Porch Pansies

 There is nothing at all ordinary about ordinary life.
        ~Elizabeth Berg in Make Someone Happy

I planted the porch pansies today. Oh, I looked at more exotic plants at the garden center, but in the end I stayed with my tried-and-true and much beloved pansies. 

When they are first transplanted, they lie down for a day or two, and then they perk right up and get on with business. I understand, because when we moved to the desert from New Hampshire it took me a while to feel at home.

They will bloom on the porch all during this, my 80th winter. They will show their colors right where I can see them from my knitting and reading chair. Even when the mountains in the distance are dusted with snow, they will bloom. 

I love their colors and their little faces. 

What Happened in Blarney

 In the previous post, Sharon and I had just finished our lunch in the little town of Blarney, Ireland. On the way back we wanted to take time to do some people watching in the little park that we had passed earlier, where there had been plenty of empty picnic tables. To our disappointment, all the tables were now occupied. After dithering about for a bit, we approached one where a young man was working on his laptop, and asked if we might opposite him. He kindly welcomed us, and we gratefully sat down, fully intending to be quiet and not bother him. 

However, the young man closed his laptop, smiled, and asked where we were from. We were soon deep in conversation, and he told us that he had been born in the next town over, and now lived in Blarney, where his wife had been born. Just then, a young woman approached and smiling, said (in the loveliest Irish accent you can imagine) something like: "Ah, I can't leave you for even a wee moment and ye're off chatting up the ladies!" We all laughed, and she joined in the conversation. She introduced herself as Sharon (pronounced very differently from my friend Sharon's name, more like this: https://youtu.be/ZzGUoSNVrxc), and her husband was Peter (pronounced Pee-tah). 

Peter said that he worked at Johnson & Johnson (the prescription drug industry is very big in Ireland). They had never wanted to leave the place where they had grown up, and we wondered why anyone would ever want to. The village and surrounding countryside were so lovely and we were lucky enough to and  have yet another sunny day, possibly not the usual kind of weather there. 

When I asked if they were bothered by all the busloads of tourists descending on their town, they laughed and said they enjoyed coming into town and meeting people from all over the world, who added to the culture of the place.

I can't tell you how thrilled we were to meet "real" Irish people. Cruising is fun and relaxing, and the onshore bus tours are always interesting, but we might have done the whole trip surrounded only by Americans and Canadians. We felt so lucky to be able to spend some relaxing time just chatting about life in general with the people who actually lived in the places we had traveled to see. 

We reluctantly said goodbye because we had to board the bus back to the ship. I am sorry I didn't ask them for a photo, but we will always remember these kind people who took the time to talk with two elderly ladies from far away. 

Blarney

When our cruise ship anchored at Cobh in the Republic of Ireland, we were looking forward to seeing some of the Irish countryside. Because my friend, Sharon, was walking with a cane and sometimes a walker, and because I was with her, we were always given a reserved front seat on every tour bus. We were treated so tenderly and often felt a little like frauds because we didn't really feel like delicate old ladies inside of ourselves. However, we accepted all kindnesses and especially the superb view. 

Here is what Google has to say about our destination, Blarney Village:

Blarney is a village just outside the city of Cork, in southwestern Ireland. Its 15th-century Blarney Castle is home to the legendary Blarney Stone, said to give the "gift of the gab" to those who kiss it. Extensive parkland surrounding the castle features a network of trails, themed gardens and the large, turreted Blarney House. A 19th-century building in the village centre houses the former Blarney Woollen Mills. ― Google

We were headed to the village, but passed by the castle on the way. Most of our fellow tourists went straight to the Blarney Woolen Mills for shopping and souvenir hunting, but we were on a quest for a nice glass of Guinness. Along the way, our driver, who was out for a walk, strongly recommended that instead of Guinness we ask for a half pint of the local brew. We weren't sure exactly what the name was (that lovely Irish accent, you know), but we did our best approximation and the barman at Christy's Bar knew exactly what we meant. 

