Needle Felting = Cuteness Monsters

How did I not know how much fun needle felting is until now? Ahhh, the excitement of a "new" craft, don't you love it? My newly-found obsession spurred me to buy this absolutely gorgeous pack of wool roving so I can make lots of little animals, which, I'm certain my cat will think I made specifically for her as a toy. I mean, everything I do is for her, right? The consistent poke-poke-poking needed to shape the wool into, well, anything is both calming for my nervoustwitchyness and also soooo soothing to my virgo need for order and to bedoingsomething. Mmm, feels good.

Also, in my googling of said new-craft, I found this woman, for whom I have an equal amount of inspired awe and creepy-vibes. Small, felted versions of the family pet? Hmm. What a glorious clash of weird and sweet. She is also extremely talented: the likenesses are incredible, really.

Anyway, since I only had blue roving left over from my starter kit when I did this little lady, she's blue, and I love her for it. Her vest is dyked-out with a lovely womyn's symbol on the back and is complete with tiny little white buttons on the front.

So, I guess this answers that question: What if mice DID wear jackets? Answer: Totally Adorbes, as expected.

Dachshund Dreams

I work at a small, beautiful college campus. As I arrive at work each day, I am greeted by a long curvy road lined by maple trees on each side which have grown, reaching their limbs out to create a canopy of leaves overhead. It's really quite beautiful and womb-feeling. The seasons are really apparent here, unlike the rest of the city. Right now, the leaves have just begun to turn yellow and orange and a few brown leaves are scattered on the grass below. Not a bad way to start and end my work day.

Nearly every day I've been here I've noticed an older woman, probably in her mid to late 70s sitting down on a bench somewhere with one small dachshund curled up in her lap and one larger, older one, alternately stamping her too-big feet with joy each time a person comes within 10 feet of her. Which is often. stampstamp, stampstamp.

Today, I saw the three of them sitting at a table, the woman looking over her shoulder, almost inviting passersby to come and say hello. I looked at them and wondered why she came here everyday. A fantasy brewed in my mind that she had come here back in the early 50s as a college student and that she just couldn't leave - like a living ghost, she just had remember her best years with fondness, thinking of all the other women whom she befriended and ... maybe more? I was sure I was right. This had to be why she came here every day without fail. So, I stopped to ask. "Hi there! Can I pet your dog?" "Sure, she's okay. But not this one. He's afraid of leaves falling," she said, laughing, as she pointed to the curled up, nose tucked in dog shivering on her lap. "Aw, well they are both adorable." stampstamp. stampstamp. The girl dog's body shook with joy and her oddly long tongue greeted my hand's pets with a good, warm licking. She knocked over her water bowl she was so excited. Dare I ask why she's here? Dare I confirm my fantasy? "So, I see you every day. Did you teach her or go here as a student?" I asked, my voice trailing up at the end expectantly. "No no," she replied. "I just live in the neighborhood." I hoped she didn't sense my disappointment. "I have come here to walk my dogs every day, well, almost every day since 1986." I smiled. "They need the walk." She put the back of her hand up to the side of her mouth as if telling me a secret, something the dogs couldn't hear, then leaned in "and so do I."

I love when people do that. I love her still, even though she's not a women's-college-old-lesbian.

First Things First

About 10 years ago, I used to keep a blog going and I think I had a few visitors now and again. Nothing crazy, but people read it sometimes. Then I finished college and moved westward and I sort of stopped writing. But I like to write. And read. Reading (some) other people's blogs is enjoyable because 1) I'm a curious and interested (read "vouyeristic") and 2) I have nothing else to do with my time at work. Over the past few months or so, I've thought a bit about starting a blog again, but then I think "what am I going to write about? My thoughts/feelings/dreams/wishes/hopes/fears/cute cat photos are probably waaaaay more interesting to me than they are to others." And I'm probably right. But what I love in the blogs I read is the honesty. Honesty in personal writing is sexy. It makes me feel good inside. So that's what I'm going to do here. I'm going to write with honesty. And also post photos of my cat. A lot.