Go bags

I love the concept of "go bags," also known as bug-out bags. The basic idea is to compile basic supplies in a single, easily and quickly accessible bag, that you could grab and go in seconds, in the event of an emergency.

I first became aware of them some years ago when a friend was undergoing cancer treatments. He would sometimes go see his oncologist for what he thought was a routine visit, and then be admitted to the hospital (a good hour-long drive from home) for anywhere from one night to a week. We created a Go Bag for him that contained the basics he'd need for an overnight stay, so no one would have to fetch them for him. It included things like an extra pair of socks and underwear, a light blanket, a pack of playing cards, non-perishable snacks (nuts, granola, raisins, crackers, hard candy), a book (or magazines and puzzles).

Their use isn't limited to emergencies and survivalist fears. I keep a Go Bag packed with the basics for traveling, like duplicates of favored toiletries and a few pairs of brand new underwear and a notebook for story ideas. When it's time to pack, I just throw the Go Bag into the suitcase, along with whatever stuff I need for that particular trip. If I traveled more, I'd keep a week's worth of my daily meds in a pill dispenser (it's definitely a good idea to have that prepared for an emergency type of Go Bag), but I travel so seldom that it's not worth the effort to remember to swap out the pills every few months.

The picture above is my Go Bag for little knitting projects. I can keep it packed and just grab it when I'm heading out for a doctor's appointment or anywhere else I might end up sitting and waiting, with nothing to do. Mostly I make chemo caps, so I customized this bag to be the right size (roughly 12" square) for enough yarn to make two or three caps (each cap takes several hours to knit, but I like having options for colors), plus the knitting needles, a ruler/gauge, print-out of the directions (in case of brain fog; I've made so many of these, I could recite the directions in my sleep, but sometimes I blank out on the lace pattern on the edge), and a pair of non-pointy scissors. Inside, there's a pocket that's just the right size to hold the double-pointed needles that are used toward the top of the hat, where the circumference is too small for the circular needle that's used on the rest. I hadn't planned on a handle until it dawned on me that it's a lot easier to grab the bag that way. By then, it was too late to put it at the top, so I just added it to the side. I kinda' like it there, actually, since it's out of the way when I'm zipping and unzipping the bag.

The little bit of yarn near the zipper pull is functional, not a random thing. I don't know why, but my cats like to run with finishing needles (which I suppose is better than running with scissors, but still not something I encourage). They don't do it with the knitting needles themselves, but if I don't hide the finishing needles or tie them down, they disappear within twenty-four hours of buying them. Even though the needle is three or four inches long, it's hard to find at the bottom of a bag, so for easy access, I thread a bit of left-over yarn through the needle, knot it at the end, and then loop it around the zipper pull's opening, and then stick the needle inside the bag.

Cherry stars

Here's the quilt top that Todd was helping me with last week:

Interns are the new butler

I've always wanted a Jeeves to take care of all the little nuisances of my life (while hoping I'm not quite as helpless and clueless as Bertie Wooster). The updated version of the dream, though, is to have an intern, who would do pretty much the same sorts of things that a butler once did: oversee household chores and simplify my life.

At the moment, I can't afford either an intern or a butler, so Todd is stepping up to help. Here he is with his quilting hat on.

Freedom From Junk Mail Day

I'm declaring a new holiday: Freedom From Junk Mail Day.

It would be better if EVERY day was Freedom From Junk Mail Day, but I'll settle for one day a year.

A few years ago, I went on a rampage and got most of the junk mail stopped. At the time, I lived in a multi-family house, and instead of getting three copies of all the junk addressed to "occupant," I was getting four (or more) copies. I researched and studied and read the fine print, and contacted all the senders of the envelopes of coupons that I never used and the newspaper inserts that I never read and the catalogues I'd never requested, and all the other junk. It wasn't easy to get them to stop; one customer service representative was convinced that I was violating someone's constitutional rights to freedom of the press by asking that they not send me their free (and not worth the price) newspaper.

