It’s just knitting – or is it?

Over the past few days I’ve joined a few groups that have been formed in response to Ravelry’s “no hate speech unless you hate Trump and then it’s okay” policy.

I’m sad. I’m sad about the number of people who simply love knitting, crocheting, making stuff, creating beautiful patterns, who have been excluded from a site, simply because they don’t choose to hate the current President.

I never liked Obama. I didn’t like his politics, I didn’t like the way he spoke, had I ever taken a class he taught, I’m sure it would have been torture – I don’t deal well with clipped, jerky speech. My problem, not his, and I didn’t hate him for it, but I didn’t like it. I also didn’t give two figs about the color of his skin. I didn’t like the path he was leading us down, I still don’t like it, and I’m glad, for the most part, that that particular train has been derailed for a while.

Through 8 years of that, I knit. I talked to a lot of people in craft stores because, hey, we all have crafting in common or we wouldn’t be in A.C. Moore or Hobby Lobby, now would we? I don’t think I ever once asked anyone for their party affiliation in all those years.

I joined Ravelry when it first started. I never participated much, if I found a pattern I liked, I would download it, bought a couple, but there were too many other sites that I could use to stick to just one. I guess that’s why this ban doesn’t bother me the way it bothers some people. It bothers me because you can’t say you’re inclusive and then exclude a huge group of people. You can’t ban what you consider hate speech and allow what an entire other group of people also consider abhorrent. I find vagina hats to be the essence of poor taste but I’ll defend to the death your right to wear one. I’ll make fun of you and laugh at you while you’re wearing it, but I won’t tell you that you can’t. It’s your decision if you want to look like a classless idiot.

I ask for the same if I were to make a MAGA scarf or hat. You can make fun of me, but don’t tell me I can’t wear it or share the pattern with people who want it. You just can’t do one and not the other.

I don’t know what happened at Ravelry to start this whole thing. I’m hearing that there were patterns with swastikas, and some nasty posts in some of the forums. I’m not sure that it couldn’t have been better dealt with – ban those people and make it clear that THAT kind of thing won’t be tolerated, but don’t paint every person who supports the President as some kind of deplorable racist idiot.

I joined a few groups on Facebook who were filled with people upset about this decision. I thought it would be nice to be in a group of people who wanted to talk about knitting, and who were so clearly upset about the lack of inclusivity on Ravelry that they would, themselves, be accepting of anyone who wanted to join.

Try that again. Within days, they’ve started sounding almost exactly like the group they’re condemning. When this was brought up, the people who mentioned it were roundly excoriated and told that if they didn’t like the group, they could leave. Hmmm, seems like that’s exactly what Ravelry did.

So I left them all. I’m gonna start my own group – wanna knit? We’ll talk. Wanna make a pussy hat? I’ll tell you how to find a pattern but I won’t ask why you’d want to make such a stupid thing. (My opinion – they’re stupid) If you want to knit a Swastika, or make a noose, your ass is out of my group. Otherwise, let’s all stop labeling and learn to respect each other again.

And I can teach you to knit if you want to learn. 🙂

Posted in knitting, my life, politics, Ravelry | Tagged , , , | 6 Comments

I’m a knitter

And what I knit is normally given away. I like to buy yarn – the craft room closets are stuffed and there are baskets sitting about where Maverick can’t get into them, filled with yarn. My brain is constantly thinking of ways to use the yarn I have, and giving me reasons to buy more. I’m a wee tad addicted to yarn.

I can crochet, but knitting is my love. I started knitting when I was four years old. Family lore says that I picked up my mother’s knitting and did a few rows – perfectly – before she realized it and took it away from me. I still have the little knitting kit I got for Christmas that year – a little plastic lunch box sort of thing that I absolutely adored.

I’ve knit up miles of yarn in my life. Most of what I make these days is either given to someone or donated to a charity. I have enough scarves to, as my mother would put it, patch Hell 99 miles.

(I’m still not quite sure what that means)

Many years ago, I was told about this new website, where knitters shared patterns and in general, their love of knitting. Well, sign me up! And so I created an account.

I’ve knit my way through a lot of presidents, some I liked, some I despised. The person in office never influenced my knitting. I talk yarn with people who knit, I don’t normally talk politics. “Do you have a mitten pattern?” has never yet been followed by, “Maybe, but I won’t share it with you if you didn’t vote for the right person!”

I don’t care who anyone loves, as long as they don’t come after my husband – then we’ll have an issue, he’s mine, I don’t share. “Do you have an easy hat pattern?” is not answered with “It depends on your sexual preference.”

Today I learned that this website that I joined years ago is banning Trump supporters. My first question is, “who the hell is talking politics on a knitting board?” My second question is, ” do you really believe I’m a white supremacist because I don’t hate the President?” And my third question is, ” How the hell is this inclusive if you shut out anyone who doesn’t agree with you?”

