quite done moping

Sooo... boo, already. A month-long hiatus seemed just the thing to cure my blog ennui. Not for nothing am I known as the Procrastination Queen. That four of my five children have celebrated birthdays since the day after my return flight from Seattle, (with the resultant flurry of required activity that cake and gift-shopping beget) should be 'excuse' enough. Factor in a mild bout of post-vacation "Washington-is-more-fabulous-than-chocolate" depression, and you have the empty shell of me, able to do little more than drag my arse to yoga and belly-dance classes, drink double Bushmill's (neat, thank you), and stay up way too late reading romance novels. It has actually served to extend my vacation, delaying the pain of re-entry for a month. Now we're back into 'life as usual', the kids and Herr Becher are learning Japanese (Rosetta Stone rocks, btw), and I'm tagging along, knitting in hand, keeping the avalanche-prone laundry mountains from smothering anyone whilst they're the nether-regions of Becher Haus, and sneaking a clove smoke on the front porch when I need to hide from the noise of chirruns.

I was pretty sure I had photos of new sock yarns to show you, but Wednesday is nail day, so I dashed off without the proper equipment to photograph the 'Farmhouse Yarns'. Tho thorry. Now, since it's quiet here and tonight is movie night for the chirruns (we have to arrive early to get seven whole seats in a row), I'm going to go read some Scots romance/p0rn. A girl's gotta keep her mind active, ya know? C

Jamie's 'knitting'

As some of you know, the concept of yardwork or 'landscaping' is foreign to the residents of Becher Haus. So, bearing that in mind, allow me to show you a few scenes from the grounds around 'chez jamie', the other half of Miss G.

 

 

 

 

Digging in the dirt is Mr.G's knitting... his happy place, which is now festooned with everything from strawberry-scented roses to avocados and kiwi. The Scottish moss was my favorite... he let me dig my toes into it. Now, to wrangle an invite back to the house of hounds...

water and rabid foxes

glacial waters cascading down mt. rainier. i made it down the path for the photo-op, and discovered my inner mountain goat on the way back up.

golden fox, parking lot, paradise base camp, mt.rainier. "don't touch it, it might have rabies". i wasn't always so paranoid... but look how crazy he looks.

scenic view from an edge of cresent lake. we came, we saw, we smoked.

cutesty shoes what cost more than the average plane ticket. i didn't even get in deep trouble for these... perhaps that shoe is still waiting to fall...

more pics to follow...

squawk

Miss Fiona, one of the French bulldogs-in-residence at 'So Much Yarn' in Seattle. This creature tongue-bathed my legs and broke her licker... as you can plainly see, it no longer retracts. The yarn-ladies were lovely, and apparently adept hypnotists. I left with a gob of yarn earmarked for another 'Clopotis'. As I said before, it was a drinking day.

Deception Pass. Headed out to Whidby. I have a photo showing the perpetually pissed face I made every time I got near a bridge, but my pride doesna allow me to show it to you... yet. I brought the good scotch in with me today, so maybe later. Suffice it to say, a lot of Xanax was consumed so that Melly and crew could get me to...

here. For all you Sandra Bullock fans, this is a bit of Coupeville, the wee hamlet where the street scenes for the movie 'Practical Magic' were filmed. The building on the far right is the 'potions' shop from the movie. In real life, it's a gift shop filled with fabulous scents and bobbles. I snagged a gaudy, beaded necklace as my souvenir. Loved the island; the nerve-shattering bridges and breath-taking views were a bit more formidable than I expected.

Another unexpected delight: taking the ferry back to 'civilization'. We'd arranged to meet Miss G at 'Great Yarns' in Everett for knit night. The ride was fun, and the harbor views couldn't have been more charming.
Tomorrow: Cami meets the scary mountain and shows off her souvenir shoes...

four thousand words (subtitled)

Arriving in Washington: view of Mt. Rainier from port-side of plane.

Self-portrait at the gum wall. My apologies to the other 'touristy types' who may have been offended at my gum offering to Melly. We're not lesbians, we just play them on t.v. (another story for another time, I assure you...)

