How's Robb?

  For me, a day to celebrate Lisa. Her spirit of adventure, her ceaseless curiosity, her wide-eyed wonder, her dauntless devotion. To Lisa.   Happy Birthday.  

... Tomorrow marks the day on which I have spent half my life with Robb.  On that original night, I wanted to extend our time together, and so after they took away our drinks at the restaurant (last call), and brought them back (autumnal time change), I suggested that we drive out to the edge of the city to look for deer.   And tonight, we're celebrating our anniversary at a lovely hotel with an extensive garden. And deer.  And as for the otters alluded to in the title of this blog post, Robb and I spent the afternoon kayaking among the harbor seals and sea otters. More otters than we've ever seen in our lives. We had been watching one otter feeding alongside my kayak, and when it finished, it swam under my boat and then popped up right next to me.  It laid a paw on the edge of my boat, and looked me straight in the eye. Magic.  I'm sure that on that night back in Baltimore neither Robb nor I could imagine where the future would take us. I'm sure we wouldn't have fo

... I'm still working on my Fair Isle cardigan. I ripped out my big mistake, and corrected the error in the pattern.  I've finished knitting the body and sleeves of this garment.   I'm very pleased with how the bands of pattern aligned.  My next task was stabilizing the stitches next to where I'll be cutting my knitting. I knit the body of the cardigan as one big tube, and did likewise with what will become the two sleeves.  Maybe all this crochet is overly cautious, but I'm not willing to risk having the whole garment self-destruct.  Chopping apart a project that I've worked on so lovingly is a scary business.  Cardigan (the cat, not the garment) has gotten in the way of my crocheting. He's a little string obsessed.  I ended up needing to dye more yarn for my button bands, neck facing, and cuffs. This color -- dyed with black walnut hulls -- was a bit of a surprise, but it's kind of perfect, tying everything together.  Pretty, isn't it?

... I've been working on a little project. Or maybe not so little. It's just slightly smaller than eight feet wide.  Monarch butterflies have been on my mind, as they are currently migrating through California, headed to Mexico.  I drew out a huge butterfly, and then inked in its details. Then, I perforated my drawing.  I prepared a large piece of painted fabric, and then I dusted talcum powder through the holes I'd made.  I had in mind a symmetrical composition of two butterflies, so I just flipped my perforated drawing upside down and dusted talc through the back side of the drawing.  This technique of drawing a full sized cartoon and then pouncing some kind of chalk or charcoal through holes pricked in the drawing goes back hundreds if years. I understand there are places on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel where the transferred charcoal pounce-marks are still visible. (I assume one would need to climb scaffolding to see this.) Once I had both butterflies on the fabric,

... California's ongoing drought may have diminished to output of many gardens (including my own), but the completely in-tended pineapple guava bushes that grow near my workplace are producing a bountiful crop.  These fruits are ripe when they fall on the ground, and it takes an adventurous spirit to eat something gathered off the sidewalk, especially in the funky warehouse district where I work.  I bring these delicious home every day, and Robb politely ignores their existence.  Oh well. More for me!

If anyone has any suggestions for improving my penmanship, I sure would like to hear them.  I write like an over caffeinated fifth grader. 

... Our little cat Smog is a dirty boy. He seems never to have learned Basic Cat Skills, like grooming (or diplomacy).  He has only the vaguest notions about washing, and actually leaves a trail of dirt in his wake.  This morning, I had to remove this impressive redwood branch from his tail.  As if Smog wasn't a dirty enough name, we've been calling him Mulch-Butt. 

... I don't know if it is a result of the drought, or climate change, but the pineapple guavas that grow near my workplace are ripening two months earlier than usual.  I adore these fruit. They grow on silvery evergreen bushes (small trees, really) that produce lovely edible flowers in the winter. Apparently these fruit (which have a slightly gritty pear-like texture, and taste like a kiwi that's been misted with kerosene) aren't true guavas, but members of the myrtle family.  The fruit are smaller than a hen's egg. I have a tiny pineapple guava, growing in my garden. It is a painfully slow grower, but some day I hope to harvest my own crop. Until then, I scrounge them off the sidewalks. These fruit fall to the ground when they're ripe, and once they do, only the local squirrels and I are willing to risk eating them. (I wash them very thoroughly.)  I work around the corner from the family housing for UC Berkeley's graduate students, and last year I didn't ge

... We may have bought a few vintage pens at a recent estate sale. And, to be honest, we may have already owned one or two. The prices were too good -- a Waterman and two Esterbrooks for ten dollars.  My penmanship (penwomanship? penpersonship? handwriting!) is appalling. I learned cursive in grade school, and never used it after that time. 

... I've been working steadily on an ambitious knitting project: an elaborately patterned cardigan, made up of yarn that I dyed with plants that I either foraged or grew in my garden. (And no, I did not dye that crazy green at the bottom. That's just a temporary place-holder.) The decoration is complicated, so I've been trying to keep the shaping simple.  I'm basing my garment on the proportions of a favorite store-bought cardigan.   I used the existing sweater to create paper templates. And then I knit to fit the templates. I'm knitting both sleeves at one time, in a large tube. I'm going to cut the tube apart, which will result in two identical sleeves.  The knitted motifs are based on historical garments, although I shuffled around the placement of the various bits.  I thought I was really clever.  But, in fact, I'm an idiot.  Look at the photo above this block of text. Do you see the area b

... I am a connoisseur of life's little pleasures.  This has always been part of my nature -- savoring small happinesses.  Yesterday,  when someone cut down the bushes behind my work studio, I lost a great source of pleasure.  No more bushes. No more nuts. No more happy crows playing soccer with the nuts on my studio skylights.  I am going to miss their birdlaughter and the clicking of their claws on the glass.   I'm going to lose the pleasure that observing the glassshadows of cavorting crows (and their claws and toes) brought to my workday.