Copycat

Yes, I am taking a cue from my friend's blog for this post. I'm interested in your lists. If you're up to it, post one in the comments section below.

10 Things You Don't Know About Me

1. My nickname is Doe, as in "Doe, a deer, a female deer." Mom didn't want people calling me Jo as a child. Too boyish, I guess, but the nickname stuck. Just look at my Web address.

2. I want to try skydiving.

3. I used to play the flute.

4. I danced with tap-dance sensation Savion Glover - my dancing idol - in a "master" class at Denver East High.

5. I had a real-life, paying job as a photographer in college.

6. I secretly (maybe not so secretly now!) want to move near the ocean someday.

7. I won several spelling bees in elementary school.

8. I redesigned my dad's restaurant logo 15 years ago.

9. I minored in mathematics at Metro State.

10. As a 6-month-old infant, I tipped the scales at 20+ pounds. Yikes.

Midnight cowboy

Driving home on my usual route around the Drury Inn off Interstate 70, I had a one-of-these-things-just-doesn't-belong-here moment. First, there are dozens of horse trailers stashed along the frontage road by ranchers who visit Denver every year for the National Western Stock Show. Cowboys start hauling their big trucks and trailers a few days before the event begins; a clear sign the January spectacle is near.

But this cowboy, fiddling with his trailer, appeared to be sweeping up a pile of hay from the cold asphalt. There was a plastic bucket by his feet. Light shone out of the open cab, reflecting off his big belt buckle, but he was all about business. And what task could it be that had him still working hard well after midnight? I guess if he was lucky, perhaps he sold his livestock for a hefty price and happily was preparing a clean trailer to take back home.

I hope that was it.

P.S. Yes, I have a goal to knit these nasty little buggers in the near future.

Obedient friend

Walking with my hubby down the street to our favorite Japanese restaurant in Denver, we spied a pained little soul sitting on the sidewalk. Well, lying on the sidewalk is more like it.

Hind legs glued to the concrete (I imagine his tummy was pressed against the cold ground), he gave us a short glance but got back to his real job - staring longingly at the action on the other side of the window. With his grey and black patchwork coat keeping him warm, the weepy-eyed dog just might have been watching his owner eat a hot Japanese meal inside Taki's on East Colfax.

And as we walked through the door dreaming up something yummy for dinner, we heard the little guy say, "Woof!"

It's here!

The tiny, sleek and stylish 2 gigabyte music device I talked about in my 9/22/05 post arrived in the mail last month, only I forgot to share the jubilant news here.

Snap. It really does work!

F---

Shit.

Double shit.

The scarf I have been knitting for months (well, in between other projects) has become my Cursed Project. I bought the yarn in September, fantasizing about a nice, new, colorful scarf for the winter. And here we are.

About three quarters of the way through, I was unsure of what I had been working up those late nights after work by just a few rows at a time. Just get it done, I told myself. Finish it, then wash the entire thing in Woolite, let it dry and see what you have. It should match the designer's picture. (A statement always carefully phrased in a question to myself.)

But after conquering knitting in the round and completing this lovely beret (which fits me better as a skull cap, by the way) it dawned on me the next time I picked up the neglected scarf that I had been working the wrong-side rows wrong. I was purling in the knit stitches. I was knitting in the purl stitches. NO!

Triple shit!

So I sat, unraveling weeks of work, rolling the gentle but overworked purple Cascade 220 wool yarn back into a ball.

Shit, shit, SHIT!