Here is the lunch we feasted on: Fish and Chips with Mushy Peas and Tartar Sauce (kid's size, as recommended for us by the barman), with that delicious mystery ale. Which was cold, by the way, and I had expected that all drinks there would be served at room temperature. 

The pub itself was modern and not the ancient dark and smoky beamed village pub I had in mind. However, it was a lovely, friendly place and we greatly enjoyed our delicious Irish pub fare. 

 

After lunch, we made our slow way back to a little park near where the buses were parked. And there, a very magical thing happened....   (to be continued).

Stonehenge

I have always wanted to visit Stonehenge. I just never expected to do it as part of a cruise/bus tour when I was 78, but though the trip was not the one I would have made in my younger days, I am so glad to have seen this strange and mysterious place. 

The stones were smaller than I expected, but as amazing as I'd hoped they be. Built 4500 years ago, before the wheel was discovered, they are now a World Heritage Site

This bird was enjoying the view of the tourists

Neighbors to the stones

The reality of visiting the stones on a rare sunny day--lots and lots of other people
were also fulfilling their lifelong dream

And this was the line to get back on the shuttle
that took us back to the line to get onto the bus
that took us back to the line to get back on the ship

While standing in the various lines under that gorgeous blue sky, we had time to admire the lovely native shrubs that grew between fields and along pathways. The birds and insects loved them and so did we

Maybe a highbush cranberry?

Elderberry?

Visiting Central Portugal

Here are some photos from my recent trip to Portugal, where I stayed with friends. The property originally contained two stone ruins, and they had to build on those foundations. These pictures are from the main house. 

The view from the kitchen/dining room on a foggy morning

The windows wrapped around the corner of the room

The view from the same room later in the day

So Many Socks!

 Why knit so many socks? What is the appeal? 

For a knitter, there are great long bits of mindless knitting down the leg (unless you do fancy cables, which I do not do), then a fiddly bit that you have to concentrate on to make the heel and gusset, then some more mindless knitting in the round until you reach the toe. For me, that's a perfect combination of easy and more difficult.

For the recipient, handknit wool socks are a way to have warm feet and fun colors that can show or not. 

As you can see, I have a lot of orange shades to use up.

Gift socks (two pairs)

Two more pairs, both for me

More gift socks

Another orange pair for me...

...and another pair for me

 

Horse Rescue

Do inanimate objects have souls?

For many years now, I've watched the decline of this poor horse in the yard of an abandoned house. From the road he looked like one of those mechanical horses outside supermarkets that kids would ride for a quarter. I used to dream of rescuing the poor thing. 

This year, as a birthday wish, I gave a sort of hero's quest to my son and husband. Please, please, rescue that horse from that terrible neglect and let me give him a home. 

They actually did it! They found the property owner and made sure they would be able to "rescue" the horse. Then they discovered something--this was no mechanical horse on a base that would stand on the ground--this was a horse made of cement! He was extremely heavy and his poor legs were broken off. He needed me more than ever. 

My son gathered a bunch of big burly friends. They brought trucks. They brought work gloves. This morning they went to get my boy. 

He was in tough shape, and so heavy the rebar bent when they tried to stand him up

It took a lot of strength to move him into place

And here he is, upright once again after all those years of lying in the dirt. 

His name is Chauncey, after the pony that "belonged" to me on a ranch in Arizona I once visited as a child. You can read about that visit, that pony, and the cowboy who gave him to me here in the post called Tenderfeet. 

The Story of Little Toad

Our town has a Trap, Neuter, and Return (TNR) program that encourages people to capture "community," or free roaming unowned cats. The cats are then taken to the local shelter and neutered or spayed, then released back to where they have been living. The hope is that this program will eventually and humanely reduce the population of feral cats. 

Cats are apparently marked after the process by having their ears tipped, so they can be easily identified from a distance as already neutered. 

I know that this program has been in place for many years--sometimes with government funding and sometimes through the goodness of private citizens. 

One little guy who was the recipient of this free service was a young gray and white cat. He was so friendly and sociable that folks wanted to have him taken in by one of the many no-kill shelters here and offered for adoption, but at the time there just wasn't any room for any more cats. So he was released back into "the wild"--his neighborhood near the downtown plaza. 

