions need objects. The quick and dirty tip is if you can leave the preposition off the end of the sentence without changing the meaning, then you should leave it off.

Thanks for listening!

Mignon

Now if I can only figure out the proper placement of a period when using parentheses.

As GG says, that’s all for now. And as Scarlett O’Hara says, “Tomorrow is another day.”

Thanks for reading, my friends.

Danger: Mush Ahead

As you know, on the 27th we commemorated Pretending to Farm’s one year anniversary. As I discovered the significance of the date late in the day, I did not take the time to say what writing this blog has done for me and the unexpected surprises and perks that have come along with it.

First of all, I have proven to myself that I can do something consistently, persistently, whatever-sistently for a year. I didn’t know I had it in me. As you know, I bore easily and have a challenging time with repetitive activities. Yet, I like to write; I really and truly enjoy it. Who was it that said “find something you truly love to do and you’ll never work another day in your life?” Well, for me, that something is writing. (Psssst… publisher man, send a few greenbacks my way, would ya’?)

What has surprised me more about creating this blog, however, is the circle of friends, cyber-friends one might call them, which I have met through my writing. They include knitters, shepherds, animal lovers (a big shout out to the Giant Schnauzer rescue contingent), and a plethora of miscellaneous readers who, as the others, I have never met personally but with whom I have developed an unexpected kinship.

Beth in Wisconsin, knitter and just-about-anything-else crafter, and I email each other nearly every day and get silly quoting “The Backyardigans” as we both have young children at home. Just before Easter, she sent me wool from a yarn swap she organized with treats tucked in amongst the Lopi, an Easter treat for Pint and super yummy chocolate cherry chip cookies. Beth has dreams of some day living on a farm herself and I vacillate between encouragement and its-not-all-bouncing-lambs-and-fresh-eggs lectures.

Melanie in New York State emails me as well. She has a Wee Farm as she puts it and raises Shetlands just as much for their love as their wool. I adore shepherds who view their flock as more than a commodity. (Most do but I have come across some who do not through the Shetland email list and it mouth-agape astonishes me.) In late winter/early spring, Melanie and her husband tap the sap of maple trees on their property and cook it for hours over a fire until it turns to syrup. Then they bottle it for their own consumption and for sale. When I asked her how someone living all the way in Arizona could purchase some, less than a week later a lovely maple leaf shaped glass jar full of the most delicious, smoky maple syrup I have ever consumed arrived on my doorstep accompanied by a lovely note. I was truly touched (and not just in the head).

Situated in the more than lovely Willamette Valley of northeastern Oregon at the base of Mt Hood is Michelle of Boulderneigh. As with Beth, Michelle and I email each other almost every day and she is full of caring, advice, concern, encouragement, and prayers. She is a much better person than I, or at least her morals exceed mine exponentially. She does wonderful things like pray for me, research my dumb disease which currently is trying to rear its ugly head, and send heartfelt but funny snail mail cards to me. We are currently hatching a plan to meet in person at the Black Sheep Gathering in Eugene, OR in late June which awesome David the Husband has okayed but pesky logistics remain to be solved and sorted. Such as…

…Kathy of Sheep Thrills up in Flagstaff and her troublesome back issues and is she sharing the ride? She is another I have never physically met but has offered friendship and shepherding advice plus I think I have mentioned that she and her husband brew their own beer so she is definitely a-okay in my yet-to-be-completed book.

There are so many more, Carrie down in Tucson, Ali G in NYC, Julie in Surprise and even occasionally the Yarn Harlot or the Mason-Dixon girls. There are Margery and Karalyn and the other Beth, oh my! The list grows and I love it, that and the kinsmanship which was the last thing I expected yet the thing I love most about writing Pretending to Farm.

It’s 8:30 am but pretend it’s well after cocktail hour has begun and picture me standing before you weaving and slurring (it shouldn’t be hard to imagine).

I love you guys!

No Plush Animals, You Hear Me?

Today, I am going to veer away from the 3Fs- farming, family, and fiber to try to help any men who have the (mis)fortune to read this blog and guide them toward a proper, un-hokey, plush-animal-free Valentine’s gift for your significant other(s).

First a disclaimer:

I am not a typical woman. I don’t have the need to visit club restrooms in groups. I don’t like going to the mall or, in fact, shopping at all. And I’d rather spend my time outside with my animals than just about anything. (Well, if we could budget a weekly Fleming’s night out, I might like that as well.)

