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about the dustmop
Update on yesterday’s post, wherein I yearned for a dust mop to swipe up the furballs: I don’t currently have a mopless handle, as it turns out, but a nice person on Freecycle is going to give me one, and my nice friend LisaPie says I can crochet a mop top out of cotton yarn, of which I have aplenty. So I will not be buying one. It was just a momentary flicker of lust and desire…a new dust mop…(swoons). Lovely reader Heather was telling me about her indoor laundry-drying system, and how she also uses wool balls in the dryer. I’m like, wool balls – huh? She sent me…
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not ready for prime time
Working on my challenges this week has kept me busy. Want the deets? Read on… 1) FYI, don’t put nonrechargable batteries into a recharger. They blow up. This happened a few minutes ago and we then had a nasty battery acid spill to clean up. It was my fault — I’ve been hounding the corps about recharge the batteries! I stuck them in there but apparently didn’t realize. I just stuffed them in. Oops. Sorry. Mr. Husband not amused. 2) We are coasting toward payday and I’m sticking to my no-shopping-til-payday mini-challenge, because we had so much leftover holiday foodstuffs that I couldn’t see the back of the fridge. I’ve spent a few…
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keeping track
This is a year of keeping records on what we’re growing, how much we’ve produced, where we’re saving and how we’re getting out of debt. I’ve been doing all these things for a while but now I’m actually tracking them. And you, Dear Reader, will get to follow along as I pinch pennies, pick up grains of rice and glean fallen apples. Doesn’t that sound enticing? Well — trust me. I’m excited about it. I hate to call them resolutions, although I’ve resolved to live this way. These are more like over-all goals and ways of being. Being rather than doing. A context rather than a rule. So here are…
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a million miles behind, say what?
I’ve been busy. Holidays and stuff. You know. Stuff. But I’ll be back. Heck, I’m back now.
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still life with yarn, harvest and sneezes
We added another hen to our flock, a cull from another flock across town. This one is also a golden-laced Wyandott but she is altogether darker than Violet; we’ve named her Dahlia (which we liked better then Waffle, her previous name). All of our “flowers” are prospering, still enjoying daily run of the backyard, grass, worms, bugs, seeds, and household leftovers. In return, a clutch of eggs for the house, and companionship. There’s nothing like a chicken looking in the door at you and asking for food to make you feel wanted. I had been making crafty gifts to sell at Sunday’s craft fair at Temple Israel, and so looking…
