1. A friend asks "Would you like two free tickets to see Tony Rice, Jerry Douglas, Allison Krauss, Dan Tymynski, Ron Block, and Barry Bales play tonight?" What is the appropriate answer?
a.  Hot damn!
b.  Sheewwww Doggie!
c.  Good lord willin’ and the creek don’t rise
d.  Do they sell beer there?
e.  All of the above

The last time we saw Tony Rice play he didn’t speak at all on stage.  It was a couple of years after he developed dysphonia.  Tony Rice was touring with Bela Fleck, Sam Bush, Jerry Douglas and several other bluegrass luminaries.  It was a great show, but I really missed hearing Tony’s voice.  This time around, he spoke a bit and had Allison and Dan sing his songs.   It was great to hear him chat with the band mates and introduce some of his tunes–there’s something spooky to me about musicians who don’t speak on stage.  Folk music is supposed to be, well, folky and open and relaxed.  I would still love to hear Tony Rice sing live one day, but I won’t complain about my good fortune–not many people get a chance to see that sort of musicianship even once in their lives.    Dan and Allyson were both in good voice, and hot damn, Barry Bales can play some slap bass.  Good show all around. 

Thanks Mike and Tara, and thanks to your buddies who bailed on the show!  We had a great time. 

Remember when I used to review things, like books and movies?  Yeah, me neither.  I did though, and then I got lazy or something.

The Deceivers by John Masters

I’d link to the book on Powell’s, but it took me years to get a copy, and they don’t have any and probably won’t for a long time.  Scott recommended this book to me ages ago, and I had to track and wheedle and bend over backwards to get a copy.  It’s been out of print for a while now, few libraries have copies, and I finally paid far too much for a copy that had clearly been mouldering in some basement for years.

The novel is set in India during the height of the East India Company’s power.  Our protagonist is an officer in the EIC, and he learns about the thuggee cult’s operation in the region he’s responsible for.  So he set out to find and crack the cult, accidentally ends up in Kali’s service, mayhem ensues, and somehow he makes it out alive.  I don’t want to say much more than that.  The history seems pretty good, though I’m no expert on India’s history so it could all be crap.  The writing is engaging, the plot is interesting and frightening.  I’m really glad I finally got a copy.  I guess I’ll stop rubbing it in now.  Now I just need to find a copy of the film to watch–it has Pierce Brosnan in the lead, which officially makes it an Irish movie, and thus puts it on my homework list. 

Also, reading this book reawakened my abiding interest in Kali cults, particularly in Thuggee.  And I found this while I was looking about for more on the subject.  If, when I allow myself to buy books again next January, you see me holding that book, remember that it’s because I’m interested in Thuggee strictly in a historical sense.   I don’t think I’ll add this particular book to any wishlists, though.  Not appropriate for birthday pressies, ever, how-to books on strangulation.  Very off-putting for the recipient and the giver. 

I’ve been meaning to write.  I know you don’t want to hear any excuses, and I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors about me and sewing, and me and spinning, and me and the kitchen.  Well, none of them are true.  I may have picked up a few needles with eyes lately, but they’re not really much of a temptation these days.

But things have changed between us, and we both know it.  I’m not leaving you–I just need a bit of freedom.  Freedom to leave the couch, and see people who, well, who don’t knit.  Or don’t just knit.  I’m not turning my back on you.  I promise!  I’m just trying to reconnect with some old friends who were feeling a bit neglected.  Namely, soil, and flowers, and vegetables, and some people. 

All that talk about the Maryland Sheep and Wool festival was true, you know.  I did go.  I just focused on people and music and the great outdoors rather than, well, you.  I’m sorry.  I did hang out with both Rowans, boy and girl (knitter), and with Brooke (she knits) and Mary (she makes us knit), and the Two Sock Knitters, and Juno, and Jayme, Janet, Jinann, Carol (all knittets and most spinners)–heck, all sorts of knitters were there.  And look what Mary made:

It’s not the best of pictures, but that’s the top of an ironwood walking stick.  It was hard for me to photograph, because it’s about seven feet tall.  And it’s essentially the predecessor to the fallow-deer antler distaff she’s making us.  It looks like she’ll use beech.  Isn’t that great?

And remember that green bag we were working on?  It’s finished, and at Tuatha.  I needle-felted some fiddle-head inspired designs on it.  I know they’re hard to see there, but the fuzz isn’t as powerful at obscuring the detail in real life.

