Stuff it down with food, always a good idea

I've been anxious for days. Forehead pressed to the wall at night, pillow hugged against the belly wolves. Perhaps it's the onset of fall, which comes with a rattle of thoughts like old bullet holes in a road sign. Posted right in front of October: YIELD.

Or perhaps:



But definitely not:



It could be that. Or I could be poisoned by the new packets of Splenda with "fiber". There's fiber in all kinds of things you shouldn't put in sweetener. Like belladonna. And cardboard. Should probably go read the box.

When I was 21, I opened up a friend's cupboard and saw that his mom had an entire shelf full of marshmallow cream. Naturally, I made fun of it at the time ("Apocalypse fudge!"), but it had actually charmed me a great deal, and now every fall I privately squirrel away jars of fluff. Feeling mean after grumping at everyone and flapping un-transfered wet laundry from the washer, I got into the bottom cupboard. Leif stood on his step ladder, nimbly plucking up chunks of chopped chocolate from the cutting board as he helped stir with a wooden spoon.



And I am forgiven.

boots and the wtf cardi

Rewind to last weekend. The man was on Oahu with my mother and a crow bar. I was at home with the boys, suddenly inspired to do stuff. Resulting from this was the premier of Extreme Bikini Rotary Mowing, in which, as the only contestant, I won. Kitchen was cleaned, stuff was sewn, playdoh animals were constructed, plans to trap and skin our avocado thief were made, brownies were baked, and pooping cats were chased from my tomato garden. By Monday, we were all stir-crazy, so I dragged a chair into the yard, set the kids loose with bubbles and kickballs, and knit AN ENTIRE CARDIGAN in one sitting, without checking to make sure it would fit first. Somehow, it did. 

And it even looks pretty good with the new boots. Despite the bad disco inferno. 

I said I was cut off. I also said I was a filthy liar. 

The man came home, fished in his backpack, and threw a bag at me. I live with a shameless enabler. 

Promise I will take a break from this fibery stuff and have some adventures soon.

learned librarian

"I am a walking library of learning - bound in comely leather and suitable for stroking - at your service, should you fancy a bit of culture to go with your lack of breeding, or vice versa, of course." -Christopher Moore, who will not shut up lately 

 

Went to town on a solo mission for professional development and sexy boots. Hit the road at 5:45 am. Was thumbing through the ipod when the sun came up behind me, igniting the misty ocean rain - and my rear view mirror - with blinding orange. I swerved wildly, thinking I was about to be run down by a semi or a crashing spacecraft. Imagined the view from the neighboring cliff: my little car snapping through the guard rail, sailing silently off the mountainside, and plunking into the water. An ignominious end to a long and stupid story. 

 

Politicians were lined up along the cane fields, waving frenetically. A man in a blue aloha shirt and slacks, holding a picture of himself. A long line of red-shirted fans, flapping glossy campaign posters. A man sitting on the tailgate of his truck, playing ukulele next to a hand-painted cardboard sign with his name on it. It may have also said "will be Mayor 4 food".

 

I parked by the court house across from the Wailuku library and shook a warning finger at the car, whose front window is still stuck open, tempting stray cats/vagrants/mayoral candidates. As soon as I stepped in, the other librarians turned and yelled, "WE DIDN'T KNOW YOU'RE AN ILLUSTRATOR!" and I froze in a defensive semi-crouch. They were adorable, owling up at me (I am a towering giant in the land of librarians), but I never know what to say when people want to talk about art. I like doing it, but I don't actually think I'm very good at it. I grin and nod like a big dumb nodding thing and then pretend to have something in my eye and run away. Which is why I will never be rich and powerful and crush that Plumeria Princess guy, who still doesn't know he's my nemesis. In this case, I chose to yawn, exclaim, "oh man, I have to PEE," and then book it for the restroom. Smooth. 

Two hours later, we had all learned how to click things on the internet, and I ran out to discover that the car had a yellow ticket stuck under its wiper. The pigeons didn't laugh at my yelps of, "Help, help! I'm being repressed!" so I threw the ticket onto the floor, drove over to throw some delivery boxes out at the main branch, ran some official-type errands, and finally found myself sitting in the food court at the mall with a bowl of mushroom chicken. Decided this was the perfect time to explore the new iPhone. Didn't like the tiny buttons. Didn't like the tiny screen. Took a bunch of blurry pictures of my hands and knees. Didn't have anything I wanted to do on the internet. Became very sad. This would have been the sort of thing I'd have done handstands for at one time, but no texts have buzzed my hip for more than 3 years, and somewhere along the line I lost my phone and didn't realize it for about a month. It's the end of an era, and the beginning of a new, higher-waisted, reading-at-arm's-length one.

 

Why I crop my head out of most of my pictures. More from me when the week stops kicking my ass.

Invisible!

After a month and about a mile of splitty silk thread, it is done. And it weighs about a hundred pounds. Silk is really hard to work with - it snags and splits and slithers away and attracts cats - but the drape is amazing. I can let it dangle, or pin it up, or run around flapping it like a cape. 

The back hangs really nicely, and you can't even tell I completely messed up the lace. 

"Um, mom, apparently I can still see you." Well, crap. 

pattern: Dramatic Lace Cardigan, by Sweaterbabe. yarn: ColourMart Silk 32/120NM DK weight

one more

A board book! With my pictures in it! I am boardy and delicious! 

first page: some random page: I realized, looking at it, that my library bosses don't know I do this illustration stuff. Maybe it's something I should mention. I'm not sure how to do that without looking like I'm asking for pats. Really, I'm just hoping nobody notices and I don't get chewed out for putting horns on a pterosaur. My prehistoric-era chronology is all crap, too. There are going to be mobs of angry paleontologist parents after me.