A Passing to Pause for

Author and illustrator Tasha Tudor died today. She was 92. Corgi lovers will remember her for Corgiville Fair, as well as The Great Corgiville Kidnapping and Corgiville Christmas. Her gentle drawings are immediately recognizable and have provided the artwork for many children's books, in addition to those she wrote.

Proving that one can straddle two eras, she lived in a manner of an earlier time, but was not out of touch with today; her website attests to that.

As much as I'd like to include a photo, I hesitate to set myself up for charges of copyright infringement, so go to her site — or to Amazon — and see what we have lost.

It's a sign of the a'pocalypse

... when the apostrophe has been downgraded to secondary punctuation. I got a new phone this week and, in addition, to having to learn the nooks and crannies of, oh, finding a phone number, I realized that the apostrophe was not where it should have been: five clicks on the 1 key. In fact, it isn't on any key. One of my technical assistants — my 13-year-old — found it in two seconds, buried a couple of screens down. For the record, it's now considered a 'symbol.'

So, here. Take as many as you need:

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

Clearly, I won't be needing them anymore. Not for text messages, anyway.

Orange You Done Yet?

Remember this stack o' orange?


I finally cast on for a Weekend Jacket, one of the Knitting Pure and Simple patterns. I'd hoped to get the bulk of the body done tonight while waiting for the breeches and saddle pads that were in the wash, but I guess I won't. And this is why:


Blossom won't leave it alone. Every time I set it aside to run down the basement to check on my good friend Ken More, she settles in — and I have to pry her loose, claw by claw. I do not want to get snags, so for tonight, she wins. I'll have to call this sweater the Orange Blossom Special. nyuk, nyuk, nyuk.


Yes, you're right. It isn't very funny.

Now for a bit of a mea culpa. I posted something the other day that I'd gotten in an email; apparently it's a hoax of some kind, called the Washington Post Mensa Invitational. Shame on me for not checking it out more thoroughly. I spiked the post, but hoax or not, it's darn funny, so I'm reviving it. It's a terrific round of wordplay:

Intaxication: Euphoria at getting a tax refund, which lasts until you realize it was your money to start with.

Reintarnation: Coming back to life as a hillbilly.

Bozone (n.): The substance surrounding stupid people, that stops bright ideas from penetrating. The Bozone layer, unfortunately, shows little sign of breaking down in the near future.

Cashtration (n.): The act of buying a house, which renders the subject financially impotent for an indefinite period of time.

Giraffiti: Vandalism spray-painted very, very high.

Sarchasm: The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the person who doesn't get it.

Inoculatte: To take coffee intravenously when you are running late.

Hipatitis: Terminal coolness.

Osteopornosis: A degenerate disease.

Karmageddon: It's like, when everybody is sending off all these really bad vibes, right? And then like, the Earth explodes and it's like, a serious bummer.

Decafalon (n.): The grueling event of getting through the day consuming only things that are good for you.

Glibido: All talk and no action

Dopeler Effect: The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when they come at you rapidly — or when you're drunk.

Arachnoleptic Fit (n.): The frantic dance performed just after you've accidentally walked through a spider web.

Beelzebug (n.): Satan in the form of a mosquito, that gets into your bedroom at three in the morning and cannot be cast out

Caterpallor (n.): The color you turn after finding half a worm in the fruit you're eating.

Ignoranus: A person who's both stupid and an asshole.

Tomoko's Farewell

We hated to see the day come, when we had to say goodbye. In the months that Tomoko had been coming to the barn, we all got to know her a bit, and came to admire her alot. She was determined — English was not her first language and she was taking dressage lessons, difficult enough for a native speaker! (how would you say 'haunches in' in Japanese, anyway?) — quietly brave, and, as we found out, very funny. Sitting on the deck one morning, we were laughing about some spousal blunder — don't worry, Dave, it wasn't you! — and she said, "Oh yes. Sometimes Japanese wives like it when the husbands are gone a long time."

