So I didn’t exactly get any photos up as planned. But finally, I got some sockiness for you! The shawl isn’t feeling up to facing the paparazzi today, so no shawl pics. She apologizes.

A sock:

Moving on, I finally got all my gardening finished for the year. Potatoes dug. Onions dug. Carrots dug. Look at all this good stuff. The carrots were huge. The onions were tiny (Underwatering and a whole garden full of weeds contributed to that, I’m sure.)

The potatoes… Well, see for yourself.

What the hell? Spots? All over them?! And doesn’t that black-spotted one look nasty?! Freaky, man. I don’t know what happened. Google did me no good whatsoever. The flesh on the inside is good. But the skin… it’s like got acne or leprosy or some biblical plague. Disturbing.

PS: Hey Janna. You buy me some nice sock yarn, I make you some socks. Deal? ;-) Hey, there’s a shop in Billings called The Wild Purl. Supposedly. Look it up, ne?

There’s been lots of holes being put into things lately around here. Like this.

And this.

Yep, that’s the mystery stole - or chart A plus a few rows! Woohoo! It’s a lovely knit. This yarn is thinner than the Knitpicks Shadow I used last year, and I feel like I’m going to rip/hurt it with every stitch, but hopefully that feeling will fade the more I knit! The beading was difficult at first, but I’m getting the hang of how to do it without it being a huge hassle.

Here’s another hole.

That one’s in my garden. In the middle of what’s left of my rabbit-eaten lettuce, and… a bunch of weeds. Gophers are thick this year. Like flies. Seriously. For a while, you couldn’t get two feet down the highway for 60 miles without running into yet another dead one killed off by traffic. I wish something would get this bastard….

And here’s one last deliberate hole for you this week:

Weren’t expecting that, now, were you? Yes, it’s a bullet-hole - in the window at work, where some lunatic fired at A.’s head [she’s okay, wasn’t hurt at all, save a healthy, heart-pounding dose of mind-numbing terror] as she covered a shift for me.

Actually, said lunatic also fired shots at 8 other businesses (that we know of) in town, including my parents’ bar. Eight businesses, plus the freaking sheriff’s office. A. was the only real live witness or victim, though at my house, I heard shots being fired. A. handled being shot at like a champ, after the initial dive for cover on the floor, and did everything right, from locking the front door to crawling to the back office to use the phone were it was likely to be safer. Since, you know, our freaking desk is right there in front of the freaking WINDOW. Who knew working in a small town sheriff’s office could be so bloody dangerous?

Evidently, A. called up the deputy on duty, shaking, and in a very calm, subdued voice (if you knew A., you would’ve known right then that something was terribly wrong, because A. is not calm… or subdued… EVER) said that someone had shot at her (or at the windows, whatever). And our bright and shining hero asks: “With bullets?”

Way to win the Dumbass Question of the Year Award, pal! That said, he and our undersheriff spent all night looking for the guy and collecting evidence, and after daylight, all the reports of damage around town flooded in, and the Giant Rumor & Gossip Machine that fuels this town roared to life.

Wanna see some more?

Above is the window right by our desk in the dispatch center, where A. was sitting when she was shot at.

This window is on the other side of the counter - only a few feet to the east.

This is what happened to that second window.

Here’s a window at The Roadhouse Bar - which my parents own. The door was also shattered completely, but it was replaced within hours, so the damage isn’t visible in this photograph.

And here’s another window at the bar. I’d have taken pics of the other businesses, but I didn’t want to sneak all around town at 6am snapping photos like a bloody tourist, you know?

For anyone wondering… no, we didn’t have bulletproof glass, and yes, we are getting some, though the fucking moron county commissioners are still balking at getting bulletproof glass over the counter in our reception area. WHY? That’s where I’d be most concerned! We have psychos IN the office all the freaking time! Drive-by lunatics are rare! So it looks like I’m going to have to write up some sort of petition. I’m pretty sure most everyone in town will sign it. Clearly, the emergency dispatchers need to be safe, you know, in case of emergencies.

Anyway, we caught the guy within 48 hours. [Note: The media got everything wrong… There were 9 shots fired AT THE SHERIFF’S OFFICE ALONE - and more fired at all the other businesses, for example, and the windows at the bar were not shattered, just shot, and the doorw as shattered - there was no hole in it…] He’s in jail now. But we’re all still a bit jumpy down at the office. I mean, the windows are still all riddled with holes and shit. This is the first time any such thing has ever happend in our county. Deliberate attempted homicide just isn’t a common hobby around here. Of course, everyone’s saying, of the culprit: “Gosh, that’s just so out of character for him!” Don’t they always say things like that about psychos?

