She Who Was Formerly Blogless

Someone is thinking of finally starting a blog of her own. I won't say who, but you probably already know. If you haven't guessed who I speak of, here are a few hints. They're also reasons why she MUST blog whether she likes it or not! For instance:

She has recently acquired two gentle furry friends of the alpaca variety.

She also has the angora bunbuns (and I'm not saying she has a furry caboose).

She has leaping lambs.

And if that's not enough, wouldn't you just love to hear about the antics of an eccentric world-traveling, motorcylemama, spinner, knitter-enthusiast who lives on a wacky farm with a hay-obsessed doctor-come-farmer husband and their three disfunctional kids?

There is a problem. What to name such a blog....any suggestions?

Six Painted Toes

Ahh summer.

The time for flip flops. Tank tops. Drinks in an open-air bar on the waterfront.

Where was I? Oh, summer. The time for...


I love them. I love brides, centerpieces, bouquets, you name it. What I don't like? Picking out something to wear, mucking with my hair, shoes, and the like. My favorite wedding hands-down was held on a remote island in Maine, where we danced the night away on the beach in summer clothes and bare feet. Kicked ass.

So halfway to this latest wedding I realized my new momy status had resulted in horribly neglected toes. We quickly stopped at CVS, and in the car I hastily laquered my chipped toenails. The three that were visible in my open-toed heels.

A few days later, we were sunning our buns on York Beach in Maine, laughing at my six painted toes.

I am sooo lazy.

(I have also included the crime-scene photographs from the reception. One sugar-coated bride and groom disappeared suddenly friday night. Their whereabouts are presently unknown.)

Don't Forget!

August 10th and 11th in Bahhhston

Regatta, Tent Parties, Silent Auction.

Knitting with Pigtails

I hope you all had a wonderful Independence Day and a nice break from work. Our town is just a mess during the 4th-residents usually duck out of town if they're smart, or perhaps venture out only during daylight. We tried valiantly to stick it out during the wet weather, but just minutes shy of the fireworks, decided to return home and have a nice dry evening. I was happy enough to watch the Pops and Keith Lockhart play at the hatchshell. (Country bumpkin that I am, I was thrilled to hear them play Adagio for Strings by S. Barber, one of my favorite pieces of all time.)

Scout was beside himself with the noise, so we were happy to stay home and comfort him as well.

On another note, one of my most beloved is having an echocardiogram today, which had me thinking on the way into work today. Why do we put so much pressure on the powers of the heart? We credit love, passion, hate and all sorts of emotional currents on this one organ, and I don't understand why. The heart is the strongest muscle in the human body, and for the most part, is the most dependable, unflinching piece of human machinery there is.

So why do we credit, or blame I should say, the mostly flimsy of human emotions on this part of ourselves? Why not blame love on the eyes, that draw conclusions so quickly? Or perhaps on our lungs, which seem to stop and shudder when we feel desire? But no, we look to the heart, the engine that just pump pump pumps away. I find nothing related to human passions when I think of cardiology, except perhaps from the rushing of one's blood when we are excited by anger or adoration. But that's blood. And when it is felt, it is felt throughout our entire being. Not just in the center of our chest. Hmm.

When I think of my heart, I feel more of the perfection of the human body as a whole, the symphony of organs and how they function together so perfectly. The heart is the engine, which makes the thought of it failing so frightening to me. But I certainly don't connect it with the feelings of love, hate, and passion. These are our imperfections. And the differences and weaknesses in ourselves that stop life from being just a stream of processes, day in, and day out. Emotions cause jarring changes and pauses in the pattern of life, changes in direction, and then perhaps a reason to live altogether. The heart beats incessantly whether or not we fall in love, fall out of love, or have unrequited love.

When the cat's away, the mice shall play

I discovered these on my camera. This is what happens when you leave your child with your husband for a wee bit too long. Some kind of crazy crib games may occur.

So we live in a lovely neighborhood. Really. Our neighbors are all wonderful, considerate, and respect our privacy. However (and it is a big however) it is a very small neighborhood. I don't mind this, since it makes me feel watched over, safe, and a little protected. But not much of our comings and goings escapes our neighbors. One in particular has a great deal of time on her hands, and has created a great many theories about the families on all sides of us. Tales of abuse, love affairs, and crime. I find it all really interesting and humorous really. I can only imagine what is said about us!

But my husband had a visit from this particular person while I was out 'n about. Now I had warned him, but he got quite the earful. It could have something to do with her rambunctious 23 year old son setting off fireworks in the street last week. Perhaps she came over to throw up a smokescreen... sure if we are preoccupied with that story about the time the SWAT team raided our neighbors house, this little offense might not seem so bad...

But i digress...

My point today is that I'm grateful- it may seem almost intrusive when my neighbors mention anything about the hours we keep, or the sounds we make (must remember to close some of those windows). But I've learned to appreciate these things. Its far better living alongside people who have an inerest in us-I would never want to live in the city, where your neighbors barely know your name, or simply don't need to.

Its nice to know the people who live alongside you would perhaps worry if they saw no sign of life coming from your home that day. Or might notice any sign of distress in the middle of the night. Its funny to think, but many of my friends would not notice for weeks if I disappeared. But my neighbors would.

Now if their grown kids would just move out, I would be so much happier...