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'

Okay. So I have this one friend, who has lots and lots of friends.
I, on the other hand, have not that many.

Once every 3 years or so, this one friend will loan me a sampling of friends, from her vast array. This loan package invariably includes perks of kinship and comaraderie.

At the conclusion of said loaner weekend, amidst the mild hangover, aching post-laughing face and overall sense of Damn, Friends is Some Good Shit, I tell myself: I gotta get me summa dat.

But then I get back into my pre-loaner loner mode, and slowly regain my falsely brave sense of relational autonomy.

But until I resume that position, I have this picture to keep me warm:



That's me in the front, with my big ass button hat. If it looks like we are walking funny, it's because we are walking funny, because the photographer wanted a picture of us walking, without the blur. So we ended up walking, without the walk.

Here I am carrying a big stick, as I'm wont to do when walking with the rare pack of newly borrowed friends:



First, I used the stick to divine who, among my new friends, had cootie hootch. ::And don't tell me you never played cootie hootch with divining rods, as a child. Yeah, right.::

Next, I stood in the middle of the road, stick in hand, and directed traffic. After nearly getting blown off the road by an enraged deer hunter ::Or maybe he just thought I had a nice rack?::, I used the stick to safely lead us back to the cottage, pageant style.

Odd thing that. After leading what I thought was an entourage of new friends to safe harbor, I turned around to see that my friends were not behind me. Not even close. They were, in fact, quite not there. As in gone. Absentia. AWOL.

My friends showed up eventually:



As did some knitting and Lemon Drop martinis.



And lake photo ops:







For the record, that isn't my lake. In fact, I felt kind of guilty taking those pictures of "another lake." It was like I was having an affair. Fortunately, my lake is in an entirely different watershed, making the chanceso of her finding out, nil to none.

In Other News
I'm balls to the walls at work.
And I'm not talking about Fluff Stress*.
I'm talking about Real Stress.**

Tomorrow is the last day of work this week.
The very day I should have an evaluation report completed and in the mail.
The very same report that has yet to have one word typed in its general direction.
And yes, that quite exactly the same report that I was fixin' to take home this evening, with the full intent of typing a word or two, in its general direction.
And precisely the spot-on, very one report that I left sitting on my desk.

Later this week I am hosting a Thanksgiving meal in my currently filthy home.

To Sum: A little earlier than later,between this point in time and that, again, there will be little to no blogging done 'round here. S'more.

In the meantime, may I present...

Celebrity Scumbag Look Alike Monday





*Pretend stress that occurs because you have to work 30 minutes later than usual, and will therefore miss the first show of your daily back-to-back Judge Judies.

**Extreme stress that causes one to perceive the pooping of the pants as the only available coping strategy, short of sudden death.***

***Actually, I might be on to something with this. Think about it.

P.S. I totally made up some, or even many parts of this post. For example, my friends didn't ditch me. This time. They were merely keeping a safe distance. From me. And the stick. Mostly the stick. I think. Plus, I walk fast. That's what they told me. That I walk fast. It's really hard to keep up with me. When I walk fast. In fact, you wouldn't believe how many friends I've lost on account of that fast walking. And my hootchie finder/traffic stopper/pageant leader/great diviner stick. And I'm not making that part up, at all.

P.P.S. I don't know if it's blogger or if my keyboard is on the fritz but I have been editing, saving and re-editing the same words over and over and nothing is sticking. It's like typing into the Twilight Zone, without Delete capabilities. And I really should go to bed. So please forgive any grammatical and editorial transgressions. And goodnight.

Labels: North, Pho-Ho'

The weekend was so delicious, I'm having a hard time letting go.

I can't stop thinking about it.

I can't stop talking about it.

I can't stop looking at the 500 plus pictures I took about it.

But it's time. I know. People are sick of hearing about it, and truthfully, I'm sick of people getting sick of it.

So I'm moving on. To some knitting. Really.

As promised last week or so, here's the Cakers modeling her Queen of Hearts sweater:



I can't remember exactly when or where that picture was taken. I think it was over the weekend. There may have been some bodies of water involved.

Oh, you say you can't see the sweater very well? My bad. Here's a bit of an action shot, taken, hmmmm, maybe this past weekend. But I can't be sure.



No fashion spread is complete without the ol' Walking Along the River with my Daddy shot. This picture may have been taken some time over the past several days or so and that could be Lake Michigan in the background, but I can't remember. Exactly.



Whew. It's kind of nice to finally be over my weekend dwelling. When I started today's post, I wasn't sure I would be able to get through it without mentioning, well, you know.

