Ch-ch-ch-changes

Rather than do something productive with my time (meaning: with tangible results.  meaning: cleaning the ding dang guest bedroom, jfc.) I've been messing around with the blog's layout.

I think I like it more than what I had originally.  But at this point I've been looking at it for so long that I really can't form any sort of opinion on it.  Which is how the last layout happened.

All I know is that there must be an easier way to go about it than what I ended up doing, but I'll be damned if I can figure out what that would be.

So, this not really an update is really me begging for feedback.  Because y'all are lovely people who will help a sister out.


I really hope I don't end up hating it in a month or so because I think I gave myself a copy-paste related stress injury.  And that's just sad.

Cleaning FAIL

New toy!

The lovely Kate from Deth Spïralz was kind enough to give me her mother's old art table along with a bag full of crafty goodness.  This is what prompted the desire to clean out the guest bedroom and set up a studio.  It's all very exciting.

I was hoping to take this week and, if not make it entirely presentable, at least lower the slob rating from 'crack den' to 'bachelor pad.'  Unfortunately, I haven't made much of a dent in it yet.  Why?  Well, the same reason it's taking me eight and a half million years to try and write this blog post.

Kitten pile!

These guys are probably about four to four and a half weeks old.  Already eating solid foods, very active and not the least bit coordinated.  No really.  They'll knock themselves over just walking along.  It's a talent.

Along with these guys we also have a little guy, probably about two to two and half weeks old.  Still very much a bottle baby.  Unfortunately, he's pretty dehydrated so we've had to start him on subcutaneous fluids.

So, this means that instead of trash bags, mops and brooms filling my days like I had been planning on it's been bottles, syringes and this:

Little furry epaulets.

I feel like I should have left all the extraneous kitten typing in here so that you'd get some sort of idea of how underfoot these guys can be.  Also overfoot.  And top of head.  And clinging to legs.

Kitten fight!

For example this is what is currently happening beside me.  The Boyfriend is on the phone and has one squeaking in his other ear.  The baby is feeling left out of the running around all crazy pants fun and is sitting in his nest box crying about it.  Seriously, I don't think he's stopped in the last five minutes.

Maybe this weekend.  Once the little guy is hydrated and needs to be fed less frequently.  Or maybe I should just set up my 'studio' where the art table is currently waiting for it's new home.  I'm sure the Boyfriend would love having even more of my crafty clutter in the living room.

And now it's time to feed the little guy.  When did that happen?

Bebeh!

Next on Hoarders

I once again have an overwhelming urge to have a dedicated studio space.  There are a few problems with this.  The best room for me to use is the guest bedroom.  In fact, it currently has a bunch of my art supplies, a folding table acting as a desk and the broken sewing machine from the last time I decided that I would use it as a studio.  Aside from the so called useful things, like a bed, desk and night stands it's also crammed with an ungodly amount of crap that's accumulated over the years.  Because the Boyfriend and I are both packrats with no real organizational skills.  One a scale of one to exploded meth lab it's about at 'livable crack den.'

That's an unholy amount of stuff.

I can't blame you for judging me for my serious lack of housekeeping skills.  I will ask you not to tell me about how much of an unbelievable slob I am, I'm very sensitive.  So, going through it all, throwing things out (always so difficult for me- what if I need those half finished notebooks at some point?) and organizing the things that remain more effectively than my current system of 'stacks of semi-related stuff' will be more than slightly challenging.

Aside from the desperately overdue spring cleaning there's a problem with the room itself.  The reason why it didn't work out as a studio the first time and therefore became a repository for boxes of random crap and unused furniture is because I find the large picture window incredibly creepy.

As an incurable night owl, I do most of my work at night.  But I'm afraid of the dark.  Especially dark windows.  Especially this window:

HATE

A few years ago the Boyfriend and I redid the floors in the guest bedroom and gave it a much needed fresh coat of paint.  One night I was in there by myself painting trim with the window open to keep from getting too high from the fumes.  Unbeknownst to me, the Boyfriend's cat Tigger, who never goes outside and I'm convinced hates me with the fires of a thousand suns, had wandered out onto the eave just outside the window. 

Rather than doing something sensible like calmly and quietly walking through the open window when she wanted to come back inside, she came flying out of the night with a squawk and gave me about seventeen and a half heart attacks (I can't be sure, it was hard to count) then trotted off wondering why the new girl was such a weirdo.  There may have been some nonchalant butt-licking, I don't remember.

I'm hoping with some ridiculously cheery curtains that actually fit (as opposed to the last set, which is why it's currently uncovered)  I'll be able to use it.  At the very least I'll have a place to put up guests again and I suppose that's nice.

Still, I can't help but feel that my cleaning efforts will end up something like this:

Tell Mater I loved her.

On the plus side, if I die in a landslide of accumulated bits and bobs I won't have to clean ever again.

Illustration Friday - Artificial

The artificial sentiments of white lies and platitudes are an important social lubricant, I'm not denying that.  But one of my many weaknesses is that I'm not always the best at either giving them in a sincere manner or managing to take them graciously when I hear them.

Missed last week's topic entirely, things have been pretty crazy on the kitten front.  Hopefully things will be better this week.

Needle and Thread

Like crochet, sewing is a skill that I had plenty of opportunities to learn at my mother's knee but didn't.  Unlike crochet, I can't say that I've ever given it a good honest try because I'm deathly afraid of the sewing machine.

I know.  No, really, I know.  Sewing machines are pretty high up on the list of 'stupid things to be afraid of,' but I manage it anyway.

