Sweet 'n Sour.

Cbte always follows the directions on the label.

Well, almost always.

On his birthday, he didn't have to. I gave him a reprieve.

When I was house sitting last week, we ran over to the nearest gas station for a sweet tooth fix.

I'm not the biggest chocolate fan, but I do love fruity candy. So I finally had a Tear 'n Share of my own.

Which I tore. But I didn't share.

Cbte isn't one for Starburst. It also meant that he could keep his candy to himself this time.

There was a sign on the gas station counter that said "This store pays more in credit card fees than it makes in profit. Please pay in cash."

We almost always pay in cash for things, and I know credit card rates are high, especially for small businesses, but I wasn't sure how true it was.

So I asked the guy.

He didn't understand what I was saying, so I pointed to the sign. He said: "Pay in cash. We have to pay when you pay with a credit card."

"Yes," I said. "I know that. But is it true that you spend more in credit card fees than you make in profit?"

"We have to pay money when you pay with a credit card."

Resigning myself to receiving no answer, I smiled and said thanks. But I'm still burning with curiosity. Is it really true? Did the sign mean that they pay more than they profit from purchases made inside the store? Surely the gas station is making a profit. They wouldn't be in business.

Right?

Weekend Adventures.

One of the best parts about having a Cbte in your life is being able to do this:

"I know that you were planning on relaxing on Sunday, but what about taking a drive to go pick up a 30 dollar rusty bicycle from a guy on Craigslist in the morning?"

And get an answer that is a "Yes."

So that's what we did. In the plans was also our requisite stop at Whole Foods to enjoy delicious food. Every time we go up there we always forget what our plan was the last time and end up ordering too much food (and thus spending too much money). Thankfully this time we remembered to split a sandwich and get a cup of soup between us. Then we followed it up by consuming two dashboard, car ride truffles.

So here's a sneak peek of Lola, my new project, pre-bath and scrubbing and a tiny bit of frustration. She's a beautiful, yellowy-green. Which is exactly how I pictured her, and exactly my favorite color. A Belknap Bluegrass ladies' step-through bicycle.

She definitely needs new brake cables, brake pads, gear cables, tubes and tires.

That's to get her running again. The secondary list includes cork grips for the swept-back handlebars and a (ideally) generator light for the front and back for greater visibility.

My wants list includes a new saddle, a front basket, rear rack, and mirror.
I would also like most of the rust to go away.

Here's to insane projects and the people in our lives crazy enough to indulge in them with us.

Once Upon a Time...

The sun was shining here.

And then I found fifty dollars.

The end.

PS- Anyone else notice how the Nikon D90 tends to really enhance the color green? This camera was totally made for me.

Best Friends.

Cbte and G-Man have been BFFs since Day 1. Gus will stretch out happily in his arms for longer than ten seconds, which is a sure sign of loyalty and trust. He doesn't let most people hold him at all, much less hold him on his back for minutes at a time.

Cbte carries Gus down the stairs at night so Gus can do his business. Gus's chauffeur is dutifully waiting when he successfully finishes. And back up the stairs they go.

When Gus had his first seizure, my mom woke me up to tell me to say goodbye. I was inconsolable. A call to cbte at 6 in the morning, telling him that Gus was probably gone, lead to this response: "If Gus is blind, or can't walk, or hear, I'll carry him everywhere he needs to go."

And then I cried some more.

But Gus Man is still here with us, always gazing up at his buddy who becomes even infinitely more attractive while making cookies. Gus always waits patiently for some manna to fall from heaven.

It didn't this time, but he did receive a nice massage later and some phenobarbital wrapped in cheese.

(Gus, not cbte).

Let it be noted that I am showing great taste and restraint in not mentioning Judy Garland after the former sentence.

Well, almost.

My Spirit of Adventure is You.

Happy birthday, cbte.

Minimalist Friday: The Things I've Carried.

A violin. Twirling batons. A bag of tennis rackets.

I've carried the batons with me for three states. The unplayed violin and the rackets for two.

