Eggs in Hats, Part 2
Striped it is! This little hat was knit while the egg was still in the other room, so again, it was, uhm, faked. I knit it on #3 DP needles, and grafted the top like I do the toes of my socks (kitchener stitch). I goofed, however, because what I was envisioning was a flat squared off seam with tassels on the end. I tried putting tassels on this one but it look stoopid. So, out came the tassels, and rolled went the brim, and voila! Hat #2!
I rather like the jaunty angle of the brim in this shot.And, yes, Hat #2 implies there will be more hats.
12/4/2005 Update: Eggs in Hats (EIH) now have their own blog, eggs-in-hats.blogspot.com. Please check EIH for new hats and ::drum roll:: road trips!
Eggs in Hats, Part 1
Every year about this time, Chaca, my 45+ year old female chaco tortoise lays an egg. Since Baby Atlas, my ~20 yo male chaco hasn't yet successfully mated with her, and her egging predated his arrival here by several years, the eggs have not been fertile. My two box 30+ yo turtles have also attempted to mate with her, as has Treppie (short for Intrepid), my now 9 yo captive bred desert tortoise. When Chaca is not receptive, all the boys can do is tilt themselves up against the back of her shell, and work fruitlessly (from a reproductive standpoint) away.I feel bad that she has expended precious energy into forming the egg yolk and shelling it and squeezing out the surprisingly large egg, given the size of her vent (the opening through which all things pass out, and in, during mating). Then again, human females lay babies the size of good sized melons, so, every thing is relative, isn't it. Having myself passed only eggs, not babies, I'm not exactly one who can speak from personal experience. But given what I've seen, both of women and female reptiles, ouch! is an understatement.
This year, Chaca laid two round eggs, both slightly smaller than ping pong balls. I set them aside...well, okay, I buried them lightly in the soil substrate of Tobago's enclosure, as I do every year, because I'm basically an idiot in hoping, "Well, maybe this one is different...". This year, by gosh, I was going to throw the egg out...but there they were, nice and round and white...and I couldn't. So, I buried them. But, as I walked away, thinking about them, it came to me.Eggs in Hats.So.
Here is the first hat, a cute little number in slip-stitched turquoise and yellow, with a little tab at the top that I am particularly fond of recently in baby hats. I'll have you know that I knit this hat last night while the eggs were still buried in the soil, and so did not know if the hat would fit until I excavated the eggs this morning, washed them, and tried it on.I'm thinking the second hat will be a mock fair isle or stripped number, made from the oodles of self-striping/patterning sock yarn I have left over from the 100 grams I need to buy to make my 80 gram pairs of socks (please may I have size 6 feet in my next life? It will be so much cheaper...as would a size 4 body, but that's another mantra...).
Stay tuned for Part 2.
I was born a dog person, seeing as how I was born into a home already inhabited by my parents and half-sister, making the not-much-older-than-I toy poodle a sort of half-sibling.C'est si bone (C'est si [say-see] for short) and I spent our formative years together. When we moved into a rented house where the landlord refused to permit us to keep C'est si, she was taken in by my paternal grandparents. She lived for two years, until age 16, having aged rapidly during that time, thanks to her regular diet being supplemented by grandma's chocolate cake, chicken soup, and uncooked Manishewitz egg noodles "She prefers them crunchy," my grandmother informed us. My grandfather tolerated with good grace the looks his grizzled visage and dainty companion received on his daily several mile walks, and daily visits to shul for morning prayers. My father, on the other hand, was the one who took C'est si to her regular checkups, and was chagrined when the vet commented on her weight gain, facetiously asking, "What are you feeding her? Chocolate cake?"Fast forward 33 years, with the last 12 living through a forced separation from all furred beasties due to abnormal autoimmune reactions from even brief exposure to them. After seven months of high dose doxycycline for the long-entrenched Borrelia infection, I visited my good friend Karen one afternoon, intentionally exposing myself to her dog, Sidney, and cat, Jack.Wonder of wonder, miracle of miracles, I could be around dogs again with no abnormal reactions, and cats just triggered my long standing cat allergy, easily treated with OTC anti-histamines, and handwashing after petting. (And, may I say, Jack is a real slut when it comes to being petted.)And so, Sidney and I grew to adore one another. I spoil him rotten, yet still put him through his paces. Karen and her husband (and their dog trainer) did an excellent job training this "incorrigible" twice-returned-to-the-pound puppy they adopted when he was less than a year old. Their hard work makes it easy for the two of us when Sid spends the day and night with me (our "play dates") and the occasional longer stays, those few times his folks go out of town and can't take him with them.And so, the two males in my life: Mike and Sid. (Shhhhhh....don't tell Sluggo, Treppie, Baby Atlas or Rocko Box I didn't include them!) Sidney is big for a Doberman, and Mike is big for the two subspecies which contributed his genes, as you can see from this photo.Well, 'see' if you can visualize the size of a regular wine bottle and the bottom ring of a giant Kong chew toy.Mike here is amazed that any animal can take in as much food in such a short period of time. The verb "vacuum" is handy when describing Sid's eating speed. Then again, Mike is a very deliberate eater, taking his time over his food, apparently ruminating over every bite. When Sid is finished, his bowl is licked sparkling clean. When Mike is finished, he intentionally steps in whatever food is left over to smash it up so no one else will be able to eat it. And he wonders why I fawn over Sid when Sid comes to visit...Mike does get a little jealous, because Sidney and I have such a joyously fun time together. There's tennis ball chasing, and tennis ball chewing to break in the balls properly in so there can be tennis ball tug-o-war. The latter is where I stuck my hand into Sid's mouth and try to pry the ball out of his mouth. (Did I mention he can hold three tennis balls in his mouth at once? Not bad for a porpoise nose!)When the ball is broken in properly, there is a sort of slit big enough so that I can hook one of my fingers into the ball, and pull. And pull. And pull and pull and pull and pull and...did I mention that Sid can go on for hours like this?
