Jacey gets it right...

Jacey is mother's little helper in the kitchen. If she hears the microwave ding--or if she hears me going to the kitchen--she races ahead to "help." (She has been known to knock me out of the way so she can get there first, but that's a different issue.)

One night last week, I was sitting on the sofa, knitting, and Jacey was upstairs sleeping in my bed. The oven timer went off, and I started to the kitchen to get my pizza. I didn't realize that my tiny bit of knitting on its little needle had gotten caught in the leg of my sweatpants. I was all the way to the kitchen when I realized I was unrolling yarn from the ball, across the living room and dining room. And I could hear the pitter-patter of not-so-little feet as Jacey leaped from the bed, galloped down the hall, and started down the stairs.

I had a clear vision of Jacey getting tangled in the yarn. "Caught" isn't something she handles well, and there'd be panic, mayhem, and yarn everywhere. So I just yelled, "Jacey, stop!"

Bless her heart: she left skid marks in the carpet coming to a halt.

So I collected the unrolled yarn and put my knitting safely back in the living room. Then she got praised and patted and loved on. (I didn't give her a treat because I'm trying not to reinforce her belief that my trips to the kitchen automatically mean treats for her.)

Daddy

My father wrecked his truck last weekend--hit a light post in a parking lot, so not a high-speed impact (the airbag did not deploy), but a rough one. After a week in pain, he finally went to the doctor today: two fractured ribs.

And the insurance adjuster ruled the truck is totaled.

Veterans Day

John William Ross lied about his age when he joined the army. He was six days past his 15th birthday when the war to end all wars came to a halt on 11 November 1918.

That's Johnny, on the left, and his buddies in post-war Europe. In the 1920 Census, 16-year-old Johnny was in Germany...and reporting his age as 21.

Johnny came home safely from the war, married,* and raised three children. His youngest child is my mother.



*Johnny's wife-to-be gave her age as 18 on the marriage license; she was just past her 17th birthday. Given these precedents, I asked my mother what she lied about. "I had my parents' permission to get married," she told me. (She married at 17, too.)

Miscellanea

That's a screen shot of a post on a Ravelry forum. That post contained another screenshot from the forum. The avatar I use on Ravelry is the same one I use here (and on LJ, too). On Ravelry, there's a feature that shows a thumbnail screenshot of a Raveler's blog. I figure a screenshot of my blog, which contains two screenshots and the avatar, too, might be fun. Or dizzying. We'll see. (With my luck, the thumbnail-grabber thingy will be broken. I may have to leave this post at the top of my blog for quite a while.)


I've started giving the dogs raw chicken backs or turkey necks occasionally in an effort to minimize the gunk on Jacey's teeth. (Sam's aren't too bad, but they're not great, either.) The dogs had chicken backs last week. Yesterday, I found turkey necks at Kroger, and the dogs each had half a neck for breakfast this morning. Sam's next to me on the sofa, and I was petting him and said, "Did you have a nice breakfast this morning?" Sam just gave one of his sleepy/happy-grunts and snuggled down deeper into the sofa. Six feet away, however, sleeping Jacey heard the word "breakfast" and her head snapped up and she started licking her lips before she even opened her eyes.

(And before someone panics: "Chicken bones! Ack!" Cooked chicken bones are dangerous; they are brittle and can splinter in a dog's stomach or intestinal tract. The bones in raw chicken are softer, and chewing those bones is very good for a dog's teeth. Just don't overdo how much raw chicken you feed your dog. A sudden, extreme change in diet can have a disastrous, um, outcome on your dog's output. My guys got one back each last week, and didn't get another yummy back until three days later.)

(And if you're worried about Salmonella, I'm careful. The raw chicken gets dropped into boiling water for a bit before I give it to the dogs. And I'm a big hand-washer. And if you're worried about Salmonella risks and dog food in general, you might want to look at this. And that's with dry dog food.)


I've gotten some crocheting done. I finished a couple of doilies for friends. There is this one:



The pattern name is "Extravaganza." The doily is 16" x 24" and is white (although the photo looks like it's ecru).

And there's this pinwheel doily:



It's actually a very nice purple that my camera can't handle. This one is 17" in diameter.

I've got several pieces here that I need to package up and send off to people. I should get organized and do it today, especially since my next day off is Tuesday, 11 November, and I'm pretty sure that's a postal holiday.* But I'm pooped (up late last night doing some freelance proofreading), and I just want to vegetate here on the sofa with warm dogs and some knitting. Maybe I'll get the mailed pieces out next Friday, 14 November. Or maybe I could get my butt in gear and mail them before or after work one day.

Nah. Organized? Moi?

*Yes, I just looked it up to be sure. Tuesday is Veterans Day, formerly known as Armistice Day. The ceasefire at the end of World War I occurred (London time) at the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month of 1918.

An anniversary

Mary Ruth ("Dixie") Dunn was born 5 November 1908--one hundred years ago tomorrow. John William ("Johnny") Ross was born five years earlier--5 November 1903. They were married in January 1926. They were my mother's parents.

Yellow was Dixie's favorite color.