The batons have been under my bed, in a sparkly blue zipper case, for a long time. In fact, every time I've moved my bed in the past twelve years, I've had to move them with it. (I've rearranged each of my bedrooms incredibly often over the years). And I wasn't twirling for any of those specified twelve years. The batons were just something that I've always had with me, always moved, and never really noticed. Even when the case became layered thick with dust, I never thought to get rid of them. They were just a part of my room, of the status quo.

The violin has sat next to the batons for ten years. They've been partners in shifting around constantly. The first few years of non-use I felt guilty looking at that violin. It reminded me of quitting, of being frustrated, of all of the money my parents spent on lessons and the violin itself. Then after awhile, I just stopped noticing it.

My tennis bag with the rackets in it is something that I haven't had for a few years, but I just now remembered that I used to carry them with me, too. And I clearly haven't missed it since. Those rackets were also reminders of the thousands of dollars of tennis lessons, tournaments, and equipment. All things that I stopped doing.

The trio always sat together. A trifecta of guilt.

Those three items represented to me my graveyard of failures. Soon, I just stopped seeing them altogether, and they became unnoticed burdens that I automatically bore without question. It wasn't until a few weeks ago that I let the other two go. The violin went to a young girl who is interested in playing. And the batons went to Goodwill, where I imagine some young girl or boy picking them up for a bargain and using them with great joy, perhaps discovering a talent they never knew they had.

What makes me sad is that all of that time the items sat collecting dust, some other kid could have learned to play the violin or learned to twirl.

It's amazing to me how the big things can often be the ones that are most unnoticeable. But even though they aren't noticed doesn't mean they don't have great weight. Writing about these items, even though they are gone physically, still makes me uncomfortable.

I just know that I've liberated them. Sent them out into the world where perhaps someone else can make better use of them than I did.

Though I really did love to twirl.

My Green Hat, Lost, and the Tenuous Connections Between Them.

The first hat I ever knitted was a bit of a disaster.

It was green, of course, and I didn't understand how to tighten the stitches between rounds. The result? The dreaded "ladder" effect going up the back of the hat. But I loved it, even though the simple roll-up brim pattern took me hours and hours to complete.

Part of the reason for the lengthiness of my efforts lay in my insistence on stopping each round to admire the smooth v's that were hooking together, creating an even, smooth fabric. At that point, I still had absolutely no idea how to purl, so I had never had the pleasure of seeing stockinette stitch reveal itself. Oh, the beauty of knitting in the round!

It took me two years and an epiphany during a DVD session of Lost Season One before I knew how to purl. My yarn slipped to the front of my needles during a particularly exciting scene involving a shirtless Josh Holloway, and as soon as my eyes reluctantly drifted down to my needles, I had the answer. Dozens of knitting books with their black and white line drawings never translated in my head. So by the grace of Damon, Carlton, Josh, and a six pack of the non-alcoholic variety, I finally knew.

It has been four years since that first purl stitch, and in that time, I've purled and knitted and cabled thousands of yards of fiber. I just recently completed my first attempt at true colorwork (there should be knitting badges like in Girl Scouts, I think). As I knit, the stitches bunched together, and it seemed no amount of loosening the stranding would fix it. I was convinced that it would be a disaster, much like my first hat. I even stopped working on it for three months before picking it back up again last weekend. I kept going, even though I couldn't see the pattern, my mom assuring me that it was in there somewhere. In true knitting fashion, a soak in water and soap loosened up the stitches and revealed a beautiful, evenly-patterned result.

I was too close to it while working on it, so I couldn't know how it all would end.

Trust in the process. Go along with mistakes. And relax.

I'm not sure if that advice is more for knitting, for life, or my declaration to all of the haters in regards to the final season of Lost. Though I think that Damon and Carlton are much more valuable than water and soap, and I still think Season 2 could have used some trimming. But.

It'll all be good in the end. So, so, so very good.

I have complete faith in the process.

Less than one week, folks!