Okay. No po*rn here. Sometimes we have to bend our integrities a little, for creativity's sake.

Circle O' Brain Weekend Summary:
Mojitos were slung.



Chests were flung.



Songs were sung.



Toilets did plunge.

Sorry. No pictures were taken of this event, for good reason. In fact, I now realize that the amount of rum I would need to ingest to burn related image from my brain would likely kill me. I learn hard.

I will say this: When you spend 48 hours in a close environment with friends, eventually they will show their shit.

Here we have Sue and Kristi doing, well, I don't know what.



But I will say that I now know the answer to the age-old question: Is Kristi really a handful?

Uh, yeah.

Here we have a finalist in the A-Sue-Metrical Cup competition.



Kellie couldn't make it until Saturday. Here she is explaining to Kristi, for the 14 buttillioneth time, that there are no MP3 speakers at the cottage and that Marcia doesn't even know what MP3 speakers are, and neither could she pick an Ipod from a pea pod.



Kristi responded by once again showing Kellie the Ipod in question, then asking her to rethink the answer.

I Sock It
One of the reasons it took so long to get this post up is that I was spending all available moments this week, finishing these socks in time for my Mother-In-Law's birthday, which was Wednesday. We were originally to meet her for lunch that day, but things got switched up and we're seeing her Friday. But I was ready, dammit!

Pattern: Tidepool. Again.
Yarn: Knitpicks Essentials. Meteor Twist. It's very soft and kind of splitty.

And now it's time for me to make like a cheap yarn. And split.

P.S. Kristi has posted some pictures too. They look a lot like mine. The Circle of Brain is small. We like to keep it simple. We also talk a lot about holes. But I'll let someone else pick that up.

P.P.S. Umm...that's a camera Kristi is showing to Kel, isn't it? And not an Ipod...

Labels: Boobs and Pee and Poo, Circle of Brain, Cottage, Knit Done, The Horsemen Knew Her

Vacation Stats: The Rest of the Story.
I had meant to finish my post-vacation post earlier in the week, but there are complications in my life right now, causing both time and brain related suckage.

In addition to the consumption of 20 pairs of clean underwear, following are other relevant (to me) stats from my 10 day vacation.

1) Number of socks knit: 5/6 of 1, shown here less than half done.



I did finish the first sock Monday of this week.



2) Number of stitchmarkers created on the cottage porch: 12



3) Number of photographs taken with fancy-ass camera, using only the manual settings: 47

4) Number of photographs taken with fancy-ass camera using only the manual settings, where the subject of said photos are actually recognizable: 2





I know that these pictures are too dark, but I kinda love the little details of light and texture. I encourage you to click for big.

The story of my foray into Real Photography should/could provide enough material for its very own post. But I'm a bit short on that kind of time these days. And self-esteem.

5) Meals I prepared: 2.

6) Evening boat rides: 5

7) Evening Swims: 7

8) Hours I spent floating on a blow up raft that was tied to the dock: 10

9) Number of times out of 20...

a) wherein the changing of the undies was necessitated by swimming or bathing for hygiene purposes: 15.

b) Change of undies resulted from the pissing/pooping/other of the pants: 0

c) Change was required by an uncategorized event: Same number of afternoons wherein Cakers spent the afternoon playing/swimming at a neighboring cottage.

10) Times I otherwise gave a rat's ass about Brett Favre: 0

Odds and Ends. From Comments and Beyond.
1) Brett Favre on TV at this moment. Again.

2) Have you seen the Secret deodorant commercial on TV, with the woman in the red sleeveless blouse, who bounces down a busy city sidewalk baring and sniffing her armpits? While I abhor violence, I admit to harboring a secret fantasy of the police officer just mowing the bitch down in his cruiser, just between the "I'm innocent!" and the compulsive armpit sniff.

3) Yes Doris, I lick the stones on the beach, in search of the ever elusive Petoskey. When it comes to rocks, I have licked worse. And the rocks on the beach don't smell.

