I decided I probably should update my blog, so I signed in and got a page I'd never seen before with all sorts of stuff in which I have absolutely no interest whatsoever. How I got here I'll never know...I kept mousing and clicking and eventually landed on a page I recognized. Over the past few weeks, I've been dealing with this phenomenon way more than I care to. I'm mostly up and running now, except for Adobe Crash (as I call it). Just yesterday morning it crashed three times before noon. And each time it craps out, I have to reboot my system, which takes approximately forever. (Guess what operating system I have. Hint: it's not Apple.)
I'm going to have to call someone to diagnose and fix the problem, which is, of course, going to cost me a bundle. And once it's fixed, something else will break. Thus, technology. My second ex-husband used to say that I'm a Luddite -- and whatever else he got wrong about me, he was right about this. I'm a Luddite, and proud of it. Not because I fear technology, nor because I don't understand it, but because, let's face it -- we're not exactly Star Trek. And even they had problems, but they had those amazing engineers, like Scotty and O'Brien, who could fix anything in less than an hour. Even the non-engineers were always able to reconfigure anything to do what needed to be done to bring the current episode to a satisfactory conclusion.
Me, if I want to watch Bryn Terfel on YouTube I'm risking a Complete Computer Meltdown And Reboot. With no Jimmy Doohan or Colm Meany in sight.
Here in Southeast Michigan we've been through a lot over the last few weeks. There was the heat wave -- just in time for the Ann Arbor Art Fairs (it wouldn't be the same without bad weather of some sort, and heat is pretty much de rigueur, along with rain at some point), along with highway closings and detours that were themselves also under construction. I had to deal with one of the detours a couple weeks ago, when I was trying to get from my house to our local Best Buy for a TV to replace my old analog set that had finally bit the dust. Took me an hour to make a 10-minute drive. I did eventually manage to get the TV, and I'm impressed with the quality of HDTV.
And speaking of TV, through the auspices of a spinning friend I've discovered the joy of the BBC's Midsomer Murders. I'm a mystery buff, and a dedicated fan of British television, so what's not to like here? Turns out there are twenty-some seasons, which are all available from my local library, so I've been wallowing in the English country village ambiance for the past several weeks -- with a great excuse: it gives me something to watch while I spin.
Which I'm off to do now.
Saturday, August 3, 2013
Sunday, July 7, 2013
Where does the time go?
The past week has indeed been wet -- and hot -- just as forecast, which gave my grass the opportunity to flourish. I usually pride myself on my timing, but this week my lawn and I couldn't connect -- until today, when I beheld a back yard too painfully reminiscent of 1960s-70s era avocado shag carpeting, said to hell with it, and tortured my mower until my 6" lawn cover was reduced to something resembling respectability. We're both (the lawn and I) considerably happier for it. My mower is sulking in the garage.
Next up: Pip. His paws and ears are seriously in need of a trim -- or as I know he considers it: vivisection. There's no reason he should be so resistant; I always adhere to the three Cs of good grooming practice: Conscientiousness, Carefulness and Cookies. Since the sun has finally appeared this evening (with time to spare before setting) perhaps I'll treat him to a fourth C -- an evening Constitutional. But he'll still resent having to submit to grooming. My girls were the same way, yet somehow I see it differently with him. He reminds me of Huck Finn, barefoot, grubby, rafting down the river with his friend Jim and no fussy wimmen around to insist you clean up and behave.
... He does clean up well, though, and occasionally he even behaves!
One happy side effect of the rain we've been having is the (overdue) ripening of the cherries on the weeping cherry tree directly outside my window. For the past week or so I've been treated to a riot of robins (not sure if that's an "official" venereal term for a large gathering of the birds, but it does describe the activity going on in my tree) feasting on the fruit. The tree itself is interesting: it's a combination of two trees, one grafted onto the other, which explains why there are both pink and white blossoms every spring. Unfortunately, the root stock is failing, but the graft is thriving, so the tree may survive even after the final two branches of the original die off. I hope it does survive, because I've grown rather fond of it over the years. It cools my house in the summer, provides shade and privacy while I'm working at my desk, and afford endless entertainment even when the cherries are gone: it seems to be a regular waystation for the local avifauna on their daily tours of the neighborhood.
The coming week promises to be busy: with luck (and such tact as I can muster) I'll have the lawn mower problem solved tomorrow, and then it's on to the "name that business" issue. I have to make a decision soon if I'm going to be ready to participate in my guild's fall sale. The summer festival season is in full swing: the Saline Celtic Festival next weekend and the Ann Arbor Summer Art Fairs the following week, to name just two of the local ones. I might actually try to attend both this year, provided I can get all my chores done in time. Haven't gone for awhile, but I was actually at the very first Ann Arbor Art Fair in 1960. Happened upon it by accident that July, biking from my house to campus (probably heading for Miller's Ice Cream Parlor) whereupon I discovered artists of all kinds occupying booths along South University Avenue for 2-3 blocks. It was small; it was intimate; it was delightful. Little did I know that I was witnessing the beginnings of what would become one of the country's largest and longest-running summer art festivals. Yeah, maybe I will make an effort to attend this year.