Actually, the most difficult thing to get stopped was one particular free newspaper that didn't go through the post office, but was tossed onto the lawn by delivery people walking through the neighborhood. Calling and asking them to stop delivering it was a waste of time; it was much cheaper for them to tell the delivery people to delivery everywhere, rather than picking and choosing. You'd think the newspaper would get the message that no one wanted it when a week later, you'd see the soggy, decomposing copies on just about everyone's front lawn (except for the neatniks who picked it up so there wouldn't be any litter in the front yard). I did consider filing a small claims action, seeking to have them pay for removal of the litter, perhaps getting my neighbors to be co-plaintiffs, but they went out of business soon enough.

After I'd gotten most of the junk stopped, I became complacent, and my name ended up on mailing lists, and I just tossed everything, unread, into the recycling bin. A few of the catalogs started coming through with the promise (which they thought was a threat) that it was the last one I would receive. The promise was about as reliable as Rachel's from card services ("this is the last chance for this offer"), and the catalogs kept coming.

Today, I'm doing something about it. I've already called two of the companies whose catalogs were in my recycling bin and had my name taken off their list. There are a couple more, but I need to wait until the next issue so I have the phone number to call.

Soon, I shall be celebrating my new holiday.

Pineapples

I'd like to be building (or rebuilding) a house for myself, but that's not an option right now, so instead I'm "building" a house for a character. It's an old farmhouse that hasn't been updated in about forty years, so  it's got the 1970s-1980s sage green and harvest gold color scheme. When I was shopping for my niece's graduation quilt, I struck out on the blue print I was looking for, but I found the fabric that's the background in this picture, and it reminded me of the kind of wallpaper that would have gone with the fictional kitchen's green/gold decor.

Then I started thinking that this character was (she's dead before the story starts) a gregarious person, always welcoming friends and strangers to her farm, so it would be fitting that she have pineapple motifs (a traditional symbol of hospitality) throughout her home.

The brass/pineapple welcome is something I've had for years, and it suits me, but I think Peggy would have had something larger on her front door. Maybe something like this brass door knocker, although I envision it as being larger, maybe twice this size.

Eventually, I'll make a lap quilt or table runner with the pineapple fabric, but I haven't figured out the design yet. For now, it's sitting on my monitor shelf, inspiring me.

Everyone Loved Trixie

Trix (the all-orange on the right) was a bargain cat. The animal shelter was so desperate to get her into her forever home that they charged me less than the usual fee. It seems that she'd been adopted once before, and then returned, because she kept stealing her people's keys. I didn't really believe the story, because, first, cats don't generally steal clinky metallic objects (rather than, say, food or strings or balls or other things they can chase), and, second, I couldn't imagine rejecting a pet for such a silly reason, rather than simply putting the keys where she couldn't get them.

Okay, so as it turned out, she really did have a predilection for stealing stuff. Not keys, in my experience, but she had a whole collection of soda bottle caps that she would chase and then hide for future playing. There was absolutely no way I was going to reject her for that!

Over time, as she came to realize I wouldn't reject her for any reason, she stopped hoarding stuff, and left her toys out in the open. Her favorite thing for the last few years was a piece of fleece that she would drag around the house (doing some of my floor-sweeping for me!) like Linus with his security blanket. It wasn't enough for her to simply knead the blanket, she wanted to knead it in the same room with me.

The people who rejected her will never know what they missed. Trix had the biggest heart of any cat I've ever owned, adopting the two month-old kittens I brought into the house, and raising them to be sweet, well-socialized cats.

Sadly, her big heart was also her undoing. She developed heart disease, which was treated within the limits of modern veterinary expertise, but without any real improvement. She was comfortable and happy during her final weeks, and now she will be missed.

Animal therapy

I'm fascinated by the current research into animal therapy. That is: therapy for humans that is undertaken with the use of animals. Like cats and dogs (and llamas!) visiting nursing homes and hospitals.

It goes beyond that, too, with therapists using the animals sort of to distract young patients, get their guard down a bit, to open up to treatment. And there are programs for returning veterans with PTSD too, where shelter dogs are trained to help (or the veterans themselves do the training, which is apparently therapeutic too), and apparently the training is less intense and less breed-specific than for service dogs, so there are more (and less expensive) dogs available for the training.

Nice article here, from NPR: pet therapy.