Catfurday Open Thread, May 16th! Incredible!

             I felt like talking about knitting again, while being lazy and not writing anything.

            Sure, it keeps your hands busy, and you, hopefully, get something useful out of all the fiddling. But what I find interesting is the language of the patterning. A pattern such as that doesn't need a chart. You can read it as you knit it. 

            It becomes as it is becoming. Like many other things.

            I think that's why so many of the old knitters made these types of fabric patterns. You could keep track of it and do the shaping all at once. It's a neat trick.

            Practical math, which teaches awareness and foresight.

🧶

Wanna Take A Ride?

 

 
            A soft cool rain was falling. It was almost like slightly particulate mist, somewhere in between, but heavy enough to fall. It was a dark, moonless night. The only light source was a single yard light like a streetlight. The light was almost orange, so sodium probably, Maurice thought.
            He was several miles north of town, and a couple of miles from the freeway. It was night and raining. He was tired, really burnt out from bumping along old style like a hobo. He didn’t feel much like howling at the moment.
            Howlers can fast, but it had been a long time since the last layover. The tacos were a fond memory. Thirst had his attention too. He dropped to hands and knees and lapped some rainwater from a puddle. It tasted just a little of diesel.
            When Maurice stood and stretched, he looked around himself more carefully. He had quite a way to go, and he wasn’t sure how he was going to get to the forest. Sure, he could walk, but Maurice was way out of his element. He didn’t know which way to go even if he did start walking.
            The place was mostly deserted, but there was something in the shadow of an office building. It picked up and reflected some of that orange light. Someone was parked there in a 76 year old Buick, as black as the night around it except for the grille. It shone in the dark like great chrome teeth, a smile.

            “No way,” said Marice, to no one in particular.
            A ridge of rough gray hair rose up along his spine. A chill passed through his body. But a True Howler is brave, and very snoopy, so he padded quietly over to the dark corner where the old car waited.
            At first it appeared to be empty, but in a moment he saw that someone sat in the driver's seat with her head bowed. It was Mable, as sure as the world. And she was having a little nap.
            He padded, barefoot you remember, over to the passenger’s side and tried the door. It was already unlocked. So, he opened it carefully and looked in. The driver’s seat was empty. For the second time in ten minutes, the gray hair on his spine rose up. He stood there holding the door handle, dumbfounded.
            “You’re not the only one who knows that little vanishing spell, Maurice!” she said. Then just as before, there sat Mable. “I wondered if it would work on you too!”
            Maurice later swore he saw a little dusty stuff like fairy dust blow away and vanish as she materialized.
            “Get in and shut the door, Pilgrim,” she said. “It’s damp out there, ya know!”
            “Hello, Ma’am! I am surprised to see you here!” Maurice managed to say, though his mouth felt dry again, and his tongue felt sticky. In spite of that, he got in and sat, closing the door behind himself.
            “Like to take a ride, Pilgrim?” She was grinning. He wasn’t sure that she was entirely real, but she looked friendly, and really what else was he going to do right then.
            “Yes, Ma’am, I would like to take a ride. Do you know where I’m going?” said Maurice. Maurice was making an attempt to determine where the floor was in this picture.
            “Oh, you’ll tell me won’t cha,” said Mable. She started the engine. It sounded like something from on old black and white film. The heater started to blow some cold air, so she had been parked there long enough for the Buick to cool down.
            “There’s a sack in the back seat. Just reach around and it’s right there. I brought you a little midnight snack,” she said, as the Buick started to roll dead slow out of its parking spot and head for the exit from this place.
            Maurice threw his arm over the back of the seat and reached around, and he found a brown paper sack just within his reach. He pulled it up front, and opened it. Inside were two heavy roast beef and horseradish sandwiches on homemade bread, and a bottle of chocolate milk. Even if it was some kind of crazy hoodoo picnic, Maurice was too hungry to worry about it.
            “Aw, thanks, Mable. Say, I didn’t see you by a lake in Kansas City, did I?” he asked between wolfish bites.
            “Never been to Kansas City. You like it there?” she said.
            “Yeah, sure. I wasn’t there very long,” he said. In the comfort of that deeply cushioned bench seat, he was getting sleepy again. This whole trip felt dreamlike. Looking outside he saw only darkness, and the rain splattering the windshield.
            He sat forward and looked downward. There were a few streetlights and houses way down below the Buick. He could see what looked like a great dim body of water off in the distance. ‘Surely this is a dream he thought,’ as he went soundly to sleep.
            And just like the boat in the nursery rhyme, all during the rest of the night until sunrise the old Buick captained by the old lady sailed the skies over the forests, hills, rivers, and towns until it came to rest at a parking place at a wide spot on Highway 20.
            “Wake up, Pilgrim, you’re home,” said Mable.
            Blinking, and nodding for a moment, Maurice woke suddenly. “How did you know?” he said wonderingly.
            “Oh, you told me,” said Mable, with a wink.
            “Home?” said Maurice.
            “I think so, don’t you?” said Mable Green.
            Mable rolled down her window, just as the sun came up, lighting the forest and the highway. And with a great flashing of black wings, Maeve drifted down out of the firs to sit on the door beside Mable.
            “Thanks, Mable. Good morning to you!” said Maeve.
            “And a good morning to yourself, Maeve,” said Mable. “I see a fine day coming up!”
            “Indeed,” nodded Maeve.
            “Maybe I’ll see you later sometime, Maurice. It was good to meet you!” said Mable as Maurice climbed out of the old car.
            The forest floor, so cool and damp and springy felt so good on his feet, the air smelled so clean and wild and free, the sun made everything sparkle so brilliantly that Maurice just couldn’t help himself. He howled as he had never howled before in all of his life. It rang and rang over the land, and even into the Great Forest. All the ears for miles around heard and noted that a True Howler was among them.
            When he turned back to speak to Mable, she and the Buick were as gone as if they had never been there. He turned his big gray head one way, looking up the highway and then the other way, looking down towards the town, but it was utterly empty. He sighed a big sigh, and lifted his eyebrows, amazed.
            “Come on, Maurice. He’s waiting,” said Maeve from a branch at about eye level for a Howler. “You know he heard all of that!”
            Maeve floated into the forest and Maurice followed her in.