I almost forgot. While she was wearing that heart sweater somewhere recently, The Cakers found this stone:



Serendippity?

Serenknittpity



I had a long, drawn out tale prepared for how this sweater came to be on my needles. The story included intrigue (where is that yarn?) and suspense (will I get gauge?) and a case of mistaken identity (WTF? This isn't even close). Bottom line: Afer my original plan didn't work out, I had less than an hour to start over in my search for a pattern and yarn.

Well, the impromptu knit gods were for me on that day. The pattern is from A Treasury of Rowan Knits and is called Polar. It's a tunic. I'd show a picture of the pattern but my hub is on the computer that's attached to the scanner, and he's kind of crabby right now. It's a moss stitch/stockinette rib. The knit stitch, not my husband.

The yarn is Kilcarra Cottage ::shut up.:: Tweed. I bought it about four years ago on Ebay from a woman who was living in Kilcar at the time of the sale. The purchase was a steal, I recall, even with interuniverse shipping. I don't know if this stuff is still available on the market, but I think Tahki sold it under their label for awhile. It's kind of crunchy but I'm hoping that will come a bit in the wash.

It's also a fat, quick knit.

WTFreud Tuesday
There'll be no WTF Wednesday post this week. In fact, my weekday blogging will be even more sharply curtailed for awhile, for reasons I will explain when my weekday blogging is not so sharply curtailed.

Anyway. Tonight we attended a school function for The Cakers at the high school. ::A post for another day. Or two.:: The only open spot to park was near that, ummm, special place I showed you last week.

I was pleasantly astounded to see that this week they've added a feature to our precious Vagigantic.

Moisture.



I'm tellin' ya, I couldn't make this shit up.

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

Saturday Sky



Saturday Lakes



That's our lake in the foremost-ground and Lake Michigan on the horizon. If you click it big, you can barely make out the head of the Baby Bear of South Manitou Island.

This one is a neighboring lake in a neighoring town, a few miles up the road.



Saturday Eeyore Dog



Saturday Chair on Neighbor's Porch



Saturday Knit


Yes, new project. We'll talk later.

Saturday Nap



What a cutie, eh? And such a happy guy, after his bitchy-ass wife just woke him up for snoring. ::Yeah, he's cute and sweet, but there's no snoring in beautiful fall days at the lake.::

Okay. Okay. So I'm glad it didn't rain.

::I didn't plan on posting so many pictures, but Blogger was giving it up tonight, people. We just kept goin' and goin'.::

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

Who You Callin’ a CoHo?
Last weekend(up north), we had a chance to get over to the river and check out the running of the Coho. ::Fish, not job sharing hookers.::

I don’t know if the life and sex and death halibuts habits of the Coho Salmon are common knowledge or regionally specific, so I’ll proceed as though you know not much, but wish ya did.

Coho are born in the tributaries of Lake Michigan, where they hang out for a few months before heading to the Big Waters. When Coho are four years old, they get a call. The Call of the Wild, if you will, or better yet, The Call of the Nasty.

The Call for Coho is the irrepressible urge to return to one's birthwaters, hookup with a little tunatang, and die. The Call always comes in the fall, which causes the streams and rivers to be overswum with trolling fish.

Cool story, eh?
Not quite. Enter Man.

Our visit to the river included a stop at the local weir*, which is a structure that blocks the river and allows the fish to be captured. Note: I forgot my camera that day. This story really needs pictures, so please bear with my primitive attempts at Natural Resourcefulness.

At the weir we visited, the fish are diverted into a little waterway, under which is a huge french-fryer-basket-like contraption.



The fish don't know they are in the frytraption, until the thing is unceremoniously hoisted out of the little canal, allowing for the fish to be drained, sorted and put into iced trash cans.


These tasks are all performed by Northern Michiganesque guys, who look a lot like this one, who I've named Dewey:



::I wonder if every small town in Northern Michigan has a guy named Dewey?::

Most of the unrequited Ho’s are next sent to a nearby cannery, where they get, well, canned. Some of the Coho are handed over to the DNR, who harvest and hatch the 'ho roe, at the state run hatcheries. The baby fish (called fry) born at the hatchery are eventually transferred to riverbeds, allowing this miraculous cycle to begin again.

When I visited the weir, I had no idea I would be so affected by the disturbing images. For days after, I couldn’t shake the impression of hundreds of tired, horny 'Hoes, lining up outside that fry contraption. I think the worst part for me is knowing these little buggers believe they’re linin' up for some Funky Cohomadina.

