We went to Tim’s on Sunday to eat Callinectes sapidus: beautiful swimmers.  That has to be one of the best summer rituals we Americans have come up with.  Water bugs taste gooooooood.  Old Bay tastes gooooood.  Drawn butter with lemon juice tastes goooooooood.  And then all of that together, with perhaps some beeeeer—mmmmmmmm.  Until it is all suddenly overwhelmingly disgusting, this whole process of cracking, dismembering, opening, scooping, dipping; and the vinegar and lemon burning in all of the little nicks on your fingers and along your lips is too much.  Check please.

We were joined by my younger brother Andrew, hair-farmer extraordinaire, who will be tending our furry charges, our green charges,  our fridge, and our adult beverages in our absence.  Kayo and Scath are quite excited:  Andrew is pretty damn generous with the treats, food, and catnip, and he is apparently really good at sitting still with a cat on his lap.  And he went and graduated from college.  How on earth is that possible?  He’s nine years younger than I am, and if he has a degree and can legally drink adult beverages, that means I’m clearly in my 30s.  Wacky.  So, does this mean I’ve officially crossed the line from “rebellious youth” to “crackpot?”  Cuz it’s fun over here, wherever I’ve landed.

Just a few days left until I wander off for a few weeks with way too much stuff and many many good friends.  In preparation for the annual trek to Celtic summer camp, I always go a teeny bit overboard.  This year is no exception.  Despite all of my assurances to whomever would listen that I was going to take it easy this year and didn’t plan to make much . . . well, let’s just say I came by the “crazy” moniker honestly.  If I didn’t make so much, the run-up to this vacation would sure be more relaxing  . . . . and if a frog had wings he wouldn’t bump his ass a’hopping.  Scott was never convinced.  Scott can predict the future.  Scott deserves a pony.  I have been told, however, he doesn’t actually want a pony because some silly police may come scold us for having livestock in the suburbs.  What-evah.  Maybe I can make a pony out of leather and rivets.  And felt.  And maybe I can do it right now.

Somebody shake me.

I’ve sewn like mad.  Mad I say!  The ruana I showed you the other day–I had no intention of making it.  It was an accident.  It required hours of hand-sewing.  I couldn’t help myself.  And then I went through the basket of clothes I planned to bring for the masses, and found that I had no medium pants left, so two pairs of pants, check.  And then I fell down and made a lot of tunics.  I think I made seven?  Wait, no.  Nine?  I don’t remember–it’s all a fog.   A few still need some hemming and are calling from the basket.  I don’t even know whose they are.

And then I fell down and made a couple of Mongolian vests–I only meant to make one but the fabrics I bought for it were fighting each other and I heard some whispering from the fabric stash.  And some number of hours (and lots of bitching about making luceted button loops, and some deliberation over buttons) later, bang, there were two lined vests.  Whoops.  And I made a new belt for Scott.  Because we wouldn’t want the new del encircled in a shabby belt.

And, of course, I had to finish the socks I was working on for my Mom, because she would never make it through my vacation without a new pair of socks.  In August.  Cuz the mid-Atlantic is so cold now.

And then I showed Andrew some of the felted hats I’ve been working on and offered to make him one.  Because, you know, I need to add something else to my “to-do” list.

In all of this, I neglected to make a single new anything for me.  Not right.  Not just.  So I now feel bound to make myself something new.  I have some linen that seems to be calling my name . . .

When I wasn’t sewing like mad, I was muttering things like “wouldn’t a pig roast be fun, except for the huge amount of work involved.”  I don’t think anyone else is convinced yet.  And I accidentally volunteered to teach a class, but I have yet to pick a topic.  Crap crap crap.  I know I have all sorts of interesting stuff crammed in my head, but I can’t think of anything anyone else wants a handle on.  The bring-everything-and-just-let-folks-ask-questions option is appealing for its lack of class prep, but unappealing because of the whole bring-everything aspect.

And maybe I’ll be done with a new translation.  And maybe monkeys will fly out of my butt.

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