Photo Shoot (or, Shoot the Horse)

Ho, ho, ho!  The Frogpond Christmas season has truly commenced --  yesterday (only 2 weeks late!) Cornelius got to dress up and pose for our annual Christmas card photo.  As usual, he loved every minute of being an uncooperative putz.  Pinning back his ears in that endearingly sulky way (demonstrated every time he sees Bruce with the camera),  slobbering all over the inedible props (I believe that he ingested a Styrofoam cranberry), and doing his best to eat all the edible ones.  Before we were finished, he'd bounced all the lovely red Fuji apples down the hillside and consumed most of the carrots (Three were rescued for a bean soup I made today.  I washed them first).  I don't think that any of the fruit or vegetable products so artistically arranged in the big fuzzy stocking will be visible in the final photo.  There'll just be shots of his big stubborn head firmly stuffed  into it.  The true spirit of the season (if you're a horse).

And then, when the sun finally slipped behind Gopher Ridge, we'd called it a day and were collecting the massive amount of props we'd brought down to the pasture, Corny (right on cue) turned from Scrooge into a jovial Father Christmas.  I knew he would.  He stuck his head over the gate as I'd been begging him to do for the past hour, pointed those big hairy ears forward and smiled as big as a horse possibly could. 







Merry




Christmas



Everyone!!!

 
















Yup, my boy's a putz.

Christmas Break Begins

At home!  At last!  Two blissful weeks of  break. 

These past two weeks it's been, to put it mildly, a marathon at school.  This morning we had our school Christmas program and the students got to recite "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening" and do their square dance.  Their recitation of the poem was spot on, but it was the dancing that brought down the house.  The students squared off in their five sets and when the happy music started playing and the caller (our principal) started calling the moves, the students started dancing...and the audience began clapping, louder and louder, in time to the music.  The joyful energy in that room just about lifted the roof.  All the boys (most who had been on the fence the whole time about this dancing with girls thing) and all the girls (who were already in love with dancing their feet off) stepped it up and grinned ear to ear, even as they danced with renewed energy.  I sat there, mesmerized and enchanted.  After weeks of pushing and pleading and cajoling and ordering these children to dance, there they were, in the zone, loving every minute of it.  This is an experience that I'm sure will be with them forever -- the day they danced while the audience clapped.  I'm happy.

When I got home this afternoon, this package was waiting for me inside the gate to the driveway. 

My order of yarn!  Arriving three days early!!!  Life is good -- I'm warping a project up tonight and hope to start weaving tomorrow.  Christmas break is here!

Winter Eclipse

This week is getting away from me.  Usually the week before Christmas break is a hectic one at school, but this year is worse than usual.  There's just too much stuff going on.  There's the "normal" holiday stuff to tackle, like rehearsing for our Christmas program and all the artsy-craftsy things we try to cram into a two-week period.  This year our principal agreed to teach our 4th graders how to square dance for the program.  The girls are hopping-around-delirious with joy with all the do-say-do-ing, even as the boys rend the heavens with their whining at having to touch a girl's hand.  The classes will precede the dancing by reciting Robert Frost's "Stopping By Woods on a Snowing Evening."  When researching facts in order to write lines for our announcers, I discovered that this poem is commonly thought to be an allegory for death and suicide.  And here I thought it was simply a lovely description of snowy woods.  It's a pity I can't share with the 4th grade boys the poem's darker meaning -- they could get some comfort (of the cold variety) from being poetically set up for the  square dancing looming just ahead.

At school I have a tiny lighted Christmas tree, garlands, a poinsettia plant and the children's woven God's Eyes to decorate the classroom.  Not much, but it's something.  Here, at home, there is still nothing (our three Thanksgiving pumpkins continue to sit on the porch rail, but I don't suppose that I can count them).  One could say that Christmas hasn't quite found its way to Frogpond yet.  I'm confident that it will.

Until it does, I'm doing my best to slow down, keep kind feelings in my heart (especially towards 4th grade boys), and appreciate all the shades of winter.  And so, here is a picture that Bruce took of last Saturday's lunar eclipse.  Celestial and smiling like a Cheshire cat.

The List

This morning started with a list.  Before I let Bruce do anything (I'm a bit of a dictator), I sat him down with me at the dining table and insisted that we put some Germanic order into the day by writing down everything that needed doing.  Bruce wrote and wrote as we thought of more and more things that needed doing.  When this was finally finished, he started with the first thing on the list that he was to do, which was cooking breakfast, while I started with the first thing that I was to do, which was to finish weaving the scarves on the loom.  I wove; he cooked; we ate; and I wove some more. And wove some more. And some more.  When the sun was casting long shadows and the day was almost over, I threw the last shot of yarn and then victoriously cut my project from the loom.