I floundered all week with writing this post and almost threw it back a couple of times. But now that I've fin ished, I feel much better. On a scale.

*that's not "our" weir. Our contraption is to the side, as illustrated.

Got Knitting?
Got Knothing.

Labels: Cottage, North

Fruits of My Labor Day Weekend
Throughout the summer, I collected snapshots of my new Northern Michigan neighborhood. I had intended to write this post weeks ago, but what better tribute to mark the end of our first summer in the new community digs?

On the drive to the cottage, we pass through this little town called Mesick. Yes, as in Me Sick. As if the name isn't weird enough, Mesick has annointed itself the Mushroom Capital of the World.

You won't find much else but mushrooming in Mesick. But in the event you got a queer eye for the fungi, you might find this place handy:



After you get yourself fixed up at the apothecary, you can stop next door, for a foamin' shot of deer snot.

Yousick yet? Metoo.

Northern Michigan by the Yard
The following shots were all taken within minutes from our cottage, along the main roads and highways.

Bottle Tree very pretty.
And the bottle blossom is neat.
But the fruit that has fallen,
Can be murder on bare feet.


In the same yard as the bodacious bottle tree were two driveway posts, each wearing a bowling ball. Because the residents of the mobile home were in (therefore, not mobile), we could only get a quick shot of one ball. But as you know, in bowling, a split shot is the most difficult.



On the road to town from the cottage, we're greeted by this imaginative menagerie. They are all made from hot water heaters or propane tanks.



Is that Who you think it is?

Why, yes it is. Tank You, Jesus!

::You'd think with all those hot water heaters, they'd have at least one Mary in a Bathtub::

Okay Kim, before you start having im-morel thoughts of an autumnal voyage, this is a mushroom carved from a tree stump. I call him Well Hungus Amongus. ::No, really, it's just a mushroom.::



And what some yards lack in fungal stature, they make up for in well-capped quantity. Mmmm...pass the butter fried steak.

::No, Kim...just mushrooms. ::

Oh Deer, I almost forgot.

You can't drive a half mile around here without seeing some rendition of the white tail fakeout.

Nope, the little fluffins' aren't real. I know. Those bogus, bovinous beauties fool me every time.

And that's the end of my tail.

Without BeLaborin', I wish you all a restful holiday weekend.

Labels: Giant Mushrooms, North

Hula Poop
It just keeps comin'round.

This past weekend at the cottage was pretty nice, despite the nasty weather and some other, ahem, issues. My in-laws doted on the Cakers, while Eric worked and I knit a bit. And worried a lot, about that that other matter. You know, the matter matter.*

Early Saturday afternoon, I happened upon a whisper fest between my husband and his parents. I didn't know what they were talking about until I heard my mother-in-law say, just above a whisper, "Well, can we flush or not?"

What???!??, said I.
Oh, nothing, she said, as all three exchanged don't feed the crazy lady glances.
Tell me! I shrilled.

My husband approached me in a gentle, calm manner, much as one would the mentally infirm or the divorcee in the throes of a Bacardi Limon psychosis as she dangles your only set of Cobra Mustang keys over a sewer drain.**

He then held me by the shoulders, looked me square in the eye and said "The alarm went off. The tanks are full. We're at defcom 4."

I'll spare you the remaining details of that particular exchange. I will say, however, that it was more than alarming to learn that a heavy rainfall can cause water to pool in the poop chopper. Apparently poop choppers, dukey tanks and related alarm systems don't know shit from rainola.

So, in addition to prevalent preoccupations with salmonella and e-coli and cottage guests with compulsive flush disorders, I now have to be concerned about pissing off mother nature.

My father-in-law quickly (too quickly?) made the call to our guy. After a brief exchange of info(including the query regarding how many people are pooping in the house) our guy assured him we could hold it until Monday. While we didn't speak of it again for the rest of the weekend, neither did anyone shower or run the dishwasher, or spit.

Truthfully, I think everyone was a little nervous, which somehow made me feel less a case.

Who You Calling a CoHo?
To keep our minds out of the sewage, we headed into town, to the Annual Coho Festival, where the highlight of the day was the Annual Coho Festival parade.

First of all, I am a happily married woman. But being happily married doesn't preclude me from an active fantasy life. Right?

That being said, this bad boy on parade immediately captured my fancy. I mean, honey, you can do burnouts on my lawn patch any time.



But quickerin I could say "Deere John" my father-in-law nudged and whispered..."there's our guy."



