Mr. Green in "Clue".
Glasses, nerdy, and I watched that movie within the past few months. I spoke/wrote too soon. It WAS Lenny! Michael McKean.
But can I still keep the Gary Sandy photo?
Monday, April 29, 2013
Flash back - 1980
I'm trying to remember the name of an actor. It's killing me.
This all started a while back when we went to listen to a local band one night. The band's drummer looks just like Matthew Gray Gubler, better known as Joe Joe in the movie "RV", or Dr. Reid on "Criminal Minds". The bass player looks like a young Donald Sutherland. I wouldn't really call it a habit, but now we seem to end up "she looks like ____" or "he reminds me of _____." Yes, weird....but it passes the time. Saturday night we went out with some friends and listened to a different local band, one we have never heard before. Lead vocals/flute--Rebecca De Mornay. Bass--offspring of Jack Nicholson and Kelsey Grammer. Keyboard--Garth of "Wayne's World". Drummer--Unknown. Lead guitar--I'm stumped. This is the guy I can't place.
I have been searching the internet since Saturday night. I can tell you who it's not, but I can't figure out who it is. Description--fair skin, blond or light brown hair, high forehead, never cast as lead, maybe a minor supporting actor, sometimes wears glasses, nerd-ish. He's not the principal in "Ferris Buehler's Day Off', not Lenny from "Lavergne and Shirley", but he's someone who could get mistaken for one of those guys. I think he plays clumsy and awkward roles, maybe broken glasses...not Robert Carradine. No facial hair. Not brunette. Comedies.
So I called my sister, Karen. We discussed movies and some of our favorite quotes: 'to blathe', 'this one time at band camp', 'my name is Inego Montoya you killed my father prepare to die', etc. Then we got down to the business of searching the internet...me from Nashville and her from Michigan's Upper Peninsula. Two searchers are better than one, especially when they share DNA.
This guy I am looking for is not: Mickey Rourke, William Hirt, Seth Rogan, Ed Helms, Jim Varney, William Atherton, Martin Mull, John Hodgman, Ed Begley, Jr. And after carefully scrutinizing this photo, we decided it wasn't Gary Sandy either. We looked at it long and hard...nope, it was not Andy Travis, but I wish it would have been.
Friday, April 26, 2013
I want to rock!
Last Saturday, Randy and I went to see the play "Rock of Ages" at the Tennessee Performing Arts Center (TPAC). I've been looking forward to this show coming to Nashville since Zack and I saw it in Pittsburgh on Thanksgiving night in 2010. When I found out Nashville was one of there tour dates, I set a calendar reminder to buy tickets as soon as they became available. (We had great seats!) If you haven't seen or heard of Rock of Ages (RoA), here's a bit of background. It's set during the height of the hair band era of the 80s on Sunset Strip. The music is amazing, all the stuff I grew up with...Poison, Journey, Twisted Sister, Foreigner, etc.
Well, to honor the era I decided to rock! I warned Randy, who agreed to wear a black shirt but that was as far as he would take it. I, on the other hand, spent an hour teasing my hair. Jeans, high heels, layered pink and black lacey camisoles (revealing my ample boob crack), silver chains, strands of pearls, black eyeliner, sparkly eye shadow, lip gloss, bracelets, huge dangling earrings and a bad ass black denim jacket with the sleeves rolled up. I. Was. Hot. I was also afraid of any heat source or open flame. My hair was amazing. Sorry folks, but no photos. You'll have to take my word for it. Imagine two days and a half a bottle of conditioner to get all the tangles out of my hair.