Tahoe, the fish-launcher. I so totally did want to catch a fish in the market, and between the Jameson's and Miss G's coaxing, managed to do so twice. Smelled of salmon the rest of the day. Too drunk to care. The Alibi Room rocks, btw. If you're local, or in Seattle for any reason, head down to Post Alley and tell Corey hey.

Flower market femmes. I was dawdling to smell some lilies, and looked up in time to see I was being abandoned...
More pics to follow. Next up, views of Whidby Island, a scary bridge, and the most amazing yard evah. Landscaping is Jaime's 'knitting'... and he's damn fine at it!

little things

I haven't had much to say lately. The blog had become too much about the shop, and not about why I started blogging in the first place, which was to have a place to put all the strange, weird, and wonderful crap that was accumulating. I was house-bound with five children, Clementine's was just an idea, and typing seemed more fun than muttering to myself.

Fast forward to the middle of May, 2009...

I've devoted the past three weeks to building my tolerance for whiskey. Wild Turkey and Jameson's Irish are my favs. This doesn't seem useful to the casual observer, but next summer's pub crawl across Ireland will go much smoother if I can drink and stay dressed. Not sure what the public intoxication laws are like there, so it's really best not to tempt fate. The last thing I need is to wind up in a dirty Irish jail because I got drunk and showed someone my tattoos.

Today was the onset of another town fish-fry, but buffered somewhat by the addition of the Strawberry Festival. Seriously. The whole town was staggering drunk by 7:40 this evening. As a thoughtful shop-keep, I had laid in an extra supply of toilet tissue and paper towels. Tomorrow will be more of the same smelly fish stink, coupled with the air-conditioning repairman's efforts to make things cold. I was such a sweaty mess by the time I got out of the store today I nearly decided to peel my legs out of my jeans and drive home butt-ass nekked. I didn't, but I reserve the right to do so tomorrow. I might even wear full-seat panties so I don't have to rip myself off the leather, fruit roll-up style, once I arrive home. Ouch.

Nine days until we (the Melly, the Mandi, the No-Amy, and me) leave for Seattle and parts northwest. Planes, trains, and automobiles... and a big boat, will all be employed to move and entertain us. I have put my foot down about the three hours of dinner theater with the dancing midgets. Sure, it's only $104.oo for the meal, but that doesn't include drinks. How much alcohol it would take for me to sit calmly whilst sword-swallowers and bearded ladies cavort with midgets... at the tables... is kind of an unknown factor, but I'm pretty sure I'd be paying handsomely for the THREE HOURS of torture. At least two hundred bucks. No, we're knocking over a liquor store and hauling our drinkies poolside. Melly's grilling us a red onion pizza. Maybe she'll sing for us while she's at it.

the week in review

I tend to go 'all in' when it comes to my hobbies. Getting the chance to proof-read and edit Karen's newest installment was definitely a high point of the past week, though it sheds some troubling light on what appears to be the latest in the string of addictions...
behold, the Post-It flag, in all it's glory...

Melly has loaned me her girl-child's stripity stockings for use as a shop sample. These just went up Thursday, so if you need to fondle them to talk yourself into the yarn, by all means, do drop by.

Lastly, a new customer brought her 'baby' in for a wee bit of shopping. His name is Spot, he's a bit short of leg, and is five months old. Super cute. Just had to share him. Do NOT go get another damn chihuahua. Yes, Aliya. I'm talking to you.

Now I'm off to watch the mens spread the tar on the parking lot across the street. Ooh. No I'm not. It's crackville over there. I think I need to go wash my eyes, instead. Ugh.
p.s. My crazy Aunt in Alabama has started a blog. I believe it's some sort of therapy. I would counter that mayhap it's too late, but go take a peek. Funny, terrible stuff. From the mind of an evil genius... and blood relative.

super-secret editing gig underway

Just a quickie-update. 'Korin Bridges' dropped off a draft of the third book in the 'Sisterhood of Secrets' series yesterday (the link is to the second one, currently making the rounds). I'm going after it with pen in hand, and having a fabulous time. Of course, by the time I'd gotten through the sixth chapter I was in dire need of a cigarette and fresh panties, but all I can say is you won't be disappointed.
Back in a bit. You go be crafty. I have some serious 'editing' to do...