Who needs free weights or weight machines when you get a full upper body workout with a tennis ball and 120 pound Dobie? Yes, 120 pounds. He has put on several pounds since I first met him in February 2004, and he has gotten grayer of muzzle, too, which his mother firmly denies. At least, that's what I am assuming she is doing when she clamps her hands over her ears and yells "I can't hear you" LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA I can't hear you!" whenever I mention it.We both hate to think about it, truth to tell. I have already located the closest Dobie rescue group to us, should there be none needing homes locally at that time we hope is far down the line...Karen and her hubby and Sid go up to the mountains a couple times a year. At least once during each stay, K & S hike even higher and camp out overnight. Sid packs in his own gear. Well, his mom does the packing, and Sid does the carrying. Quite he handsome boy he is, too, in his red pack and matching booties. His mom rarely asks anything of me, so when she asked me to make him a sweater, I said yes. Well, first I tried talking her into getting one of those polar fleece jobbies that I think will keep him much warmer, but she wanted a sweater.
(Here's Sid, with the overnight pack on - he travels quite a bit lighter on their day hikes.)
You see, the largest sweater she found for him is too small. True, it matches one of her sweaters (a nice Fair Isle design) but it looks rather silly on Sid. As I began to understand as I started looking for dog sweater knitting patterns big enough for Sid. His measurements, as it turns out, would make a nice sweater for a buxom wasp-waisted woman: Chest 36", Length (from collar to base of tail) 34". Oy.
I did find a very nice sweater leaflet, Fiber Trends' Dandy Dog Coats #211x, which has sizing for large dogs - just not as large as Sidney. So, I've had to do some sizing up. Because this is more for staying warm in the mountains after a hike than it is for city walks, I made it long enough to drape over his rear end when he's laying down. I also made the turtle neck longer so it could be pulled up over his ears and forehead.The only problem is that his chest is so deep that it is a pain to get his legs through the armholes, and then it just doesn't fit right. So, I am, for the third time, ripping out the belly band. I am going to pick it in again, but starting farther back towards the tummy so as to make the armhole wider, leaving more room for his expansive (and, ahem, apparently expanding chest). Instead of seaming it to the other side, I'm going to add some buttonholes (as I did in version 2) so that the band can be buttoned once the sweater has been pulled on over the head, rather making K and S deal with trying to get his very long legs through armholes.
Sidney did get a chance to wear the sweater this past spring. It came back to me all doggied up, thanks to his mom putting it on him after Sidney had a brisk swim in the lake.Sid isn't allowed to sleep on the bed, so he has his own loveseat at home, now that his parents got a couple of large recliner chairs to replace the couch. At my home, as at the lodge, he sleeps on the couch.Did I mention that Glacier Lodge, outside of Big Pine, CA, is very dog friendly? If you're looking for a spring-summer-fall vacation in the mountains, do check it out: www.jewelofthesierra.com.For Christmas last year, I made a couple of festive gifts for Sidney and Jack. Sidney got a neckerchief, while Jack got a dangle toy. The latter was made of red I-cord with a ball of white "fur" yarn; Sid's kerchief, which his silly mom put on his head after I left, is red garter st with I-cord ties, trimmed in the same 'fur'. I must say, Sidney looked a lot happier when I tied the kerchief around his neck. Then again, that was earlier in the evening when there was f-o-o-d around, and Sid is always happier when he is around food. Literally.
Sidney and I had an overnight Friday and Saturday. I picked him up in the late morning, and we did some errands, including another inspection of the new dog park in Rohnert Park.
It was nice, except for the two Rottweilers. See, Sidney does not like to have his rear sniffed. Now, most people don't, but this butt sniffing is an essential component of greetings in canines. Lizards are more polite about it, tongue-flicking the air and the other lizard's neck and shoulders, and maybe the ground where the other lizard has walked. But dogs gotta get right in there under that tail. And Sidney does not like it. At all.