Having seen the show in Pittsburgh, I knew I wouldn't be the only one rocking the 1980s look. However, with this being Nashville, the primary clothing choice of my fellow theater-goers leaned heavily towards denim (a good thing) and flannel (rather than heavily studded leather). There were a few exceptions...vintage concert t-shirts, animal prints and a few who actually wore suits. Then there was "ass crack girl". She was amazing. When we first walked into the lobby of the theater, I caught a glimpse of a girl (late 20s, early 30s) wearing a skin tight, short flesh-colored dress. The color of the dress was so close to the color of skin, that I did a double take as I nudged Randy with my elbow in order to point her out. As I was about to say something snarky, she turned ever so slightly and the light hit her ass just right and WOWZA, there was her ass crack! Showing right through the dress! Folks, there is not much that renders me snarkless, but this did. Once my vocal chords caught up with my brain, I think couldn't help but explode with laugh/snort. Randy was enthralled, and, to be honest, so was I. We moved through the crowd so we could get a little closer and get a better view. Yep. Her dress was so tight and thin that her ass crack was fully revealed. The closer we got, the more defined it was. Oh, and we were not the only ones who noticed. I don't know what was more of a kick, giggling about seeing her ass crack or watching the reaction of the people who also noticed it. And if you haven't guessed by now, she was not wearing any panties, not even a thong. No room.
Time for clarification. There is no suppressed girl on girl fantasy going on here. I like men! But this was like looking at a freakin' train wreck. And seriously, if she didn't want everyone to look at her butt she should have checked it out in the mirror before walking out of the house. Rather than, "honey, does this dress make my butt look big?" she should have asked "honey, does my ass crack show?" But, Randy pointed out that even if she did ask if it showed, her boyfriend probably said no. Pig.
The whole point of this story, yes I kind of have one, is that my cell phone sucks. I was unable to get any good photos of my fantastic hair...or of ass crack girl. That justifies an upgrade.
\m/
Well, to honor the era I decided to rock! I warned Randy, who agreed to wear a black shirt but that was as far as he would take it. I, on the other hand, spent an hour teasing my hair. Jeans, high heels, layered pink and black lacey camisoles (revealing my ample boob crack), silver chains, strands of pearls, black eyeliner, sparkly eye shadow, lip gloss, bracelets, huge dangling earrings and a bad ass black denim jacket with the sleeves rolled up. I. Was. Hot. I was also afraid of any heat source or open flame. My hair was amazing. Sorry folks, but no photos. You'll have to take my word for it. Imagine two days and a half a bottle of conditioner to get all the tangles out of my hair.
Having seen the show in Pittsburgh, I knew I wouldn't be the only one rocking the 1980s look. However, with this being Nashville, the primary clothing choice of my fellow theater-goers leaned heavily towards denim (a good thing) and flannel (rather than heavily studded leather). There were a few exceptions...vintage concert t-shirts, animal prints and a few who actually wore suits. Then there was "ass crack girl". She was amazing. When we first walked into the lobby of the theater, I caught a glimpse of a girl (late 20s, early 30s) wearing a skin tight, short flesh-colored dress. The color of the dress was so close to the color of skin, that I did a double take as I nudged Randy with my elbow in order to point her out. As I was about to say something snarky, she turned ever so slightly and the light hit her ass just right and WOWZA, there was her ass crack! Showing right through the dress! Folks, there is not much that renders me snarkless, but this did. Once my vocal chords caught up with my brain, I think couldn't help but explode with laugh/snort. Randy was enthralled, and, to be honest, so was I. We moved through the crowd so we could get a little closer and get a better view. Yep. Her dress was so tight and thin that her ass crack was fully revealed. The closer we got, the more defined it was. Oh, and we were not the only ones who noticed. I don't know what was more of a kick, giggling about seeing her ass crack or watching the reaction of the people who also noticed it. And if you haven't guessed by now, she was not wearing any panties, not even a thong. No room.
Time for clarification. There is no suppressed girl on girl fantasy going on here. I like men! But this was like looking at a freakin' train wreck. And seriously, if she didn't want everyone to look at her butt she should have checked it out in the mirror before walking out of the house. Rather than, "honey, does this dress make my butt look big?" she should have asked "honey, does my ass crack show?" But, Randy pointed out that even if she did ask if it showed, her boyfriend probably said no. Pig.
The whole point of this story, yes I kind of have one, is that my cell phone sucks. I was unable to get any good photos of my fantastic hair...or of ass crack girl. That justifies an upgrade.
