Pretending to Farm

Peace Through Confusion

Can I tell you how much I LOVE my new little map widget?! (It's in the far left column.) Finally, after all these years, my need for constant reassurance is partially sated. I click on the map; I see flags designating people who read my blog; I feel good.

Hello Caledonia, Minnesota! Hey There, Toledo, Ohio! Greetings, Norwich, Connecticut!

I should have put this thing on here a lot sooner.

This morning, I got a visitor from Cheltenham, Gloucestershire. That’s pretty darned special because, you know, I’ve eaten their cheddar.

I still am struggling with the Dakotans; I’m wondering if I did or said something to offend them. Hey, I read Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee; I sing Rocky Raccoon; and I’d love to visit Mt. Rushmore. Sorry I can’t run up there right now and act all Barackillary and waltz into a diner and serve burgers or drop into a bar for a shot of whiskey and a beer chaser but I’m with you just the same. Don’t bring me down.

And you guys in the Middle East? You know who you are (I just know where you live). You’re both reading this dribble. Write each other; start a friendship; be pen pals. I don’t know why someone from Ahvaz, Khuzestan, Iran and another someone from Beirut, Beyrouth, Lebanon couldn’t be buddies, do you?

You know, I could be starting something here. I don’t have Angelina Jolie’s money and clout (and thankfully not all those children) but I have a blog, darn it, and I have seen the mountaintop, and I have a dream of people living and let living regardless of religious preference or skin color. It doesn’t matter whether you like Baby Ruths or Butterfingers better and it doesn’t matter what the caliph, the rabbi, the minister, and the pope did on the airplane. What matters is that you read my blog and you get all weird inside because half the time you don’t know what the hell I’m talking about and how can you oppress your fellow man when you’re so darned confused.

Would someone please pass this along to Ban Ki-moon or, if he’s too busy maybe Kofi Annan or Butrus Butrus Galli? They might need something to do since they’re not UN Secretary Generals anymore. Tell them about my idea; spread the word blog readers.

Pretending to Farm, confusing the populace enough to keep them from fighting with one another.

And now, for your viewing pleasure (I wish I could capture mine doing this, much less set it to music.)

Mysterious, Very Mysterious

Da, da, daaaa (In case you can’t tell, these are everyone-look-at-one-another-with-spooky-wonder sound effects.)

I have been writing, or what can sort of pass for writing, this blog for almost 1 ½ years. My stats, or the number of people and page loads that visit each day, have slowly but steadily risen (I guess I’ll win the race) during this time and I am pleased and assured that readers return to the site even though I am a strange, emotionally-driven, different drummer marcher.

Lately, however, my stats have skyrocketed, first rising 30%, then 50%, then doubling, and, as of yesterday quadrupling. Also, the people visiting “Pretending to Farm” are coming from everywhere. In addition to the typical US, UK, and Canadian readers, people are coming from Sri Lanka, Finland, Spain, France, Venezuela, Romania, and even Saudi Arabia (I hope they’re not showing me as an example of how women are not supposed to behave.)

Donning my tweed cap and houndstooth duster in spite of the heat and grabbing my magnifying glass (because I can’t see for shit), I look into what brought these visitors to my site and find… da, da, daaa… google images. People are searching for specific pictures and Page and Brin are sending them my way.

Some search terms I can see: horse, sheep, alpaca, McDowell Park, shed snake skin, and the related rattlesnake babies. A few perplex even me: rock, girl sucking on lollipop, a patient in hospital gown, and one extremely filthy one having to do with a brother-in-law and kittens by another name. Ewww.

So I’m wondering, are these people even reading the words around the photos they find or are they just using me for my images. I have a feeling it’s the latter.

Mystery solved and it’s a good thing, Martha. This tweed is darned hot.