Then fate took a hand. One evening, the director of one of the most successful shelters was dining out with friends at the Little Toad Creek Brewery downtown when the gray and  white cat came up and "spoke" to them. They knew he was asking for a home so they took him along, named him Little Toad, and featured him as the Action Programs for Animals Pet of the Week. 

I saw his story on Facebook in mid-July and couldn't believe that he was not adopted immediately. Two weeks later, he joined our family. He made himself at home immediately. He wasn't bothered by the cats or the dogs. He isn't at all shy and greets visitors at the door and shows them to a comfy chair, just like a little maitre d'. 

Little Toad at the shelter, waiting...

Home at last; best friends with Minky (whose shelter name was Butch Cassidy)

Everyone gets along. L to R: Little Toad, Henry (shelter name Jupiter), and Minky

Hats for the Homeless Shelters

I've been knitting these hats in odd moments--while watching the [mostly terrible] news, listening to Congressional hearings, or during the scary bits in Killing Eve that I don't want to see. Almost all of my backlog of acrylic yarn has been used up now. The hats will go to our public library in November, to be distributed among the homeless shelters in town.

 

More Socks

 One last pair of gift socks. I think I have reached the saturation point with family members. Our sock drawers are bulging!

Those of you with keen eyes will spot the color mistake I made while knitting and watching TV at the same time.

Late Gift for Christmas

 Handknit from Knit Picks Static yarn, Rooster colorway

39 Hats for the Homeless Shelter

I knit these over the summer.

 

Socks Knit for Christmas

 

Saying Goodbye to an Old Friend

I donated my well-loved and well-used Ashford spinning wheel to the thrift shop today. I seemed to have lost the knack for spinning and my kids--although they had fond memories of this wheel--had no place for it. Besides, it really needed a home where it would be used for spinning, and not just for display. 

My favorite local thrift/charity shop, Rock of Ages, agreed to take the wheel, all my spinning tools, and three large bags of wool, silk, angora, llama, and alpaca fibers. I hope that someone will buy it all and will use the wheel for many years. It would be a wonderful Christmas gift for the right person.

I ordered the wheel in 1975 from the Ashford Company in New Zealand. It came as a kit which I put together myself. It was a great learning experience and I was always glad that I knew every part of my wheel, its name and function and how everything went together. I kept the directions all these many years. 

 

Here I am, back in the day, spinning with a group in a park in Sumner, Washington. At that time, I was an early member of The Moonspinners, a spinning guild that met in the evenings. I also co-owned (with my friend, Marj) a spinning and weaving shop in Sumner called The Country Weaver.

This shawl was my last big project--hand spun, hand dyed, and knit of soft wool. You can follow the whole process in this post, From Sheep to Shawl. 

Thank You For Your Kindness

As I was lacing up my sneakers for my morning walk today, I realized that the very people who had helped me so much had last seen me in severe pain, but had never heard the rest of the story--the story that they had set in motion through an act of kindness. This post is a thank you to them and a reminder to us all that what might seem like a small kindness can change someone else's life.

Back in 2007 when I was 62 and still working, I was in so much foot and knee pain that walking was becoming more and more difficult. I had even cancelled out on our proposed 25th anniversary trip to Italy the year before--we had a family trip to Yellowstone instead, where I was wheeled around in a rented wheelchair by my cheerful son, Ben, who made wheelchairing fun. 

I had come to believe that joint pain was a part of growing older. As I limped through each day, I was resigned but sad to be missing out on so much.

One day, while walking down the hall at the school where I was librarian, I was hit with such severe knee pain that I grabbed at the wall for support. I hadn't realized that one of my fellow teachers was walking behind me and saw my agony. Di, an occupational therapist, took me by the elbow, saying "You are going to the principal's office with me, NOW."

It turned out that the principal had a wonderful orthopedic surgeon. She handed me the phone number and these two good samaritans stood over me while I phoned and made an appointment. I will thank both of these women to the end of my days!