Now I’m off to make some more holes with my knitting, and maybe look into personal handgun prices. For protection.

Or more likely, that gods-be-damned gopher.

That’s my knitted and beaded swatch for the Mystery Stole 3! Lovely ain’t she? I used two beads in this swatch - the top and bottom ‘rows’ are done in the crystal silver-lined beads, and the middle beads are done in the grey rainbow ones. They don’t stand out near as much, except in certain lighting. I mean, they’re gorgeous, but the way the sun sparkles on the silver ones… Yeah.

Slow progress on the Lacy Kerchief Scarf. I’ve bee feeling more like reading than knitting. Because yeah, I got some books to read, and so… fft. There you go. Right now, I’m delving into Wicked, which is fun and fascinating, even though I hated Wizard of Oz as a child (it scard me… don’t /ask/… I don’t know…), and I’m totally having to force myself to put it aside just to knit, which doesn’t make the knitting much fun, and thus, it’s going slow. I should just finish the damned book and then knit. But oh well.

I drug A out of bed this morning to hill potatoes. That was torture. Not really. Evidently, my morning chores, little as I thought they’ve been, have indeed given me a bit more stamina. I really wish I was one of those people who /liked/ physical work, but I’m really not. I swear I was some highbrow noblewoman in another life or something. Or maybe I wasn’t. Maybe I was a peasant taking care of pigs or cows or something, and now I’m rebelling. I have no idea.

My mother’s telling everyone she can about my pitiful state of physical health, because alas, it became overly clear to her a couple weeks ago that I, a spiffy 25 year old in the ‘prime’ of life, am more out of shape than she - a fifty-some year old with the ‘excess baggage’ that comes with having two children, an ice cream and candy obsession, bursitis, and very likely fibromyalgia. Yes, you heard me right.

This sorry truth came to light when we were out gardening in my garden. I’ve never planted cucumbers in hills before, so she snatched up the hoe and proceeded to show me how she’d always done - scraping a circle about 3 feet big, and then… hoeing up all the dirt into a mound about 7-8 inches tall. Inspired by the ease, I did the next one.

Sort of.

I got halfway through my circle and was ready to pass out cold in the ant-ridden dirt, heaving for air, my lazy and far underworked muscles quivering and begging for relief. She took one look at me and about peed her pants laughing. Thank you mother, I knew I could count on you for support.

I finished, but it took me several minutes longer, and the result was almost as pathetic as my attempt, looking more like a pile of dirt than a nicely formed hill for my cukes. She straightened it up for me. Because clearly, I was an incompetent imbecile when it came to any sort of physical challenge.

This is not exactly a new condition (who won last on place in every single “track and field day” event I was forced to attend (sobbing and protesting the whole way) as a child in elementary school? that’s right, good ol’ me! who was the very last person to finish two measly laps in gym class all through high school? yep! who could not advance past intermediate swimming lessons because I simply was not fast enough? yeehaw!), but suffice to say, I’ve never been this out of shape. Even a six year old could do better than that, I’m sorry to report. Hell, my cats can do better than that.

(Maybe not. They don’t even bother to attempt the whole ‘dig’ thing in the litterbox anymore. Wtf is up with that, anyway?)

That said, A found out through Mom (and me, because I figured I may as well tell the tale myself once she’d started), and tried to rope me into walking with her. Let me say this: I. Hate. Walking. Always have, always will. Something about it just seems pointless to me. Pointless. Boring. Numbing. Feet-hurting. Knee-hurting. Forever-taking. I hate it. I walk two and a half blocks to work every day, and I hate every step of it. I should walk three and a half blocks to the post office every day to get my mail, but I don’t. I drive. Just to avoid the dreaded walk.

Why do I hate it so? No idea, but I suspect genetics and upbringing has something to do with it. After all, my mother drove one block to work for several years. One block. I’ve never seen my father walk anywhere he couldn’t drive. We lived 5 blocks from school (maybe six?) and I recall riding my bike there twice. Every other time, I either got a ride, or drove myself. Genetics and upbringing, I tell you. And I have a hard time overcoming that.

Anyway, A then complained that I turned down bike riding, which is easier. All right, I give. It’s easier… if you’re in any shape at all, and if at least half your ass fits on the seat. When it gets down to like, a quarter of your ass, it’s more like sitting on an apple, and believe me, that’s even less comfy than walking. I used my stationary bike for a few days. Then I quit on that shit. I mean, when your inner asscheeks hurt from the strain several days later… it’s time to find a new exercise. Seriously.