not quite 'tit's up'

Okay. I officially suck at this blogging thing. It seems I turn my back for uno momento and wham, another week has escaped. What the hell, huh? As it turns out, I do have an excuse... or a scape-goat, rather. Everyone, this is Kyle. Kyle, this is Everybody.
For those in the know, The Bresticles have had a trying couple of years. Six trying years, precisely. Six years of being reconstructed breast-bastards... six years of 'Frankenboobs'. Well, gentle readers, not anymore. I spent Tuesday night bare-chested in a somewhat clinical-looking chair while Kyle Hels tattooed my nipples back into existence. He was uber-professional about having a hausfrau in his chair, and seventy-five minutes passed by like nothing with fun, friendly bantering whilst he painted in the new 'details'. Under all that ink lurks the heart of a philosopher and healer, so if you've been considering a permanent addition, stop in and see him. You rocked the new nipples, Mr. Hels. Thank you.

I was quite well behaved, so those of you who were privy to the "grab an ink-artist in your thighs and squeeze him till you hurt" um, fantasy, need not worry. No tattoo dudes were injured in the making of my nipples. It wasn't even really painful until I got back home. Leave it to me to remember on the second Percocet that said drug winds me up just a tick. Two hours of barely unconscious rest was my punishment. The new nippies are doing great, however, and were graciously shared with all interested third parties today at the shop. The strangest thing is having to be aware of them at all. After six years of the silent treatment, having them rail for attention from inside my bra is a little disconcerting. (Apparently, those lil' chicas just like it rough. *snark*)

What's going on around here now? Book Two has made an appearance. I caught the author soaking in a foot bath at the nail salon and snagged my signed copy. I begged to help edit Book Three, and she accepted, so, if in fact I do get my hands on it, expect clearer sentence structure and zero typos.
This story moves along at a pretty good clip, and I didn't have to twitch too much over the weird punctuation. (Srsly, K. Book Three? Let me fix it.)

Gratuitous bloom shot for Miss Rob, who insisted I needed to put flowers on the blog. She takes a lot of medication, y'all. Don't judge.

I meant to at least get back around to lemon pound cake, but my ebullience over my new ta-ta accessories has me a kinda exhausted. C

just a tidbit

Yesterday turned out to be quite the day for interruptions, especially where the interwebs were concerned. Blogging from the haus has become a filthy nuisance, what with all the connection issues the air card has been experiencing. Blogging from Clementine's has been equally fraught with woes, but the alternative to 'interruptions' would be an alarming lack of patrons, so I'll gladly take the consequences.
I've been meaning to show y'all this, the 'Sun and Surf Halter', from Amy Butler, for a long while. Miss Gaylen made it as a shop sample for Clementine months ago. I was waiting until the weather was agreeable and the muses of creative displays made it possible to show it off to it's best advantage...

 

which, as you can plainly see, I was forced to give up on and just take some snaps of the thing. It's more charming on, and in person, and whilst it's gotten many oohs and ahhs in the shop, it isn't until people actually pick it up that the admiration for this simple summer top begins to build. Stunningly simple, and, according to some seasoned stitchers, not too much of a headache to build. You might just need one.

Today I am being visited by our dear Melly. She doesn't know it yet, but I'll be abandoning her to sneak off to a book signing for a wee bit. It would appear that the second book in the 'Sisterhood of Secrets' is now available. Even with lazy editing and a tragic lack of pronouns, there is no way I'd miss it! More later... C

hold that thought...

I'm not dead, just diverted. Blog-silence will officially be over tomorrow. Tonight is belly-dance class. Gotta get my jingles on...

and so, I leave you with a few words and phrases to consider until tomorrow. Ebullience. Tyranny. City parking. Sock knitting as anger-management. Polka dots. Lemon pound cake.
What does it all mean?
Careful. I might just tell you. Sleeping more than two hours a night again, so my brain and fingers may be able to make amends and allow a few stories loose for your perusal. Till Friday, then. C

socks and stuff

A new sock, in what's become an 'old standby' pattern: the 'mockery' sock. Gift yarn and needles courtesy of Miss G. (It's not further along, so my one-done-by-Easter plan is kaput.)