\m/
Thursday, April 18, 2013
Failure anyone?
Failure is a scary thing, and I'm struggling with it.
Failure is bad, right? It should be avoided, right?
Oh boy...here we go...this probably isn't going to be the outrageously clever and humorous post that you were expecting when you clicked on this page. No haiku, no mules, no April Fools jokes today. Nope. Today I'm going to kick my butt a little bit.
What I've got to get through my thick skull is that failure isn't the act of falling off a bike and skinning your knee. Failure is never getting on the bike in the first place. It seems that I get in this "mood" when I'm between projects or about to finish a major project. How weird does this sound, but I'm almost afraid to finish a project because I don't know what I'm going to do next. Does that make any sense at all? And I don't know what I'm going to do next because I'm afraid that what I do start won't turn out the way I think it should...in other words, a failure.
I'm nearly finished with reworking a commercially knit pullover and turning it into a cardigan for my mom. It is turning out really well. Much better than I thought, actually. So why am I sad about finishing it? Why am I dragging my feet (other than the fact that I HATE to sew on buttons)? It's because I'll be done with it and then I'll have to start something new, and I don't know what to start, and I don't know if I should spin, knit or weave, and I don't know what yarn to use. Will it be the right project? Will it be the right yarn? Will I love it? Will I hate it? Will it suck? Will it be the most wonderous thing I've ever created?
For the love of God, Chris, just get on the damn bike! (and take a pill while you're at it)
Thanks for listening/reading, and I'll post photos of the almost finished pullover turned cardigan soon!
Failure is bad, right? It should be avoided, right?
Oh boy...here we go...this probably isn't going to be the outrageously clever and humorous post that you were expecting when you clicked on this page. No haiku, no mules, no April Fools jokes today. Nope. Today I'm going to kick my butt a little bit.
What I've got to get through my thick skull is that failure isn't the act of falling off a bike and skinning your knee. Failure is never getting on the bike in the first place. It seems that I get in this "mood" when I'm between projects or about to finish a major project. How weird does this sound, but I'm almost afraid to finish a project because I don't know what I'm going to do next. Does that make any sense at all? And I don't know what I'm going to do next because I'm afraid that what I do start won't turn out the way I think it should...in other words, a failure.
I'm nearly finished with reworking a commercially knit pullover and turning it into a cardigan for my mom. It is turning out really well. Much better than I thought, actually. So why am I sad about finishing it? Why am I dragging my feet (other than the fact that I HATE to sew on buttons)? It's because I'll be done with it and then I'll have to start something new, and I don't know what to start, and I don't know if I should spin, knit or weave, and I don't know what yarn to use. Will it be the right project? Will it be the right yarn? Will I love it? Will I hate it? Will it suck? Will it be the most wonderous thing I've ever created?
For the love of God, Chris, just get on the damn bike! (and take a pill while you're at it)
Thanks for listening/reading, and I'll post photos of the almost finished pullover turned cardigan soon!
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
Diamonds on the soles of her shoes
On April 15, 1998, I started my day like any other day. The only big difference was that my husband, Steve, (now ex) was home with the chicken pox. I dropped my son off at daycare in Green Hills and went to work in downtown Nashville.
It was a normal day but there was a weather alert, so we watched the skies to the west. There was much discussion about how tornadoes don't hit in large cities because of temperature differences or some other lame reason. We quickly found out that wasn't true. Tornadoes aren't selective.
Around 3pm, I got a call from Steve telling me that he thought a funnel cloud had just passed over the house. Like any weather watcher, and firm believer that a tornado won't hit a large city, I headed for the highest west-facing window I could find. The view was not good.
This is a photo from the local television station looking to the west. My office is just out of the photograph but is located near the two buildings in the lower right corner. The Sheraton Hotel is the building to the left with the round thing on top an the Tennessee Tower State Office Building is the taller one on the right. My building, the Nashville City Center, is about a half a block east. Union Street, which was pretty much the path of the tornado, runs between those two buildings.