Meanwhile, I'm off to, um, bond with my dog.
Next up: Pip. His paws and ears are seriously in need of a trim -- or as I know he considers it: vivisection. There's no reason he should be so resistant; I always adhere to the three Cs of good grooming practice: Conscientiousness, Carefulness and Cookies. Since the sun has finally appeared this evening (with time to spare before setting) perhaps I'll treat him to a fourth C -- an evening Constitutional. But he'll still resent having to submit to grooming. My girls were the same way, yet somehow I see it differently with him. He reminds me of Huck Finn, barefoot, grubby, rafting down the river with his friend Jim and no fussy wimmen around to insist you clean up and behave.
... He does clean up well, though, and occasionally he even behaves!
One happy side effect of the rain we've been having is the (overdue) ripening of the cherries on the weeping cherry tree directly outside my window. For the past week or so I've been treated to a riot of robins (not sure if that's an "official" venereal term for a large gathering of the birds, but it does describe the activity going on in my tree) feasting on the fruit. The tree itself is interesting: it's a combination of two trees, one grafted onto the other, which explains why there are both pink and white blossoms every spring. Unfortunately, the root stock is failing, but the graft is thriving, so the tree may survive even after the final two branches of the original die off. I hope it does survive, because I've grown rather fond of it over the years. It cools my house in the summer, provides shade and privacy while I'm working at my desk, and afford endless entertainment even when the cherries are gone: it seems to be a regular waystation for the local avifauna on their daily tours of the neighborhood.
The coming week promises to be busy: with luck (and such tact as I can muster) I'll have the lawn mower problem solved tomorrow, and then it's on to the "name that business" issue. I have to make a decision soon if I'm going to be ready to participate in my guild's fall sale. The summer festival season is in full swing: the Saline Celtic Festival next weekend and the Ann Arbor Summer Art Fairs the following week, to name just two of the local ones. I might actually try to attend both this year, provided I can get all my chores done in time. Haven't gone for awhile, but I was actually at the very first Ann Arbor Art Fair in 1960. Happened upon it by accident that July, biking from my house to campus (probably heading for Miller's Ice Cream Parlor) whereupon I discovered artists of all kinds occupying booths along South University Avenue for 2-3 blocks. It was small; it was intimate; it was delightful. Little did I know that I was witnessing the beginnings of what would become one of the country's largest and longest-running summer art festivals. Yeah, maybe I will make an effort to attend this year.
Meanwhile, I'm off to, um, bond with my dog.
Saturday, June 29, 2013
Heavy Weather
It's been a wet week, and the forecast is for rain, more rain, storms and thunderstorms every single day (even the partly sunny ones) until at least the middle of July. The following week is Art Fair week in Ann Arbor, so more rain is virtually guaranteed. In short, it's wet. And that means ... mosquitoes. Which in turn means I can't set foot outside my house, since the little buggers looooove me. Pip is protected from heartworm, but he can still suffer the agony of the itch. So we try to time our daily constitutional to miss the worst of the buggy activity, but there seems to be no time of day or night that they're not out in force. So much for summer.
So we sit in the house and watch the rain, and today I watched a trio of bunnies cavorting in my neighbor's back yard. When I moved here 20 years ago there were lots of bunnies -- many of them living under my deck -- but over time they disappeared. Now they're coming back. And I think they're living under my lawn this time around. It's awfully spongy, and I'm anticipating major subsidence eventually, but somehow I can't find it in me to be upset about it. My subdivision was built on their turf, and we need to find a way to coexist. Anyway, Pip managed to miss the whole thing, and I know he would have enjoyed it immensely.
Pip, by the way, is my 4-year-old sheltie boy. His registered name is Wyndmyst Ifanwy Hobbit-Forming and his call name is Pippin (but I mostly call him Pip) after Peregrine Took. I knew from the start that he had to have a Hobbit name, and he rapidly showed himself to be very much like Pippin as portrayed by Billy Boyd in the LOTR movies, so he mostly named himself. Besides, there are other connotations to the word "pip" that fit oh-so-perfectly. For instance, if I say "he's a real pip!" most people will have a pretty good idea of what I mean.
OK, so I'm new at this, but here's a picture of the little guy. I think the picture illustrates what I've said above, but it also shows how handsome he is, and how adorable. He is also highly unusual for a sheltie in that he doesn't bark. When he thinks there's a need, he'll bark, but not excessively, and otherwise, he's quiet. After 40-plus years with shelties, I'm having trouble adjusting to the silence -- they're a barky breed, and I usually have more than one. If things go according to schedule, I'll probably adopt another sheltie by the end of next year, and we'll return to a noisier ambiance chez Owens. Meanwhile, I plan to enjoy the current peace and quiet.