The Grinch is Alive, Not Sure About 'and Well'

"...Oh the noise, noise, noise, noise! If there's one thing I hate...oh the noise, noise, noise, noise!" - The Grinch

"...They'll blow their machines. They'll bang their sledge hammers. They'll run their shop-vacs. They'll bang with no manners!" -Lauren

Call me The Grinch. Yesterday, we were invaded by the Mold Men from Damage Control and my already low tolerance for non-farm animal related noise was put to the test and I failed miserably. It never stopped, the banging as they tore down the walls, demolished the tile, and ran the negative air machine which still runs and has to run until Monday when the hygienist comes to inspect us. What I thought was a simple shower pan leak has turned into an EPA watch sight. The visqueen surround has grown and is creepier than ever. It won’t allow me to enter our garage from the house. It’s in Pint’s closet, around the bathroom and into the garage, all because of the blown-in paper-like type of insulation we have in the walls that allowed the water to weep and spread like a virus before it morphed into the three kinds of mold that brought the invasion of the Mold Men. (By the way, as the grandfather clock is a really big thing, of course we got it from my really-big-thing-giving mother.)

Because of the omnipresent racket, I think I was totally entitled to open a beer at 2 pm, particularly since it took me a full hour to drink because Pint decided to dump all the toys that I had just moved from the living room into his and no-longer-David-the-teenager’s room into a large, no-longer-organized pile. A Gramma, a Gramma, a Gramma says Aargh! (Sorry, Backyardigans reference).

Speaking of Backyardigans, those of you who are interested in joining our knit-a-longs for whatever character you choose, please visit Backyardiknits and leave a comment. We are thinking of asking everyone who joins to post to the blog and share their patterns, their progress, and their favorite Backyardigan episodes and quotes, etc. It’s still a work in progress but we think it will be great fun for those who are interested so drop on by.

Finally, Pint is making great progress in the pool and, as long as he is accompanied by someone he trusts, is fearless in his swimming and has great fun diving underwater to retrieve dive sticks and torpedoes. Hooray Pint! Hooray Grandpa! I think I need to join them, if only to get away from the noise.

The Three "P"s

It’s a busy morning around Rancho Laurena. After realizing the shower pan was leaking in David the Teenager’s bathroom and the water pooled on the floor was not a result of overzealous washing, we have been invaded by tradesmen of various specialties to remedy the situation. This is a good thing, Martha. It is also a chaos-generating thing with a Pint and three bloodhounds wanting to become pesky apprentices and a germophobic teenager refusing to allow any of the “funny-smelling” shower rods, doors, and/or hardware to be piled in his newly moved into and painted room.

As this will be entertaining us all week long, ladies and germs, I will have limited posting time but nonetheless endeavor to keep writing. Anything for my loyal readers.

Presenting:

The Summer of Love Yarn spun slightly thicker than lace weight, wound into a center pull ball, and plied from the inside and outside of the ball. This is all I have as this was the colorway that Carrie chose. I think it will make a nice accent to an otherwise plain sweater, maybe collars and cuffs or decorative edging.

Premiering:

The Backyardiknits. If those of you with small children have not found “The Backyardigans,” stop what you’re doing and check your TV Guide until you find it. Sit down with your own Pint, watch, repeat. Beth, Brandy, and I started this wee blog, not associated with the show but admiring it. Backyardiknits, as you can deduce from its name, is for its fans that knit. A few free patterns are already there plus a handful of posts from each of us. Come on by and pay us a visit.

Play-Acting:

The Pint, swimming in the Olympics. He puts his face in the water and slithers snake-like across the large top step of the pool. About half his body is submerged. After joyfully witnessing this, we devoted much pool time to teaching the boy for real. He is excelling at putting his face in the water and kicking, but only if he has a death grip around his instructor’s neck. He will perform this same death grip from the back and enjoy a quick underwater swim, which we find amazing coming from a boy who last week would not leave the step under any circumstances. Maybe he will end up swimming in the Olympics, after all.

As the young carpenter’s apprentice is getting a little too eager to learn again, I must get back to playing interference. Have a wonderful week everyone.

You Guys Are Cracking Me Up!

Keep 'em coming; you have until midnight Sunday.

I have a busy weekend ahead of me with dyeing, painting, organizing, horseback riding lessons transporting, and Diamondbacks vs. Red Socks watching. That, and writing two articles for the quarterly "Roundup" and seeing what else you clever folks concoct.

