I saw this billboard this morning during my commute. My God, if this doesn’t make you smile, there’s a little something dead in your heart.

~K

I’m in a rut. I’ve hit a slump. I’m feeling blah.

However you want to coin it, the dog days of damn heat are here and I’m feeling the wrath this year. It could be from a variety of things:

1. Things are slow at work, leaving me oh-so-antsy.
2. I’m missing my family.
3. It is too hot to do anything outside 15 hours a day. Those other dark hours I happen to usually be asleep. Annoying? Yes. Controllable? No. I need to get over it already and realize June, July and August are my payment to Mother Nature for the other 9 months of sweet weather.
4. I got back my first rejection letter for my novel. I’ve only sent one, making that a 100% rejection level. However, the photocopied letter was addressed, “Dear Author.” That was pretty cool.
5. I want to be curled up on the couch knitting and watching a good, old movie — like the African Queen. Alas, I have yet to purchase a new TV. Yet another thing I need to quit bitching about and do something about.

In my family, you were allowed to complain about something once. Twice and you got a swat for being a whiner. With that in mind, my action plan:

1. Volunteer for more work. Get busy. Busy = happy. Okay, well busy = not bored. It’s an improvement.

2. I’m scheduling a trip to see my brother soon. I’ve got plans to see mis papas soon enough. We’re mustering through this.

3. Get out my cutest bikini, large brimmed hat and buy a new slew of magazines to enjoy the pool this weekend. I’m house sitting (YAY!) and can’t wait to plunk my bootay by the water. Not to mention I also get to play with the pooches. I love animals, and rented ones are even better.

4. I read this article in The New York Times magazine this weekend and thought, “Why don’t I send him a copy of my book? He knows Africa. He loves Mozambique. He’s a published author.” Strangely enough, I found his address online and dropped a letter in the mail Mr. Stark yesterday. We’ll see what happens.
Also, I decided it is foolish to beg someone (read: literary agent) to take a severe percentage of my future earnings to get my book in front of Ms. Winfrey when for a few bucks postage and a manila envelope, I can send her one myself. Again, it is a long shot, but I’m a lucky girl. I believe in good karma. And it can’t hurt. (One day, my future literary agent is going to read this post and smile at my spunk and naivet√©.)

5. I’m going to use my freelance pay this month to buy myself a new tee vee with a dee vee dee player and join the ranks of all you technophiles. So there. Katherine Hepburn, move it. Mr. Bogart’s all mine.

~K

P.S. If all this positive, happy blather doesn’t work, I may just splurge on one of these. I wear white or black about 80% of the time and can’t tell you how much I’ve invested in white T-shirts that are close, but not perfect. This one looks divine.

I haven’t killed Betty. Thank God. Yep, this is the same begonia my grandma gave me in May. It’s a clipping from a plant her father gave her mother in 1928. Crazy, non? I finally got around to potting her this weekend. Could I have found a shabbier pot? I’m not too sure. Regardless, Betty’s just happy to be tucked on my kitchen shelf and not outside — where my other plants have long since fried in the unforgiving Arizona heat.

This terra cotta pot is painted, another craft I used to love to do. In fact, I once threw a “pot” party, where I invited a bunch of girlfriends over and provided the pots and paints. We had fun being artsy. What most who attended didn’t know was that my friend Rebecca and I had decided to make pot brownies for the pot party. If you know us, you’d know how shocking that is. We are two of the straightest arrows you’ll ever meet. Indeed, it was this shock factor that provoked us. We thought about how all of our friends would nearly die when they found out about the treats we’d provided for the afternoon.
The conversation in finding some marijuana for the baking went something like this:
Me: Um, Rebs, do you know where we can get pot?
R: No. We should ask Ruby! (Our roommate at the time who had, let’s say, “connections.”)
Me: Hey Ruby! Can you get Rebecca and me some pot? We are having a pot party and want to bake some brownies.
Ruby: What the hell is a pot party?
Me: Lengthy description, including an invitation.
Ruby: No. God no. No.
Rebs: Um, you don’t think we are going to get in trouble for just talking to Ruby about pot do you?
Me: Maybe. We shouldn’t talk about this again.

En sum, a story of how two uptight friends hosted a party with Nancy Regan’s voice in the back of their minds.

~K

The infamous Mason-Dixon Buttonhole Bag. With four skeins of Lamb’s Pride and a skein of Southwest Trading Company’s pretty silk/wool blend, voila — two bags, before felting.

I used Jan’s alteration to the pattern to make these a bit more sturdy. I’m still not a pro at felting, but I do like the way these finished up.

Oooh, this one looks wobbly. Good thing it is sure to be stuffed with fun goodies before being given away.