I’ve lost two pounds in the last couple weeks. Some of it was ‘that time of the month’ weight, I think, or maybe not… but some of it was from my gardening activities. If I keep it up all this summer, maybe I’ll actually develop, like, a muscle somewhere! Wouldn’t that be neat?

So it’s been a while since I’ve posted a single thing. I’d say that life’s been hectic, and in a way, it has, but it’s more an emotional thing than anything else. I spend the same amount of time on the computer or doing random shit as I always have. I haven’t been caught up in any /activities/, per se. I guess I just haven’t really wanted to acknowledge my own life online. Acknowledge that I haven’t done a thing worthy of talking about in, what, 3 weeks?

I’ve raised chicks to semi-chickens. They’re in the coop now. I will have to get pictures. (And chickens aren’t the only thing I need pictures of. I actually still don’t have a picture up yet of my Spring Fling secret pal package, either…. *begs forgiveness*) They’re growing great. Haven’t lost a one since the initial die-off, though I at times have /lost/ a couple… and had to chase them down and around and all that.

They’re endlessly amusing, if barbaric little monsters. I have a favorite. Her name’s Feather. I lurves her. I have some other favorites, but none as special as her. Except maybe Lazy Sue, who’s bald. I suspect some picking has been going on. Picking her feathers right out of her poor head.

I’ve been knitting in the last few days. The bloody backyard leaves scarf. It’ll be done tomorrow night if it kills me. Well, at least, the /knitting/ part will be done. I have yarn settled onto my pretty swift for Mom’s mother’s day gift. I have yet to wind it into a ball, let alone knit it, and tomorrow is Mother’s day. Hah. Way to go.

I have read… very little.

I have sewed… nothing.

Though, I have gotten some of my garden planted, and the chickens moved to the coop, and I have been working on a very geeky hobby called conlanging, which is… constructing a language. From scratch. Oh yeah, it’s geeky. I love it, though.

I bought some new clothes. Need to take some others back to the store. I have just ordered a second fountain pen and some $30 of new inks. Because… yeah, I totally needed to blow some money.

I don’t know what my issue is these days. A strange bout of apathy. I need to get over it.

This is the first step. Soon, I’m sure, I’ll be on a roll once again.

It’s deep winter now - temperatures hovering around zero degrees, skies grey, roads snowpacked and icy, wind harsh and bitter. We’re under almost constant wind chill and blowing/drifting snow warnings. Everything outside is dead, dead, dead. Unsurprisingly, my thoughts have turned to warmer days ahead, and to greenery and signs of life.

A seed catalog came in the mail a couple days ago, and sparked my desire to garden. Naturally, I want to do that right now, but it’s quite impossible, except for perhaps starting the aloe and fern seeds I’d intended to start last summer. Which I think I’ll do, as soon as I rearrange things to put my plants in a nice warm spot in the house.

My houseplants are suffering from lack of light. The best window inthe house is an east facing one, which doesn’t give it much. I’ve got a 4 foot shop light waiting to be strung up, but I am useless as a handywoman (a sad, sorry state) and need to string up some hooks first. I’ve tried screwing in those bloody ceiling hooks before, and let me tell you - it’s not easy. So maybe I can convince someone like my dear old’ dad to do it for me - if I clear a space in the back bedroom to put them. I have a grand spot for them this summer - in the front ‘porch’ area, which was an add-on to this trailer many years ago, and now houses not much, except a bookshelf, unused piano, coatrack, and a dormant woodstove. If the woodstove was going, I’d have a perfect place, but I’ve got no bleeding idea how to use it, and nobody seems overly interested in showing me how, or finding me wood. I have /no/ idea how to find wood.

Is this sounding like I’m completely helpless and dependent? It is to me. I should stop that and figure it out on my own. But then someone (eh - dad, mom, grandma, whoever) would drop by and throw a bleeding fit because I’d done something wrong, or rather, just not the way /they/ would’ve done it.

Anyway, back to the gardening. I’m concerned, because if I move this summer (a possibility if all goes well financially) my gardening will be shot all to hell. If not… well, I’ll have a huuuuge garden plot all to myself, which makes me giddy and happy. No more experimenting with container carrots (last year’s turned out fairly poor… not sure why… not enough moisture, perhaps?)

Anyway. Lots of ideas going on in my head. I’m gonna start plotting now, so I know exactly when to start my seeds this year (eggplant/tomatoes needed to be started earlier than I could last year!). I’m thinking of growing a few onions, maybe some garlic, definitely potatoes if I expect to be around (I’m dying for some big red homegrown taters!) and maybe some luffa! And of course, other things, but those are what’s on my mind right now!