I got back into Michigan last night, stiff and exhausted from the three and half hour bus ride to Incheon Airport and the thirteen hours stuck on an airplane, ready to stretch out on my own bed with my dog at my side. For thirteen long hours I slept. Nothing could wake me, not even a tornado.

That night the wind was picking up some, thunder rumbled low in the distance and as I was laying in bed reading before sleep the power went out, I took that as good ol’ Michigan telling me to go to bed. By morning the power was still out.

In the kitchen there’s a note taped to the fridge. “DO NOT OPEN, DO NOT OPEN.” My grandfather has a habit of saying everything twice. But still, this isn’t unusual for Michigan. We get thunderstorms that light up transformers and even bring down a tree or two on a fairly regular basis. A day long power outage isn’t out of the question in the heat of July, bringing the sound of a cleanup crew with it.

But these cleanup crews had a lot more to deal with. Outside it was apparent that this wasn’t a normal Michigan thunderstorm. The neighborhood looks like a giant trampled garden, trees plucked up and dropped like common weeds.


It’s hard to explain what it’s like seeing this little neighborhood my grandparents have lived in for more than 40 years being swiftly and violently re-landscaped. But thankfully everyone I talked to was alright, despite the fact that no siren went off – for a tornado that touched down for 10 minutes.





I still don’t have power, and I don’t have any more time to spend outside of my house to finish this post right now. More when electricity is returned.



The Naughty Knitting Box

Spring has finally come! Gone are the 15 foot high snowbanks, and icy death traps! Now the sun has started to stay a little longer each day, drawing out the plant and animal life. Aside from all the roadkill, it’s fantastic.

Puppy feet make the world go 'round.

Puppy feet make the world go ’round.

All this new growth (and a desire to use up my wool before it’s 95 degrees outside) has encouraged me to work my way through my knitting WIP (work in progress) box. I mostly refer to it as the Naughty Knitting Box. It’s filled with things that I lost interest in, dropped a stitch on, or the things that simply had to think about what they had done for a few months.

One of those projects was Inga Hat by Sheila MacDonald.

Mmm cashmere.

Mmm cashmere.

The entire color chart was well put together and easy to follow, but Christmas 2012 (yeah, I just said 2012) I made a mistake on the 40th or so round, and didn’t notice it for 23 more rounds, on top of that it had about a million and one ends to weave in. So it was put away, moved from Las Vegas to West Michigan, and after a lengthy and painful surgery with a rug hook (the unsung hero of knitting repairs) it was finished, washed, slightly felted and blocked two days ago.


It was just chilly enough to put to good use this afternoon when my dog demanded a play session. But now I have some more knitting to get through, the sooner all my wool disappears the sooner my husband will look past a new fiber purchase.

Weathering the Storm, Without Dying of Boredom First

I am currently sitting on this lazy Sunday, typing this entry as more snow falls outside my window. So much snow, in fact, that we might end the weekend with an additional 20 fucking inches of it. Gross.

My backyard, and Ace, my 3 year old lab.

My backyard, and Ace, my 3 year old lab.

I spent the last three years of my life living in Las Vegas – a land of 120 degree days, sunshine, and the permanent smell of dry rot. Now my life feels more like something out of a Laura Ingalls Wilder story. I currently live in quite a small town in Michigan, a huge change from a few miles off of the infamous Las Vegas strip. A big change in scenery can be quite inspiring, even when you’re trapped in your home and I do my best to take it in.

I’m stocked on food, and more importantly – entertainment.

I have a slew of books begging to be moved to the ‘read’ section of my Goodreads page, and about 10 ongoing and varying artistic pursuits. I’m currently working my way through To Have and Have Not, and The Bone People by Keri Hulme, I picked this up solely because of it’s cover. I bought it this past Thursday when I went to Schuler’s Bookstore after eating half my weight in shrimp and pad thai sauce at Mongolian BBQ (let’s be honest, no one goes there to eat a sensibly portioned meal). The whole time I was eating I kept looking across the street and fantasizing about walking those aisles, touching the spines of dozens and dozens of Bantam and Random House books and finding something new and wonderful to take home.

I try to go into bookstores with an open mind. I keep my “to read” list for purchasing books on my Kindle. This leaves the thrill of the hunt for the pridelands of Barnes and Noble, Schuler’s, and your friendly neighborhood bookstore. A book in its physical form should find you, I think. And find me it did.

A pretty book cover next to my own book cover tattoo. It's the cover of East of Eden.

A pretty book cover next to my own book cover tattoo. It’s the cover of East of Eden.

I was just about to march over to the checkout and buy The Pale King, by David Foster Wallace, when the cover of The Bone People caught my eye. Tucked between haphazardly abandoned copies of The Brothers Karamazov and some Kerouac novel, it simply called to me. It said “Hey, look how cool my cover is. Ignore that ‘don’t judge a book by it’s cover’ stuff, judge me. Pick me up.” I loosely skimmed the pages, and when I got to page 9 I was hooked.

I’ll let you know how the rest goes, in the mean time – I have some shoveling to do.