Then 45 minutes to measure, cut fringe and tidy up stray ends and, voila!, the scarves were finished.  Bruce brought out his camera and photographed them.  Actually, a  project really isn't finished until it's been washed, dried and pressed.  But I always take pictures before all of this for two reasons.  The first is because all of the experts say that it's important to have a record of a project as it looks directly from the loom; before washing and drying.  The second is because I have a pessimistic streak to my character that tells me to immortalize my work before it is possibly destroyed by washing and drying. 

The scarf on the left is in a very safe plain weave, while the scarf on the right is in huck lace, which is not supposed to be done with fuzzy yarn.  I like the scarf on the left but am absolutely in love with the one on the right, fuzzy yarn and all. 

It's hard to see in a photograph, but the threads in the lace scarf have a texture and randomness to them that somehow give the scarf a liveliness that the other scarf lacks. 

This is the plain weave scarf...

...and this is the huck lace one. 

After our photo shoot, I washed and tumble dried both scarves.  They both made it through with flying colors and, dare I say it, look prettier than ever.  I'm a happy camper.  Weaving can be a nerve-wracking endeavor because final success or failure is not apparent until the very end of the process. 

As for the list...well, now we know what we'll be doing for the next few weekends.  No worries.

A December Saturday

I've only just settled in at home after spending most of the day in town.  Mama and I had lunch with  daughter Liz at a small Vietnamese restaurant that she loves.  We had very hot noodle soup with strips of beef and fresh vegetables to add in as desired.  Really, really good! 

I planned to do some Christmas shopping afterwards and maybe even some decorating at home.  It didn't happen.  I came right home after dropping Mama off and then Bruce and I took a walk with the dogs.  I don't have a single hint of Christmas anywhere at Frogpond -- in fact there are still three cheerful orange pumpkins planted solidly on our porch rail.  They are very pretty, but I suppose that it's time for them to go.  A large box of flower bulbs delivered from UPS also sits on the porch, waiting to be planted.  I'm feeling just a little overwhelmed to have autumn still so very much in evidence even as Christmas looms largely on the horizon, not to mention springtime flowers impatiently waiting to be planted.  Behind as usual.

However, I digress.  As I said, Bruce and I took a walk and I was able to check in on several things.  Captain Jack was out strutting with the hens and appears to have settled in well.  He's an absolutely stunning young rooster.  Thank you, thank you, thank you, Dorothea!

We then walked around the pond and from there, down to the lower pasture.  The llamas and a single cow were on the side of the dam.  They stared suspiciously at us and we did our best to converse with them.  Llamas have a habit of making strange noises, but only when you turn your back on them.  Face them, and they are utterly silent.  Interesting creatures.

And, lest anyone thinks I forgot, here is one of the small mountains of llama poo that I was talking about.  I must admit to having to get down very low down in the grass in order to make the pile look even remotely like the mountain that I previously described.  But, still, it's sort of mountain-like.  Right?  And the llamas really do run and back up to it to do their business.  Mountain or not, as rich as this stuff looks, it's definitely going on the compost.

End of a Long Week

Just home from our annual staff Christmas party.  A very nice group of people, the food is fabulous and the place we hold it -- a private saloon -- is fun.  But at this time in my life, a Friday evening is a time for putting up the feet, not putting on party shoes.  I'm glad we went, but I'm gladder to be snug back home with a cup of tea and a cat.

Tomorrow morning Bruce will be getting out of bed at 4: 30 am in order to take camera and tripod down to the pond to take pictures of the lunar eclipse. Me --  I'll be applauding his gumption and enthusiasm from beneath the warmth of our down quilt.

Rooster gets a name

He's got a name -- meet Captain Jack.  The name suits him, and I think it will stick. 

There was a baptism of sorts right after I told him his name and closed everyone in for the night.  I went around to shut the little door to their run and stepped squarely into the middle the chickens' water pan.  My left clog, sock and jeans were soaked halfway to the knee in cold water.  Methinks I  heard clucky-chuckles as I squelshed back to the house.

I think Captain Jack likes it here...