And, she's a horse person, for sure, married to a non-horse person, for sure. No matter: He got dragged along to the expo — like a true horse husband, someone had to carry the wallet. She had shopping to do! A new saddle, ca-ching.

We couldn't let her go home without marking the occasion. She wanted us to meet for lunch, so we started off tastefully enough one afternoon at Origami for sushi, saki and silliness:


A few days later, on the day before her plane left for home, we had a party at the barn. Happily, it was one of those perfect Minnesota days, so we spent it outside. She rode Niamh, her favorite horse, coming:


... and going:


Then, more fine dining, this time on the Caille Farm veranda:


What better way to digest chips, dip and cheap wine than with a spin on Barb T.'s four-wheeler:



Maybe it was a bit of a hootenanny, but we had a good time -- and I hope she won't forget us.


We'll leave a light on for you, Tomoko. Come on back, you betcha.

Memorial Weekend

Well, another Memorial Day weekend has come and gone. First weekend up north for many, first weekend of yard work for many others. Count me in that last group — I spent Saturday cleaning up the flower bed at the barn. It had gotten long in the tooth, for sure:


Four feed bags of weeds, 20 bags of mulch and all day later, it was time to pull the yard tractor around to the side of the barn (to return composted dirt to the big pile) and head for home:


I was so tired. I don't know how I was able to lift my fork to my mouth for dinner, but I am very grateful that David cooked that night. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

You can't deny the benefits of a hot shower — between that and a full stomach, I perked up enough to cast on for my Kashmir stole, from Rowan's Classic Alpaca book. Unfortunately, I haven't gotten any further than that, either. It is odd to me that the row ends in the middle of a pattern repeat. Maybe I'm just being thick-headed.

Seems pretty small stuff, considering what happened to those in Hugo who had their lives upended yesterday. Sunday's tornadoes began just across the highway from our house -- quite close enough, thank you -- but the storm gained enough power in the next 15 minutes to decimate a neighborhood and kill a 2-year-old boy, who was blown into a pond in his back yard. Just like that, the funnel was gone, just as quickly as it had appeared.

And that family will never be the same.

A Small Keepsake

See this?


It's a momento of a woman I never met, but wish I had. I was given this well-kept little box and its contents the other day by this woman's granddaughter, who sat next to me at work several desk configurations ago. Catherine would occasionally wear a variety of old, but lovely handknit sweaters and greet me by pulling it up so I could examine the backside (it was our joke). Yes, indeed, another treasure from Gran. Of Norwegian descent, of course, Florence Catherine Preus lived a healthy life, passing away a few weeks ago at 99.

Thank you, Catherine, for thinking of me. Now I have a treasure from your Gran, too.

Shepherd's Harvest Festival

It's been several years since I was able to go to Llama Magic and to Shepherd's Harvest, but some things haven't changed. Namely, the weather (cold, windy and rainy — you'd think it was May or something ...) and the date (Mother's Day weekend). While waiting for Astri and JudyA. (with a special guest appearance by Pat!), I made a full pest of myself in the animal barns. Here is my livestock sampler. First, the alpacas and llamas:



And then, one building over, were the sheep and goats. keey-yewt!!



or handsome ...



or unusual ...


or dark and difficult to photograph:



It was as I stood ... and stood ... and stood in the eternal lunch line that the others arrived. Yay! One hot dog and a cup of OK coffee later (no slam intended, I'm just fussy*), we trooped off to the vendors' barn, where I nearly fainted from the opportunities for misbehavior a k a stash enhancement. It was love at first sight and my shopping was done when I found this:


1,440 yards of alpaca and cormo wool from Blue Hills Alpacas & Fiber Mill, of Bruce, Wis. It will be the stole in Rowan's Classic Alpaca book. JudyA., the yarn concierge, found me a nostespinne. It's a splendid, low-tech tool for winding yarn, especially if your other winder is a) buried in the yarn chest or b) you're traveling or c) you simply feel like winding by hand. They make lovely center-pull balls that look like dinosaur eggs.

The perfect ending to a three-day weekend? A wedding on Sunday evening: congratulations, Michael and Linda!

*please act a little surprised