I was gathered with several coworkers in a large conference room overlooking the intersection of 6th Avenue and Union Street. As we watched the storm get closer, I noticed that trash in the street was blowing around in circles. Then we all noticed that the flag on top of the State Capitol was whipping around in all directions. Not good! Actually, I think "oh shit" was said by all of us at the same time.
We bolted out of the conference room. I ran towards the closest interior room I could find. As I was about to run into the men's rest room the CEO came charging out of his office as the windows blew out. I pushed the rest room door open startling a poor guy who had been in there for a while and didn't know what was going on. One minute you're having a moment of private contemplation, the next minute three women and a freaked out CEO are pushing you back through the door as the lights go out. It was a strange moment.
The rest of the afternoon sucked. Luckily the phone lines at my office hadn't gone down so I was able to contact my parents with a quick, "there was a tornado in Nashville, I'm ok, but I need to get Zack." Zack was still at day care! The authorities weren't letting us out of the building because a second wave of severe storms was on the way.
We passed the time as best we could underground in a parking garage. Every one's nerves were rattled as hell so one of the firm's partners and I slipped out of the garage, into the stairwell and climbed up to the 10th floor where all the liquor that was left over from a client party was stored. We stuffed bottles and paper cups into computer bags and headed back down to the garage. We were heroes! I think we were all to freaked out to get drunk, but the odd assortment of wine and liquor helped calm a lot of nerves.
Around 6pm we were allowed to leave. By the time I had walked the 2 1/2 blocks to my car, my shoes were full of broken glass. You know that song by Paul Simon, "Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes"? Well, that's exactly what my shoes looked like.
Traffic was a beast, but by about 7:30 I arrived at Zack's daycare. All the kids were safe and still excited about the adventure of going to the basement...twice. Our house was not damaged but there were a few limbs down. The funnel cloud had indeed passed over the house. It touched down near Centennial Park and wreaked havoc as it traveled through the park, down Union Street, over the Cumberland River and through East Nashville all the way to The Hermitage, the home of Alexander Jackson. It was tremendous.
Unfortunately, I don't have a lot of photos to share. It's hard to believe that all this was before everyone had cell phones and digital cameras. I do have some pictures, but they are in a box somewhere at home.
I threw out the shoes.
It was a normal day but there was a weather alert, so we watched the skies to the west. There was much discussion about how tornadoes don't hit in large cities because of temperature differences or some other lame reason. We quickly found out that wasn't true. Tornadoes aren't selective.
Around 3pm, I got a call from Steve telling me that he thought a funnel cloud had just passed over the house. Like any weather watcher, and firm believer that a tornado won't hit a large city, I headed for the highest west-facing window I could find. The view was not good.
This is a photo from the local television station looking to the west. My office is just out of the photograph but is located near the two buildings in the lower right corner. The Sheraton Hotel is the building to the left with the round thing on top an the Tennessee Tower State Office Building is the taller one on the right. My building, the Nashville City Center, is about a half a block east. Union Street, which was pretty much the path of the tornado, runs between those two buildings.
I was gathered with several coworkers in a large conference room overlooking the intersection of 6th Avenue and Union Street. As we watched the storm get closer, I noticed that trash in the street was blowing around in circles. Then we all noticed that the flag on top of the State Capitol was whipping around in all directions. Not good! Actually, I think "oh shit" was said by all of us at the same time.
We bolted out of the conference room. I ran towards the closest interior room I could find. As I was about to run into the men's rest room the CEO came charging out of his office as the windows blew out. I pushed the rest room door open startling a poor guy who had been in there for a while and didn't know what was going on. One minute you're having a moment of private contemplation, the next minute three women and a freaked out CEO are pushing you back through the door as the lights go out. It was a strange moment.
The rest of the afternoon sucked. Luckily the phone lines at my office hadn't gone down so I was able to contact my parents with a quick, "there was a tornado in Nashville, I'm ok, but I need to get Zack." Zack was still at day care! The authorities weren't letting us out of the building because a second wave of severe storms was on the way.