Mmmmm..be still my whizzin' heart. Right then and there, I decided I was a little old for riding bitch on a souped up lawn tractor.

Right then and there, I decided my next Secret Fancy is gonna be about power.
Big, strong, long, round, reliable power. Pumping power. All at the drop of a dime. ::Get a load of that hose...sigh::

Okay, this cornball parade has one last corner to round. So bear with.

And what would the Coho Festival be without the Coho Queen and her court? (My husband thought there should be two queens for some reason.)



For the record, being the Queen of the CoHo festival is not just about the glamour and prestige, although there is plenty of that. What folks don't realize is that being the Coho queen also involves great personal sacrifice.

You see, at the completion of the parade, this float is pulled directly to the Queen's birthplace, where she will spawn and..well..I just can't say it. Too tragic.

I guess it's time to roe this boat ashore.

Humpy Wednesday!

*See August 19 post for context.
**To this day, I believe that Bacardi Limon is laced with angel dust.

Labels: Boobs and Pee and Poo, Cottage, North

Diamond Ho'

Diamond Joe
Come'n git me.
B'fore the cast-on Ho'
Done quit me.
 
Diamond Joe
Ya better come get me.
Diamond Joe. 
 
That's a bastardization of this little folk ditty from Dylan's Masked and Anonymous soundtrack.   It's one of The Cakers' favorites and it runs incessantly through my brain as I work on my diamond shawl.   

And nothing warms the cockles of a mama's heart like hearing the sweet voice of her two year old croonin' at top-o-lungs:
 
...Gonna get me a jug of whiskey. 
Gonna make my baby frisky.
Diamond Joe,
You  better come get me .
Diamond Joe.

Heh.
 
And the point of all this?  Well, I've become consumed with the pursuit of the perfect diamond. Ergo, I be the Diamond Ho'.  
 


This pattern is pretty easy to memorize and I like that there is only purling on the backside. For some reason, when I'm working on lace and it's going well, I knit with intense urgency. It's like I'm trying to knit ahead of mistakes, which seem to be nipping at my elbow.

Picture Perfect Getaway
We decided to stay at the cottage a couple of extra days. The weather forcast predicted the warmest days of summer for yesterday and today. Evidently, the weather in Michigan can change without meteorological notice (that's a tongue in cheek comment for Michiganians, current or otherwise) and yesterday was chilly/windy as it ever was.

But at the end of the day, all that really matters are the weenies by the fire.



Lookin' for Some Tail?
Check out the new hutch on the block. Rabbitch. She's fast and furry-ious, and pulls no punches. (Don't say I didn't warren ya.)

P.S. My family situation is going to be a slow burning worry for the next couple months. It's about a big brother who's taken a job overseas. To a very scarey place. So thanks for all the good thoughts. Is there a patron saint for the terminally stupid?

Labels: Cottage, Knit In Progress, North

Sunday Drive
Yesterday we dropped off The Cakers at her grandparents' and took us a little drive to the Michigan North Country. We were checking out the cottage my in-laws are purchasing on a lake at the southernmost edge of my most favorite place in the world, Sleeping Bear National Lakeshore.

The cottage is on one of several inland lakes in the area, and only minutes from the azure waters of Lake Michigan . In fact, one can canoe or float a tube from our lake to the Big One via the crystal clear (seriously..clear) Pla*tte River. ::for those familiar with the area, the cottage is on Big Pla*tte lake, near Honor and Beulah...And don't you just love saying Beulah?::

Here's a view of the Sleeping Bear Dunes from the local beach.

This is a view of "our" lake from the front of the cottage. That black stuff is a temporary result of the lake's annual spring cleaning, when it reportedly "turns itself over." Yesterday's weather was very windy and cold (about 10 wind chill). The sunshine only served to tease.

Also minutes away, is this vestige of American culture (and one of only 8 remaining in Michigan), The Cherry Bowl Drive-In Movie Theater.



And what would a Drive-In be without the Hefty Hot Dog, the Back Seat of a Chevy and the big white....ummm...

....rooster?



Summary of Review: At the The Cherry Bowl Drive-in Movie theater, I saw the back seat of a car, a whopping weiner and a cyclopean co*ck.

Tomorrow: Some nice, clean knitting updates. Promise.

Cock-a-Freakin'-Doodle-Doo!

Labels: Cottage, North

Yesterday I spent most of my allotted computer time figuring out how to steal and successfully display the Knitbloggers button. Remember, I know about nothing of this stuff so I am feeling very proud of this accomplishment. I figured it out by examining the code innards of buttons that are already on my blog and replicated the html pattern.

