Tonight, I tattooed Jazz. This is the first time I've ever deliberately attempted to give someone a tattoo. (The pen incident in grade school doesn't count AND I'M STILL SORRY, OKAY?)
Jazz and I had watched a show about Ancient Ink and the history of known tattoos. It is theorized that the Iceman got his tattoos by someone sewing them into his skin. They then showed someone getting a tattoo done in this style in a very mystical type setting. I opted for as sterile conditions as I can make, and I'm not allergic to isopropol alcohol and hydrogen peroxide. He chose this marking, because it's very similar to what the Iceman has on his joints that were arthritic. Obviously Jazz doesn't think it will actually help with his arthritis. But he thought it looked cool, and I thought I could do it, so we actually tried it.
He says he felt no pain at all other than some pressure of me pinching the skin to drive the needle through. If I were to do it again, I would try to find a sharper needle, although I used my platinum needle which is the smallest and pointiest needle I have. Jazz is of course spinning off into suggesting we charge other people for this kind of tattoo- if I do that, I'm going to get real medical needles and have to take care of them as real medical waste, and look into a good lawyer.
Edited to add: Jazz later confessed that he lied to me, and that it really does hurt. But not enough to put him off from wanting more. He claims he lied so that I would not stop doing what I was doing.
¶ 7:40 PM
On the way to the movies, the truck acts odd with the shifting- popping into gear when it's not supposed to shift. Go to the Dollar Tree for candy. Get back in truck. Try to start it and it makes weird clicking noises. We argue about how to fix the transmission, but agree that it really won't matter if we go see the movie or not. We watch Hancock. I think it's okay, he says it was better than he thought it would be. We go buy some transmission fluid at Wally World. Go back to truck. The transmission appears full. Check the oil- it appears to be empty. Okay... let's argue some more about what the heck is wrong. Try to start it again. He decides it's the battery. Maybe. So... we call AAA (because shit like this pays for membership and makes it worthwhile). He calls Kirby (our semi-son) to meet us at the Garage. AAA swears the tow truck will arrive in half an hour. An hour later it's fucking pouring. (I would not use that language if it was a cooling shower, which it started as). No tow truck. The only pay phones are of course at the movie theater, and we're dead in front of Dicks. It's a sporting goods store. You can look it up when you get home. But it's not a short walk. He calls Kirby and says we're running late still waiting for the truck. Then it's my turn to go back to the movie theater while he waits by the truck. I call AAA. They put me on hold for several minutes. Finally I get told, "Um, there's a guy right by your truck right now, Miss." Dammit. Hang up the phone and run through the pouring rain, quite a distance, just so I can fork over my AAA card. But it is apparently some how battery related because a simple jump has the truck running. I drive over to the movie theater (DO NOT TURN OFF THE CAR AT THIS POINT!), and wait for Jazz to go call Kirby again. Kirby is there and will meet us at the garage. Jazz writes a nice long note while I drive over to the garage. We drop keys and note in the slot, and off we go with Kirby - and thankfully, no car accidents on the way home.
No clue how much this is going to cost me. Not happy.
¶ 5:11 PM
I'm all for figuring out ways to do things I should Not Do. Dying has been on my list for a while- there's chemicals in them thar dyes and that never does well with my physiology. But I've been curious after seeing Sock Blanks and I had to try it. Especially since you can dye things with food coloring mixed with vinegar - like easter eggs. You can set this with heat (boil it, or toss in the dryer, or nuke it). I opted for nuking, since it's rather warm in here, and tossing in the dryer may felt the wool.
Okay, originally, I tried the sun tea method- food color + vinegar + dye, leave in a jar in the sun all day. But I didn't feel like this had set the color enough, so I nuked the vinegar soaked yarn for about 4 minutes. Mmm. Baked yarn. Yum.
I let them dry. The next step is spin them on the swift and convince them to either skein or ball up, and actually knit them. :)
This is the fireplace I mentioned a few posts ago, particularly the repaired area that said "BURT + WALTER 1949"- the ALTER is all that's left.
The terribly modern light in the foreground is to illuminate the new flagpole. There has always been a flagpole. Burt & Meme used to hang the flag on days when they were at camp, as a signal to friends to stop by. Unfortunately rude assholes took the no-flag as an invitation to come to camp and picnic or steal things. One year they trashed everything in the leanto including some antique wicker chairs which they felt deserved to be firewood. The new flagpole is easier to manage and no longer has a rope clanging in the wind. The light is so that we can leave a flag up all summer- it's legal to leave a flag up over night if there's a light on it. And solar means never having to say you're sorry.