We passed the time as best we could underground in a parking garage. Every one's nerves were rattled as hell so one of the firm's partners and I slipped out of the garage, into the stairwell and climbed up to the 10th floor where all the liquor that was left over from a client party was stored. We stuffed bottles and paper cups into computer bags and headed back down to the garage. We were heroes! I think we were all to freaked out to get drunk, but the odd assortment of wine and liquor helped calm a lot of nerves.
Around 6pm we were allowed to leave. By the time I had walked the 2 1/2 blocks to my car, my shoes were full of broken glass. You know that song by Paul Simon, "Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes"? Well, that's exactly what my shoes looked like.
Traffic was a beast, but by about 7:30 I arrived at Zack's daycare. All the kids were safe and still excited about the adventure of going to the basement...twice. Our house was not damaged but there were a few limbs down. The funnel cloud had indeed passed over the house. It touched down near Centennial Park and wreaked havoc as it traveled through the park, down Union Street, over the Cumberland River and through East Nashville all the way to The Hermitage, the home of Alexander Jackson. It was tremendous.
Unfortunately, I don't have a lot of photos to share. It's hard to believe that all this was before everyone had cell phones and digital cameras. I do have some pictures, but they are in a box somewhere at home.
I threw out the shoes.
Monday, April 15, 2013
Tick haiku
(Yoda style)
Disgusting are ticks
Elsewhere they need to find blood
A host I am not
Creepy little tick
Why do you suck on me so?
I shall pluck you off.
Nasty evil ticks
Your thirst for blood disgusts me.
Go suck it elsewhere.
(That last line applies to many things)
Disgusting are ticks
Elsewhere they need to find blood
A host I am not
Creepy little tick
Why do you suck on me so?
I shall pluck you off.
Nasty evil ticks
Your thirst for blood disgusts me.
Go suck it elsewhere.
(That last line applies to many things)
Friday, April 12, 2013
About Mules
And I'm not talking about shoes/clogs, which happen to be my favorite type of footwear.
No, this blog is about the mammal mule, the hybrid, the Equus Mule, the breeding of a male donkey and a female horse. If a female donkey and male horse are mated, the result is a hinny. I was curious, so I looked it up. Now I have a head full of little-known mule facts:
So, why do I feel compelled to discuss mules?
Last week, in a small town south of Nashville, it was Mule Day. The name of the event is a bit deceiving because Mule Day lasts for an entire week. I've lived in Nashville for nearly 25 years now and this was my first time experiencing Mule Day in Columbia, TN, and folks, it was eye-opening!
This celebration has been going on for about 170 years now and attracts 200,000 people from all over the country. Besides the standard mule-themed events, there's a parade and even a Mule Day Queen. (Yes, I saw her strutting around the festival with her entourage, resplendent in sash, tiara...and cowboy boots.)
We started the day at S&G Custom Cycles to see our favorite high-energy band, Phoenix Rising, play at 10am.
The shop is full ofcrap stuff.
No, this blog is about the mammal mule, the hybrid, the Equus Mule, the breeding of a male donkey and a female horse. If a female donkey and male horse are mated, the result is a hinny. I was curious, so I looked it up. Now I have a head full of little-known mule facts:
- A female donkey is called a jennet
- A male donkey is called a jack
- Mules are sterile because of an uneven chromosome count
- A mule's temperament depends on the breed of mare and jack used.
- Mule predators: fox, wolf, lion
So, why do I feel compelled to discuss mules?
Last week, in a small town south of Nashville, it was Mule Day. The name of the event is a bit deceiving because Mule Day lasts for an entire week. I've lived in Nashville for nearly 25 years now and this was my first time experiencing Mule Day in Columbia, TN, and folks, it was eye-opening!
This celebration has been going on for about 170 years now and attracts 200,000 people from all over the country. Besides the standard mule-themed events, there's a parade and even a Mule Day Queen. (Yes, I saw her strutting around the festival with her entourage, resplendent in sash, tiara...and cowboy boots.)
We started the day at S&G Custom Cycles to see our favorite high-energy band, Phoenix Rising, play at 10am.