But before Maryland Sheep and Wool, I really started focusing on plants.  It happens, you know.  Don’t worry.  I’ll grow some flax.  For now, though, I want you to meet some of my other friends.

This is sandwort, and blue-eyed grass

And their neighbors, bachelor buttons

And cransebill

And clematis

Round back, there’s Golden Star (she’s a native).

And more clematis

And iris

Verbascum

and lilac.

I know they all look strong and well, but some parts of the garden need serious help.  While you and the festival got all of my attention last summer, the Egyptian walking onions and rosemary and strawberries were attacked, see:

They need me.  But I promise to come back once it gets hot.  Knowing Virginia, that could be next week.  I’ll tell you all about it while we work on the blanket, ok?  Ok.

Today is our fifth wedding anniversary, and a little over twelve years since Scott and I decided we were, well, us.  I generally try to quell the sap.  But I can’t for a  single second hide the fact that I think I am one of the luckiest people in the world.  I met Scott when I was 16, we both ended up going to Tech and becoming really good friends there, and then risking our friendship for something even better.  Best bet I’ve ever made, that.

A lot of our friends have anniversaries near ours, because they also thought Beltaine was a great time for a wedding.  It makes this time of year really celebratory.  Last weekend, we got to celebrate Aes and Phalen’s 16th anniversary with May Wine and a May Pole.  This weekend, fun with sheep!  I’ve also been listening to Kristin Andreassen’s (of Uncle Earl and Footworks) Crayola a bit too much, because I think it’s the right kind of love song.  And also a kid’s song.  And also a winner in the annual John Lennon Songwriting contest.  Wanna hear it?  You can download a free, legal copy here: http://www.jlsc.com/winners/2006b/lennon_awards.php (Kristin is in the top left box).  Makes you want to play paddy cake, doesn’t it?

by Sandra McPherson

The man vending needles at our door
Was lucky to greet you.
He looked poor but you acted needle-poor
Where I’d have said, I don’t need …

He sells needles to prick your heart
And they’ll take small bites
Out of my finger in a layer of skin
Where my feelings are thin.

The old thread knitting together his many wools
Might last another trudge
To our porch: he came last year but I
Refused and barely looked him in the eye.

I’ve lost how many needles since then?
Besides he is mute
And would see how dumb we are to buy
Three hundred needles for relief.

But he supplied us to the end of life.
I’ll give away some.
And you might never use these points
That push through cloth, cut to be made one.

Beltaine is the Irish word both for the month of May and for the festival that commemorates the height of spring.  Literally translated, it means “bright fire.”  I could talk about what Beltaine is all about, but I’ll just show you instead.

First, Rowan, Etaine and I crossed the Potomac at White’s Ferry:

And then we went to see sheep at Kiparoo:

And calves:

And chooks:

And then came planting, with Kayo’s help:

And then things got really fun.  We went to John the Farrier’s, where our pals had already raised the roof on the long-hall.  It’s wonderful, but you have to just trust me on that.  The camera only comes out every so often in Celt-land.

We got a visit from Connal and Fionnula, who is chock-full of baby:

And we raised a Maypole:

If you have kids, take them to dance a Maypole.  Please.  It’s astounding how much they like it.  Once it was wrapped, we got to the tough part.  I’m guessing most of you haven’t tried to ring a maypole, but it makes slam dunks seem sooooooo easy.

Sometimes, people try hard.

And sometimes, people try to try (language starts to get a bit adult about this point).

And sometimes, climbing becomes necessary.

I accomplished a fair amount over the last couple of weeks, but never got around to showing you.  I finished the first kilt hose (what is the singular of hose?  hosen?  holy crap, have I just realized that “hose” has no singulative? now I have to go read some linguistics . .  .)

I know it looks wonky, but I have clogger-calves, and relatively small ankles, and then bigger heels.   It’s probably all because of percussive dance.  Anyway, yes, it fits correctly.  I feel like I’ve been knitting these since I was born.  And that leftover yarn goes to the blanket.  I’ve just barely started casting on for the second one–this is officially a slog.

Speedwell doesn’t care about the sock-yarn or the kilt hose-one.  He just wants to chew on rodents outside.  Speedwell is not authorized to make his own decisions.

I also made and felted a couple of bags, though they’re not entirely finished.  The first one is just a simple red merino bag.  This bag is going to have a particularly lovely spiral pattern felted onto it, if all goes as planned.

Yarrow finds it a bit too interesting.  I had a feeling that his wool-thieving was going to rear its ugly head again with all of the Tuatha-supply creation going on.  Well, this is just the beginning, but we’ll come back to this particular issue.