That said, I have a few no-no’s as far as gift purchases. I am spurred on to this mission because I keep seeing TV ads about some plush Zorro-masked teddy bear that gets delivered to a woman in cubicle land. All the other cubiclean females ooh and aah about it so much that the cubiclean men grab their telephones to order one for their own mate. Wrong. If your significant other is under ten, hopefully this means your daughter, go ahead, and get the bear. Or, if the plush toy is holding something of the carat persuasion, go ahead and get it. Just be sure and insert the ring/earrings/necklace/etc. in an obvious place. Women do not want to perform plush animal rectal exams in order to find jewelry, though, in a pinch (pardon the pun) they will.

My advice? Forego the bear altogether and get the jewelry, something classic. Also, and I apologize profusely for anyone I am about to offend; avoid things that identify only a portion of your amazing mate’s persona. No “Mom,” “Sister” (for you Kentuckians), or “Wife.” There is so much more about your loved one that labeling her with an expensive piece of stone and precious metal limits her. Go for a single gem, either diamond, birthstone, or just-because favorite, maybe add a few smaller framing gemstones, and hang it from a chain, mount it on a ring, or dangle a pair of them from some gold or silver ear wires and call it good. She’ll be thrilled; I’d be thrilled. My preference? Pearls, I love pearls.

“David, don’t you dare go spend money on jewelry for me. I want a duck pond.”

I told you I wasn’t a typical woman. Unless your loved one, a. has ducks, b. loves them, and, c. has to clean out blue plastic baby pools every other day, you might forego the pond idea.

Now, if your budget doesn’t allow for gemstones, don’t sweat it. Flowers or a nice flowering plant are always welcome and appreciated. Let me offer a few guidelines, however. Carnations, unless your mate has a wild affinity for them, are a no-no. They say cheap and, since they are often dyed, they turn your flower water strange colors. Mixed in with other flowers though, carnations are fine. Also, avoid more than a sprig or two of baby’s breath. It’s a so-1980’s filler. My favorite? Deep pink tulips, just tulips. Their lives are fleeting, yet they are lovely beyond comparison. You should know by now what your lover’s favorite flower is; go and get it.

A final word about flowers, red roses are overpriced, and unless they are really overpriced, will not last long, and frankly, unless your mate has a strong affinity for them, choose something else. Show your thoughtfulness and originality.

Here ends my Valentine’s Day gift-giving tutorial. I offer no guarantees as to the success it will cause you or if it will bode well for the upcoming Steak-and-Knobber Day.

David, if I get that duck pond, we’re talking T-Bone and TMJ.

A Shameless Plug

Thankfully, fall is right around the corner.  During Saturday’s storm, I was actually chilly for the first time in months.  What to do?  Add a bunch of sweatshirts and long sleeve t-shirts to “The Pretending to Farm” store, of course.  You can get there here or by clicking the link on the sidebar at left.  Have you been there lately?  Have you been at all?  I’ve been working on it all morning/afternoon  and I have a very sore neck from craning to see the computer screen properly in order to accurately outline images in Photoshop.  You’d think it would only take a moment but I have been sitting at this desk for over five hours now and I’m still not done.  Humor me, folks.  Do me a favor and visit the store and tell me what you think.  Did I do enough?  Did I do too much?  Is there something missing?  Perhaps an image on one kind of shirt or mug that you’d like to see on another?  Feedback, people, I need feedback.

Back on the farm, our little ewes are all grown up now and will soon be sharing a boyfriend.  Sometime next week we’ll be driving down to

Tucson

and picking up a loaner ram and also a ram lamb (say that ten times fast) for future breeding purposes.  I have to admit I am a little choked up at the thought of our little girls, who we brought home in the back of our pickup truck when they were little lambies, entering ewe-hood but that’s nature for you.  I just won’t watch; that would be pervy.

We’re also thinking about breeding the goats but have not found a more local place to find a buck.  I don’t particularly want to drive four hours to Kingman to visit the unique and very nice breeders from whom we purchased Elora, Bill, and

Pearl

.  If I do, I’m bringing a gift of razors.  Catty of me, I know but I just cannot embrace that sixties commune/European freedom underarm hair thing.  Ha, I can see the expression on your face right now.  You’re welcome.

Well, as you can read, I am very punchy from working on this time sucker for hours on end and I’m almost finished updating the store, thankfully. 

I’ll be looking forward to your feedback.  Won't I?