Etherknitter

O is for Order Odonata

I had to get this picture in somewhere on the blog.  A little bit of googling brought me to 'O'.  Inevitably, while I was away, my Japanese iris began blooming.  It is well named:  Iris ensata 'Cry of Rejoice'.  I scurried out to take pictures, and was joined by this guy.  (There's something about the architecture of the bug that makes me think 'guy', even though I know that's about a 50-50 probability.)

I thought my macro capabilities on this camera sucked.  Evidently not.

There are many different kinds of dragonflies.  This one is pure gold.

Naturally, I have to include a better picture of the iris, too.

Hot and b0thered

It is still WAY too hot.  Day after day after day.  Can't weed.  Can't breathe.  Can't exercise.  Can't knit.  Can barely spin.  Plyplyply.  It's the least exposure to wool possible while still doing wool.  I finished Persimmon Tree Farms' Border Leicester 50%/mohair 50% blend in Peacock:

It was 8 oz, producing something over 300 yards of sport-DK weight.  Spinning two bobbins, weighing them, and spinning the last of the 8 0z onto the lighter bobbin, and measuring them through the Yarn Meter showed that mathematically, my grist varied by 10% over the cloud of roving.  Plying, once again, covered a multitude of dissatisfactions and whinging.  This is darker than reality, but you get the texture and the spinning from the pose.

I also plyed bunnycrack in Kim's "Blue Lagoon" colorway.  I spun up the first three ounces in the winter, and finished it last month.  Real life has no sparkles, but the color is true. 
I suppose I have done a titch of knitting.  I'm almost done with Mr. E's latest scarf.  A true summer picture, where WIP matches dinner:

Placing the container plants on the deck by the porch has made the local denizens bold and brazen.  There is now adequate cover for sneak attacks on the bird feeder.  It is squirrel-proof, as the lever action closes access to the seeds for the fat buggers.  But the chippers get a free ride, as this guy's cheek pouches suggest:

Garden interlude

This can only be a garden interlude.  Knitting is impossible.  Spinning is improbable.  Fiber, in all its manifestations, adherent to my sweaty skin, well, let me say no more.

There ARE those who are happy with this weather.  There's Ms. Double Petunia, Madame Hemerocallis fulva, and a stray Salvia:

N is for Nestlings

Maybe there aren't enough good 'N' words.  You've seen this theme before.  I trust you will forgive some degree of repetition, since it really does peg the cute-o-meter.  The nest has been up there for weeks.  You know how your heart sinks when you see the tangle of sticks and dried grass?  I anticipated birdshit all down the faux half-column.  It's still there because

a.  the husband can't climb a stepstool to see if it's occupied before quietly removing it and
b.  the Etherknitter has too many other things to do.  Plus, she's lazy.  Dragging the stepstool outside, and making a bird unhappy just hasn't seemed a priority, since no streaming trails of guano have appeared yet.

Yesterday, we got a quote from a painter for the exterior of the house.  He spoke of painting around a nest at his last job, and coming back when the fledglings left to finish the paint job.  (Yes, we will probably hire him for multiple reasons.  And that's one of them.)  I told him we would get rid of the nest.  It hasn't looked to be in active use.

Mr. E saw a robin in it later in the day.  He lifted the camera over his head, shot some pictures blind, downloaded them, and found evidence of life-forms.  Here they are.

M is for Mother-in-law

Although it seems logical, the combination of great husband and great mother-in-law is not a given.  I've been fortunate to have acquired both.

When we visit, she runs us into the ground.  We can barely keep up.  She introduced us to Millenium Park where we found the International Knitter's Day last year.  She found Moto, the restaurant where you eat the menu as your first course.  She took us to the Milwaukee Art Museum last summer. 

An Arlo Guthrie concert, a play called Novathemba (featuring the US debut of Ladysmith Black Mambazo), Second City comedy performances, all conjured from her active and inquiring mind over the years.  She runs a small empire (a jewelry gallery where she designs and oversees the creation of unique pieces).  I'm sure she will bristle at my use of the word 'small'. 

Her glass is always half-full.  I've learned a great deal about surviving life's adversities from her, and from her son.  I'm not sure she really knows how much I love her, and how important she is to me, for many many reasons. 

We just got back from visiting the family last week.  She kept the activities more conservative so that Mr. E could keep up with us on his crutch.  The Chicago Architectural Foundation's river tour she arranged gave us what would have been my "M" post - Marina Towers.  Today, as I missed her smile, her energy, and her spirit,  I realized that the Towers were just a bit part in  life's play that is my relationship with Mr. E's mom.