🌲🐺🌲

What Happens Next

       

Toots

Suzie

🤎

            “That’s always the question, isn’t it?” said Suzie.

            “Who decides what happens next is the real question,” said Toots. “Look at it this way,” she said, turning her head sideways. “It’s always a matter of perspective!”
            “Very funny, mrrrt!, Toots, but I quite see what you mean in actuality,” said Suzie.
            “Let’s imagine asking Sweetie what Maurice will do next!” said Toots.
            “Well, OK, if you want to posit a horrid talking dog thing and then ask that infant with no experience, but only instinct, what it would do next. Hm. I live with the infant. Let’s see. He would likely say that Maurice would pounce on the old lady and maybe steal her Buick!” Suzie suggested. “Then Maurice would drive all the way to the Great Forest, even though he’s never driven a car before!”
            “It’s all go go go, and pounce with him, huh?” said Toots. “Brrrt!”
            “How about the Fluffbag?” giggled Toots.
            “His Maurice would be all suave and agreeable. He’d probably ask Mable about her family and how she liked to make a certain casserole, something like that,” said Suzie. “He’d purr his tail off. Probably put her to sleep right out in that freight yard!”
            “Well, that doesn’t advance the plot very much, does it? Pick somebody else,” said Toots.
            “How about you! What do you think happens next, Dear?” said Suzie, after a long pause and some purring.
            “If I were Maurice, perish the very idea, I would hide from that sneaky old woman! Before she saw me, I’d take off like a streak. Naturally. I wouldn’t want to play her weird hide and seek game! You better believe!” announced Toots, with some heat.
            “Hm, I can’t say that I would choose any different, Toots,” said Suzy. “What does the old babe want anyhow? Is it all a huge mysterious altruistic urge, or what? I don’t trust her!”
            “Of course, we must remember that a talking dog thing deserves whatever it gets, but for the sake of argument, I agree,” said Toots.
            “He was pretty kind to that waitress, even if his manners were not perfect,” said Suzie.
            “You have to give him a point there,” agreed Toots. “How about the other infant, Booker?”
            “It is true that he is observant and mostly quiet, but it hasn’t gotten him very far yet. I’m afraid that if you asked him what a character like Maurice should do next, it would be something like taking a long nap in the back seat of the Buick and waiting to see where Mable took him. He’s awfully cuddly for a Warrior Scout, you know?” Suzie sighed and shrugged.
            “How about that engineer?” asked Toots, with a sly little grin.
            “Pffft! He’d probably ask Mable to elucidate exactly what she was up to and what her plans for Maurice were,” said Suzie.
            Toots laughed, and said, “How about herself, the writer? Do you have any idea of what she thinks will happen next?”
            “Could be anything Toots! She likes to imagine friendly ETs and instantaneous Yogic travel! Or that the Buick is empty..or goodness knows what! I don’t,” said Suzie. “Maybe there is no old lady. Maybe the Buick is sentient. Maybe Mable is on a different wavelength than the posited talking Howler dog thing?”
            “Maybe Ralph is in the driver’s seat!” yowled Toots.
            Both girls had to break for a giggle fit.
            “OK, we’re just being silly now,” said Toots, “And after all, this is just another doggone Open Thread, isn’t it?”
            “Yup!” said Suzie. “But, like we said, you really have to wonder what could happen next!”
            “The question is wide open!” agreed Toots.

