Muggings

Things are going pretty well for Mr. Vincenzo. The wound is beginning to close and didn't seem to pain him when I cleaned it and put more Neosporin on it; he still isn't using his hind legs, but he doesn't seem to be bothered by the handicap. The hole in his shell should mend over time, too, but I don't think it's a good idea to just let him go and get caught by another dog after he's back to normal. Mom wants to keep him as a house pet. I'm not really sure about it. He's a wild animal and he survived without help up until the neighbor's dog caught him. But now that he's on the mend, I'm reluctant to just let him go be mauled by another dog. It's a difficult decision. Mom teases me and hums the melody from "I've Grown Accustomed To Her Face" when I try to puzzle it out.

I never thought I'd say this about something not covered with fur, but turtles are actually kind of cute, especially when they yawn. Vincenzo got to go outside again today for some sun and, sometime during the day, he consumed half a strawberry and some pieces of hardboiled egg. This may not sound like strenuous activity, but I don't suppose many people would feel like eating a cheeseburger and fries after being mauled by a tiger. After eating all that food, he Y A W N E D, and then sort of smacked his lips. And then he did it twice more; all three times made me chuckle. So, without further fussing over the cuteness of turtles, here are pictures of our crotchety house guest. He was most offended when Mom put the camera close to his face for the mugshot... but it could just be that he always looks that way.

Muffin Fiend

The sock, which started out so well, doesn't fit. I'm slightly distressed, though I shouldn't be considering the gauge was smaller than it should have been and I should have paid more attention to it before I started. The next attempt will be on bigger needles; the yarn will be the same. And hopefully I'll get it right this time! Part of my problem is that I knit tightly, which makes my gauge smaller. Now that I know what the problems are and how to do things like short row heels, I should be able to get through it without any other hitches. The finished one will be a trophy sock, I guess, 'cause I don't know anyone who wears a narrow size 8 shoe. Mmph.
And now, because I kinda-sorta failed at one thing, I'm making up for it by flashing pictures of muffins. See recipe below. Since we don't have any fresh fruit in the house, I used dried bing cherries, but other stuff would work just fine.

Cherry Muffins:
2 cups all purpose flour
2 tsp baking powder
1/4 cup sugar
3/4 cup plus about three tablespoons soy milk
2 eggs
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
1/2 tsp cinnamon
1/4 tsp nutmeg
1/4 tsp salt
1/2 cup dried bing cherries, roughly chopped (or a little more, if you want)

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Whisk milk, eggs, and oil; sift dry ingredients together in a separate bowl. Mix wet ingredients into dry and stir until mostly smooth; add the cherries and stir a little more--lumps are okay, according to The Joy Of Cooking. Oil the muffin tin and fill cavities about 3/4 of the way. Bake on middle oven rack for about 20 minutes. Makes about 10 muffins, depending on the size of the pan.

Radishing

Well, here's the first of the produce from our garden. Radishes. Lots of 'em. They're planted in the same row as some carrots; in the row next to them, there are peas and tomatoes and lettuces of several varieties. The garden is sort of scattered around the property: an old wheelbarrow converted into a planter holding herbs and more lettuces and cucumbers, two enormous black rubber things for potatoes, several raised beds with strawberries, asparagus, and rhubarb, and a bunch of other planters with pumpkin seedlings and so on. I'm really looking forward to the peas.
Mr. Vincenzo--named after the cranky newspaper editor from the television series The Night Stalker--is still alive. I called DNR today and left a message saying yes, I would like to speak to a conservation officer at the earliest convenience, but no, it isn't an emergency. This was after I called county animal control. County animal control does not, apparently, deal with wildlife, and the lady I spoke to suggested taking Mr. Vincenzo to a vet in Purcelville, VA. Vets--at least, some of them--do accept turtles as patients. Mr Vincenzo, however, having been so traumatized by his encounter with the neighbor's dog, will be remaining here for another day or so, or however long it takes for the local DNR people to call back. Eastern box turtles don't have any special status as far as conservation goes, but it's possible the folks at DNR will want to take him. I sort of hope not. I've gotten used to having him around.
I hoped he'd start using his hind legs, but they're still tucked up inside his shell and he's still getting around by using his forelegs to drag himself. I'm not sure the problem is that they don't work at all; he had them out this morning and promptly pulled them back in when I gave him a little chopped up broccoli and hardboiled egg--thank you, Katie, for the suggestion. We'll see what happens tomorrow.
Otherwise, I was able to watch another two episodes of Supernatural. I was a little disappointed that the boys didn't leave Gordon to the vampires, but I'm guessing this means he'll be popping up again at some point. I've known a couple people who are poisonous enough to wither potted plants simply by being in the same room with them... I'm pretty sure they're among the living, though. I hope. Ick.

