So, I was dreaming I was eating strawberries, from our new plants. (Nekkid Neighbor can’t remember the name of these berries. In my dream they are called Harvest Heritage Strawberries.) (There is no such plant, don’t bother googling.) (???) (Honestly, I don’t care what they’re called — they’re lush and huge and so full of flavor. They’re the best strawberries I’ve ever had. That’s why I had to have some of her plants.)

My husband and I were having breakfast in the yard, in this dream. Gorgeous morning, fresh coffee and strawberries and pancakes or something, I have no idea. We were talking and laughing. Then I woke up.

Dear, sweet son was having wracking cough at six a.m., refused water. No fever, so that is a good thing. (Knock wood.) We both slept in until after 10 and woke up to…

Snow.

A powdering, not much, but still, snow. In Portland, Oregon! In almost-April!!! And all over the strawberry plants, which are quite hardy and I am sure will do just fine. (Knocking wood for no fever and for strawberries surviving the transplant.) No Fuchsia Saturday for us tomorrow, no planting potatoes. (I found a box of sprouted potatoes, forgotten from last fall’s harvest, down in the basement.)

I am laughing, and taking a minute to enjoy this craziest week ever.

best,

WM

Five p.m. weather and health update, just for Vixen: It’s hailing. That’s the third time this afternoon. Wacky Boy has had no fever all day, hall-e-LUjah, is drinking lots of liquids but refuses to eat anything besides breakfast bars. But that is not out of the ordinary, at all.

The antibiotics reportedly taste like “GRASS and DIRT! I hope you KNOW THIS!” says my son.

I do know one thing — if you’re yelling and complaining like that, you’re feeling better.

Will keep you all posted. Happy Thursday. Sorry 13ers — no list of my own today. But the whole trying to get the kid to take his antibiotics reminded me of this… I don’t know who wrote it, but it’s awfully funny. xo wm

HOW TO GIVE A CAT A PILL (more…)

I would like if my son would get well, the poor thing. He’s been sick for three weeks now!

Fever: once in awhile, but not super-high, and not high enough to keep him down for long (with the exception of yesterday, when he put himself to bed in the middle of the day.)

Throwing up: one time. Two weeks ago?

Coughing: Constantly, but until this morning, sounded like a “getting better” cough, not an “wheezing, unable to catch breath” cough. Until today.

Runny nose: He’s five. He always has a runny nose.

My nerves: Frayed. (more…)

Thanks to the Wacky Nekkid Neighbors, I now have two full beds of strawberries plants rooting into the rich, crumbly dirt in my back yard.

I have been down. I get the blues, the mean reds, the woe is me tragic-tragics.Thank you again, Naked Sheep. Thanks for the rest of our lives. We love you guys.

I’m talking a rainbow of yarns, in cotton, mohair, angora, acrylic, everything under the sun. They’ve donated needles — straights and circular — patterns, half-finished projects, everything you could think of. Several knitters have stepped up to help.

Three other knitters want to start an afterschool club. To those of you (and you know who you are. And no, you probably aren’t even reading this blog) — to those of you who scoff and act like knitting doesn’t “count.” You’re wrong. It counts.

I’m starting to feel better already.

Pat Buchanan, go take a look in the mirror and guess who won’t be coming to dinner at the White House. I notice comments are closed on that post, just like your mind.

Stop being a racist, baby. It’s 2008.

Love,

WM

In Newberg: ENCHANTED ALPACAS

It saddens me to say that my favorite road sign — WINOS GO HOME! — is no longer posted in Dundee, Oregon. (We like our wineries, okay? Is that wrong?)

But I did spot several other good ones outside of Dundee:

GUN CLUB

FRYER RABBITS NOW

HONEY

NEED A BABYSITTER?

and my favorite:

1 CROSS
3 NAILS
4-GIVEN
HAPPY EASTER!

Right back at ya… Happy Easter (if you celebrate Easter. If not, I say Happy Spring! to you). We stayed at the coast over night in Depot Bay. We slept in a motel, not on a charter boat, don’t get all excited. My son and I both spotted whales migrating north from Mexico to Alaska.

Wacky Boy: “I thought it was a rock, first. But then it moved and then splashed!”

That’s how you know it’s a whale, not a rock. Just in case you ever go whale-watching. Yesterday was sunny and clear, perfect whale-watching weather. Today was overcast and stormy, bad visibility, so we headed home. That’s all…

wm

From the Columbia River Council Girl Scout listserv this morning:

“Girls Scouts behind bars? Be prepared for an unorthodox and transforming story that follows the girls of Austin Texas Troop 1500. Well-versed in the “Be Prepared” mantra of the Girl Scouts, spunky troop leader Julia Cuba guides her girl scouts into the concrete jungle in which their mothers live.