😹😸

This Is What Maurice Wrote

     

             This is about my trip from Kansas City to the west coast of Washington. 

             A lot has changed since that angel or whoever left this book on the bench. I’ve carried it in my pocket or put it somewhere kind of secret every day since they gave it to me. I mean Sneaky and Joe. They said it must be mine.
            I have changed in some ways. I’m older. I talk better. I learned to read and write, my ma would probably never believe it, but it’s still true, Ma! I know how to cook and wash clothes, and everything too.
The trip to Smith Island took about two days from Kansas City. It seems like it was night the whole way, but maybe I was asleep during the day. It was a lot like the first trip when we were so poor, but this time I was just pretending to be poor for fun or for tradition. Knowing that I had two hundred bucks changed everything, even though I tried to make it the same. It wasn’t the same. Real hunger and thirst have a presence, and it wasn’t there.
            One morning out in the middle of the country, somewhere I got out of the car, said “I’m neither here nor there, etc.,” and took a look around at the dusty sunbaked town. It was a lot like the place where my book turned up.
            Finding food when the spell is working didn’t seem likely, so I let it go.
There was a tiny Mexican restaurant in that town, one block over from the train station, such as it was. I figured they might not mind a Howler too much, and if they did, I would scram out of the place.
            This little place had a dining room about 15 feet square, with four tables. There was some dusty Mexican decor on the walls and a potted cactus in the window. The kitchen smelled good.
            It must have been before or after lunch, because I was the only customer. I took a seat away from the window and waited.
            In a couple of minutes a girl came out of the kitchen with a little printed menu. They made tacos and burritos and a couple of other things. She looked exhausted and very young, pretty like a Mexican girl is sometimes and she spoke not at all. I ordered six pork tacos and a fruity pop of some kind.
            I laid one of the hundreds on the tabletop, and when she came to collect, she said, “I can’t break that!”
            I said, “Keep the change, Honey.” What’s a Howler to do? I had another one and she looked like she could use the change. When I was leaving, I heard some whispered words in Spanish behind me.
            I spent the rest of the daylight hours lying doggo or snooping around this place. It looked like a real good place to be from.
            When it got dark, I snuck into the car again and got ready for another long ride.
            Sometime in the middle of the night, we pulled into Everett and then Smith Island, where we stopped. It had been so long that I still felt like I was swaying and bumping like I had all night.
            In the distance I could hear a police siren. It was raining when I slipped out of the freight car.
            Well, my hand is getting tired, but I wanted to say one more thing. I need a new pen, but that’s not it.
            I was standing there in the rain and the dark looking around, wondering how I was going to get out to Ralph’s forest when I noticed something I had a very hard time believing. In a shadow, tucked nearly out a sight, I saw the grille of a black 1950 Buick shining just a little bit in the yard lights.
            

🍃🐺🌿

Meanwhile, Between Times

 