4) Yes Dirty Sue, that is the Ypsi tower in my anniversary mosiac. That picture actually ended up in the mosiac by mistake, via a misfired flickr click from a previous upload for a Ravelry post. ::feel free to research it.:: However, once it was in there I found it to be oddly appropriate. And no big brothers. Sorry.

5) Tomorrow I'm off to the cottage again, where I am hosting a congregation of the Circle of Brain (COB). ::COB=Kristi, Kellie and Dirty Sue.::

I know. Please pray for my emotional and physical safety, as well as that of the indigenous peoples, particularly in the areas of tavern and yarn store dwellers.

Labels: Cottage, Pho-Ho'

Days fly gone
On a Solstice rocket.



Ma Nature empties
Her candy pocket.



And little girl grown
Is off her docket.



Look Under There
Except for a few more squeezes from the lake before departing for home later today, my 10 day vacation at the lake is over.

And I'm okay with it being over, because it was spectacular.

In fact, my vacation was so great that six days into it I was out of clean underwear. All 14 pair. I know. Please don't hate me.

Seeing as how the lake water is currently a temperate 74 degrees and the air a balmy 79, I refuse to spend a minute more of the smidge of vacation that remains, sitting in front of this tube telling you all about it. No offense. For the record, this philosophy would also apply to my not having posted all last week, despite the accessibility of astro-glide internetz.

So, the rest of the story will have to wait until tomorrow. Or so.
For now, I got a date at the end of the dock with a Fly Girl.





And I'm going commando.

Labels: Cottage, Pho-Ho'

As seasons go, I've never been a big fan of Spring.
First of all, she's mostly kind of ugly. Dirty. Mucky. Bland.

Then there's her weather. It usually sucks.

When Spring weather doesn't acutally suck, around here we tend to get very excited, act like fools, and get all up in its temporarily beautiful, springy face. For example, we prance around the neighborhood, with arms outreached to the sky, and blink our eyes. Rapidly.

Then we walk around, waving to neighbors with whom we never otherwise speak, and yell stupid stuff like "Yay! It's finally Spring! Maybe this year you'll invite us to your little secret backyard BBQs? You think we haven't seen the other neighbors climbing over your back yard fence, with blankets over their heads? And their kids pulling the pony kegs down the sidewalk, in the wagons? For the record, the elephant ears and little Shriner hats on the kegs aren't fooling anyone. and "Can you believe this weather?"

The following day we wake up to 14 inches of snow, with accompanying ice storm warnings, and a tornado watch, to boot.

In fairness to Spring, it's not entirely her fault.
She has a tough job. At least here in Michigan.

After spending a long hard stint with her older brother Winter, we the people are pretty much ready for Spring, on the day she is to officially begin.

It's not her fault that her big brother is a bit of a bully. And a show-off.

Adding insult to injury, is that come late May, when Spring finally gets her wheels, people confuse her with her little sister, Summer.

I know.

So, Spring, I'm sorry you get such a rough go of it. Really.

And even though I still think you kind of suck, could you find it in your dirty, mucky, bland little heart, to lay off the nasty for a few days, while me and my family are stuck in Michigan for Spring Break?

P.S. Have you guys ever considered family therapy?

Making The Best of It
So, we're at the cottage for a few days. This is the first Spring Break we've had up here, with snow still on the ground. And the lake still frozen.

But Sister Spring has been good to us.
And we're making up the thrills as we go.

So far, said thrills have been limited to watching ice melt.











And bugs testing out body parts.



Or giving me stink eye.



Sayeth the Bug: "If I hear that stupid ladybug song one more time, your home and family will be descended upon by a plague of orange and black spotted crunchiness, the likes of which the human world has never seen. And for the record, I'm a guy."

Oh yeah. And I'm knitting a sock.



P.S. I've been working on this post since Friday. The Northern Michigan, rural dial-up has pretty much knocked the internetz right out of me.

P.P.S. If there are mistakes in this post, I'm pretty much leaving them be. I've been kicked out of blogger no less than 12 times in the last 45 minutes.

