You are currently browsing the monthly archive for June 2007.

The doorbell rang this afternoon, and I peered out the window to see the back end of a FedEx guy running up the driveway to the street.  Now that happens sometimes, as our driveway is long and they don’t always want to deal with either turning around in a tight spot or backing out the length of it. There was a small package on the doorstep, about the right size for a book.  We get that sort of package all the time.  But this was addressed to . . . . Moominmana’s Memoirs?   My blog gets mail?

Unsolicited stuff on my doorstep generated by an Internet presence . . . could it be a whole lot of bio-terror spores? Moving away from the bowl of black beans on the counter, I carefully wielded my box knife to reveal


an advance reading copy of Drunk, Divorced, and Covered in Cat Hair by Laurie Perry, AKA Crazy Aunt Purl. I suspect the fine hand of Jen the Wonder Publicist is involved.  What fun!  I’m tempted to pour a glass of wine and plunge into the book, but I’ve got yarn to dye, and more about that later.

Thank you, Jen!  Thank you, Laurie!

Bags packed, ready to go

As I mentioned quite a while back, I came across a cool project for Burning Man  called A Tree Unraveled that is looking for knitted leaves that will be tied to a tree framework and then gradually unraveled over the course of Burning Man.  I’ve only managed to get three done, but I sent them off to the artist today, before I could forget about it and be too late.  The deadline for submissions is August 1 — you could knit a couple, too!  Do check the guidelines — she only wants acrylic yarn.

Even the blackest of them all, the crow,
  Renders good service as your man-at-arms,
    Crushing the beetle in his coat of mail,
      And crying havoc on the slug and snail.

                               Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,
                               Tales of a Wayside Inn–The Poet’s Tale–Birds of Killingworth
                               (st. 19)

I like crows.  They caw and chatter in the trees around my house, and I look a little anxiously at disheveled ones because they might have West Nile Virus, which I hear has devasted crow populations in areas of the northeast US.  So when Greg saw an injured one near the street just before dinner last night, we swung into action.  The bird was dragging a wing, one flight feather was sticking out an an odd angle, and it was also hopping one foot, as if a leg was broken. As we walked back up to the street together, a mob of young teenagers came past:

“Hey look, a crow!” “Let’s throw rocks at it.”  “I’ve got a BB gun.” etc. Would wiser heads have prevailed if we weren’t there?  Who knows, but we herded the crow into the shelter of a rhododendron bush and I guarded it while Greg went to phone the PAWS Wildlife Center. He came back shortly with the word from the experts: No food, no water, bring it in before 8pm.  We collected a sturdy cat carrier, gloves, and towel, and I herded it in Greg’s direction and he threw a towel over it, then picked it up.  Once picked up it didn’t resist at all, and it was gently deposited in the carrier which was then covered with the towel.

We’re fortunate that PAWS is only about 4 miles away.  When we got there, another lady was wandering around the parking lot with a carrier, frustrated at the inadequate signage. She had an injured crow, too, unable to fly because of paint on its tail. The main section was closed, but we jointly figured out that the Wildife Center, which is set back in a clump of woods, was where we needed to be. The staff took the birds away and returned the carriers, and we ended up first at the desk to give addresses, etc.  When the other lady heard our address, she exclaimed, “I came from West Seattle!”, so for her it had been about a 25 mile drive, fighting traffic all the way.

Her bird had apparently been attacked by a cat while it was stuck on the ground — the staffer said that when birds are wounded in the torso they get subcutaneous edema — they swell up with fluid in their airsacks and need to be deflated — well, I guess it would actually be drained, but the idea of deflating a bird has a certain charm.  He agreed that our bird likely had a broken wing and a broken leg, probably the result of a car strike.  After it had settled in for a bit he’d give it thorough exam.  It’s apparently not uncommon for them to be  feeding on roadkill or trash on the road and not get out of the way quite fast enough.  The prognosis depends entirely on exactly where the breaks are:  if they are at or to too near a joint, the bird will have to be euthanized, as it won’t heal well enough for it to able to live in the wild.  If the breaks are in the middle of bones, then splints and time will do the job, and it’ll be off on its own with stories to tell.  Since we live fairly close to the center, as the crow flies, it might even be able to find its way back to its territory.

I called PAWS today, and they’ll send me a card with the rest of the story —  the person I talked to said the bird was still there, but didn’t know any details.

Columbus Circle

The exuberant fountain at Columbus Circle.

Got books?

Books do make a room.  This is the lobby at Random House, and the books line the other wall, too,  as well as wrap around both corners.

Sign of the times

Seen on Broadway.  10 points if you know the reference without Googling it.

It’s too hot to be a warrrior!

Yoga in Times Square on the solstice.

Just who are you?

Getting a badge to go upstairs at Random House.  Note the alliums in the bouquet.


Greg got this great picture of a man waiting not-so-patiently while someone was shopping for expensive shoes.

Richard Curtis, man about town

Richard Curtis, uber-agent, shows us how to draw a basket at breakfast. Also how to be darned well-dressed!

I’m not so environmentally irresponsible as to drive 20 minutes to the nearest Whole Foods just to look for skyr , but since I needed to be very close to one when I was getting a minor auto repair, it would be foolish not to shopping for dinner and just happen to look in the dairy aisle, eh? I scanned the shelves fruitlessly; there was Russian-style yoghurt, the yummy  Fage Greek yoghurt, the excellent Nancy’s Yoghurt from the Kesey family farm in Oregon — but no skyr. I finally found a staffer, who, although not one who worked in the dairy department, was willing to try to help me. “Do you have skyr ? It might be limited to the East Coast, but it’s exclusive to Whole Foods,” I began, and she said,”Oh, I’m glad you asked me, the dairy person wouldn’t have known what you were talking about!”

She went on the explain that yes, it’s only available on the east side of the country due to the limited production output from the factory, and she really missed it, since she’s from the east and used to have it all the time. Dang. 

I called Olsen’s Scandinavian Foods in the heart of Ballard, Seattle’s Scando ghetto, but no dice there either. Double dang.

So, the first one who brings me a live container of skyr gets a free skein of Damselfly yarn in their choice of colorways. Deal?