Today I thought I’d share links to some of my favourites on the web…podcasts, that is!

Almost everything I’m listening to these days is knitting-related but my favourite podcast is still the very first one to which I subscribed (and it’s got nought to do with knitting!):

• In Our Time with Melvyn Bragg: without a doubt, the best podcast on the Internet. No shit.

My other podcast subscriptions (in alphabetical order):

• Cast On
• Craft Lit
• Radio 4 Choice
• Stash and Burn
• Sticks and String
• Thinking Allowed
• Yarn Craft

This day, more than any other in the year, is the day on which I most deeply feel a sense of “otherness”. It is a day on which I remember friends and family and, above all, my beloved homeland…a nation so similar on the surface to the one in which I now live and yet so very, very different.

As has become my habit, I will spend today enjoying as much Canadiana as I can.

I’ve already watched the National Film Board’s short, The Log Driver’s Waltz and, pretty soon, I’ll put Great Big Sea in the CD player. I’ll think about Kraft Dinner, stubbies, the DEW Line, This Hour Has 22 Minutes, parkades, Pierre Trudeau, high school rugby, Kids in the Hall, Cowichan sweaters, Tommy Douglas, Hockey Night in Canada, MacLean & MacLean, and yes, I will drink beer.

Happy Birthday, Canada. I love you…

My biggest task for today was to work on my entry for the IG club’s logo competition. Initially, I’d wanted my little beauty to be nose cone art but I’m just not that talented. So, instead, she’s part of the welcoming committee…

The next steps will be to work out the background (palm trees? flags?) and get the text on there. Good thing the deadline for submission is a month away…

I reckoned it was time to start knitting up some of the bargain yarns I’ve picked up over the past few months. First up on my list was some Magallenes yarn from Araucania Yarns. This is a singly ply, hand-dyed, thick-thin yarn of 100% wool. In fact, it’s very similar to the Manos de Uruguay used to knit my mum’s Christmas gift. Given that I can be a bear of very little brain, I decided just to knit myself the same scarf as the one knit for Mum.

The yarn isn’t nearly as soft as the wool used in Mum’s and it’s not as good to work with but, considering I got it on sale cheap-cheap at Tuesday Morning, it’s not so bad.

(And I definitely won’t be spending $10 per button for something for myself!)

I will have enough yarn to make a matching hat though and maybe (just maybe) some fingerless mitts as well.

the smell of rain
– a petal drifts down from the oleander

It all started innocently enough with the click of a shutter and ended with five of us in the water and one standing poolside, screaming invective. Despite the rather dramatic end to the situation, Operation Duckpond was an unqualified success.

Last night just before heading off to teach aikido, Kathleen spied some visitors to our home:

While Kathleen snapped a few pictures, I distracted the dogs so they wouldn’t try to find out what she was doing. (Those wacky whippets…they are nothing if not incorrigible nosy parkers.)

While Mrs. Mallard and her babies swam around the pool, I shared photos and stories on Facebook about their cute antics. Mrs. Mallard would jump out of the pool, trying to get the babies to follow her. Meanwhile, the babies would just stay in formation, floating floating floating. It was very cute, that is, until I received an email from my friend, Karen. The Mallard family had apparently spent the afternoon in her pool and were unable to leave until a series of duckling-sized pool steps had been built for them. She also warned me that one duckling, the darkest one, seemed to be rather clever and another more yellow one struck her as being a little “slow”.

Gulp.

I put the hose in the pool and started filling it, thinking that if I got the water level as close to overflowing as I could, then the babies would have a better chance of getting out. An hour or so later, Kathleen arrived home and we surveyed the situation together. Even though the water level was higher, it still wasn’t enough to get the babies over the lip of the pool.

A few Facebook status updates later, we had a plan. We’d build a rescue ramp.

(Okay, it wasn’t so much as “build” a ramp as it was “go find one of those ramps that Wayde uses to load his dirt bike on the truck and put it in the pool”.)