¶ 10:36 AM
It should have flaming toes, because the colorwork would keep them even warmer, and there are times at Camp you need the warmth. I can't think of Camp without a fire on the Point, or a fire in the living room of the Main Camp for warmth on a very cold morning. It should bobble white marshmallows, even though I hate bobbles. It should have small ribbon cables along the side for the water that surrounds everything - Camp is on Watch Point, and it's called that because if you stand on the point and turn, only about 30 degrees of the circle are covered by land. You can watch all of North Bay of Raquette Lake. There should be a purled fishie in the middle, because there's a lot of fishing going on. Camp started in the 1800s as a place where you could hire a guide to take you fishing. Grandpa Burt worked as an Adirondack guide until 1978 in the summers, and an elementary school principal during the rest of the year. He knew the lake better than anyone- where to fish, when the weather would change, and where all the rocks were. Speaking of rocks, if I wanted to be finicky, the heel should be granite colored. The point itself is bare bedrock- a large rock the size of the Main Camp. We shoot fireworks off from it every year, arching things over the lake for safety. The fireplace where the garter snake lives is on the Rock and out of the rock. I always wondered why the fireplace had a concrete part with "Walter" visible- now it's just "ALTER"- Da explained that in 1949 his dad and his Uncle Walter fixed the concrete on the fireplace, and put their names and date on it. I took pictures of the snake this year, and I'll try to post them when I get the other machine working. The clock on the ankle needs to be a Spade. Cards have been a staple of after the fireworks since Burt and Meme's time. Burt loved Spades. Meme didn't like the game because she could not hold all of her cards, so she would jam her cards into the border of the card table (which has since been recovered in yellow vinyl instead of the original black silk, so you can't do it any more). My sister and I would play cards at their feet, and later my brother joined in. Now, the game is Pitch, and there's sometimes too many people to play, and sometimes enough for two games to go. Our variant of Pitch is different than Bar Pitch- we have 7 cards instead of 6, you must follow suit, and you can toss in a 10 and under hand for new cards. I love playing Pitch, but that's the only time I play. Jazz will play at the bar for money sometimes, so his brain has to change for the rules. The base color needs to be a dark water, because it's never a true blue or pale. Adirondack lake water in a gallon jug is slightly murky like a very weak tea because of all the pine needles and dirt. There's very little topsoil, and more is eroded every year, and the lake tastes of it.
Will I make this vision? I don't know. But I likes the idea.
¶ 3:53 AM
I did actually teach my 11-year-old nephew how to knit this weekend. He might have a scarf in time for Kissmose. Right now he’s trying on flippers while his father is trying to pack up the kids’ things. Aiden (6) is trying to play hide and seek with his stuffed dog. Jazz is in the leanto on the point where it’s very quiet, reading essays about WWII. My dad is remodeling the attic. My mother is popping over to my door and pestering me about potatoes and if I want any already baked. No sour cream though, so we’ll probably fry them for breakfast. My poor sis-in-law is coping with an intestinal bug, a very upset and aggressive cat, and a typical two-year-old, while packing up their stuff. I’m sitting in the winter cabin, which is almost like sitting in a fishbowl, with all the windows open, so it’s Very Noisy, and watching the traffic go by.
When I was Riley’s age (the 11-yo) this building was used for storage. It smelled of old waders and dead fish. It was renovated about 5 years ago, and now is a very nice retreat. The attic Da is remodelling used to be storage and a bedroom in the very back under the eaves, where the mice would scurry around your pillow and the bats would fly around in during the day, but there was always something magical about blank paper and a pencil, when everyone else was in bed, and the rain is gently falling on the tin roof, and there’s just the light of an old candle end, held by a donkey pottery dish.
I wonder what the Sumners would have thought of this place now. It was originally built with all the best luxury available in 1920, so I imagine they would have loved the advent of electricity here (they did after all have a powerhouse and the battery powered lighting system). If they knew they internet, they would have assumed it would be here, and this is the first year we’ve had satellite internet up here - we had dial-up on a party line for years. But my grandfather would object on principle- he preferred the roughing it. He liked privies. Da fixed the plumbing a while back so we could actually flush by handle instead of pouring a bucket down the front- but he had to wait until his parents weren’t coming any more before he could! The idea that there’s a TV and DVD player in all three of the major cabins would be anathema to Grandpa Burt- but the Sumners would wonder why there weren’t TVs in the leanto, Dinning Hall and Tool House too. It doesn’t feel like camping when you can use the microwave for popcorn, sit on the couch, and watch a movie. I can do that at home.
¶ 11:21 AM
It would be easier to pack the truck with boxes if I didn't have to pack around the toilet.
Thank goodness this is not a regular occurrence.
Mr. Basset will likely only get half a seat this time, because he's going to sit with the cooler. It would be easier for him if he didn't have to bring his bed too. But no, we'll bring the dogbed deluxe because he can't be without his pampering. What's a dog to do in the woods? Rough it? Never! Prop-intensive camping, remember! He's never been to the lake, because last year I went without Jazz. So it'll be fun finding out if he likes the water or not. Does he swim? How will he be in the canoe? I think he may tip us over.
I'm just glad I don't have to figure out where to put the diabetic fat cat. Thank you Twiggi!
But I still burst into tears when I think about how I don't have to fit Kenya into the car. She loved it up there.
¶ 6:37 AM
This rather schizophrenic blog was started as a fictional blog, written by a character of a story. I've since taken it over for writing personal stuff I don't mind sharing with anyone who cares.
I am also writing thoughts about writing and stories that move me.
Anything not marked might be just me, Georg, posting as myself.
It's just this blog, okay? Some of it is story. Some of it is animals. Some of it is knitting. It's a blog.
For story #1, I do recommend starting from the beginning of this blog if you haven't read this before.
Please start at the beginning.
I did mean it to be for http://www.nanowrimo.org - but I never got quite got it done under the wire.
Jeannie is the author/main character.
Frank is her husband. Poor man.
Tony is musician/singer.
Angie is a teenager, who was Jeannie's best friend. Now currently dead.
Honestly, there is no connection between Jeannie and me and Frank and my husband.
Frank and Ether. This will be much weirder than Frank and Jeannie. I like the name Frank. No one expects a Frank to lie.
A desert story. Anna is the main character. Currently there is only her little brother and an old servant, and a mysterious redhead.
The necro story. A young necromancer heads off to the Hated Ones to find her trousseau.