As promised, the custom colors have arrived. If you needed 'Air Kiss' or 'Smooches, Pooches', shoot me an e-mail at camillaknitsATgmailDOTcom and it will be on it's way to you super-quick. The samples are hanging in the shop... yes, one is still wearing it's needles, but the heel flap is underway. It's still fabulous.

More yummy yarn goodness. Most of you know I have a penchant for candy-colored anything, but the 126 colorway, aka 'Brachs' neopolitan' as we dub it, Is. In. The. Shop... Now. For how long, I cannot say. I only ordered the two bags. I guess I'm kinda bitchy that way, huh?

The latest additions to the line-up of Oliver + s patterns. All the gaps in stock have been filled, so if sewing clothes for tiny humans is on your to-do list, these are perfect.

Just yesterday I realized I hadn't done a proper job of being a prepared Easter Bunny, so I'm getting ready to remedy that this evening. Oh, to be sure, I medicated with Hershey's Kisses. One can't sugar-shop on an empty stomach! Have a restful rest of Good Friday, and a wonderful Easter/Passover week/insert pagan holiday of your choosing here. Spring is here and not to be denied. Oh, and The Fertility Goddess called. She wants you to eat a chocolate bunny. Now.

waiting to inhale

Another long blogging vacation. I couldn't locate the camera battery charger, but unable to blog anyway, what with the comment from the previous post sending me into repeated fits of giggles. Apparently someone hasn't a clue about my Lucifer reference, but those of you with triple digit I.Q.s got it, so it's all good. And I don't do 'thinly veiled' anything, so you can understand my lack of posting lately. Hard to type while holding my ribs, shaking with uncontrolled laughter.
Here's a smattering of the new Blank Quilting fabrics. Told you they were retro and kitschy-cute! There's more on the way... there seems to be no way around back-orders these days.

A little surprise in the birthday box from one of my imaginary friends. In light of me being a 'racist/bigot/homophobe', I shouldn't even show these to you, but the talented woman who made them for me is a dear, and these Mammies are so stinking cute. Won't they look fab hanging on the AGA... oh, wait... does that constitue a lynching? Oh dear...
While I'm on still on the soapbox, I think everyone has to stop using inflamatory words like mocha, chocolate, black, brown, mahogany... and I'm pretty sure Oreo cookies are off limits, too. Good God, leftists. Get a little Jesus. We're humans. All of us. The packaging doesn't matter. Content does. That's why the obamoron bothers me so. His skin tone has nothing to do with his ineptness. Geesh. Pardon my opinions...

alas and alak

The old adage 'if you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all' seems to have me tongue-tied around here lately. It isn't that I don't have blog-fodder... I just can't say what's on my mind without risking the wrath of the Socialists. Seriously, though, every time the obamoron opens his damn mouth, the stock market takes a dive and people start to freak out. It seems to be occurring to some folks that they may have made a mistake when they voted for their Dark Prince. I've noticed lots of crappy little cars missing their 'obama' stickers around here. Sobering up's a bitch, huh? Welcome to reality. Glad you could make it.

Not to change the subject, but the store is crammed to the gills with new fabrics. Without the camera, I can't show them to you just yet, but they are retro, kitchy, and super-cute, without being too 'Leave it to Beaver'. Just some happiness. Who can't use some of that? Tomorrow we will have the big reveal of the new stuff, provided I manage to recharge the camera battery.

Melly has me reading a horrid, wretched, yet strangely beautiful book. I hate to even mention it here, as it has an 'Oprah's Book Club' sticker on it, and, as founder of the Overcoming Oprah recovery group, I feel like I'm committing a betrayal, but 'The Road' is proving to be an interesting read. Granted I'm only on page 97, and have been bitterly sad over the whole concept of the story, but, knowing it can't end well, I'm still curious enough to see how it plays out. Now I have to go 'play store'.