$300 and a bunch of sweat later

I have a garden. I've spent lots of time out here, and it's so peaceful. And rejuvenating.

This summer's project is to work on the front. It's so boring and neglected.

I heart spring

The time has arrived, the time I have been waiting for since I bought this netbook. I am sitting outside, with a glass of wine and the internets at my fingertips.

Today is a very good day to be me.

There are volunteer pansies springing up in the garden boxes and the flower beds (and a whole lot of weeds), Edgar is snoozing in the sun, and I think I will barbecue a large piece of beef for my dinner. This little chunk of real estate is the best $100 grand I ever spent.

With that said, life is insane. I am preparing for the show, and there is much work to be done. I'm stealing these few hours from a million other things I should be doing. Right now, I don't care. It's far too fine a day to do anything except listen to audio books, knit, and putter.

_______________________________________________________________

Mother's Day

I just tried to phone my mom, and there was no answer. No surprise there. With five grandchildren to occupy her and her own aging mother to pay attention to, the daughter 200 km away is not even on her radar screen.

But, mom? I am the woman I am because of you. And despite my many unpleasant qualities, I think I'm your finest work. I am strong, powerful and amazing. On this day, I raise a glass to you. Well, done. And thank you.

This is why I can't have nice things

Stoopid Parker, sleeping on my soon-to-be new sweater. It's a damned good thing he's cute.

Of course, maybe I shouldn't have left it on the couch.

Woah. Productivity is under-rated.

I'm waiting for my snow removal guy to come and pick up his payment. He usually stops by between six and seven.

In the interest of politeness, I did not have my shower and get into my pajamas as soon as I got home, as is my usual practice. Instead, I puttered in the kitchen, put a load of laundry in the machine, that sort of thing.

Roger is late. Very late. So, I have made tomorrow's lunch, folded that load of laundry, ironed three shirts, gotten the coffee ready, changed the sheets on the bed and done some other things I can't remember now.

It's nearly 8 pm, and everything I wanted to accomplish tonight, and more, is done.

Having two whole hours to sit and knit before bed is an amazing feeling. I should try this more often.

And now we are four (fucking finally! maybe?)

It's become clear, over the past couple of weeks, that Edgar is no longer the cat that lives in the basement/outdoors. He is now part of the household, even though he is still skittish and Parker will kick his ass given any opportunity.

Edgar is frequently near the door waiting for me when I come home, and not in the ohgawdletmeoutofhere kind of way, but rather the squee! food! kind of way.

And when I noticed that, I stopped delivering food to him in the evenings (I am not entirely heartless - breakfast is still delivered to the basement). Instead, I poured two dishes upstairs, one on the counter, one on the floor, and plunked him on the counter to eat his dinner, while the other two did their usual business (eat, barf) on the kitchen floor.

This cruelty/training (of him or me, I remain undecided) has resulted in a cat that now hangs out upstairs of his own volition.

It has been delightful to see him jump up onto the sofa in front of the living room window to stretch out and supervise the pedestrians outside in the cold. And it's been even more delightful to watch him wander over to the other sofa, where I am sitting, to see him cuddle down by my side, occasionally with Scout only a few inches away.

Then, there was last night. Edgar followed me to bed. I am not a fool, so I shut the door on Parker, so that Scout, Edgar and I could cuddle. That worked for about ten minutes, and then Parker started scratching at the door. That was the end of that.

Tonight, I was having my pre-shower pee, with Scout in the bathroom with me, as is our habit, and a wee nose poked through the door. I nearly shut it, thinking it was Parker (he really is that much of a shit-disturber), when I realized it was Edgar. Edgar wanted to hang out with us, in the bathroom. I feel rotten for attempting to shut him out, but he wasn't having anything to do with me, after that. Fair enough.

Two days, two milestones. Edgar has lived here for 19 months. It's been a long time coming.

It's a Christmas Miracle!

Yes, that is all three cats on the sofa. No fighting. Edgar was giving Parker the stink-eye for a bit, but then he pretended to go to sleep.

In fact, Parker sat on the end table for quite some looking quite longingly at the little tableau that Scout, Edgar and I presented. Then, Parker sneaked on to my lap and hunkered down for a bit.

Sadly, we didn't last long. My wine glass was empty, and since I do not have the ability to open the fridge and pour a glass with my mind, I got up.

Happy Oo Near, from Chez Peepee to you and yours.

Posting from the living room

I am sitting here, in the living room of Chez Peepee, playing with my new netbook and my new camera, while watching teevee and drinking wine.

Life is good.

MacGuyver in space. AKA, Stargate SG1. My nerdiness is large.