My next goal is to design my own button, but I fear that goal is in line behind getting the pig to fly.

Vacation was good, but weather was disappointing the last two days. Rainy and cold. Without a 21 month old crying at the window wanting to go to "watah, outside!" (she learned that if she just wailed "watah" she'd get a sippy cup full) the rainy days would have allowed for wonderful knitting and knapping opportunities. I actually appreciate a rainy day at the end of vacation week, because there is no pressure to seize glorious vacation moments.

Cottage(decor was vintage 1969, Brady Bunch Golds, Greens and Orange) on Glen Lake, in Glen Arbor, Michigan.

Sunset on Glen Lake

Lake Michigan and view of South Manitou Island (one of the baby bears that didn't make it to shore, per legend):

Knitting Stuff
I finished the body work on the Textured top. This was a very quick knit on size 10's and fairly mindless pattern. There's no ribbing or finishing, although I may attempt to crochet around neck and armholes for a more finished look. I haven't tried crochet yet (when I learned to knit, there was not much crossover of these arts) but I figure if I can do a button, I can figure this out.




The second sample is the front of a cardigan jacket from Vintage Knits (Sarah Dallas). This pattern has breast pockets, which I'm forgoing. I don't need anymore padding in that direction. I considered doing a "faux" pocket effect but when I asked the clerk at the yarn store for advice on the feasibility she looked at the pattern photo and expressed concern that four pockets would be too many and asked where I would put the two extra. I decided that was a sign from the textile goddesses to skip the pockets.




I was able to venture into Glen Arbor to take advantage of it's renowned artsy fartsiness. There's a fabulous jewelry store there called Becky Thatcher Designs. Most of the stuff on her website is of the high end ilk. I purchased some "low end" earrings. On the left is freshwater pearls with aventurine. On the right are what I'd call an opal veneer.

I bought a bit o' yarn as well. I hope to post future project plans later this week.

It was good to be on vacation, but it's always good to be home.

::Editing Note: I took non-knit-related pictures off page and linked instead, too slow. I learn as I go::

Labels: North

Sometimes my brain gets to chewing on something and won't stop until either the flavor goes stale, a bigger and better bite comes along or someone whups me upside the head. This cognitive feature has its ups and downs. The ups include that it makes me a good problem solver (although sometimes a tired one, if the juiciest chewing is at 2am). The most significant down is that I usually can't control what's currently on the chew carousel (sp?) regardless of how banal.

My latest chew has been about linking my blog to my impending vacation. Please don't get me wrong. I am under no delusion that any of you have been checking here three times an hour to see if I'd added any links. Nor do I presume that you will want to click if given the option. This isn't about you..it's about me. Me helping my brain to put its gum on the bedpost over night.

As a new blogger, I enjoy checking out the various sites and sizing up individual styles. I've heard that a well-linked blog indicates that it's creator likely (or linkly) knows something of what he/she writes. If I can't be that blogger, then, dangit, I'm gonna look the part.

So, here it be. On July 5, me and mine are going on vacation. We're renting a cottage on Glen Lake (Technically, it's a photo of Little Glen Lake. A smaller and distinct lake "linked" to Glen Lake by a narrow channel aka The Narrows). Glen Lake is in Glen Arbor, Michigan. Glen Arbor is in the Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore.

There is a wonderful little yarn shop in Glen Arbor. It's called The Yarn Shop. It's a very cozy place, always with at least a couple of women sitting, knitting and jawing. I only get up there about once a year, but one of the owners, Mary, always remembers me by face.

Okay, I'm feeling pretty linked out now, but I made a commitment and I'm sticking to it.

I haven't worked yet on my daughter's sweater. I've given myself permission not to finish it before we leave. But I will. It's in my blood. My mom was always finishing someone's dress in the car, on the way to the Sunday School Christmas Pageant. It's what we do.

My knitting plans over vacation: A sleeveless T for a friend for an August birthday. The yarn is Reynolds Cabana, purple. The pattern is an Elann freebie FromTahki-Stacy Charles called Textured Sleeveless Top.

I don't think I'll be working on the lacey tunic because there will be too many people around (teenaged son bringing a friend) and other relatives are coming to visit. I'll probably work on a garter square here and there. And, of course, there's always a textile treasure to be found at The Yarn Shop. All right, I'm getting freaky now.

I'm pretty sure I won't be posting until after I return from vacation on July 12, hopefully with great photos of my Tankini lines.

Labels: I Need Therapy Thursday, North