Brian (guitar), Amy (lead singer), David (drums, you can barely see him behind Bob), Bob (bass)
The shop is full of
Crutches as art and a plastic nativity scene (lit!)
Table full of free crap (I didn't take any)
Motorized coffin with skeleton
Sign explaining coffin
Lots of cycles
Lots of parts of cycles
Um
More cycles and a wood stove
The place is like the Eye Spy of crap. Yes, that's a spinning wheel.
I knew I'd see one if I looked hard enough! Actually, there were two.
More free crap that I didn't take
If you're going to leave out a letter, I guess D is a good choice
Outside
More outside
Then we had lunch. Yes, we had BOTH pizza AND grits, separately.
From there, it was off to the celebration. Some of the photos are a bit blurry because I was trying to be "cool" with the camera. We're talking THOUSANDS of people.
People to the left
People to the right
People in the middle
Just one of the rings
Mules just hanging out
More mules
Mules about to pull a crap-load of cinder blocks
More mule pulling
I'm oddly pleased by this.
Really?
Now that we've gotten the lay of the land, we'll be going back next year...and I'm bringing extra camera batteries!
Thursday, April 4, 2013
About turning old into new
I had every intention of going to Ewe & Company, a yarn shop in Kingston Springs, this evening to hang out and knit for a bit. However, whenI got home I was attacked by a pair of sweatpants. Then the sofa tractor beam kicked in and that was that.
But the night wasn't a total waste. I made a new bed for my dog. Her old bed was stinky and gross, and a stinky and gross dog bed is a bad thing. I was going to buy her a new one but, since I had been attacked by sweatpants, going to the pet store was not an option. So, I looked about my house for dog bed materials. One old wool blanket, several partial bags of quilt batts and I was in the dog bed making business.
I cut the blanket in quarters. Don't freak. The blanket is very worn and the half I didn't use had a big hole in it. Then I sandwiched several layers of polyester battle between the two pieces of wool. To keep the filling from shifting I tied it just like you would tie a quilt. I closed it up with a blanket stitch edging. Pretty simple!
The whole process took about 2 hours at the most. I love it and so does Sophie!
But the night wasn't a total waste. I made a new bed for my dog. Her old bed was stinky and gross, and a stinky and gross dog bed is a bad thing. I was going to buy her a new one but, since I had been attacked by sweatpants, going to the pet store was not an option. So, I looked about my house for dog bed materials. One old wool blanket, several partial bags of quilt batts and I was in the dog bed making business.
I cut the blanket in quarters. Don't freak. The blanket is very worn and the half I didn't use had a big hole in it. Then I sandwiched several layers of polyester battle between the two pieces of wool. To keep the filling from shifting I tied it just like you would tie a quilt. I closed it up with a blanket stitch edging. Pretty simple!
The whole process took about 2 hours at the most. I love it and so does Sophie!
Blanket folded into quarters
About 6 layers of polyester batt sandwiched between blanket
Tied like a quilt
Blanket stitch edge
Sophie claims her bed
Sophie's bed in its place beside my bed
About the Voodoo Rodent
It's obvious that my letter to the gentlemen at the Groundhog Society was not taken seriously.
Well, rodent...take this. I have more pins and I'm not afraid to use them.
Well, rodent...take this. I have more pins and I'm not afraid to use them.
As Alice Cooper so eloquently put it, "NO MORE MISTER NICE GUY!"
Monday, April 1, 2013
About my weekend adventure
I'm not sure how this is going to go over in neighborhood. I'll either be crowned a genius, or I'll probably end up getting fined.
A lot happened last weekend. I'm not placing blame on anyone but myself, but the weather has been horrible this past month. Gloomy cold rain. Yuck. When the weekend rolled around I got in a bit over my head. I was bored and it was payday. Folks, that's a bad combination.