The daughters must continually adapt to new emotional territory, and the mothers find that their best intentions are too often trumped by their weaknesses. With its beautiful camerawork and skillful use of videotaped interviews conducted by the daughters and their moms, “TROOP 1500″ is a candid, moving look at families torn apart by crime but trying to relate beyond prison walls.”

— Orlando Sentinel

“An estimated 1.5 million children have incarcerated parents and 90 percent of female inmates are single parents. Their daughters are six times more likely to land in the juvenile justice system. TROOP 1500 poignantly reveals how an inspired yet controversial effort by the 90+ year old Girl Scouts Organization is working to help these at-risk young girls deal with their unique circumstances and break the cycle of crime within families.

For Personal, Home Use only

ELLEN SPIRO’S DIRECTOR’S CUT

To order a DVD of the Director’s Cut (12 more minutes than TV version) of TROOP 1500 click here. These DVDs are not for public viewing or institutional use. 100% of profits from this special “Director’s Cut” DVD go to a Mobilus Opportunity Fund for the girls in TROOP 1500. The DVDs cost $34.95, plus $4 shipping and handling.

For educational, institutional and public screenings of Troop 1500 please click here.

“At this moment, in this election, we can come together and say: ‘Not this time.’ This time we want to talk about the crumbling schools that are stealing the future of black children, and white children, and Asian children, and Hispanic children and Native American children.

— U.S. Presidential candidate Barack Obama, in Philadelphia, Pa. at Constitution Center, March 18, 2008

“Do not wait for leaders; do it alone, person to person.”

— Mother Teresa

“Sweep first before your own door before you sweep the doorsteps of your neighbors.”
— Swedish proverb

I think we can all learn a little something from that quote, don’t you? It’s raining here. It won’t stop until July. Stupid Portland, Oregon, why do I love and hate you in equal portions?

Internets, my kids are getting older. They’re not really liking my spilling my guts to the Internets. This poses a problem because… I blog. I stress, therefore I blog. Also it clears my head. Also you guys always are supportive and have good ideas, or at least offer to crack heads for me. Or bring me some crack. Or at least commit to getting up at the crack of dawn to see if I’ve posted.

That goes a long way with me.

People I attend meetings with, in real life, are not willing to go so far. They are willing to insult my knitting, though. Who would insult someone’s knitting, for pete’s sake? I knit nicely. It’s pretty, my knitting. Do not be rude, you meeting people. You could try bringing me candy, and saying, “Nice scarf!” and “Wow, you teach kids to knit every week? And the customers and owners of the Naked Sheep Knit Shop donate a ton of stuff to the kids? Fantastic! That is so cool of them! Can I learn, too?”

It’s a nice fantasy world, up there in my head. Some people have been really sweet about my knitting classes. Almost everyone, in fact. Just the handful that were rude stand out. I will now shove their comments out the door, sweep them off my steps, and be done with them. I will only remember the people who said, “Excellent work.”

The glow of working outside the home has worn off, by the by. I do not care for meetings so much, it turns out. And yes, Lelo, I’ve turned into a “Meeting Knitter.” Because I can, that’s why. Also, I ate the Girl Scout cookies I was saving for you. (See: Stress, meetings, parenthood, weather, above.) I’ll bake something for you to make up for it. It had to be done, my apologies.

Also, I do not have to worry about getting dooced here because, contrary to public opinion, I AM NOT GETTING PAID. Maybe someday.

So… let’s say someone at your house has started getting insanely hormonal and random, and let’s say that for a change, that someone is not me. (Not that I’m calm and non-hormonal, oh no, I’m just not as hormonal as someone else here is.)

The advice I was given was:

“Hormones are normal and they get worse then better, then worse, then better. This goes on for several years, like 20. I suggest that you start drinking heavily now or abusing prescription drugs like Xanax, Valium, Ativan, or the like. Painkillers work well, and especially work well mixed with alcohol–but DON’T mix them with alcohol AND any of the aforementioned drugs and anti-depressants or you could end up like Heath Ledger.

Just sayin’.”

Can you top that? I don’t think so, but please try, anyway. Ativan makes me puke, but I will consider the other combos. JUST KIDDING in case my mom is reading this.

Happy Friday to y’all.