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February 2014
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April 2014

snow day?

Because our school superintendent is twitchy, the kids have a snow day today. Is there snow on the ground? Yes, yes there is -- but it was easily dispatched by a broom. Oy.

I don't quite have enough mental space to do too much thinky things, so two pictures. I've been culling the photos that live on my computer and came across two scans. This one is from Bloom Country, which has all of my comic strip love:

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(click to make big)

And this one is from the Boy, who frequently leaves little drawings on my desk:

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I'm trying to not read too much into it.


up with figs, (a hiatus)

(Because of a variety of circumstances, Lisa and I are taking a Figs break. But! For those who just started reading the blog, I'm going to reach deep into the wayback machine and toss up some old Figs for your enjoyment. This one isn't as "wayback" as others -- but I'm still waiting for Mr G strip down to his skivvies. We could use the chuckle.)

 

Crazy spotlight2

 

I know this makes me a horrible, horrible person but it kinda nice to see a Canadian politician in the news for a change. 

Rob Ford’s story is tragic, I know, and the dude needs some help. And it’s got to be irritating to Torontonians, too, because there’s not a whole lot they can do to force him out of office. Plus, it’s kind of telling that they don’t have a procedure in place for this already. 

Still. When you live in the U.S., where politicians behaving badly is an almost daily occurrence, it’s a lovely change of pace to see our sensible neighbors to the North cope with uncouth behavio(u)r by an elected official. 

I have zero doubts that by this time next week someone will catch Lindsey Graham running around the House floor wearing nothing but a speedo, a clown wig, and six-inch heels. Just for example. 

The crazy spotlight will be back on us soon enough. For now, though, I’m just going to lean back and enjoy.

 

Text ©Adrienne Martini; illustration ©Lisa Horstman. Until the end of time. Or something.


many things make a post

* While these maps should outrage Southerners, they probably won't.

* Women just care about weddings and children.

* On the importance of sanitary pads.

* Wearing a corpse. 

* Wow. I doff my cunning hat to you.

* Knitting + particle physics.

* This story breaks my heart. Rikki's such a good guy.

* Give me Wawa or, um, don't, I guess. But I'd like a Wawa. 

* Libba nails it. Keep passing the open windows, please. (And also.)

* Arg. HBO is drawing me in. Arg.

* Well now I have to read this.

* If you don't talk to your kids about the '80s, who will? Kevin Bacon will.


climb aboard?

This caught my eye on Saturday morning:

Scan

Our weekly paper - and maybe the almost daily, too - has one of those "X Years Ago" columns where they rerun stories from the Olden Tymes. My first thought was that there was a Kraft Train in town 40 years ago. How awesome would that be? Krafting on a train? Cool.*

(Actually - my first thought was "Really? All the Ks?")

Then I realized it was just a metaphor. Rats, thought I. 

But how cool would it be to have a Craft Train? Hours of time where you get to see the countryside and craft? Maybe have an adult beverage or two? Bring it. 

Who is with me?

------------------------------------

* It might be  that my brain is taken with the idea of writing on train. Because it would be awesome.


qotd, on writing + shameless promo

"Ultimately literature is nothing but carpentry. Both are very hard work. Writing something is almost as hard as making a table. With both you are working with reality, a material just as hard as wood. Both are full of tricks and techniques. Basically very little magic and a lot of hard work involved."

-- Gabriel García Márquez from The Writer's Almanac.

And my weekly wrap-up about my half-marathon training is alive over at another mother runner. This one involves refrigerator magnets and unflattering pictures.


actual knitting content: red! socks

About a billion years ago, my friend Quinn gifted me a hank of red sock yarn, whose tag with the name and fiber content has been lost. Finally, after that billion years, I've made it into socks.

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The pattern is the lovely Jane's Hedgerow. The toe shaping, however, is my own invention and was born from my not reading the pattern correctly. Not Jane's fault. The instructions are clear as day. I just sometimes forget to read all of the words. 

Still, this toe shaping works for me and I have zero intention of reknitting. Because I love these socks as they are.


up with figs, (a hiatus)

(Because of a variety of circumstances, Lisa and I are taking a Figs break. But! For those who just started reading the blog, I'm going to reach deep into the wayback machine and toss up some old Figs for your enjoyment.)

Melons

The Lothario of Smith Street trolled the produce section. The ladies love a man who knows his cabbage from his kohlrabi. Every afternoon, from 1 - 3, he hung out with the tomatoes, squeezed the lemons, smelled the berries. His vibe, he thought, was approachable. It said: let me woo. 

The senior citizen ladies only wanted him to open up those flimsy plastic bags so that they could contain their green beans, their lettuces. The women with children snatched bags of apples from his hands. One young lady asked if there were more melons in the back. His answer was why the Lothario of Smith Street is no longer legally allowed to be in a five block radius of the Food Shopper.  

 

Text ©Adrienne Martini; illustration ©Lisa Horstman. Until the end of time. Or something.