Kathleen and I stood on opposite sides of the pool, waving our arms in an attempt to corral Mrs. Mallard and her babies towards the ramp. Unfortunately, as their previous experience had been with steps, the ducklings didn’t really know what to do with the ramp. Well, they didn’t know what we wanted them to do with it; they found its underside to be an excellent hiding place from those humongous creatures with wildly flapping arms.

By now the sun was gone and nighttime had set in. Obviously, it was time to take drastic action.

Kathleen and I put on our bathing suits.

Once we were both in the pool, our plan was to have one person flank the Mallard family and herd them towards the ramp. The other person would wait in the shallow end, poised to finesse the herding operation.

Well, that was the plan. As I swam out to begin the flanking, Mrs. Mallard led her babies to the deep end and jumped out of the pool. Seeing an opportunity, I decided to herd the ducklings into the corner of the pool and just lift them out on my hand.

Mrs. Mallard most definitely did not like this idea and stood poolside, screaming all sorts of duck vulgarities at me. My primary thought at the time was “Thank god these aren’t geese!”

One baby pushed itself into a jump the moment it felt my hand under its feet. One down, two to go.

Next up was the more yellow one. Karen was right; this little guy might be a little slow. He just sat there on the water’s surface, waiting for me to scoop him up. What if I’d been a raccoon? or a whippet? He’ll not be long for the gene pool if he doesn’t smarten up!

Two down, one to go and, wouldn’t you know, fate had saved the best for last…the clever one. He tried everything in his little duckling bag of tricks to get away from me, from trying to deke me out to trying to outswim me.

Update

The ducks were back this morning. At one point, the mother and one chick were in the dog yard. I managed to distract the dogs before they saw them. While writing the previous paragraph, I caught Rogie out of the corner of my eye, picking something up in the yard. Yes, it was the clever duckling.

I guess the mother took the one baby who could jump out of the pool for a walk…right into our dog yard. The mother was scared off by the dogs, leaving her ducklings behind.

Rogie dropped the baby when I screamed “No” and slunk off to watch from a distance. I put the baby back in the pool and he swam off, no worse for wear. I wish I could say the same about one of his siblings. The more yellow baby was “nodding off” in the pool…perhaps he’d been in the water too long.

Kathleen and I have taken him out and set him beside the pool in a shade-dappled warm spot. Meanwhile, the mother flew a grid pattern overhead and, once we cleared out of the pool area, the other two ducklings were able to signal their location to her.

I don’t think the yellow baby will make it but hopefully the other two will be able to escape our yard (relatively) unscathed.

I think I’ve probably procrastinated long enough to not bother finishing the tales of the road trip. Suffice it to say that we had a blast and came home safe and sound. After a brief few weeks at home, W and I were off to an island paradise:

Five days in the Cayman Islands are enough to make you completely forget whatever you might have been procrastinating about…

But I’m home now and have things to say so…I’m back!

(Apologies for the delay in continuing the series; I’ve been waylaid this past week with the flu.)

Our first event in Atlanta was lure coursing. We’d decided that one day of lure coursing was enough and our preference was definitely for ASFA. Apparently, there’d been an unforeseen road obstacle the day before delaying arrivals at the field. We got up early and, thanks to a generous offer from Donna Miner, were on the road with our own personal guide.

When we arrived at the site, we found that the original field was flooded due to some recent rain storms and so the lure coursing would be held on a different field. No matter…I would have made the alternate field my first choice. It was fantastic with some challenging terrain in the form of hills and swells.

Thanks to a rather nasty asthma attack two days before leaving home, I was not able to spend much time outside without hacking up a lung. (Or at least trying to hack one up…) So, I have to confess that most of my
time at the ASFA trial was spent inside Lynne’s motorhome, knitting.

I did attend the handlers meeting though and had my own little chuckle over Donna Richards’ heartfelt plea to keep the trial moving along lest she miss some of the NASCAR racing later that day. The response from the crowd was overwhelmingly positive…all of which I found very quaint. Quaint that is until I got home and started watching the Stanley Cup playoffs.