Sooper Saturday

I loathe winter, with every fibre of my being. It makes every choice I've made for my life (i.e. not having a car, living in the buttfucknowhere of this city) truly intolerable.

But at at the same time, every once in a while, winter allows me to blow off everything, and just sit at home to knit.

I've done this while sitting at home when I should have been doing other things:

Finished it, and am well started on the next, all while watching Stargate, SG1, season 2. (We will talk about my inability to actually read ALL the instructions another day). Then there was some wine, and dancing, while listening to Vinyl Tap. Life is good.

The hunt for Season 3 starts tomorrow. I'm desperate to find out what happens. And the second gauntlet needs finishing. Since I've called them Stargate Gauntlets on Ravelry, season 3 appears to be a requirement.

Paint ALL the things

Before I get started, have you seen this blog? It's delightful.

And that reminds me that I should update my blog list on the right. My interests have changed radically over the past three years, and I now read very few knitting blogs, because I can get that stuff on Ravelry. However, Google Reader (I migrated there a couple of months ago, when Bloglines announced it was shutting down, a migration that was long overdue) has brought to my attention many wonderful things that are outside the knitting world. Run-on sentence, much?

Anyway, I've been feeling, in the best possible way, rather at loose ends since I sat the exam. I won't be taking another course until summer, 2011, at the earliest, though fall is more likely. It's going to be about three months until the show moves into super-high gear, at which time I will be swamped, manic, cranky and loving every minute of it.

So, it's time to find a project. It's got to be cheap, only moderately time-consuming, and I need another hobby like I need another hole in the head. Also, deadlines and I don't get along. I thought about volunteering for something. I thought about knitting for charity (but then remembered I have many friends and loved ones to knit for - I don't need to knit for strangers who will likely not love what I make). There are, naturally, many books I want to read, and many television programs to catch up on, but that can only be done so much before my ass grows as wide as my sofa.

I was in the bedroom tonight, changing the sheets, when I glanced at the window. Or more accurately, the blinds. Which are nicotine stained, cheap and generally ugly. It occurred to me that I should get off my butt and make those curtains I've been talking about.

And then something else occurred to me.

Cue the trumpets.

I stripped (or rather, my good friend D stripped) most of the wallpaper in my study before I moved into Chez PeePee. My intention was to finish stripping the wallpaper and paint, but somehow (ha!) time has gotten away from me.

It's been four years, and it's time to have a proper study / spare bedroom.

Now, don't get me wrong, this is not the first time this thought has occurred to me. Some months ago, I borrowed a wallpaper steamer from my good friend M (it's good to have good friends) and it has been sitting in the dining room since I brought it home in August. Enough.

I am taking holidays between Giftmas and Oo Near. That would be a good time to putter around and finish stripping the wallpaper and give the walls a good wash. There may even be time to do the patching, or at least make an attempt at patching, because I suck at that sort of thing.

In my wildest fantasies (the wildest fantasies of the past hour, anyway) I can get it painted as well. Painted a bright lime green that screams cheer, good energy and inspiration.

We'll see about that.

Anyway, before pics:

This is the view behind my desk. I can't believe, now that I think about it, that I have been looking at this for four years. Clearly, I only see what I want to see.

The Ce-ment Pad is Open for Business

The usual spring busy-ness is in full swing, and I'm loving it.

But, the weather is unseasonably warm. I had to drag the table and chairs outside the other day, and get into my summer groove of enjoying a large glass of wine on the ce-ment pad after work.

I have wine, knitting and an audio book. While I'm sitting in the sun.

I need nothing else, except a friend or two to join me every once in a while.

Mind you, the place isn't actually fit for company right now. I haven't be home long enough (and sober enough) to pick up all the garbage in the hedge that the snow was hiding. Yuck.

Procrastination is a wonderful thing

I was going to do my taxes tonight, because the last receipts came in today's mail.



And then, I looked at my shit-magnet of a desk, and realized that much work had to be done in order to be ready for tomorrow's visit from the cleaners.



So, somehow, in my wisdom, I pulled out every pattern I've ever printed or photocopied (legally!) and am now matching finished projects to ball bands, and separating things into several piles:

• Completed
• Queued (must make!)
• Favourited (very appealing)
• Instructional
• I must have been drunk
  

I am hole-punching all this stuff, and putting it in a binder (yay me for not ever throwing out school supplies. I've got enough binders and subject dividers to last me a lifetime).





The bonus is there's now enough room on the magazine shelf for, you know, actual magazines.





And now Scout is washing his bum while he's sitting on the pile. Nice.