Within a week, I got a shot in my knee that gave instant relief that lasted several months. I met with my own doctor and we mapped out a plan to deal with my bad joints starting with the ground up. I had foot surgery as soon as it could be scheduled, which meant that I had to retire before the end of the year as originally planned. 

Once I had healed, we moved cross country to New Mexico. I had my right knee replaced in April 2008 and the left one replaced on November 8th of the same year. 

People talk about life-changing events, and now I know just what they mean. Because of the kindness of two women (and the expertise of medical specialists) I can walk without pain. I'm 76 now and, since those surgeries, have been to France and Iceland. I've hiked in many amazing places around New Mexico and the Southwest. I walk six days a week through pecan orchards and along irrigation canals with my friend Florence, who is five years older than me and who inspires me every day. 

Thank you to the friends who saw me in pain and found a way to help. You made such a difference in my life.

July Morning

This is that morning, the one where there is some indefinable something in the air that promises that autumn will come. Is it the coolness, the dew (so rare in the desert), the sound of the owls hunting in the orchard? Autumn is still months away and the day will soon be blazing. But, still. This is that morning.

Thinking About San Francisco

I'm working on this puzzle and it's bringing back so many memories of my childhood in San Francisco--waking up to the sound of foghorns and seagulls, riding my bike around the block in the fog, going by streetcar to the children's room in the big library on 19th Ave., getting lost in Golden Gate Park, going to Fisherman's Wharf with my parents for fresh crabs (and later sneaking the stinky shells into the trash cans down by Ocean Beach).

We lived in San Francisco from 1945 to 1956. I arrived as an infant in a little Ford with my parents who had driven cross country from Maine. At first we lived in housing for naval workers at Hunter's Point. At some point my parents were able to purchase a house on 48th Ave., just one block from the beach. When I was five, my little sister was born. (Note: My parents sold that house in 1956 for $11,000. Houses in that neighborhood are priced in the $750K's now!).

It was such a different time for a child. I rode my bike anywhere on the block as long as I didn't cross any streets. There were three taverns on that block and I would hold my breath as I passed to avoid the smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke. There was also a lady who lured children into her house to teach us Bible stories with a felt board. I went for the felt board, which fascinated me. I don't think I ever mentioned this adventure at home--not because I was being naughty, but just because kids' activities weren't generally a part of our dinner table conversations. 

A neighborhood friend and I took her doddering old grandpa on a walk to nearby Golden Gate Park where we all got turned around for a bit before finding our way home again. I wonder if my parents even knew we had gone. We were probably around seven at the time.

Francis Scott Key Elementary School, opened in 1908. In the late 1930s a more modern FSK school opened, but this old building, known as "The Annex" when I attended K-3, was still in use in the late 1940s 

When I was ready to go to kindergarten, my bachelor uncle (unfamiliar with children, I imagine) walked me there on the first day--down 48th Ave. to Judah Street, then up Judah to 43rd Ave. The second day he sent me to walk there on my own. To my credit, when they eventually found me, I was standing in front a big house painted in the same brown and yellow colors, but many blocks away.

I walked a couple of blocks down 48th Ave. when I was probably in 4th grade, to a skating rink to take ice skating lessons. Once again, by myself. No one hovered in those days, and the term "helicopter parent" had yet to be invented. 

Eventually I was allowed to go on the streetcar by myself to the library--what an adventure! I would take out as many books as the librarians would let me pile up and would start reading on the way home. 

Going back to work on my puzzle now.

Audrey Gets Dressed Up For the New Year

Here is Audrey on November 1

She is a Turken or Naked Neck chicken, but when she is molting she is naked all over in patches. 

What a mess!

 

By November 18, you can see that Audrey has begun the (painful-looking) process of growing out new feathers. 

Here is a graphic illustration of what is happening. The whole technical explanation that goes with it can be found on the Cornell University Bird Academy's page "Everything You Need to Know About Feathers." It's really worth your time to look at this beautifully illustrated article.

And here is Audrey today, January 14, in all her iridescent splendor. 

Happy New Year!