Then it all made sense to me…

While hiding out in the motorhome, I managed to knit at least five inches on my lace scarf and, even better, was able to visit (briefly, alas…) with old friends, Lindsay Lobree and David Howton. Of course, David was running around making sure everything was running smoothly and what a fabulous job he did at that! Kudos, David!

As I wrote to Lorna, his co-owner, Rogie’s first run at the trial was okay but “nothing to write home about”. The judges agreed and it was scored accordingly. His second run was better (he didn’t cheat! yippeee!) and that was also scored accordingly. At the end of the day, he ended up in third place in his flight (stake? I still don’t know the correct terminology!) and earned the points required to finish his field championship. Way to go, Roges!

I also ventured out of the motorhome to watch a couple of Avery’s run- off runs. He was in a tie with another dog for first place in his flight/stake/thingie and every one of their run-offs ended up in a tie as well. After 157 runs, the other dog finally got the extra point needed to win.

(Okay, maybe it was only 147 runs…either way, so much for NASCAR!)

Everytime I made my way outside, I was struck by the smell of garlic. It turns out that there is a wild onion that grows as a grass in that area of Georgia. I spent quite a bit of my time in the motorhome pondering how I might cook that grass. I came up with trenette tossed with sauteed onion grass and baby fava beans and then topped with freshly grated Parmesan cheese. Just the idea of it makes me hungry….

No matter, at the end of the day, Avery got some big time points (LCM? someone help me out here) and Rogie finished his FCH…it was a good day.

Back at the Hilton, people began pouring in and gradually the number of jammie-clad people walking whippets at the back of the hotel increased. Rogie’s only concern was that the number of whippets around the hotel increased which meant that the number of GIRLS around the hotel increased.

On one of our trips outside, Rogie saw a group of girls that set his heart a-flutter. He stood up as tall as he could, put his tail and ears in the air, and strutted.

“Hey, I think it’s working! They’re looking at me!”

I mentioned to Rogie that he might like to show off his skill at navigating the hotel’s revolving door; it might impress the girls. Rogie had become quite adept at the revolving door, entering quickly and then waiting at the leading edge for an opening to appear.

He entered the doorway quickly but then realised that the girls weren’t with him. Suddenly, he didn’t care where or when the opening would appear! He stood stock still, staring backwards out the doorway towards the objects of his heart…those little whippet girls. The other side of the door opened up but Rogie was having none of it; he would not leave without those girls.

And so we went around again.

While we were heading back outside, Rogie’s new friends entered the doorway’s other compartment and, although we were now headed in the opposite direction, Rogie pressed his little face against the glass that separated him from his own true love(s).

Roges was happy to go through the revolving door again but, by the time we made it into the lower lobby, the girls were gone.

Rogie’s sigh was heard throughout the hotel.

The next few days ran together in a blur of driving, rest stops, and too short nights in freeway motels.

We did have a few memorable moments though. Any trip through New Mexico on I-40 cries out for a stop in Gallup. It has become tradition for Lynne and me; our required stops are the El Rancho Hotel for lunch and then Richardson’s Pawn for turquoise shopping.

It was almost 1:00 p.m. when we reached the Gallup exit. I’d only scheduled one hour for visiting Gallup but hadn’t broken that news to Lynne yet.

“Lynne, we’re stopping for lunch first.”

A tiny, plaintive sigh escaped Lynne’s lips. “Lunch?”

“Yes, lunch first.”

And so we pulled into the El Rancho’s parking lot and quickly found our way to the restaurant. We both ordered the Anthony Quinn…New Mexico green chile with beans.

There is nothing quite like this dish. I’ve made a version of it at home using local peppers and chicken but having it again in Gallup reminded me that there’s nothing quite like the original. I came away with a renewed determination to buy some Hatch chiles in September when my local Raley’s gets them in. Maybe Hatch chiles and ground pork would make a closer facsimile of the El Rancho’s dish.