Sometimes, I get so annoyed with myself

So, I have this reputation of being super-organized, and having everything in its place all the time.

Not true. Maybe that was true a few years ago, but not anymore. Underneath the lids of the carefully arranged baskets and spreadsheets that I constantly talk about, chaos reigns supreme.

I've been trying to update my Ravelry notebook with all the projects I've completed over the past year (yes, a year), and it's not fun, scrolling through the photo files, trying to figure out what I finished and when, how many stitches I cast on and what mods I made to the pattern.

Trying to find the ball band is its own world of heartache, because all the ball-bands are tossed into a basket, along with patterns, swatches and miscellaneous sticky notes. The task of matching up things that belong together is nearly impossible.

Also, why I feel the need to keep every single ball band that I've ever come across, I'll never know. Especially now that we have Ravelry to keep track of the details.

Of course, it doesn't help that my blogging has been less-than frequent over the past eight or so months.

I'm over-whelmed. I don't know where to start.

I know better. I really do. If I did this at work, I would fire myself.

The road to hell

has Edgar laying in the middle lane.

Since I'm on a finishing kick these days, I dragged out some old projects, thinking I'd watch some downloaded videos and keep on sewing.

Nope. This guy

got in the way. I like to cuddle him as much as possible. The other two can go hang themselves, because they sleep with me.

I don't know what's gotten into me

but I love it.

This morning, I got busy and cleaned out the closet in my office. It's behind the door, so it's annoying to get to. Therefore, it holds purses, shoes and other random junk that is used too frequently to live downstairs.

Before:


After:

If this trend continues, maybe I will finish removing the wallpaper and actually paint this office. It's only been 3 1/2 years

A shift in domestic relations

So, Edgar.

He's been here for eight months now. I ran into Brucie a few weeks ago, and informed him that Edgar is mine now.

Brucie grudgingly agreed.

Edgar still spends most of his time in the basement. He no longer hides out in the crawlspace, but is instead curled up on a box of empty wine bottles (and I stuck a blanket on top of the box, because I felt sorry for the poor fellow).

Occasionally, he comes up of his own volition, but I also go down and bring him upstairs.

I had a brutal week last week, so I bailed on most of my plans for this week. Therefore, Edgar has been spending lots of time upstairs. He sits on my desk, while I surf Ravelry and knit. He even curls up on the scanner and snoozes sometimes.

The routine has been that I go to bed, and shortly thereafter, Parker chases him downstairs. It's not pleasant.

Tonight was different. It is Thursday, which is usually date night (meaning that Mustache Man makes me dinner, at his place, and we have a co-ed sleepover) but he has other stuff going on, and I am exhausted. So, I am at home, watching my stories and knitting. Edgar and I were sitting on the sofa watching Grey's Anatomy. Parker was on the other loveseat, sending the two of us dirty looks.

I got up to go to wring out some hand-washing after the program, and then sat down here at the computer.

I heard a scrap, and thought for sure that Edgar was being chased to the basement.

Nope. He was still in the living room, and Parker had scattered.

And just now, Edgar pranced out of the living room and waltzed to the back door to be let out. Parker moped after him.

It's about time Edgar gave as good as he got!

I thought they liked me

The cats have not left my side today. Even Edgar is yowling from downstairs, and comes up of his own volition occasionally.

I thought that it was because they were happy I'm at home, and available for snuggling on the sofa (knitting and watching Julie & Julia this morning with my coffee. Good times).

Nope. I'm totally wrong. See, last week I bought some high-end cat food instead of the usual value-priced stuff (the high-end stuff was on sale for a ridiculously good price).

The buggers want to eat. All. the. damned. time. I'm just the person who pours the food into the dishes.

This is a very special weekend

in that I am at home. Alone. No co-ed sleepovers, no phone calls every couple of hours, just because (Mustache Man is out of town, and though I miss him greatly, I'm thrilled to be just chilling out on my own).

It's heavenly.

Yesterday, I cleaned my bathroom from top to bottom, including washing the ceiling and walls (long overdue, by the way).

I was so pleased with myself that every time I peed today, I opened the vanity drawers, just to look inside.

Yes, I am a dork.

Tonight's project was to go through the chests of drawers in my bedroom. I have two. One is an old-school washstand, and functions as my bedside table, and the other is well, a chest of drawers. It holds my underwear, t-shirts, shorts, jeans, well, anything that doesn't need to be on a hangar, and the bedside table holds my jewellery, the hot-water bottle, a spare blanket, and certain other bedroom accessories (if you know what I mean, and I think you do!).