The other thing Pip doesn't do is shed. That would be a plus for just about anyone else who lives with shelties, but for me it's anything but. I'm a spinner, and I specialize in dog hair. Especially sheltie. Shelties are a double-coated breed and they shed like crazy. How ironic that my own dog doesn't!
Not that I lack fiber to spin: I have bags and baskets full of sheltie hair waiting to be made into yarn and then fashioned into items for sale for sheltie rescue. (I'm ignoring all the bins of wool and silk and cotton and other fibers that I'm, well, ignoring.) The most recent is the roving made from my sweet Lexi, who died three months ago. So I've plenty to keep me busy until Pip finally decides to put out.
So we sit in the house and watch the rain, and today I watched a trio of bunnies cavorting in my neighbor's back yard. When I moved here 20 years ago there were lots of bunnies -- many of them living under my deck -- but over time they disappeared. Now they're coming back. And I think they're living under my lawn this time around. It's awfully spongy, and I'm anticipating major subsidence eventually, but somehow I can't find it in me to be upset about it. My subdivision was built on their turf, and we need to find a way to coexist. Anyway, Pip managed to miss the whole thing, and I know he would have enjoyed it immensely.
Pip, by the way, is my 4-year-old sheltie boy. His registered name is Wyndmyst Ifanwy Hobbit-Forming and his call name is Pippin (but I mostly call him Pip) after Peregrine Took. I knew from the start that he had to have a Hobbit name, and he rapidly showed himself to be very much like Pippin as portrayed by Billy Boyd in the LOTR movies, so he mostly named himself. Besides, there are other connotations to the word "pip" that fit oh-so-perfectly. For instance, if I say "he's a real pip!" most people will have a pretty good idea of what I mean.
The other thing Pip doesn't do is shed. That would be a plus for just about anyone else who lives with shelties, but for me it's anything but. I'm a spinner, and I specialize in dog hair. Especially sheltie. Shelties are a double-coated breed and they shed like crazy. How ironic that my own dog doesn't!
Not that I lack fiber to spin: I have bags and baskets full of sheltie hair waiting to be made into yarn and then fashioned into items for sale for sheltie rescue. (I'm ignoring all the bins of wool and silk and cotton and other fibers that I'm, well, ignoring.) The most recent is the roving made from my sweet Lexi, who died three months ago. So I've plenty to keep me busy until Pip finally decides to put out.
Saturday, June 22, 2013
So why am I doing this?
Mainly, I suppose, because it seems an awful lot of people have said I should. As the title suggests, this blog will mainly be about dogs -- and that will include my passion for the fiber arts: spinning, knitting, crocheting, and to a lesser extent weaving and felting, primarily using dog hair. I've been doing custom spinning for over a decade, making yarn and keepsake objects for people from their dogs' hair. The idea isn't new: the Victorians practiced something similar, with braided keepsakes from the hair of deceased loved ones. I know how the Victorians felt: I have a lock of my father's hair, clipped from his head when he was a year old in 1912, and it's the only physical connection to him that I have.
I learned to spin for that reason: so I could have a tangible, physical connection to my shelties when they "went to the Bridge" as dog people say. I've been knitting for almost 60 years, and crocheting for almost as long, and I thought why not learn to spin so I can make things from my own dogs' hair? Anyone who's lived with even one sheltie knows they shed like mad, and it's all downy soft undercoat, which most people bag up and toss in the trash. Spinners call dog hair "chiengora" because it's almost as soft as the bunny version (angora). The best breeds are the double coated ones, the herding dogs and the BWDs ("Big White Dogs") like Great Pyrs, the northern breeds (Samoyeds, Malamutes, Siberians and so on) but there are plenty of other breeds -- and a lot of mixed breeds as well -- that spin up beautifully.
Eventually I'll take the time to post some pictures of some of the beautiful yarn I've gotten from shelties across America (it helps to belong to an e-mail list!) and some of the items I've made from it. But for now, just getting the blog up and running will have to suffice.
I learned to spin for that reason: so I could have a tangible, physical connection to my shelties when they "went to the Bridge" as dog people say. I've been knitting for almost 60 years, and crocheting for almost as long, and I thought why not learn to spin so I can make things from my own dogs' hair? Anyone who's lived with even one sheltie knows they shed like mad, and it's all downy soft undercoat, which most people bag up and toss in the trash. Spinners call dog hair "chiengora" because it's almost as soft as the bunny version (angora). The best breeds are the double coated ones, the herding dogs and the BWDs ("Big White Dogs") like Great Pyrs, the northern breeds (Samoyeds, Malamutes, Siberians and so on) but there are plenty of other breeds -- and a lot of mixed breeds as well -- that spin up beautifully.
Eventually I'll take the time to post some pictures of some of the beautiful yarn I've gotten from shelties across America (it helps to belong to an e-mail list!) and some of the items I've made from it. But for now, just getting the blog up and running will have to suffice.
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