When I was a little girl, I had three rag dolls I was utterly in love with: Raggedy Ann, Raggedy Andy, and Holly Hobbie. They were all huge; bigger than I was. I remember dragging them around behind me by their arms, because they were too big for me to pick up.
Of the three, Holly Hobbie was my favorite. It may have been that Raggedy Ann and Andy looked a little like clowns, and I’ve never been fond of clowns, but I think it was mostly because I was in love with her costume. I loved it so much that I used to wear it. Yeah, that’s how big those dolls were: I could wear their clothes. So I would take Holly Hobbie’s dress and bonnet and I’d wear them myself and just go about my day.
I have no idea what happened to my original rag dolls, and I actually completely forgot about them for a while. Until a few years ago, when something suddenly made me think of Holly Hobbie and how much I loved her and I suddenly missed her. Missed her so much that I went out and bought myself one on eBay. Actually, I bought myself two: one for me and one for the daughter I still hope to have one day.
I haven’t been blogging much lately, mainly because I’m so overwhelmed by being so far behind in the ABC-Along. Every time I think of something I’d like to write about, I think about the letter H and I freeze. Which is nuts, when you think about it, considering that the ABC-Along is meant to be fun! So I’m going to set aside anxiety over that and try to post more often about other things.
On the knitting front, I was recently struck with a serious case of finish-itis. Yes, that’s finish-itis, not start-itis.Arwen, the hooded scarf, and Scott’s socks are all done. I’m more than half-finished with the crochet border on Lizard Ridge, leaving only the log cabin crazy quilt, which is going to be an ongoing project to use up scraps of worsted. The only thing keeping me from marking things as completed in Ravelry is that I want to get photos of them first.I’ve such a case of fnish-itis that I even just brought my Top Down Raglan Shrug out to the living room to re-knit the sleeves. I’ve never been happy with the straight edge of the bind off and I’ve always wanted to re-knit the cuffs. I added lace cuffs that should have been knitted bottom up and knit them top down, which ruined what should have been a pretty scalloped edge. Since I’m going to re-knit anyway, I may also shorten the sleeves to above the elbow.
Last weekend, my mother and her husband spent the weekend in the city. We saw them on the 4th – and on Sunday, but on City Island – at the Millenium Hilton downtown. They had a suite there and they got Scott and me a room for the night, so we were able to sit in the room and watch the fireworks over the East River. The windows opened a little, so we were even able to hear the booms. It was really a nice way to spend Independence Day.
This weekend, we’ll be in Pittsburgh. We drive out on Friday and home on Sunday.Scott’s mother got married in January in a small ceremony with no reception. This Saturday they’re having what I thought was to be their reception, but they’re calling it a family reunion. Scott and I have never met her husband, and this weekend will be inundated with his entire family, so it should be interesting. It’s strange for Scott, since neither he nor any of his three siblings have children – we’re the only ones who ever really wanted to, and Scott’s the youngest of them all at 45 – but his mother’s new husband has kids and grandkids and great-grandchildren galore.I think Scott’s mother is a little, I don’t know, embarrassed maybe is the word, that she has no grandchildren to show off to her husband’s family. As a result, she’s been asking us about the IVF stuff a lot more frequently lately, even though before the new husband, she changed the subject immediately whenever Scott mentioned any of our plans for adoption or IVF. She never wanted grandchildren and was happy before that none of her kids had children. This is a real turnaround, and Scott and I are her only hope. It’s weird, to say the least.
Well, really, G is for Goblin, but that means it’s for Boogie, because Goblin doesn’t know his name is Goblin. He thinks it’s Boogie.
All of this is my fault for confusing the poor guy and rarely calling him my his given name over the past 11 years. This cat has more nicknames than a GWB cabinet meeting. Boogie, Boogie Buns, Boogie Bonanza, Gobbyboullabaise, Boogins, Gobbybuhlin, Boogie Butt, Gobble, Gobbldegook, Goblinka… those are just a few of his nicknames, and that’s only a short list of those I’ve used this month. Funny thing, while I was writing this, I remembered that I once, years ago, before Xena and Joxer existed, posted a list of some of the names we used for Demon and Goblin, which you can read here in the older archives. It’s funny how a couple of those have stuck, and also that we weren’t calling him Boogie yet then. I’m not sure when we started calling him that, but it stuck pretty hard, and now he thinks it’s his name.
Goblin is my stalker kitty, with a strong need to always be within eye-shot of me or Scott. Fortunately for him, we spend a lot of time in the living room, which means he can plant his wide furry butt on the chaise – as in the above two photos* – and keep an eye on us all day. He does this sort of creepy thing where he stares at one of us and purrs. He can do this for 15-20 minutes at a time, which gets disconcerting.
Over the past year or so, but particularly since Demon died, we’re starting to realize that maybe Goblin isn’t as stupid as we once thought he was. I once compared him to an elephant crossed with a goldfish, but I’m not so sure now that that’s a fair assessment. For example, he frequently shows signs of basic cognitive thinking, in that he can plan several actions in advance in order to achieve a goal. We often see this when he’s trying to decide how to get to the back of the couch from the floor, when he knows we don’t want him there and will block him. He sits there and you can obviously see him plotting his path. He looks at the back of the couch, then at the chaise, then at the windowsill, then back at the chaise, then to the arm of the couch, then back to the back of the couch. After careful consideration, that is exactly the path he takes: floor to chair to windowsill to back of chaise to arm of couch to back of couch. Sometimes he makes a stop on the side table, too. Just to keep it fresh.
We call these maneuvers his Rube Gobberg machine.
As you can see from the photo above, Boogie’s a fairly portly little fellow. He’s meant to be rather a small cat, maybe 10 pounds or so, but he does, in fact, weigh slightly over 16 pounds. At a recent trip to the vet for a checkup, we were worried the vet would yell at us for letting him get so large, but to both my and Scott’s surprise, the vet was fine with Gobble’s weight, because it’s stayed constant. So at least he’s not ballooning. But as you can see from the second photo, his fat is so copious that it rolls up around his eyes. Alex dubbed that “eye fat,” which has become another of Boogie’s nicknames. Somehow, I don’t think he’ll ever come running to that one the way he does to Boogie.
*Note the fine patina of cat hair on the throw pillows in those photo, too. I kept those pillow away from the cats for years, which also meant keeping them from the people, so I finally decided to start using them. They were covered in a grey mist of cat hair within days, and I’ve never been able to get it off. Turns out, cleaning cat hair off beaded dupioni silk? Doesn’t really work so well, even with a Dyson.