July 28, 2004
Having a Dam Fine Time!
Today we segue from Canis domesticus, Canis lupus, and Canis mixedbreedus to Castor canadensis. Don't have a clue what Castor canadensis is? Here's a hint:
Your Official Blog Photographer, The Mysterious K, took this last week. Is this not, yet again, a fabulous photo? Even more fabulous is the fact that it was taken five blocks from my very urban, in-city home, in a restored, renaturalized and rebeavered park. There are nine beavers, including three snookum-wookums babies, living in a huge and still-growing dam built right up against the walkway. They can be seen early every evening, like clockwork, appearing from and disappearing into the bowels of the dam, motoring to and fro across the pond, gnawing down aspen saplings, towing them from Point A to Point B, and settling in for a big munch. TMK decided this would be a good place to try out her fledgling photographer’s skills, and I think she did a day-um fine job.
This pond and stream is also home to salmon, kingfishers, great blue herons, a variety of ducks, way too many crows, and a coyote (or so the informational sign says)—and is surrounded by humans, some of whom came in one night last month and vandalized and graffitied all the artwork and the small seating area where people come to hear free music recitals. Sigh.
Knitting Knews
Eleven more rows, or, more exactly, 1463 stitches to to go on the pillow! I'm concerned that it's starting to look as if it has no intention of turning out square but I'll deal with that when I come to it. Hopefully somebody will have really pissed me off right before I block it and I will take great delight in torturing it into a square-ish shape. Anyone want to volunteer to annoy the crap out of me in a few days?
The beaded stitch markers continue to demonstrate that they have minds of their own. All knitters know that it is a cardinal rule that once lost, a stitch marker is never found. If a stitch marker is found, the world will immediately tilt off its axis and life as we know it will come to an end—that's how important this rule is. Unless it's one of my stitch markers. Remember the one I declared lost last entry? It turned up in Jessica's bag. I don't recall my knitting being anywhere near Jessica's bag—which means that the marker climbed off my knitting, walked across the floor, and climbed into her bag. I can see it now: The sequel to "I, Robot," "I, Stitch Marker."