P.P.P.S. Please embiggen the leaf picture for full impact. The leaf was on the ice, and the ice had just melted around it. Note the rocks on the lake bottom around the melty part.

Labels: Cottage, Knit In Progress, North, Pho-Ho'

I had a more substantial post planned for today, but seeing as how this is our last night at the cottage, and my husband just invited me to the back room to knit by the fire and watch a movie, and I don't much feel like thumb wrestling the rural internet gods so I can type three words in a row without disconnect, I'll just catch you all on the other side.

In the meantime, I'd like to show you this:



I am a sock knitter.
And I did it all by myself.

And it only cost me a couple days out of my life.
And some compromised integrity, of the hygiene variety.



The best thing? I walked around looking like that for most of Sunday, and nobody even noticed. After I finally showered, late in the day, I said to Cabana, "I thought I'd get cleaned up a little."

And he said, in all seriousness, "What do you mean?"
Yes, my peeps, that is love.

Blessings for the New Year, from our grubby little hearts, to yours.

Labels: Cottage, Knit In Progress

Preface Whine
Regarding this here cottage dial-up, I have figured out that I get about 3 "clicks"
per internet connection before getting booted or screen freeze. When it comes to Meaningful Events of Access, i.e. picture uploads or access to Blogger, I have determined my allotment to be about 3 per 12 hour period. And unused events do not carry over.

::I've also determined that the "up" in this "dial-up", is a bit of an exaggeration. In fact, there's nothing "up" about the internet here. "Dial-Over" maybe. And I'm pretty sure the guy in charge of the one internet modem for the county is also in charge of snow plowing and runs the local pizza shop. Therefore, whenever it snows or people are hungry, I'm screwed.::

On With the Snow. This is It.
1) If you read my last post directly from the Google Reader page, without coming to the blog, it may not have made sense. I don't know if bloglines left out the important slashes too. Just sayin'.

2) Friday Snowflake:
In comments on Friday's post, Carole and Kat asked how I caught the snowflake with my camera. ::Sorry I can't link to you right now. I tried. I can't get into my blog.I'm lucky to be here, right now.::

I wish I could share some magical formula, but I got none. I think it was fluke.

The problem I was having with the snowflakes was that the camera auto focus was getting confucused by all the snowflakes and couldn't focus on any one.

So, I set my camera to the "movement" setting and shot while standing close to the cottage, which buffered the amount of snowflakes that fell in front of me, and I started shooting. I took about 15 and all I got was that one good shot, and only because I happened to snap when there were suddenly few snowflakes to compete with. I then turned it into black and white for ultimate contrast, and cropped it. That's all I got.

3) Saturday Sky.



4) Sunday Cottage. Three Doors Down.



5) Monday Sock.* ::And I rock. I do. More on that when I'm all done.::





*You might remember that knitting a sock was on my list of Intendments for 2007, which makes the deadline Monday, 11:59 p.m. And yes, I think I'm in lurve.

I can't finish this post. The internet gods are pretty much dragging my ass up the stairs and are getting ready to throw me into the abyss known as Real Time. I'm hitting publish, as is. I gotta sock to finish.

Labels: Cottage, Knit In Progress, Now You're Whining, Sundry Sunday

I hate Christmas was wonderful beyond my dreams. Christmas Eve I stayed up until 2:00 a.m., ransacking the house in search of my secret booze stash, after knocking off the last legitmate bottle of wine. to make sure the next morning was nothing less than perfect.

Christmas morning, Cakers was up at the crack of ass dawn to open her gifts. Then, while Cakers played with her new toys, I cleaned up the wrapping paper mess and prepared a plan to get myself legally adopted by the lady down the block for mid-morning brunch with the in-laws. No sooner had I finished with all that, when College Boy came over from his father's house, to open his presents.

When my son was done opening his gifts, I was struck by a sudden sense of sadness at not having run away with that rogue band of eunoch bikini waxers, back in college. had a few more kids, with a few more different men, so the gaiety of this morning could have been extended.