Yup, It's a Monday

Today was a quintessential Monday.  It started with Bruce not being able to find his money clip and having to come back into the house to search for it.  The urgency of finding the money clip has nothing to do with money (not a lot of cash in that clip), but rather with the driver's license and gas card that are also in it.  I (bless my sweet, wifely heart) was concerned, energetic, cheerful and just a teeny bit condescending as I helped comb the house for the errant clip. It didn't turn up and at last Bruce was given a sympathetic kiss good by and he left without it.

Wish I'd saved some of that energy on myself.  Twenty minutes later, I had my laptop, rolling crate and lunch in the car and was ready to set off for school.  And I couldn't find my glasses.  Anywhere.  The house was ransacked yet again.  I love these glasses -- they are lightweight, rimless and almost invisible.  For these same reasons I also hate these glasses.  I have the bad habit of setting them down all over the place, and thus misplace them for short periods of time several times a week.  I lose them for longer stretches of time about once a month.  And they disappear off the face of the Earth every 6 months or so and must be replaced.  I finally gave up the search and drove off in a cloud of angry dust, wearing my old pair of glasses (ugly, horn-rimmed and unlose-able) from the bathroom drawer.

I spent the day explaining my glasses to the multitudes who noticed my new look.  The students liked them -- they think that these old ugly ones make me look more like a teacher.  I smiled and said thank you; but you know I wanted to cry.

Anyway, I came home and set about more methodically tearing apart the house.  I looked in all the places they should be.  All the places they might have fallen.  All the places a cat might have knocked them.  No glasses.  Finally I got desperate and looked in all the places where they absolutely couldn't be.  When I found myself peering in the cheese compartment of the fridge, I decided to call it a day. 

I will call my optometrist and schedule an appointment to get new glasses.  And they will be, God help me, EXACTLY like the ones I just lost -- lightweight, rimless and almost invisible. Because I love these glasses.

Yeah, I'm an idiot.

On another note, here's the rooster from Dorothea.  He spent the day with his new ladies, but I wasn't here to see it.  However, he looks pretty comfy, perched up on the roost surrounded by the girls. 

Lordy, he's a pretty boy!  He still doesn't have a name.  I thought that Darwin might be a nice name, but then decided that a noble name in the tradition of his predecessor, Sir Didimous, might be more appropriate.  Last night I took a detour from writing lesson plans and Googled "knight's names."  Nothing's been decided yet. 

Rooster and Griffin

Meet the newest Frogpond inmate, er, resident.  Since we lost our ancient geezer of a rooster, Sir Didimous, Frogpond has been mighty quiet.  No rooster cocka-doodle-doo-ing at all hours.  We can hear the neighbors' roosters, but it's just not the same.  So this afternoon I drove down to Dorothea's where she had this little guy caged up and waiting for me.  He's speckled black and white with a wash of gold on his ruff and green lights glinting on glorious black tail feathers.  He's gorgeous!  A cross between a banty and a standard-sized chicken, he's small enough that I can now add banty hens into the flock.  Now for the fun of thinking of a name -- something noble for sure.

I know Dorothea from way back when I taught each of her daughters in my second and third grade classes.  Many years have passed since then, but we've remained friends.  Dorothea's daughter, Erin, who I taught as an eight year old, is now all grown up and exploring ceramics.  I was absolutely blown away today when she brought out all of these pieces that she's created. 





A Griffinish sort of creature

 

 Ceramic Mask Becomes Erin

 
Wow!

And then little He-Who-Has-Yet-To-Be-Named and I loaded up in the car and headed back up the hill.  A lovely afternoon.

And then, the winds came...

Last week autumn definitely stepped closer into winter. Thursday and Friday, terrific winds came up each afternoon that gusted over 50 mph (we were lucky in the north - they reached over 80 mph in the LA region).  The thick grey fog that had blanketed the valley for days was swept away in a few hours.  The sun shone again, but now the bright blue sky was cold. 

Our glorious tupelos held on to their leaves as best they could, but by this morning they looked like this.  Actually, as hard as that wind blew, I'm surprised that they managed to hang on to any leaves at all.  I'm glad we took those pictures last weekend.

Today was lovely and mellow again.  We took time this afternoon to relax and hang out for awhile with the Frogpond critters.   

Squeaker brought her brood outside to play in the mulberry leaves 

 

Happy hen goin' places

 

Multi-Pass sharpening her claws on the wood pile



Mulligan joined us for a walk around the pond



The dogs performed their troika routine with a stick

Arby, our bounding, bouncing boy

It was a quiet, dreamy sort of day that felt like we'd moved half a step back into autumn again.  Tonight, though, it's supposed to freeze -- I'm off to move the last of the houseplants from the deck into the house.