It was a tough job, throwing out all those stained and too-tight t-shirts saved for painting that I will never do; the nude panty-hose I will never wear because it's better to go bare-legged now; the thongs that I will never wear because I refuse to floss my butt, the PJ's I will never wear because well, I've worn them so much that the fabric has disintegrated.

Onward. Upward. Tomorrow: kitchen. But only the upper part. Cleaning the kitchen is a very big job, especially when there's excessive grease residue from cooking bacon.

But before I start that project, I'm totally cooking bacon and eggs tomorrow. For one. And, it will be great.

The downside of co-ed sleepovers

As I've stated repeatedly in the last four months, I've done got me a man. And while I am annoyed at myself for taking as much joy in this as I have, I'm not really sad about it, and am wholly unprepared to change the situation as it now stands. I'm even getting used to talking about him incessantly, because it's been so long since there's been a man in my life worth talking about. Someone that I like, respect, and who only annoys me a little. To be honest, I even kind of miss him when he's not around.

There is a downside. I'm home even less than usual. Chez Peepee is missing me, and I miss it. Today, I arrived home, after scooting out for a booty call at 9 pm last night, to find my newly finished lace scarf, one 16 months in the making, on the floor, and covered in cat barf. I haven't even taken the FO pics, and here I am, blocking it again. Stupid cats. At least it wasn't poop.

Calm before the storm

Edgar and I have been having an amazing time, lately. The weather is warm (finally!) and so the ce-ment pad is truly open for business:

When the sun is too strong, we retreat to the shade for our knitting:

(note to self: get some loung-y chairs and a table for the shady part of the yard).

We finished a pair of socks (which only took a year! And less than a gram of yarn to spare!):

There's also been that travelling scarf thing going on:

With all this nice weather, the garden is growing like there's no tomorrow, or something. I've got broccoli and hot peppers growing. Plus, I expect a huge burst of daisies and tiger lilies just about any day now:

Edgar and I were hanging outside tonight, when it suddenly got very dark. It was one of those maybe? maybe not? rain moments. I grabbed Edgar, because I wanted to bring him inside if it started to pour. And since we were cuddling, I thought it would be good to have a photo of us:

I'm going to miss that little stinker when he's gone. It's nice to have company when I am outside.

I nearly lost Edgar

The partners in w(h)ine were over on Friday, and we were enjoying a fabulous meal al fresco. That is normal for w(h)ine making in the summer.

Well. Edgar had some... callers, shall we say? And he went off with those hussies. I was tipsy, and busy, so I wasn't too worried.

He didn't come home Friday night, even though I was shouting his name and shaking the container with the food.

He didn't come home Saturday. Or early Sunday morning, because I got home at 2:45 AM, and was desperately hoping he was waiting for me.

He didn't come home Sunday.

His owner called Sunday evening, and I had to woman-up and give Brucie the news. I saw Brucie drive by my house at least twice looking for him. Brucie also drove by his own place (currently under-going renovations) to see if Edgar had undertaken is own Long Journey (is anyone else remembering a miserable book from Grade 7 and the even worse Disney movie that seems to evoke that title? My google-fu fails me) and actually made it across the river.

No Edgar on Monday. I was giving up hope, but woke up in the night frequently, either dreaming of him or wishing he was home (I've fallen in love with a cat. It figures).

Tuesday: I don't go home after work. Instead, I get an awesome meal and a few laughs, go to knit night. Because I didn't go home, I had the usual scramble at 10 pm: scoop the poop, make lunch, make coffee, iron something... surf for an hour, just to wind down. Wouldn't you know it, at 11 pm, far past my usual bed-time, I hear someone singing outside.

I run out into my back yard, oh-so-sexily dressed in a tank-top from 2000 and a pair of boxer shorts that used to belong to my ex-husband. In 1999 (I have no excuses. He only wore said boxer shorts once, and I find them comfy).

It's my dear sweet Edgar.

He doesn't want to come inside, because Parker has his head out the door and is already hissing, but I scoop him up, tell him I loved him and missed him. He ate lots and lots... and disappeared to the basement.

I phone Brucie - who was just heading out to cruise my neighbourhood again. He's relieved, but not really surprised. Apparently Edgar can be an asshole (That's no surprise to me: every male I've ever fallen in love with has been an asshole. Now, I'm prey to inter species assholes).

My own cats ignore me all night, because they are mad that the interloper is back again, but I don't care: my house is full; everyone is home. It's the best I've slept since Thursday.

I'm going to have a hard time giving him up, when it's time for him to go home. We spent three hours outside tonight: we watered the garden, knitted, and listened to an amazing audio book:

All is well.