After a third round of gift exchange, this time with my in-laws, punch was spiked brunch was served. After the table was cleared,we had a surpise guest: Child phenom Caker Monshaker.



My inlaws left at 2:00, which gave me just a couple of hours to hunt down my former therapist to ask him to: 1) drop the restraining order and 2) Get me a 48 hour inpatient placement, where I would be expected to do nothing but enjoy a medication-induced euphoria and whoozily receive my guilt-ridden visitors. prepare for a round of toxic relational debauchery reciprocal love and joy with my mother, siblings and nieces and nephews, at a party being held later in the evening.

That party went pretty well except for the part where my niece shot my nephew in the neck with a pellet gun and my former SWAT instructor brother had to take her down, to disarm her and then my mom cried., but the highlight of the evening was the presentation of my Tammy Faye Snuff film snowman cupcakes.

And even though most of the little snowman noses fell like panties off a Spears'ass off in transit to the party, my family members were so thrilled with these little fellas that they fought over who would get to implode theirs next in the microwave get first pick.

In fact, by then end of the night there were only two left and I found them in the back room, toasted and nestled between two graham crackers, with a chunk of a Nestle's bar.!

I spent the next day sniffing cleaning supplies and sucking the scalp of Cakers'new wig. cleaning, and the day after that I cleaned up after the cleaning up.

And today, we're at the cottage.
Halya Fucking Loo Ya.

I'm so excited to be here that I don't give a whit about the anticipated 6-10 inches of snow expected between 4 and 11 p.m. today.



Early in the snow shower, the flakes were huge and I wanted to take a picture of one. I received a photography book for Christmas, but it doesn't have anything in it about photographing snowflakes, so I winged it.



Here's to Getting Hosed on New Years
I bet you thought I forgot.
But I didn't.



I'm finished with the leg part. Next, I have to do that stuff that makes sox more than just messing around with a 7 inch tube of glorious substance.

Soxual Heeling, Baybee.

p.s. I meant to have the this post done two days ago. But hey, Shit happens. Shit Happens.

p.s. I REALLY meant to have this post done two hours ago. But hey, Blogger Happens. Blogger Happens.

p.s. I'm ree ree tired and will not be checking publication for typos, grammos or STDS.

Labels: Christmas, Cottage, I Need Therapy Thursday, Intendments, Knit In Progress, Pho-Ho', Too Tired for Pudding

Enjoy the little things, for one day you may look back and realize they were the big things. – Robert Brault

My wedding anniversary is in August, and for the past few years we’ve celebrated by taking a 24-hour retreat at the cottage, just the two of us. This year, August flew by without adequate opportunity, so we stole our 24 this weekend past.

I’ve been kind of struggling with the words to describe the splendor of the weekend. There was no finely orchestrated event. No gastronomical galas. No one outstandingly memorable moment. Just a lovely, 24-hour spread of sensorial delight.

First we went for a hike in the Sleeping Bear Dunes National Park. There are many hiking trails in the vast expanse of this park, but the one we took is only 5 miles from our cottage, and runs parallel to the Big Lake.

Here's an interesting tree we found along the path. It looks kind of old and tired. And pube-y.



After awhile, the sound of the surf was too alluring, so we hopped off the trail and onto the beach.

This is a fairly decent picture of me, taken by Cabana.



And a little Surf and Turf Manpie:



We took the scenic route out of the park. When I took this picture, I thought I had happened upon a very clever photographic concept.



In retrospect, or as seen through the rear view mirror of my mind, I must have been suffering from the collective influence of fresh air, natural beauty and good company.

A tall order of Tuesday-Leftovers-Saturday-Sky.



After some time on the beach at the cottage, we headed to dinner at a local bar, where we were served up a delicious meal of prime rib and baked potato, with a side of drunk Harley couples, for entertainment purposes only.

Back at the cottage, we caught a little sunset, campfire and coyote serenade.