I can manage hand sewing, which is good because I can at least repair a fallen hem or replace a button.  I've managed to sew my sleeve to whatever project I'm working on while sewing by hand, through the magic combination of my pathological clumsiness and total lack of attention, so who knows what I would do to myself with a machine.

Now, you would think that because I refuse to use a sewing machine that I wouldn't do things like make my own clothes.  You'd be wrong.  Design wise, they're incredibly simple, because again: sewing by hand.  So, despite the several skirts and pajama pants I've made I've never actually used a real pattern.

That's not to say that I don't have a collection of patterns.  I do.  Every so often I convince myself that I will learn to use the machine, I won't end up with twenty pins in my fingers and a broken needle fragment in my eye and so go out and buy a couple of patterns that promise to be simple beginner projects.  They're currently languishing in a box in the spare bedroom, held onto because, hey, that dress may eventually come back into style and then I'll want to make it again.

This year I decided that I needed some new light weight summer skirts in my life.  And why would I buy skirts when I could make my own and be sure they fit correctly- meaning I'm short and store-bought knee length skirts cheerily wave goodbye to my knees as they find the most unflattering place they can mid-calf.

Enter the tube:

Tube-y!

This is the typical skirt 'design' I use whenever the sewing bug bites.  And I wear it a few times before deciding that really, with hips as wide as mine I really ought to look into some sort of shaping.

Enter the gore:

Citrus-y!

I had, if real designers will forgive me co-opting this term, drafted a pattern, ironed it and pinned everything together before falling into a 'there is no way I can ever finish this before summer is over' funk.  My mom came over, I proudly showed off the cute fabric and my so-called design skills and then told her about my intense lack of motivation.  She very kindly told me to stop being such an idiot and to just bring it over to her house over the weekend and we would work through my sewing machine phobia.

And it worked.  To a degree.  I have a skirt that suffers from some 'so you tried to design this yourself' problems but it fits and I put it together myself.  Mostly.  When I was intimidated by having to sew something other than a straight line (as I wasn't very good at even that), Mater was good enough to take over.  She also put in the zip and buttonhole because I was absolutely petrified I'd ruin it forever if I had to deal with closures.

The next time I went over for a sewing lesson we picked out something more my speed: kitten beds.  Over a couple of hours I managed to produce a decent pile of them despite my inability to cut a straight line and I almost always remembered to put the foot down.

Blankies!

Next up?  Using a real pattern.  On the one hand: exciting.  On the other: terrifying.  Here's hoping I manage to produce a proper pair of pants.

Hoh Hoh Hoh Hoh

Aside from the fosters, I have three cats of my own.  Tigger is the Boyfriend's cat who was here when I moved in.  Junior is the kitten we rescued from 'the wild' when we first started dating and is very much not a kitten anymore.  And then there's Fat Bill.

Nice hat.

Fat Bill (or as she was known at the time, Billie) was born under my bed about fifteen years ago.  In other words, we have history.  As her name implies, Fat Bill is not exactly svelte.  As such, we were rather concerned about her chances for diabetes when we took her in for her annual wellness vet visit.

This was the first time our current vet had ever seen Fat Bill and she created her usual lasting first impression.

The tech while pulling Fat Bill out of the carrier: "She just keeps coming and coming.  A never ending cat."

When I remarked that she was quite the fat ass: "Well, her head and feet aren't that fat."

On reading her name on the chart: "We're rather literal, aren't we?"

Catching up on the records from our last vet: "Looks like she's lost 3/4 of a pound.  Congratulations."

While feeling her temporal muscles: "Well, you see this in older cats, where they lose muscle mass.  They just kind off waste away.  Not that she's exactly wasting away."

Trying to feel for her bladder and kidneys: "If I could just get in there.... It's like trying to palpate through jello."

With a certain note of exasperation: "What do you feed her?"

Because I can't remember when the last time we did any kind of blood work on her and because we were concerned about the diabetes we did a full work up.  The vet called yesterday with the results.

Vet:  Well the good news is that her glucose levels are normal.
Me:  (happy dance!) That is good news!
Vet:  There is an issue with her thyroid.
Me:  (No wonder she's so fat.)  Oh?
Vet:  Now, clinically she presents normally.  But according to her work up she has hyperthyroidism.
Me:  That... is not what I expected.
Vet:  Neither did I.

There is an undeniable resemblance.

The good news is that we have a real shot at treating this medically (as opposed to surgically) and Fat Bill can live for quite a while longer sleeping inconveniently on my knitting and keeping me awake by loudly chewing on her belly.

I just love this yarn so much.

Calaveras

The last two years I've participated in a month long project where I try to create a piece of art every day and share with other artists doing the same.  I've enjoyed it so much and I feel such a sense of accomplishment when it's all over, even if I whine and moan during it.

Last year, toward the end of September I was so ready for Día de los Muertos I couldn't stand it.  Since it was still more than a month away I got my fix by drawing an ofrenda:

A common argument between the Boyfriend and I when the subject of my love of skulls and skeletons comes up usually goes something like this:

Him:  You're such a goth.
Me:  I'm embracing my cultural heritage!
Him:  Goth.
Me:  We used skulls as a common motif well before goths.  I win.
Him:  Goth.

And so on and so forth.

So, we've established that I love Día de los Muertos, skulls and skeletons, and I was trying to dig up some ideas for art every day.  With all this, plus a lifelong love of the engravings of José Guadalupe Posada and a little latent Catholicism thrown in I produced this:

St. Catherine of Bologna

Saints as skeletons is a theme I wanted to explore more, but life got in the way.  But I think it's interesting me again and I have a few ideas in the works.  We'll see what happens.