Walking -

This morning the light was eerie - much redder than I was able to capture.














It turned the shiny graves rusty and gave a reddish hue to everything else.














Yesterday, when I was walking to Artisan to pick up a new copy of the Knitter's Almanac, I saw these guys again.

"When we hold each other, in the darkness, it doesn't make the darkness go away. The bad things are still out there. The nightmares still walking. When we hold each other we feel not safe, but better. "It's all right" we whisper, "I'm here, I love you." and we lie: "I'll never leave you." For just a moment or two the darkness doesn't seem so bad."

Hellblazer #27, "Hold Me". Collected in DC Comics' Neil Gaiman's Midnight Days collection.

Whedonesque -

I have had these sweetgeorgia sock yarns in the colourways Angel and Firefly for a couple of years now. I tried to make Moonstitches' scarf with them, but the colours got all muddy. I needed something soothing and gartery and happened to look in their drawer.














They are not colours I would usually pick, or put together, but I was totally enchanted by the names. And I love me a bit of Joss. I just saw the first couple of episodes of Dollhouse and am in love all over again.

I went to spend time with the kittens again today. We took a whole lot of photos, but the camera didn't work. The little girl, Maisie, was over having her photo taken and went off for a nap. The boy, Pangur Ban, is a little more... active and we got a few more shots. Rather than have this turn into a cat blog already, I put some of them up on flickr instead.

Pangur Ban and friend.


















They are going to come home at the start of the holidays and we are going to hang out in the house and learn about each other.

Pangur Ban - 

Excellent. The cat names are sorted out.

Pangur Ban and Maisie.

Portland -

I have been given the unofficial nod from work. I have leave. I am going to meet Barbara Walker.

Names -

Digby, Jonah, Harry, Badger, Cousteau, Kheldar. Can't decide.


















I've settled on 'Maisie' for the girl, after my Grandma's cat who purred like a champion.

For him I have been thinking:
'Digby' - my 'adopted' Granny lived here
'Harry' - after my great Grandpa
'Jonah' - after one of my students (which my housemate thinks is a terrible idea)
'Badger' - after a foal my mum bred and because I get the idea that Bengal boys can be hefty when they are fully grown.
'Cousteau' - seems like a good cat name.

Cat Lady starter kit -

The photos were all taken in low light (yay! rain) so they are all a little fuzzy and don't show up the colours well.

Here is the boy - The breeder had been thinking Rubin and I am thinking Jonah.














This is the little girl - she is so so soft, so I was thinking Latin - mollis, maybe Molly?














Here we have the two of them together.














And a side shot to see the girl's markings.














I am going back to visit them next weekend. For now, I am going to think about cat names.

Insomnia, again -

So, been a big day and I can't sleep. Again. I have tried all the regular tricks, but I have got bored of lying in bed trying to trick myself into sleep. So I have got up to knit socks.















I applied for a grant to develop some stuff for work a few weeks ago. I didn't really want it, because I don't have enough time for the work I have now. And I found out this morning that I got it. I was torn between delight and sinking despair. $4,000. Help.















I renewed my passport this afternoon, just in case my request for leave is approved. And I arranged to visit some people tomorrow afternoon. People who breed cats. To look at kittens I might bring home at Easter time.















My brain is overloaded and fried and, even though I ache through and through, I can't find sleep.

They sang Gillian -

I went home for the weekend for some music.















If you count Friday (when I finished some birthday socks) I got three projects finished, so I went and bought some yarn. I also got my yearly fix of Colinette because Sarah has a stand each year in the festival arena.

Because I can't help myself but to slavishly follow bloggers, I asked my favourite act to hold my sock. He was very good humored about it. And thought it was great that I had knit it during his show.


















I was taken to the folk festival when I was 8, and the only act I remember (in Stage 5 which smelled strongly of a smoke I know recognise as illicit) was this man:














I am not sure if he was offended by my knitting during his performance, he certainly seemed surprised.