The next day we just hung out on at the cottage. Some of us hung a little crazier than others.



That's my Cabana, swimming in barely-60-degree water. He wanted me to take a picture to show how clear was the water. I wanted to take a picture to show how clear was the insanity. You know, in the event of an inquiry.

As we were getting ready to leave, we received special anniversary homage from a couple of the locals:



::Please click on this one, for full impact of color.::

Afterwards, one of the ducks approached me to apologize and explain that they had originally planned a 21-Bun Salute, but with it being the migration season, the team was currently a little short-assed.

Butt really, it's the thought that counts.

And The Little Things.

Labels: Cottage, Manpie

Lessons From a First Grader
I always face the new school year with a bit of trepidation, but most years I'm mostly excited about going back. As I mentioned a while back, this year the usual trepidation has been raised to levels of true anxiety, with no real basis, other than a few changes in the work environment. And any other work-related horror the mind can conjure, at 3 a.m.

And I really should know better.

In my 13 years with the school system, I have faced/overcame/survived some very intense, short and long-term professional challenges.

But just as every year is different from the one before in terms of unpredictable stressors, each school year also guarantees at least three specific, predictables: A beginning, an end and lots of breaks in between.

Segue Alert:

This past weekend, Cakers and her father hatched a little plan for her to go tubing. Alone.

When I heard about this plan, I immediately put to it, a gentle kibosh.

To Cakers I said: Ummm. This is something that daddy and I need to talk about for a couple of days, then decide together. ::i.e. Tubing, my ass.* With assorted, flying monkeys.::

To Cabana, I said: Tubing, my ass. With assorted flying monkeys.
She's too young. I mean, technically she’s still in kindergarten.
She needs to practice more with a grown-up.
Behind a paddle boat.

For one day, I held firm.
Then, late Saturday, Cakers asked again.
Her dad then approached me, in private, and made an appeal.

She really, really wants to do this, he said, then promised to go really, really slow.

It was a spectactular, late summer evening. The water was like glass, with nary an enemy U-boat or warship in sight.

So, armed with the knowledge and conviction that my husband loves Cakers no less than I, and would never put her in harm's way, I found the courage to let go. Or at least the courage to let her go tubing.

That’s not to say that I wasn’t scared.

I was.
Terrified.
And thrilled.
And proud.
And even a little envious, of her sense of adventure.

But mostly I was terrified.

Initially this post was going to be about fear. You know, about poor me, having to go back to work with all those big, mean scary changes. And how my big, mean husband and little, mean daughter committed against me, that heinous act of emotional terrorism.

Heh.

But after I uploaded the pictures to the blog and started to write, a totally different story emerged. A lesson, if you will.

A lesson for the mother olden,
From her little daughter golden.

You see, the pictures depicting Cakers' little adventure on the high seas no longer looked like a scary venture, but instead reminded me of the phases of a typical (and survivable) school year, for me.

And it goes something like this:

1)The Fresh start. Note the hair, all flowy and light. And the coy little smile, nervous-yet-excited.



2) It gets Dicey. After a month or two, the year begins to reveal its true potential, forwarning the need to hang on and hunker down.



3) The Occasional Slap Upside the Head, When You Least Expect It. Self explanatory.



4) The End of the Trail . By that last day of the school year, this is pretty much how I feel/look. Flat and weary; with my hair stuck to my brain.



5) But Then... It's summer. Again.



And then I realized it was gonna be all right.


******
p.s. Please click pics for enhanced perusal.

p.p.s. I meant for this to be a Labor Day post, but my labors yesterday were happily redirected.

p.p.p.s. Where'd my baby go?

*Has great google potential.

Labels: Cottage, I Work Too, Now You're Whining, Passages, Scary Shit

...writing the last Eye Candy post of the summer.



My days will soon be filled with chaos and frenzy.

And summer will be nothing more than a fading impression.



Dang, that girl's got big feet.

Labels: Cottage, eye candy Friday, Pho-Ho'