Oh, by the way, remember that snake skin we found in the feed shed the other day? Well, look who showed his lovely, non-poisonous self to us this morning.
I like him; he eats the plethora of rodents that I am sure, before his arrival, were dancing on the hay bails having hoo-hahs night after night at our expense.

I think we'll name him Stanley. He looks like a Stanley.

“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.

Whiskers on Kittens

Last night, as I sat down to begin spinning Leroy No-Longer-Brown’s fleece, I found that, not only did it look like it had a lot of VM in it for fleece that had been professionally processed, it in fact did. After losing a few tedious hours to picking out every little scrap of hay, burr, and leaf, I decided to abandon my spinning for the night and haul out the drum carder this morning to re-process it.
This is not one of my favorite things. In fact, it’s exponentially more boring than watching grass grow and, if I didn’t have my trusty iPod, the littered fleece would take many moons to get through.

To counteract the fact that a good portion of my day has been devoted to do something very un-favorite, I thought I would list some of my favorite things, despite the absence of Julie Andrews and/or a highly-desired thunderstorm. So here goes (I’ve limited myself to three of each)…

Favorite Books:

Pride and Prejudice
Jane Eyre
The Secret Life of Bees

Favorite Movies:

Ghostbusters (I know but I could watch it over and over.)
Chicago
Pride and Prejudice (BBC version with Colin Firth)

Favorite Blogs:

Confessions of a Pioneer Woman
The Yarn Harlot
The Panopticon

Favorite Blogs by People I Know (Cyberly):

Chocolate Sheep
Boulderneigh
Sheep Thrills Farm

Favorite Podcasts:

Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me
Sticks and String
Cast On

Favorite Television Shows:
The Office
The Daily Show with Jon Stewart
Iron Chef America

There. I feel a little more balanced. I could have listed a lot more, particularly on the blogs and podcasts but I wouldn’t want to go too far in the favorite direction and feel all giddy while I drum card. I have my emotional, funk-prone reputation to keep up, you know.

By the way, there will be no blog post tomorrow as we go spend half the day at the dentist and then celebrate Jessica's 18th birthday together, as one happy (do you hear me, my offspring?!) family, even if it kills us all.

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!

Happy Blogiversary to Me!

I was just looking through the archives and realized that exactly one year ago today, April 27, 2006, was my very first blog post.

What a long strange trip it's been!

Shameless Self-Promotion

Typically, I do not ask much of you wonderful amazing reader people, a little time, a few chuckles, the occasional comment, a bit o’ patience during my biweekly meltdowns, and an at-a-girl every once in a while. Today, however, I have a request of you. Did I mention how wonderful you all are? Because, what I am about to ask of you is a bit of a pain-in-the-arse.

You see, I’ve been nominated for a Blogger’s Choice Award, two actually (yes, I nominated myself; I have no shame), one for Best Humor Blog and one for Best Animal Blog. Now, as far as the humor one, well, frankly (who is Frank anyway and why did he get an adverb) I am up against a million and one other bloggers and don’t have a shopper’s chance in a Baghdad market of surviving (winning). The animal one though, I think I have a shot at hitting the top ten. I am feeling a bit little-engine-that-could.

This is what I am asking of you wonderful, amazing readers who don’t mind a little link clicking, registering, waiting for confirmation email, and then searching a gianormous website for my measly little blog on which to vote. (Last time I found it, it was on page six of best animal blogs.)

I do realize this is truly a pain. It took some prompting and a few suggestive promises to get my husband to do it and, no, I make no such offers to my general readership. But if you wouldn’t mind too terribly going through all this ridiculousness, I will throw all kinds of appreciative thoughts your way.

Winning or getting close to the top of this award will not enable me to lower your taxes or fix Medicare or (wouldn’t it be wonderful if it could) end the war in Iraq. But you will be helping your karma and boosting my readership which could someday lead to a book deal or, at the least, garner enough advertising revenue to feed the farm animals.

Now, go forth and vote. Nuff said.

Is it just me or does Fiona look a lot like Grandpa Munster?