The dogs (belonging - in order - to mum, aunty, brother) were shut in the house during the day and were Not Impressed.














And to give you a bit of an idea why I got No Sleep (apart from because I was kicked out of my room to a tent), I present you with my family:














There are, of course, more photos of my family carousing, but my blog would lose its child-friendly rating if I were to post them.

My heart -

One of my best mates, growing up, was my pony. He died this morning.

We met when I was 12 and he was 13. He lived at school with me and was famous for being able to open anything that wasn't padlocked shut. Once, when he was padlocked into a yard to restrict his diet, he opened the cattle ramp and jumped off the top. When we padlocked that, he got down on his belly and commando-ed out under the bottom rail.

He listened patiently to all my girlish secrets, so long as I kept up a steady supply of apples. He taught me about being a good person. He took me on mad adventures. He kept me safe when I got myself into situations I didn't have the skill to get myself out of. He was steady and reliable and never let me get too full of myself.

We went riding in the mountains, we went galloping along beaches. We competed together and got lost together. I learned about balance with him and he had a red hot go at teaching me patience. With the rising tide of hormonal angst threatening, he taught me that I could (had to) put aside that crap and meet him on his terms.

One summer he broke out of the yard he was staying in and lead the two others who'd been in with him 30 odd kilometres back to the paddock he considered 'home'.

I never told my mum, but when I got a new pair of glasses at school I left the old pair sitting on the post at the corner of his yard and that night he pulled them off and ground them into tiny little pieces.

He was the most efficient eater. He would graze along and suddenly move his mouth a little and spit out what ever bits offended him with out losing any of the good stuff. He would eat stone fruit by sucking off all the flesh and spitting out the pip. I taught him to steal fruit with me off the trees. He could drink out of a can, and when we were out riding I would share apples with him. He would keep one ear on me while I ate my half and then twist his head back and take his half when I leaned forward with it. He stole hot buttered toast or cool shark icy poles right out of my hand if I wasn't paying attention. I couldn't wear flowers in my hair lest he accidentally take off my ear when he ate them.

He gave the best hugs though would, during touching moments of togetherness, often sneeze filthy horse-snot down my back or cover me with apple drool.

He was game, fiery, independent, tough, canny and had a heart you could rely on.

I am not me without him.

Up all night -

I am going away this weekend and, rather than think about all the stuff that is stressing me out at work, I am spending some time thinking about more important things.

With my bargain with myself (two, maybe three, projects finished before I can buy a skein of Trail Socks gold) I am highly motivated to take along some projects that need finishing. The wolery is nearly there, baktus would be good and mindless, and versatility has been on the needles far too long for a project that was supposed to be about the instant gratification.

But I find myself attracted to the idea of casting on something new (I pause for the gasp and astonishment). I have been planning to knit Cleite for ages now, and I have the pattern printed out and the delicious cashmere all ready to go. My only problem is a distressing tendency to refer to it as Cletus (the slack-jawed) when I am trying to remember what it is called.

And there is the failed second noro scarf. I started to knit it again and, after all the love with the first one, I found I just didn't give an arse about the colour progression and the stripes of the second one. I have been thinking about other possibilities for the noro.

And I am still thinking about hats. Maybe with some delicious new yarn I *ahem* found a few months ago. It may be as close as I come to qiviuk.

I shall go knit socks while I cogitate.

Self-bribery -

I have been tempted by a skein of sock yarn. It is a lovely golden yellow, a colour I have been uncharacteristically obsessed with lately. I have told myself that when I finish two projects I can buy it. You can imagine my dismay when I tried on the wolery, so nearly finished, and discovered it was one owl short and it was far too small and it required ripping. Stupid maths.














It is ripped now and awaiting my return to strength to tackle it.

Have I mentioned this week how much I love blocking wires?














It is soft and snuggly and good for lying on on the floor (even with the ends not *quite* sewn in).