I deleted my account. I’m sure they won’t even notice. The designers who sell patterns on that site might, though. I just can’t see how this is fair to them.

Posted in knitting, my life, politics | Tagged , | 6 Comments

Full moon and other woes

Dear Mr Judgy McJudgypants

Thank you for standing there, staring at me, instead of moving on, while I was trying desperately to get my dog’s attention away from yours and back onto me. When I was yelling “leave it!” and “middle, dammit!” did you not notice that I was really really trying, as I was struggling to hold onto 70 lbs of determined dog, to keep him from running over to you and your dog? He wanted to play, that was obvious to me, but what was also obvious, or should have been, was that I wasn’t going to let him run up to a strange dog. There was a reason you couldn’t just move on? You had to stare at me, and then continue to stare at me, when I finally got him to look at me long enough to make him move? Yes, I was pulling on him. Try moving him when he is totally focused anywhere but me, without pulling on him. I dare you.

Also, when I had to go back to the car to get wipes because I managed to get poop on my hand when trying to pick it up, thank you, Miss Judgy McJudgyass, for staring at me like I was Satan incarnate when I put the Teen Terror into the car so I could get the wipes out of the trunk. Yeah, I’m totally gonna leave him in the car with the windows rolled up.

And my Kindle is busted. The only good part of that is that Amazon is replacing it.

There’s a full moon. I blame most of the shit that’s happening on that. Call me crazy but there it is.

Posted in dogs, Maverick, my life, puppies, training | Tagged , , , | 2 Comments

The demise of an American Icon

My husband retired this week
He spent 28 years working for Harley-Davidson
The first time we met, he drove past the plant and told me proudly that he’d worked there for 14 years. Later we went out and fed the deer that lived on the land Harley owned, he bought a bag of apples and cut them into pieces that we threw to the deer – deer that would come up to the fence to get the pieces and then run back to safety.

A few years later, those deer would be slaughtered during a night hunt that was organized by Harley for reasons no one could quite understand.

We should have paid closer attention to that decision.

A few years after that, it was contract time. We had married, and built a house, a house that’s way bigger than we need for the two of us, but it was okay, because he worked at Harley and life was, and always would be, good. Harley took care of its people. Harley wasn’t a company as much as it was a family.

My family – dysfunctional doesn’t begin to describe us. I should have remembered that.

Harley management took lessons from my oldest sister. Make them think you love them, then stab them in the back. And smile. “You didn’t REALLY think we cared, did you?”

I should have known better.

I wrote this three years ago. It’s still true. And it still makes me sad.

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What I should be doing

I should be checking on the students who have done nothing or close to it since the summer semester began a couple of weeks ago. I should be reminding them that they have an exam that closes tonight at midnight and they really need to get on it if they haven’t completed it.

I should be doing some training with Maverick.

I should be reading a book or knitting something elaborate or working on my dog training course – since I paid for it, I really should get into it.

What I’m doing instead

I’m writing a blog post, isn’t that obvious?

I’m reading emails and thinking about writing a letter – because I still do that for a few people who love getting a real, written on paper and stuck in the mail, letter. I guess that’s another thing I should be doing but I think that thinking about it counts.

I’m pondering the cute little notebook I got to help me chronicle my Lenormand readings. (I think that almost counts as actually writing in it)

I’m thinking that even though Bear’s schedule changed and we don’t have to be up at the crack o’dawn this week, it might be nice to continue to get up early so we can get our walk in before it gets really hot.

All this thinking about doing stuff is making me tired.

I think I need a snack.

Posted in my life | 4 Comments

Early mornings

I am a confirmed night owl, have been since I can remember, although my mother would often tell me that when I was a wee thing, I would insist my father get me up when he got up at the crack o’dawn to go to work. I think it had nothing to do with the hour, I just wanted one on one time with my Poppa – as the youngest of five, that wasn’t always easy to get.

Mornings make me grumpy. People who like mornings make me annoyed. If it weren’t for coffee, and that most people can read my “get the hell away from me before I bite you” expression, I would probably be locked up by now.

So a couple years ago, the Bear retired from Harley Davidson, after being screwed over mightily and well, that’s another long story. Best thing he ever did was getting away from there, and here’s a hint – if you want a Harley, get one made before the last few years because quality is no longer important at that company. After two years of “enjoying” retirement, which was actually a year of recovery from major surgery and then another year of sitting on his butt watching endless episodes of MASH to the point where I was ready to hunt down Hawkeye and throat punch the self righteous bastard (can you tell I was pretty over it?), he took a part time job.

Thank you, Sweet Baby Jesus.

He works part time. But for the month of June, he works from 6 am till 2:30 pm. Last year, this was not a problem until the last week, Maverick came home on the 22nd so for that week, I got up at 6, took puppy out to potty, played a bit, then we both napped awhile, repeat through the day till Daddy got home and then I got a nap. This is not going to work with a year old puppy.