The Rottweilers were quite friendly, trying alternately to get Sidney to play with them while at the same time trying to learn about him. So one would be in front of Sid, eliciting play, while the other was behind Sid, trying to get to know him. Sid danced nervously around trying to get away from the one behind him while trying to respond to the one in front. I decided that perhaps we'd walk to the other side of the park and maybe the Rotts would play with the other dogs. That sorta worked: one of the Rotts, the intact male, followed us, with his nose as close as it could get to Sid's backside.
There were lots of other smaller dogs (small is good: the littler dogs have a tougher time reaching the underside of Sid's tail, settling for his belly instead) interesting in playing with the big guy, but the rott just wasn't leaving Sid alone. So, I decided to take us out of there and come back when the park was Rott-free. The Rotts' owner hadn't budged from his chair at the far end of the park, and so was no help when I was trying to detach the Rott so Sid and I could get through the gate.
(And once again I am reminded that there are people who shouldn't have pets, let alone children, and that we continue to spay and neuter the wrong species.)
If I had not gotten sick, I would not have had the extreme reactions to furred animals, and so would never have become so immersed in the study and keeping of reptiles. If I had not started doing reptile rescue and rehab and focused my research and observation skills and training on herps, I would never have learned as much as I have, nor had the pleasure (and frustration) of living with those bundles of intelligence and instinct known as the green iguana and, now, the Cyclura iguana.
But as much as I am grateful to have had this opportunity (though not for the way it came about), I really miss having dogs in my daily life.
Mike exploring the couch and blanket that smells of Sidney and Sluggo.
Mikey sleeping (well, he was before I started fiddling with my camera in his room).
Sidney, asleep with one of his balls, re-scenting the couch and blanket for Mikey's next expedition.
Special Election....Election Special
Whenever possible, I work in a precinct on election day. For me, that means doing nothing the week before the election, other than update my "election kit", do food prep for me and the critters the day before the election, work the typically 15 hour election day (I try to make sure I work with an Inspector who knows what he or she is doing, so we aren't there till midnight, like some poor benighted precinct workers are), and then collapse for the following week as the pain slowly subsides.
No, I'm not an idiot or masochist, but I do try to do what I can. Back in the day, I volunteered to work for candidates whose message I liked, donated money to campaigns and candidates I supported, and in general did what I could do to further the process. I can no longer do those things, but I can do two stints a year in a precinct (polling place) during election years. So, by the way, can pretty much any registered voter: just contact your county (or local equivalent) registrar of voters office.
I registered to vote as soon as I could, but because I was out of the country during the first election following that, my first vote was cast by absentee ballot. My next was, too, as I returned to the U.S. just in time to start college in another state. After that, I voted at the precincts I was variously assigned to as a voter. I was struck by how, uhm, elderly the precinct workers were, and how...unfun it was. I usually went in the early morning or evening, before or after work. But, still...
When I started working as a precinct clerk during elections, some of the very old folks had retired, and some younger (comparatively speaking) started working, though most didn't seem to make a habit of it, working once, then never or rarely again.
I decided I would do what I could to make the experience a little more, what....fun? human? personal? for the early morning, lunch rush, hurrying to pick the kids up after school, before dinner, or OMG I almost forgot am I too late voters.
I picked up a basket on sale at Big Lots that has a US flag motif in faded country colors. That gets filled (and refilled) with candy, and is placed near the ballot box, so they can pick up a piece when they drop off their ballot and pick up their "I Voted!" sticker. This, by the way, is a great way to get rid of left-over Halloween candy.
Through the years I picked up US Flag-patterned pencils, erasers and pens. Those are brought to use. Since I go to the training classes held for precinct inspectors before every election (a great way to refresh my memory about what the heck I'll be doing again), I also get a cool new pin every year. I started pinning as many as would fit to my ID badge that I modified for re-use:
I am sooooo not a red-white-and-blue person. I mean, I wear blue jeans, occasionally a white tee shirt, and I knit that lovely red merino scarf, but wearing tees or sweaters or costume (or even real) jewelry, nah. But I felt I needed...something.
Schachenmayre came out with a line of Regia sock yarns that made broad stripes, in colors of country flags (and soccer teams). So, I made myself a pair of red-white-blue ones, but didn't like them.
Then, when helping my friend out with her store sale one spring a couple of years ago, she put a red-white-blue striped tape on sale. So, I bought some and knit a scarf. The mate of the sock pictured below is hanging in her store as a store model (Elf Hand Knitwerks, Rohnert Park CA). As you can see, Mike's taste is a lot like mine: he clearly prefers the scarf, too!
Oh, and I meant to add, about working on election day: I try to be cheerful all day - the voters don't need to deal with people as harassed or grumpy as they themselves often are. I've come up with some tools to help direct to the right place those who came to the wrong place, and I try to pronouce their names correctly.
That may sound simple, or stupid, but I am amazed at how many Americans don't pronounce names correctly, or even attempt to. It helps that I worked for nearly 20 years at a company whose employees came from around the world. But, still. Despite exposure, most of us suck at the pronunciation game. I wish CNN would run their commercial featuring Christiane Amanpour where she is trying to teach someone that it is Ear-ran and Ear-raq, not Eye-ran and Eye-raq.