Updates

He's looking a bit better. Very alert and very much alive.

Intensive Care For Turtles

We don't see box turtles too often anymore, but when we do we generally scoop them up, take their pictures, then let them go in the garden. This morning while I was out with the dog--who happens to spend a good deal of time indoors and never goes outside without a human attached to her leash--I found a turtle in the driveway. The turtle has a big hole in the top of its shell and seems to be partially paralyzed; it's unable to extend its hind legs and locomotes by using its front ones to drag itself across the ground. I won't be posting pictures of the injuries, which are rather.. erm.. gruesome. I feel awful about it, though, and don't really know what to do other than put it in the garden and hope it either heals on its own or doesn't linger in pain.
I saw an article about a man who found a turtle in a similar situation, and his solution was to epoxy wheels to her shell so she could still move unimpeded. I'm not sure that's really... I'm not sure what to think, honestly.
I hope the neighbor's dog doesn't make a habit of this.

Addendum: On closer inspection, the hole doesn't seem to be life threatening. The bone of the carapace is showing through, but the wound to the flesh underneath, while obviously painful, might not be as serious as I thought. The problem, now, though, is that the ants have found it and are interested in making turtle soup. I'm seriously bothered by this.
Okay. Brought the turtle in the house, got rid of the ants, put some Neosporin on the wound, and have put it in a box with some newspaper, greenery, and some carrot shreds. Next step is to find out what box turtles eat and provide suitable sustenance... assuming I can find some earth worms or whatever.

Sock Snags

And I thought things were going so well! The first stage of the sock is finished, which means I've done the toes and foot without any hiccups; the heel, though, is another story. Even though I've done short rows before, I've never used the wrap-and-turn method. I admit it has me stumped. It feels like the heel flap gets longer and longer, but there aren't any actual decreases. Most of my previous sock projects were based on the basic top-down pattern in Charlene Schurch's Sensational Knitted Socks, which means that the heel flap is pretty simple: you knit to the middle of the heel flap, do your decreasing, turn the sock, purl back the other way, and so on until you get the short row shaping done and are left with a nice little cup-shaped bit which conforms to the curve of the heel.
Okay. That's peachy, but how do I apply this to the task at hand? I spent about half an hour this afternoon looking at Cat Bordhi videos on YouTube and reading various descriptions of how to do this wrap-and-turn business. And you know what? I still don't get it. I'm sure I'll figure it out eventually. I mean, if I can learn how to at least get a toe-up sock started--even something mildly ambitious like tabi--then surely I can figure out how to handle this heel thing.
In other, unrelated news, I've finally been able to sit down and start watching Season 2 of Supernatural. The weather, however, is conspiring against me... it's supposed to rain tomorrow, which means no one--ahem--will be out in the garden. I was able to watch the first two episodes in complete peace, and I think the season started out strong. I felt bad for the poor Reaper; if Piers Anthony is to be believed, such creatures are supposed to rule supreme in their bailiwicks.
I'll try to watch some more when the weather clears.
Oh... and that clown? That was just creepy.

Tabi Toes

I won't crow and say I'm being completely successful until I actually finish the first sock and am certain it fits properly. I will, however, share pictures of my progress thus far and say that I'm enjoying working with needles bigger than a size 1; after two pairs of socks on tiny little toothpicks, I vowed never to use needles that small ever again. Size 2, though, feels comfortable enough for me to work with relative speed and ease.

As you can see, the first picture shows the finished toes. Those were a challenge, to be sure, which meant I had to learn some new tricks, like the provisional cast-on. Rachael, I can't thank you enough for that detailed description. I also had to learn how to do a three-needle bind-off. This was the lesser of the two evils, I thought, though it was kind of tricky keeping the stitches from sliding off the needles when I got to the point where there were only two or three left.