In the interest of my sanity, I’ve been getting up at 8. Asking for more than that would be impossible for me, it just won’t happen and if it did, I’d be meaner than cat shit, as my sainted mother would say.

So we’ve made it through almost the first week. Of course, it’s a week where I have something going on every single day.

If anyone has a spare nap they aren’t using, could I please have it?

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My Little One

I think we may have turned a corner and are starting to see light at the end of this tunnel. I’m pretty sure there are some rocks still gonna crop up in this tunnel and the light may be blocked a time or two. But in the past couple of weeks, I’ve seen you change so much – and I can see the dog you’re going to be.

It hasn’t been easy on us. I’ve struggled with accepting that I have to meet you on your terms sometimes, that I can’t make plans and expect you to follow them when you don’t speak English and don’t have a clue what I want. I’ve finally started to listen to you – and most of the time to understand what it is you need.

I made plans before we brought you home. For a while I’ve thought those plans had gone in the dumpster. Maybe I’m a hopeless optimist, but I think maybe some of them may just come out of the trash.

Tomorrow he may have me in tears again. Yesterday and today were amazingly good days and I’m going to bask in this glow as long as it lasts. Pray that the crash isn’t too hard!

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I don’t normally do this, but…………….

one of my friends recommended these treats so I ordered two bags. Maverick about stood on his head for them.

He insisted that I had to tell everyone about them, so if you get a chance, check out

Gracie is a delight, and her treats are, well, Maverick said “they made my mowfee explode!” He pretty much loves them, and he’s finicky.


He seriously is fussy, and not at all food motivated – and a high value treat today will be meh tomorrow. THESE treats look to have staying power, and they’re healthy, and the little girl who runs the company is just freakin adorable. So go and shop and send her a picture of your dog. Do it now. Maverick insists.

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In the blink of an eye

a year went by

Last year, I was so deeply mourning Max, so lost in grief that I thought I’d never smile again.

And a few miles down the road, you were being born. A little red ball of fur, who would wrap his paws around my arm, and lift my shattered heart back into the light.

I’ve fought my way out of the darkness of those days. I’m not all the way out, there are times when I still dissolve at the memories, those last pain filled days of fighting so hard to keep Max alive, to somehow beat the unbeatable, of wanting it to end and dreading the moment that I would have to make that decision.

He was my Monster Boy. You are my Little One. He was a big, blonde, curly boy, who just glowed with love and peace. You are my reddish blonde, curly haired kid, with so much energy and so much curiosity and so much life and joy that you make me laugh even when you try my patience to the limit. (Please stop fighting the harness, it’s not going to kill you, I promise)

I didn’t want to love you this much. I didn’t want to let myself be open to the pain of losing you. You won’t have that, though – you will climb into my lap, and nose boop me and kiss my face, and bite my ankles and let me know in every possible way that I am YOUR Mommah, and you are my Little One.

I will love you forever. Happy Birthday, my Little One.

I love you, Mommah
Posted in dogs, Maverick, Max, puppies | Tagged , , , | 1 Comment

Food woes

I was brought up to think of food as a way to express how much you love someone. If you come to my house and go away hungry, it’s your own fault, because if I like you, and you wouldn’t be invited to my house if I didn’t, I will feed you till you don’t need to eat for a week. And then I’ll send you home with leftovers.

If I offer you food, and you refuse it, you’re refusing my affection. It’s ingrained in my soul and it’s one of the reasons I was overweight for so many years.

Max would eat any time you put food in front of him.

And along comes Maverick.
From day one, he’s turned up his nose at the food we’ve given him. There are only two brands of dog food I’ll consider feeding because of the whole grain free mess and DCM, and so his choices of dry are limited, but he gets a variety of toppers to make things interesting.

Apparently I’m offering poison. For awhile I was letting him free feed, but this kid already thinks he’s in charge of everything and I was advised that I needed to put his food down and pick up the bowl in ten minutes if he hasn’t eaten. Tonight we’ve done this routine three times. At 7:30, I will try for the fourth time. And again at 8. And then he’ll go hungry till tomorrow.

This is not the part that makes me want to tear my hair out. I can outlast him. The part that makes me want to check into the looney bin is that so much hinges on him eating his food. Training involves giving rewards in the form of treats. Treats are far preferable to food, so training goes by the wayside when he won’t eat, because I refuse to reward his refusal to eat. Everything, even playing, involves food in some way, and when he won’t eat, I find myself sitting here, counting the minutes till I can one more time heat up the food and try again. (I heat it up because I refuse to throw out three bowls of food for Mr. Pickypants.)

No one gets this frustration. I’ve tried to explain it to my husband, and to my friends, and no one gets it.

So if you don’t hear from me for awhile, just assume I’m in lockdown and pray they’re giving me good drugs.

Posted in dogs, Maverick, training | Tagged , , , | 1 Comment