            “Boss! What are you doing up here?” said Maeve, taking a perch on a nearby branch.
            “Oh, hi, Birdy. Figures you’d see me up here,” said Ralph, just as his head cleared the last large branch. He blinked because the sunlight was suddenly so bright. Looking around as his eyes adjusted, he could see miles of deep green Douglas Fir canopy below, and the vast blue arc of our planet’s atmosphere above.
            “It’s a fine place, Boss,” Maeve remarked, softly as if speaking to herself.
            “Did you ever notice that everything sounds different up here, Birdy? Oh, of course you did,” said Ralph. “Down there among the tree’s trunks and all the brush, it’s soft and like cushioned. Up here it’s sharp, wide open and goes for miles!”
            “That’s true. If you listen right now, you can hear a train whistle clear down in Milltown,” agreed Maeve. “The crows are all down on the ground somewhere by now, or we would hear them yakking it up too.”
            “You see further than I do,” said Ralph.
            “That’s true. Do you need me to see something for you, Boss?” said she.
            “Well, I wanted to see for myself, you know? Ever since we got that letter from Maurice, I have been feeling that something different is coming in a way. Some kind of change or something. It’s been keeping me awake a little,” said Ralph. “Ramona told me this morning that I had been talking in my sleep.”
            “You know I love a mystery,” said Maeve.
            “You like to pick a mystery apart, Birdy. I know that,” he said. “Hey, look! Rick just drove off. That means Dexter is in charge today.”
            They watched for a few seconds, until Rick’s service vehicle disappeared from view.
            “Dexter should just marry that girl, then they could both live in the mobile. He’s there all the time anyhow,” giggled Maeve. “It’s a wonder he gets camp chores done!”
            “First, he’s got to talk Hannah into it,” said Ralph, gently. “The worst thing about climbing fir trees is that now I have pitch in my hair, and it’s going to be murder to get it out!”
            “I bet Ooog has some kerosene or something. Might cut it. Ramona could comb it out with that and then you could wash the kerosene out,” said Maeve.
            “Are you worried about something, Boss,” she said, further.
            “No, not worried. I just feel a shift, like when the wind suddenly changes direction and blows the smoke into your face instead of away from you,” he said. “I’ve heard the wind whispering, but explaining nothing,” said Ralph, hefting himself up to sit on a sturdy branch near the very top. “It’s like when a storm is coming. Your ears might pop.”
            “Yes, like that. Does it have something to do with Maurice?” said Maeve.
            “Maybe. Not sure. I think he’s part of it. Or maybe, he’s just in it, you see?” said Ralph.
            “Boss, would you like to come up into the sky with me again?” She cocked a wise eye in his direction.
            “I don’t have the feather you gave me! It’s back in the cave at home,” said Ralph.
            “Oh, fiddledeedee, Boss, I have all the feathers we need right here!” said Maeve. “Just come with me!”
            “I will!” he shouted.
            Maeve spread her mighty wings, and Ralph followed her as she lifted off.
            Up there, the air was a bit thinner. The sunlight fiercer. There were clouds looming over to the east, further up into the mountain lands. He looked up and thought he could almost see a few of the brighter stars. But that seemed impossible.
            The wind blew long, feeling no hindrance.
            He looked down, and wept, because of the beauty of it all. There was sorrow too, but he saw that sorrow has an end.
            “What do you see, Boss,” called Maeve, from above him.
            “I see love spread out, above and below, Blackwing!” Ralph answered.
            “So it is,” said Maeve.
            “I see that all comes back to the place where it began,” he said. “I see that love has no beginning and no end.”
            “It’s easy to see clearly up here,” said Maeve.
            Her wing covered Ralph’s eyes for a moment. And when he looked again, he was seated on his favorite log and Maeve was perched on his left shoulder. He had quite a bit of pitch stuck in his hair.
            “Wait ‘til Ramona sees this mess,” and Ralph giggled.
            “She’ll clean you up somehow!” said Maeve.
            “She always does,” he agreed.
            At that very moment, he saw Ramona and Cherry, with Blue the white wolf, coming up the path toward himself and Maeve. He nearly wept again because he loved them so much.
            When she was near, Ramona said, “I thought you might be up here with Maeve!”
            “You’ve found us out!” said Ralph.
            “I was trying out a recipe for flat pan cookies, Baby, so we brought you some to try. They have raisins and oats in them, and I cooked them in butter!”
            Cherry carried a dozen or so of the new cookies in one of Ooog’s nice wooden bowls.
            “I smell spice, Mona,” said Ralph.
            “Yes, cinnamon. Thaga says it’s good in cookies,” said Ramona.
            So, Ramona took a seat on Ralph’s log right beside him, and Cherry did too, after a little lift off. Blue sat below, and they all sampled the cookies.
            “These are so good, Mona! Everything you do is perfect!” said Ralph.
            “Evermore!” said Maeve, then she winked!

🍀

Mew-onday Open Thread with Doggerel!

 

Booker in the window. Sweetie on Piano. Re-used photo because it's the best of them.

⭐⭐

Warrior Scouts are we!
We strive for liberty.
 
All that can shake, will be shaken!
It’s adventurous mischief we’re makin’.
 
I’m Booker, the watcher, the wise.
I’m Sweetie, the wildest of us guys.
 
3X the kittens in just single skins.
Bengal Bros, with sweet kitty grins!

🤍

Booker, I caught up with last night.

Maybe it should be called kitterel!

My apologies.

PS, hard to photograph moving targets!

😹

A Sleepy Fieldtrip to The Skagit Valley

 

Taken on Fir Island, on the way to La Conner.

Those little hummock are the result of glacial action scraping over

harder rocks, leaving them there.

The same glaciers that dug Puget Sound.

A typical rural scene. He was going about 15 mph.

            Once upon a time, there was a little city on the South Fork of the Skagit River.

It prospered for a while in the 1800s, but then the town of Mt. Vernon took over.

Skagit City disappeared. Only the school is left.

View of the Skagit Bay Estuary.

 

Mt. Baker slightly to the left of center with winter wheat, we think.

Path atop the dike that separates the estuary from the fields.

            The original plan was to drive up highway 9 to Burlington and environs, but we got diverted. One site of interest on highway 9 is this park and museum at the site of the Nakashima dairy farm. The barn was built in 1908. The same year as this house!

            This family was interned with the rest of the Japanese, it's not a kind story.

Some photos of the working farm and family members.

One last photo. We drove by many dikes. The Skagit River is very prone to flooding!

So, there you have it. Photo report from Skagit Valley, May 9, 2026.

🌸