~K

I am more anxious today than I have been in many years. I used to let myself get worked up to this level of tension in junior high, when I’d spend hours pouring over environmental reports and doomsday global warming predictions. (Freakishly accurate predictions, I might say. Though, I am as shocked/pleased as anyone else to see Hummers sitting on the Scottsdale car lots and Prius lines going out the door.)
The newspaper today, en sum: North Koreans hate us. Iraqis hate us. Scratch that, not just the Iraqis; 90% of the Middle East hates us. (Israelis tend to love us. Amazing what billions of dollars in foreign aid and arms sales will do to win over a people.) We’ve been spending way too much time in Russia lately telling Moscow how to run their affairs. Europe essentially deals with us because of economics, although I get the sneaking suspicion that they hate us too, if for no other reason we refuse to call soccer, “foot.” Bolivia, Venezuela and don’t forget Cuba. Hate, hate, have hated us since the Bay of Pigs.
Remarkably, the Japanese don’t seem to hate us, even though we dropped two atomic bombs on them. The Vietnamese? They seem pretty pleasant. If nothing else, they tolerate us and encourage our tourism. I find that frankly shocking considering how violent and lengthy our war was with them. Pretty much the only place it seems Americans haven’t really pissed someone else off is Antarctica, and who am I kidding? I saw March of the Penguins. Their shrinking ice caps are in part my fault as a greedy American with an oil addiction. They hate me too.
Oy. It’s days like today, when crazy, tyrannical men who kill their own people by the millions and lob missiles into the ocean (or worse yet, into synagogues, mosques and schools) that I’m at least happy to be a woman. Say what you will, but I’ve yet to read of the female dictator who starves her people to fund her second home in Switzerland.
The state of the world troubles me for selfish reasons — I love to travel — and for spiritual ones — what happened to love thy neighbor? I’m peaceful. I am way more likely to like you than not. I’ve got about three people on my list of “never want to speak to again,” and frankly, Mugabe, you aren’t on it. (Oh, what I would say to you if given the chance.) When the world seems like it is just about to come crashing down upon us, I think of my tiny peaceful friend Gandhi, who said, “Peace begins with a smile.”
So, North Korea, Cuba, Zimbabwe, and anyone else who hates me for my nationality, gender or faith — I’m smiling at you. I’m loving you, because you are my brother, my sister. We’re all in this together, and if we can’t figure out how to get along better, I’m on the next flight out of this solar system with Steven Hawking.

~K

My brother Cody moved to Colorado a few months ago to start a new business. He’s living in a new city, with no friends, working his butt off. We talk regularly, fulfilling one of those pleasant surprises of adulthood — when you realize you actually like your sibling. Our phone calls have left me worried, wondering how he’s handling the loneliness. Cody’s always been a social butterfly, with every free moment spent with friends (and usually beer.) Moving to a new state without his posse was a gutsy move. Thankfully, I need not be so concerned.
Apparently he’s got more new friends than I can imagine, which isn’t that surprising. He inherited our family’s talent of talking up everyone and everything. He’s doing remarkably fantastic things for a desert native — like learning to fly fish.

They caught 8 trout and decided to cook one. He said the catching was much more fun than the cooking. No surprise.

Can you imagine moving from one of the hottest climates in the world to one where billion-gallon glaciers are within a quick drive? It’s July for Pete’s sake! And he’s wearing sleeves!

The worrying officially stops today. I’m pretty sure he’s living in heaven.

~K

I’ve got my crafty mojo back and I’m gulping it down. Yippee! I knew an order of Lamb’s Pride wool from Yarnzilla would do the trick. I packed four skeins of sunny lime yarn for my weekend away and nearly finished two of the Mason Dixon buttonhole bags — one of my all-time favorite patterns. Once they’re felted, I’ll show and tell. They are on the lengthy list of gifts being sent out in the next week.
[Tangent: If you haven't ordered yarn from Yarnzilla, consider this my highest recommendation to do so. It is not easy to find such a variety of Lamb's Pride -- a knitter's staple -- in Phoenix (the country's fifth largest city, no less.) There is one shop about 35 miles from my house that sells this brand, but I have no craft shopping will power whatsoever. I figure I saved myself at least $100 in unnecessary yarn supplies and $10 in gas by ordering online. Plus, they delivered it within a couple days. Fabulous! Yarnzilla, consider yourself my new yarn pimp.]

Other gifts in progress:

A new batch of July wristlets.

And, Covington, numero cuatro.

With pretty pink lining, no less.

I’m also enjoying a recent garage sale find — a vintage sewing tool kit that keeps my supplies organized with Type A precision. This $3 purchase made me jump for joy.

I use those mint tins to hold labels and straight pins, a trick I learned from my mama.

I think a fish tackle box, or a Caboodle, would do the same trick nicely. Don’t pretend you didn’t have a Caboodle with Dr. Pepper Lip Smackers inside.

Back to the drawing table,
Kelli

Anyone else wondering how this fabulous holiday weekend sped by at warp speed? I flew into San Diego Saturday morning to meet my friend Kristi. She’s living in La Jolla for the summer and is less than a 10 minute walk from the beach, and the oh-so-yummy view of surfers lapping up the southern California waves.

La Jolla at dusk.

We drove to LA to visit friends and spent the next three days stuffing ourselves with international food, movies, surf and sand and shopping. What’s a trip to LA without a coveted stop at Paper Source — home to all things good? (If you were ever wondering what my one true financial pitfall is, it would be pretty paper. I love writing letters and for whatever reason, it makes perfect sense to me to spend $100 on envelopes, pens and stickers, although I’ll gripe about my $75 electricity bill until I’m blue in the face. Silly? Yep.)

Ocean Drive, Santa Monica, Ca.

We also visited Carlsbad, my most favorite spot in southern Cali. We took family vacation there for years, spending a week on the beach with our boogie boards. It makes me miss my family and childhood something fierce when walking through the shops and thinking of the many happy summer days I spent in this little seaside town with my loved ones. One day, we’ll return.

Carlsbad Pipeline, Carlsbad, Ca.

I love the craziness that is southern California. From the homeless man I saw in Santa Monica, pushing his cart and chatting on a cell phone, to the party I attended where both ricecream and tofurkey were served. A fabulous Fourth of July indeed.

Cupcakes at the Sprinkles Bakery off Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills. If you are ever in the area, try the coconut cupcake. They are $3.25 and as close to heaven as food gets.

Everything grows so easily in California.

Best huevos rancheros ever, Cora’s Diner, Santa Monica.

~K