This is a good time for me to mention that felting is mercurial.  Never believe anyone who tells you otherwise.  I make felt swatches and keep notes, but sometimes wool gets tricksie.  Like, say, in this Lopi bag.

Looks fine, right?  The math said the body would look like that.  And it said the handles would shrink to a certain size.  You know what?

Wool just told Math to shut its pie-hole and stop trying to boss Wool around.  See the cat in the background?  That should give you a sense of scale.  Speedwell is a relatively large cat, and that’s a relatively large bag, and those straps are out of freaking control.   According to my swatches, the straps should have shrunken to 40% of their original length.  Nope.  The straps are about 7 inches shorter than they were unfelted, but they are thoroughly felted.  And wonky. Good thing I’m not afraid to get tough with the wool.  These are getting the big snip, and some rehabilitative needle-felting.  And then some additional water torture.

And while I’m getting tough with the wool, I’ll also need to get tough with the Yarrow.  I tossed the bags onto the table and went into the other room to do some laundry, and guess what I found.

I caught him wool-mouthed.  Can you see the evidence?

Drop the innocent act, buster.  I know what you were doing, and I know you’ll do it again.

Thank you all for being so kind to the greater Hokie community and to the friends and families of the victims.  I know my worry and sorrow was minuscule compared to what those who saw the shootings or lost loved ones experienced.  We can’t undo what happened on Monday, but we can try to comfort and care for those who were harmed, and we can better prepare ourselves to intercede if we come across someone on the brink of collapse.   

I was reminded this week, again and again, how wonderful my friends are.  I regularly wonder how I ended up knowing people who are so kind and dedicated to peace and community . . . I hope I deserve you all. 

Purlewe sent me more blanket food.  I think I got this package on Tuesday or Wednesday, and it was wonderful to focus on something bright and soft and warm.  Making the blanket has been particularly fun because my friends have been so generous with their sock-yarn leftovers. I’m playing with yarns and colors my own stash never hands over.  My own love of mud and loam forgets all about the blossoms I’m trying to nurture. 

It’s all daffodils and tulips and croci, with one strong steel trowel to tend them. 

And then I got another package yesterday afternoon, this time from Rachel.  I had an inkling this was coming, but I was gobsmacked.  When I opened it I found blanket food and . . . .

Fantastically beautiful lace socks.

Sooooo prettttttyyyyyyyyy.  No one has ever made me socks before, of course.  I turned insta-sappy, because it’s in my contract.  And then I rushed to change clothes and try them on.  They fit very nicely.  And they match, well, everything in our house.   

Wearing these is like having a dear friend’s arm around my shoulder.  But for my feet.  I keep taking them off, going outside to garden, and then coming in and scrubbing my feet so I can put the socks back on.  I think that may be the recipe for a perfect spring weekend.

Remember: Ross Alameddine, Jamie Bishop, Brian Bluhm, Ryan Clark, Austin Cloyd, Jocelyne Couture-Nowak, Kevin Granata, Matt Gwaltney, Caitlin Hammaren, Jeremy Herbstritt, Rachael Hill, Emily Hilscher, Matthew La Porte, Jarrett Lane, Henry Lee, Liviu Librescu, G.V. Loganathan, Partahi Mamora Halomoan Lumbantoruan, Lauren McCain, Daniel O’Neil, Juan Ramon Ortiz, Minal Panchal, Daniel Perez Cueva, Erin Peterson, Michael Pohle, Julia Pryde, Mary Read, Reema Samaha, Waleed Shaalan, Leslie G. Sherman, Maxine Turner, and Nicole Regina White.

Give: http://www.vt.edu/tragedy/memorial_fund.php

I intended to write Monday about my neice Talia’s wonderful birthday party, and about some things I made, and about how strange our weather has been.  But I was struck dumb.

A monster, who was supposed to be a person, slaughtered innocent, kind, brilliant people in my old home town.  So I was struck dumb. 

I still haven’t heard from a few old friends of mine who work at Virginia Tech as faculty and staff, but I also haven’t seen their names appear on any of those heart-breaking lists, so I’m hoping that my old buddies are doing as well as can be expected, and that they got together to play tunes last night at Gillie’s, and that some of the Hoorahs were there.

Nikki Giovanni, with whom I studied as a 17 year old poet, said what needed to be said. (http://www.cnn.com/2007/US/04/17/vtech.victims/index.html scroll down, and click on  Watch Giovanni stir the crowd with a cry of ‘we will prevail’ )