As usual, I've made things more complicated. It is, I've discovered, utterly impossible to do an isolated panel of colorwork when you're knitting in the round. I still want to add something to the instep and leg, which means I'll have to break down and learn to do duplicate stitch and just embroider the leaves after the entire sock is finished. We'll see, though. I may leave them the way they are and skip the intarsia altogether. And, yes, I do plan to ignore the no socks with sandals rule and wear these with my flip-flops since I don't actually have a pair of geta. This is, after all, their intended purpose. :P

Bees A-buzzin'

I hate carpenter bees! If you live in a log house or are moving into one, I strongly suggest you consider treating the wood with some sort of something; I speak from experience. We've lived in a log house for about 20 years and every spring there's quite a hoo-hah when the carpenter bees start coming around.
According to a number of sources, these guys are important for pollination, but they have a bad habit of making nuisances of themselves. If you've got one of those redwood swingsets for your kids, consider it a nice home for the bees, 'cause your kids aren't going to want to play on it while the bees are out and about. These sources also say that while carpenter bees are classified as a pest, they're not likely to do any severe structural damage unless they're left for successive--and numerous--generations; and contrary to what one might think, they don't actually eat wood. They just chew it up and spit it out in the form of extremely fine sawdust. So the problem, then, is that your house slowly begins to resemble an oversized, wooden Swiss cheese.
Today, mom decided it was time to start filling in the burrows. The MO was plastic wood a la Minwax.
Well, says I, what we really should do is measure the diameter of the burrows, head out to Lowe's, and buy some dowels, and use small pieces to fill in the holes.
Well, says mom, the bits of dowel will be visible and people will notice them when they come to the house--like the plastic wood won't be visible, right?
All right, says I, and into the house I go to get a knife and the jar of plastic wood to start working on the burrows.
Well, its three hours later and the bees have not only continued about their business, but they've begun clearing out the plastic wood so they can move back into their little houses. I called dad to tell him what happened and he said, "Did you spray the holes with insecticide before you filled them in?"
Well, gee, no we didn't. This, apparently, is what you're supposed to do for a more topical approach to the problem; it's also one alternative to painting your house with insecticidal wood preserver. And hope the woodpeckers discover the impromptu mid-morning snack... and don't decide to return at dawn to start hammering on the downspout.

And, just for kicks--and because Rachael's cool and she's doing it--I'm going to take another stab at knitting toe up socks. Thank you so much for your detailed explanation of provisional casting on; it's much easier than the figure eight cast on I tried before. :)

Dept. Of Tourism

Tourists are a fact of life for small town America. If you live in a small town, they inevitably find you because they read a story in the Washington Post or New York times about the bucolic setting, quaint B&Bs, and fine dining. They do not, however, bother to do their homework before setting out. This can result in rather amusing situations.
Today, on my way home from the post office, I came upon a carload--nay, SUV-load--of tourists from Virginia. These poor unfortunates were sitting at the stop sign at the corner of my street, pouring over a map and looking belwildered. I stopped, rolled down the window and mouthed "Are you lost?"
The driver was wary and only rolled her window down about a quarter of the way before saying, "We're looking for Antietam Battlefield...?"
"Oh?" I replied. "Why, you're in the wrong state! You'll be wanting Maryland, which is that way, across the river."
And then I gave them directions to Sharpsburg, which I hope they manage to follow.
When I reached the front door, I burst into giggles and said to myself, "Tourists...."

Yoga and cats

I adore cats. I really do. Camille is such a helpful little dear: she bites my yarn when I'm knitting, she wakes me up in the morning by sticking her head under the pillow and yowling if I don't get up in what she considers a timely fashion, she fangs my bookmarks, and now she's started assisting me during my daily half hour of yoga. Her help thus far has consisted of rubbing against my arms and legs while I'm doing various positions, and waving her tail under my nose to make me sneeze; of course she purrs all the while and acts like this is the best possible way to lend assistance. I can't find the cartoon, but there's a lovely (and hysterically funny) drawing of a ballerina doing a yoga pose while a Siamese cat paws at the dangling ribbons from her toeshoes. I don't even know who the artist is, but he/she does a wonderful job of capturing the essence of cats and how their minds work.
I may have taken on more than I can handle when I decided to host a swap on the Pen Fetish Crafters group on Ravelry. So far only three people have signed up, and a few more have expressed interest, but I just thought of something important: Bottled ink is fine for an endless variety of fountain pens, but cartridges are pretty specific. It would totally suck if someone sent her swap victim cartridges that didn't fit a specific pen, 'cause then they'd either have to buy a pen to fit the cartridges--not necessarily a bad thing, provided it's not a Visconti or something--or not be able to use them. Oops. I guess I still have some bugs to iron out. This is my first attempt at organizing anything like this, and so far it's going pretty well barring that one blooper.