Friday night was spent quietly at my spinning wheel practicing plying. The fiber I'm spinning is a delightful blend of mulberry colored wool/silk roving that won Caulfield's Far Out Farm a ribbon at the Tennessee State Fair. I'm trying something new and using scotch tension rather than my double drive. The difference has taken a bit of getting used to, but I'm enjoying the results. It was late when I finally filled the bobbin and decided it was time for bed, so I didn't move my wheel back into its normal location. Who knew that being too lazy to put away my toys on a Friday night would lead to such an adventure? (Let this be a lesson!!!)
Saturday morning started out as any other Saturday morning. I let Sophie out, I surveyed the lawn situation, I heaved a sigh of disgust. I have a half acre of weeds and wild onions with little outcroppings of grass here and there. It's pitiful. I haven't started up the lawn mower yet because it's been too darn wet and cold, but as I contemplated my rapidly growing weed farm I knew I'd have to fire up the old Lawnboy soon enough. I walked back into the house with that nagging "there has got to be a better way" feeling in my head. Not paying attention to where I was going, I ran straight into my spinning wheel, knocking it over and sending the bobbins and unspun wool flying. Unspun wool. Wool. Wool comes from sheep. Sheep eat grass/weeds. I have grass/weeds. I need a sheep (singular) or sheep (plural). I like wool.
Can you can see where I'm going here? Well, after a pot of coffee and some successful Google search returns, I found a farm within driving distance that was willing to sell me a newly weened lamb. This was no easy task because I live within the urban services district of Nashville. No livestock! I would have to keep this little lamb under the radar because the farmer, who shall remain anonymous, could lose his membership in the Goat and Sheep Association of America and I could get the fine of a lifetime along with losing my precious little lamb to the Humane Society....or someone's freezer!
Before I was able to talk myself out of this craziness, I cleared out all the junk in the back of my Rav4 and headed to Lowe's for a couple bales of hay and fencing materials. $123.67 later and I was back at the house making a little pen in the garage for my new resident.
Once the pen was set up with watering bowls, food trough, and a comfy layer of hay, I headed to the farm to pick up my new ewe. I can't tell you how many times I've joked about wishing I had sheep in the back yard so I wouldn't have to mow. Looking back, I don't know why I didn't take myself seriously earlier. This is a grand idea! So, I got to the farm and instantly fell in love with this little girl:
Her name is Flurry because she was born on when snow was flying and she's a pure white Shetland. Cute as hell too!
While the drive to the farm was largely uneventful, the drive home was a different story. I had the backseats flipped down and hay spread over a tarp in the back. I have never transported anything other than my dog, and for some insanely idiotic moment, I thought that transporting a lamb wouldn't be much different. I was so wrong. Sheep bleat. Sheep bounce. Sheep poop. Lots of sheep poop. I know, I know! That's what I've always said about any kind of farm animal. They poop. But this is going to be a win win situation. She'll eat my grass/weeds and I'll spin her fleece into delightful skeins of yarn with which I will knit even more delightful garments.
Poop be damned, this will work!!
Well, we finally got home. I wrestled her out of the back of the car (sheep wiggle) and got her situated in her pen in the garage. Who knew that with all the crap in my garage that the bleating of a lamb would be so loud (sheep echo). Holy crap! I didn't think about that. I also didn't think about how long it takes a sheep to graze a square yard patch of grass/weeds. I put her out on Sophie's lead for a couple hours yesterday afternoon when it quit raining and let's just say that this is going to take for-freakin'-ever. I might need to go back and get her sister. It's a good thing the tarp is still in the back of my car.
Sophie is none to pleased about the addition of another animal, but I think she has assumed that Flurry is just a small dog who is totally uninterested in smelling butts.
I have taken way too many photos and videos to post here on this blog, so click here for the album. I'll be updating it daily. The video of her bouncing around in the backyard is totally priceless!
For sale or trade: 2 year old LawnBoy lawn mower $123.67 or three 40 pound bags of Sheep Chow and a bale of hay.
A lot happened last weekend. I'm not placing blame on anyone but myself, but the weather has been horrible this past month. Gloomy cold rain. Yuck. When the weekend rolled around I got in a bit over my head. I was bored and it was payday. Folks, that's a bad combination.
