First, I need to gush about my daughter who's again decided that her name really sucks and is going by one of her middle ones, Juniper. So, Juniper rediscovered last Christmas's knitting kit (which I stashed away, away, away thinking "My god people, WE don't knit. Not in this house. Keep your bundles of tangle-ready yarn to yourself." While we perhaps LOOK like a knitting family, I can't (personally) imagine anything worse. If I'm going to lounge for a second, I'm going to be reading and if I'm supposed to be listening to something, like a lecture or you talking, it better be so interesting that I don't have extra attention left over for knitting any kind of itchy, semi-warm, bulky crap (that I frequently love in spite of it all), and if what you're saying isn't that interesting, I'm going to walk away or turn you off (if your some sort of recorded visual with that sort of switching device) because I've got dishes to wash!
Regardless of my best intentions to shield her from such craftiness, she pulled it out on Saturday and proceeded to knit herself a hot pink hat on Sunday. This morning, she says, "Mom, can I take my knitting (another hat) on the bus?" "WHAT!??"
"Well So-n-so and So-n-so and So-n-so and So-n-so knit on the bus!"
"What? There's some sort of elementary school Bus 41 Knitting club? Fine take the knitting and be sure to loose the needle somewhere you can't find it!"
We've definitely plopped in to our perfect school district. In addition to knitting as the school hobby, every girl also owns a horse. Traditionally they each, personally, own a wild draft horse stallion, who rears and has silky black hair, and the little girls are the only one's who can control them. Not only does Juniper need to bring her knitting on the bus, she also needs at least one wild stallion, of the tall, beautiful and impossibly strong variety. This ain't no city school district.
But honestly, that knitting kind of looks like FUN! It's this simple little plastic ring with knobs on it. And it looks, if not interesting at least fun and, dare I say, relaxing? I might try it... some day. My new friend, Yoko, is learning how to knit this week too. She's trying to drag me along with her! "We'll have so MUCH FUN!" She insists. But she's on a mission to knit 6 hats to send back to Japan before Christmas. I'm just casually observing with a small seedling of interest. There's that whole learning stage, where everything you do sucks. I don't tolerate that stage well. And anyway, I've just learned to milk, and make yogurt and cheese and truffles (three batches in a week! One experimental!) and gather eggs (very tricky). Isn't that enough for a while?
We plunked down a five spot for a permit and trekked it up to the Mountains, near Usk, and chopped down ourselves a fine fine tree! We only went about 25 feet into the National Forest because there was snow and ice and cliffs on the ground and we didn't want to go too far in that dangerous "survivor Man!" direction. And Juniper cut down a tree for herself too!
Coyote treats the trees as temporary storage for his Christmas toys on strings. Santa in a race car and Bob the builder with a Christmas tree zoom around the house, converse with each other and everything else and then eventually make it back to their home branches. All the ornaments get a chance to play for a while before going back to bed. Isn't that nice.
I can see, via the USPS, that it's time for Christmas donations. Juniper once crammed all of her cash in an envelope and sent it off to her hero: Jane Goodall. And now we get invitations to do it again, and again, and again. Coyote got the mail today, noted the picture on Jane's envelope and queried, "Mom, why is that monkey in jail?"
To go in to the particulars of animal testing or not?
"Well, the monkey, he got drunk. He sat on the elephants trunk. The elephant sneezed and called the police and that was the end of the monk, the monk." He felt unsatisfied with the answer, but I wasn't. So, I did go in to animal testing which was a series of Why?'s that I cannot adequately answer anyway.
And we also had a big fabulous party, with real live people, not E-people (although I love you, whoever you are). It was my usual style of hosting which means that I didn't really calculate the number of party goers until an hour before. And I counted 18. We don't own enough service for 18 anythings, much less people who want to eat off plates, wipe mouths with napkins, drink from something other than a spigot and eat with utensils. I've prided myself on maintaining only one dishwasher load of dishes, which can never equal 18. I impressed my guests with my casual-chic poverty-heirloom collection of aging, random paper plates and birthday party left-over utensils. I had upped the numbers with some garage sale finds this summer and it wasn't so bad.
It was supposed to be a small, intimate gathering of the few friends we've made since moving here six months ago. Instead it was a drunken rager of staggering proportions. Hostess extraordinaire, I failed to finish preparing dessert before they arrived. After dinner, tipsy and silly, I finished dipping the truffles while they watched and seemed fascinated and certainly enjoyed the final products, once they dried. Luckily no one here (anywhere?!)knows about my blog so I can make up whatever fabulous crap ("they seemed fascinated") I want to about them and no one is the wiser... that's the beauty of having a no-name blog, FYI. And then the MEN CLEANED THE KITCHEN and the women went to the Lord of the Flies basement to whip the kids into cleaning too. By the time everyone left, the house was yet again spotless: wink, wink.
It was a milestone of moving and life. A house big enough. And friends/acquaintances enough. And here we are, making our nest and laying our eggs in Spokane, of all the crazy, random places.
My photo loading abilities have vanished, either through my own fault or the computer's or some thing out there in computer land. Will post photos when I figure this out again, again, again.