As always, Richardson’s didn’t disappoint. The artistry of the jewellery is just plain amazing. Thanks to a change in our travel plans, we’ll be able to stop on the way home too.

More turquoise! More green chile!

Thanks to Jean Balint, one of our travel rituals has become waving at cows as we drive past them. This started out as waving at black cows for luck but, as I’m very much a “cover all your bases” sort of person, I
started waving at cows that _might_ be black. As you’re hurtling down the freeway at 60 miles per hour, it can sometimes be hard to tell if a cow is black or dark brown. What if it’s backlit? Then it’s almost impossible to tell.

Not wanting to miss out on any of the good juju that comes from waving at black cows, we started waving at all the cows.

I also started waving at all the Quebecers we passed along the road but that was just because. I’ve not heard of it bringing luck but it must be good in a karmic sense, right?

After a night in Tucumcari (”Tucumcari tonight!”), we were back on the road heading east.

There’s not a whole lot of excitement crossing through Texas and Oklahoma although I will say that the I-40 rest area in Texas is phenomenal. Great architecture, tornado safe rooms, and free wifi…what more could one ask for?

Our plan was to stay in Little Rock for our third night on the road but, after some discussion, decided to try to get a few more miles under our belt that day, just to make our arrival in Atlanta a little bit earlier. So, while we stayed the night in Lonoke, we did eat in Little Rock and what a meal it was!

In North Little Rock, we pulled off the freeway and found Corky’s BBQ. Lynne ordered their beef brisket but I was seduced by the promise of dry ribs. Corky’s did not disappoint; the ribs were tender, juicy, smoky, spicy…everything you could ever want in barbeque. Even better, the leftovers made a great sandwich for lunch the next day.

During all this, the boys were behaving beautifully despite being stuck in their crates for the duration.

(Some of my photos of Rogie from the journey to Atlanta are here: http://www.peavine.com/?p=129 )

Four days after leaving Lynne’s home in Walnut Creek, we finally rolled into Atlanta. We quickly checked in and headed out for dinner. After four days of driving, we were looking for a restaurant within walking distance and found a Greek/Italian place about a quarter of a mile away.

Even though the food was just “okay”, this dinner was one of the highlights of my trip. Why?

Because after ordering a drink, the waitress asked me for ID. I’ll be straightforward here…I’m every inch an overweight, middle-aged woman. Today is my 45th birthday so my first thought on the waitress’ question was “Oh, this place is like that Mexican restaurant in McKinney (Texas). They have really strict liquor laws and they HAVE to ask everyone for ID.”

After handing over my government-issue ID, I could tell by the embarrassed look on the waitress’ face that this was not at all like McKinney. Bless her ignorant little heart…

To answer some of the questions I’ve had about this incident:

* No, I was not IDed by a man who winked knowingly while asking for my ID.

* No, the waitress was elderly like the (possibly senile) woman who IDed me in Oklahoma when I was 40. This girl was in her early 20s.

During the coming week, I learned that another whippet person had also been IDed. Jill Hopfenbeck was IDed TWICE during her stay in Atlanta (and she’s older than I am…although I don’t think she’d mind, I’m not going to tell her age, just in case).

I think I’ve discovered the key to being taken as being much younger. I can’t speak for Jill but this is what has worked for me. First, stop dying the hair. If your hair is the right colour, all that grey might pass for highlighting. (If anyone is curious about my hair colour, it’s “field mouse grey” or, as the hair care industry likes to call it, dark ash brown.) Second, don’t dress nicely. Obviously, if you can afford nice clothes, you must be at least middle-aged. Finally, don’t take your afternoon blood pressure meds; there’s nothing quite like a little mild hypertension to give you the rosy complexion of youth.

Seriously though, Jill said she was told that most places ID anyone who looks under 30. Hell, at 45, I’m more than happy with that!

Next up…lure coursing, racing, and the rest of the week in Atlanta!