Friday night was spent quietly at my spinning wheel practicing plying. The fiber I'm spinning is a delightful blend of mulberry colored wool/silk roving that won Caulfield's Far Out Farm a ribbon at the Tennessee State Fair. I'm trying something new and using scotch tension rather than my double drive. The difference has taken a bit of getting used to, but I'm enjoying the results. It was late when I finally filled the bobbin and decided it was time for bed, so I didn't move my wheel back into its normal location. Who knew that being too lazy to put away my toys on a Friday night would lead to such an adventure? (Let this be a lesson!!!)
Saturday morning started out as any other Saturday morning. I let Sophie out, I surveyed the lawn situation, I heaved a sigh of disgust. I have a half acre of weeds and wild onions with little outcroppings of grass here and there. It's pitiful. I haven't started up the lawn mower yet because it's been too darn wet and cold, but as I contemplated my rapidly growing weed farm I knew I'd have to fire up the old Lawnboy soon enough. I walked back into the house with that nagging "there has got to be a better way" feeling in my head. Not paying attention to where I was going, I ran straight into my spinning wheel, knocking it over and sending the bobbins and unspun wool flying. Unspun wool. Wool. Wool comes from sheep. Sheep eat grass/weeds. I have grass/weeds. I need a sheep (singular) or sheep (plural). I like wool.
Can you can see where I'm going here? Well, after a pot of coffee and some successful Google search returns, I found a farm within driving distance that was willing to sell me a newly weened lamb. This was no easy task because I live within the urban services district of Nashville. No livestock! I would have to keep this little lamb under the radar because the farmer, who shall remain anonymous, could lose his membership in the Goat and Sheep Association of America and I could get the fine of a lifetime along with losing my precious little lamb to the Humane Society....or someone's freezer!
Before I was able to talk myself out of this craziness, I cleared out all the junk in the back of my Rav4 and headed to Lowe's for a couple bales of hay and fencing materials. $123.67 later and I was back at the house making a little pen in the garage for my new resident.
Once the pen was set up with watering bowls, food trough, and a comfy layer of hay, I headed to the farm to pick up my new ewe. I can't tell you how many times I've joked about wishing I had sheep in the back yard so I wouldn't have to mow. Looking back, I don't know why I didn't take myself seriously earlier. This is a grand idea! So, I got to the farm and instantly fell in love with this little girl:
Her name is Flurry because she was born on when snow was flying and she's a pure white Shetland. Cute as hell too!
While the drive to the farm was largely uneventful, the drive home was a different story. I had the backseats flipped down and hay spread over a tarp in the back. I have never transported anything other than my dog, and for some insanely idiotic moment, I thought that transporting a lamb wouldn't be much different. I was so wrong. Sheep bleat. Sheep bounce. Sheep poop. Lots of sheep poop. I know, I know! That's what I've always said about any kind of farm animal. They poop. But this is going to be a win win situation. She'll eat my grass/weeds and I'll spin her fleece into delightful skeins of yarn with which I will knit even more delightful garments.
Poop be damned, this will work!!
Well, we finally got home. I wrestled her out of the back of the car (sheep wiggle) and got her situated in her pen in the garage. Who knew that with all the crap in my garage that the bleating of a lamb would be so loud (sheep echo). Holy crap! I didn't think about that. I also didn't think about how long it takes a sheep to graze a square yard patch of grass/weeds. I put her out on Sophie's lead for a couple hours yesterday afternoon when it quit raining and let's just say that this is going to take for-freakin'-ever. I might need to go back and get her sister. It's a good thing the tarp is still in the back of my car.
Sophie is none to pleased about the addition of another animal, but I think she has assumed that Flurry is just a small dog who is totally uninterested in smelling butts.
I have taken way too many photos and videos to post here on this blog, so click here for the album. I'll be updating it daily. The video of her bouncing around in the backyard is totally priceless!
For sale or trade: 2 year old LawnBoy lawn mower $123.67 or three 40 pound bags of Sheep Chow and a bale of hay.
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