Whoo. It’s been a long time. So much to cover. Perhaps I’ll play the post-a-day game until I’m all caught up. Yeah. Right.

Here we go:

OHS (aka Ontario Handweavers’ Certificate): Rocked. I hesitate to gush and gush because it just was too much fun, and I don’t want the losers my dear friends who were unable to attend, feel bad. But it was so much fun! And for reasons I didn’t expect! The classes were fine–sort of slow-paced, but I think that was because Donna and I were so ridiculously already prepared, what with the Patsy Zawistoski class, and our fleece study.

But the people were So. Much. Fun. So kind. And so generous.

The Blue Sweater: Finished!

The Shittens: Reproductive Organ Free! Because nobody likes inbred feral kittens. And what a joy to be away from them for a week. A shitten-free existence was well worth the price of admission alone.

Have I mentioned lately that I hate these kittens? They come out of the crate now, but Lily (note the use of a name for the hateful girl cat) remains absolutely petrified of me and I cannot get near her outside the crate. Omar will approach for food, but cannot be petted outside the crate. Although last night he did climb onto me in my chair to eat. But as soon as I tried to touch him, he was gone. And they’re getting harder to herd back into the crate. Like herding cats. Snerk.

Day two of the Whirlwind Buffalo Tour was to the Frank Lloyd Wright Graycliff Estate, about forty minutes south of Buffalo.

I always think driving along Lake Erie is a huge tease, because there are beaches, and I do love the water, but most beaches are private, or closed due to sewage issues (we’ve had a surprisingly rainy summer), or you’re only allowed to swim in a tiny roped off portion that is chock full of screaming children.

I’ve always thought Graycliff was the even fancier local Frank Lloyd Wright house, as it seems to get more advertising, and maybe it has a more exotic location on the cliff (get it? Graycliff?) of Lake Erie, but it turns out it’s actually more like the neglected step-child of the Darwin Martin House. Although the exterior of the house is almost completely renovated, the interior is pretty much gutted. Who knew?

And for all you architectural fans, here’s the list of Frank Lloyd Wright in Buffalo.

Really, the only way to see anything around where you live is to have a guest come from out of town and then play tour guide. Really, the first time I went to Alcatraz was when I went home to visit, and the first time the Mother walked across the Brooklyn Bridge was when she came to visit the Big City. Where she grew up.

So.

The “Commercial Slip.” Which even says, “Commercial Slip,” so you can’t mistake it with anything else. This on the ever-so-slowly getting revitalized waterfront.

This area of the waterfront offers ruins:

Ruins of what you ask? I don’t know. Apparently no one else knows either, because there is no information posted as to what these are ruins of. I mean, I think they’re totally cool, but I want to know what they are! “Some building.” Whatever. Not good enough.

And typos:

Now, maybe the sign-writers are being all clever and sophisticated, using some fancy rhetorical device wherein you choose words that illustrate a style of talking (I know some dear reader will tell me what that device is); but even if the clever sign-writer chose to write “spoked like a dock-worker,” isn’t that why god gave us sic. It just makes my stomach hurt when people try to make something nice, e.g., the waterfront, and do something stupid, like “spoked.” If it is purposeful stupid usage, it doesn’t work.

Wow. Grammatical rant. Moving on.

From the lovely waterfront you can view the lovely Skyway, I mean, City Skyline:

Oh, He looks so innocent. Last night we let Omar out, on purpose, to see what would happen. Well, first he spent a few a few hours under an endtable, but on the second round he actually ate and played a bit. I figure if I wait until they can be fully “controlled with food,” I’ll be dead.

What have you crafted in the past 24 hours?

I beamed a warp, with the help of Phyllis.

I finished another rigid heddle scarf.

I knitted on some sleeves.

Pics to come.

Here is Omar immediately after his traumatic rescue, two weeks ago. Wow. Two weeks ago. And he still hisses at me every time I approach. It’s that street cred. Well, he was so kitty-exhausted after being on the street, or at least in the neighbors’ bushes, from Monday to Saturday night, that he forgot about his street cred and actually sat in the basket like a cute little kitten. But how pissed off does he look? That kitten hates me.

He’s so small! And so thin! And so pointy! He had been bigger than the Little Girl (maybe her name is Izzy?), but then she was bigger than him. Now he’s finally being less pointy and filling out a tiny bit. I think he might be a big cat. He does the cutest thing with his long skinny legs stretched out in front of him.

A few days later:

Now, we have a crate. Which means, no escape from the mean lady who wants to pet them. They must deal with us if they want their food. Whaaa-hahahah-ha.

Yeah. So, as it turns out? Little Girl never went out the window. She was under the futon until 0300 (3am) Friday morning. I just happened to go into the library to get a book, as I was not sleeping, all wound up from the Omar sighting, and she flew across the room, back under the futon.

I just can’t imagine what would have happened if I hadn’t gone in there. Um, thank goodness for insomnia? I had taken the water out a day or two before, and taken the litter box out as well. I’m not sure when I intended to finish the clean up in there–it might have been days more.

Just for the record: I did see Omar go out the window, and just assumed the Little Girl had gone first. Never occurred to me to look under the futon.

So Friday and Saturday nights Little Girl went into the carrier, adjacent to the trap, coated in tuna fish (the trap, not Little Girl), and Saturday we got Omar back. Thinner and more skittish, but back.

Hooray.

Pics of the furry bedroom slippers tomorrow.

For those of you keeping score, and tracking my emotional roller coaster, we had an Omar sighting (actually two) this evening. So food is put out, but the trap is not set.

So, Omar and the Little Girl escaped Monday morning. Omar was sighted Monday evening, might have eaten Tuesday evening, and spotted again tonight, Thursday.

Bother.