A crash course in snakes...

It's snake season here in Queensland. It has been for at least a month now. A few weeks ago a brown snake was seen (and killed) less than 100 meters from home, but I did not see it. Having grown up in regional Queensland, in an area close to farms and with little pockets of bush between houses and paddocks, it might come as a surprise that I have only seen 2 snakes around my parents house and my old school. Ever. 

Yes, I have seen other snakes, usually captive snakes and at least one sunning itself on a country road, seen from the safety of a car or school bus, or carpet pythons. But I don’t count as actual encounters. There have also been other sightings of red-bellied black snakes around my parents’ house, and a school friend had a garden that was very attractive to brown snakes, especially for egg laying…

The snakes around here scare me. Why?

Eastern brown snakes.

Red-bellied black snakes.

The last of these is actually a good snake to have around even if they are highly venomous – they attack brown snakes. Brown snakes have nasty venom. Really nasty. Blood clotting and paralysis.

Funtimes, right?

So, how did I go my whole schooling years only to see two wild baby brown snakes? I followed the basic rules for avoiding snakes:

• Stay out of long grass;
• Stomp around the bush;
• Keep an eye on the path ahead. 

And now it's time to pass this on to Jimmy, who has no fear of snakes, thinks they should be killed if they're "bad snakes", and has not been discouraged to walk through long grass while we were in Kansas (even though there are rattlesnakes there – ep!).

We've been talking about snakes lately. It's timely and Jimmy is coming to terms with the fact that not all snakes are venomous but all snakes should be left alone. I even brought out the snake book my parents have (as pictured above), to show Jimmy the different snakes and to talk about them in a measured manner. He kept asking if the snakes we were looking at were "bad snakes", meaning 'will they bite me if I come across one' to which the answer was "no, they're pythons, they eat mice and frogs and even if they do bite you, they are not venomous, so they'd give you an ouchie but they wouldn't make you sick". He did really well, and we made it to the ... which is venomous, but highly unlikely to attack, unless provoked.

And that's really the main point: do not provoke a snake because it will bite, venomous or not - if you see one, walk away and tell an adult.

So, crash course delivered, Jimmy is now ready for summer, even if he needs reminding not to go into grass where he cannot see the ground (there are other reasons to avoid long grass, but that's for another time). We'll work on the stomping and keeping an eye on the path ahead, but we've started talking about snakes and other not-so-nice-but-still-important creatures we live with in Australia, and by talking about them I'm hoping Jimmy grows up with a healthy respect for venomous and potentially dangers Australian animals. 

Knitting lace and US politics...

Note: the first draft of this was written about a week after the US election, the second draft a few days later. I liked the second draft, but it wasn’t properly saved before my computer crashed. I tried writing a third draft a day or two later but it was too painful, and then I came down with a nasty sore throat. So, here’s the third/fourth draft…

I don't like knitting with lace weight yarn. I like knitting and I like knitting lace, but preferably with at least sock weight yarn, preferably bulky yarn on big needles. The last (and first) time I tried knitting with lace weight yarn I was so frustrated by the amount of attention it required and that the ply seemed to untwist with every stitch. I took the work off the needles, rolled up the yarn and promptly hid it in my stash, deciding that I didn’t like lace weight yarn but acknowledging that I was not ready to part with the lovely yarn.

Fast forward a few years and I have been reunited with my stored yarn stash and knitting patterns and quickly discovered that somehow I have not one but four skeins of lace weight yarn. Oh dear… My preference really is for socks or things with lots of stockinet or garter stitch – the sort of things that are mindless and can be done while watching movies or the news.

And then the recent US election happened, and suddenly mindless knitting was just not cutting it. It provided no relaxation, no joy. Not even the challenge of creating a koala motif using yarn overs and knit-two-togethers for a vest for Jimmy was enough. I needed a distraction; I needed something to focus on that was not bad news or job hunting. I needed to make something.

Once we left the US, I almost stopped following the US election, until about a week out from the big day. Even though it seemed like Clinton had it in the bag (thank you algorithms), 44.4% of eligible US citizens did not vote. I’m not sure what upsets me more: that the US president it not elected through the popular vote or that nearly half the population did not vote in one of the most important and historically significant elections in their history.

Sometimes I am sick to my stomach and sometimes I am hopeful. Trump may actually improve employment and manufacturing in the US. Yet, deep down, I am glad we are no longer there, and my heart goes out to all my friends there, especially those who are foreign nationals. My relief is mixed with guilt and I hope they are alright.

With my stomach in knots, I turned to my stash and knitting patterns for something. I wasn’t sure what, but nothing easy. Nothing straight forward, but also something small enough that I would see results and receive some sort of satisfaction before the middle of next year. A lace pattern kept calling me. I wanted to use the lovely lace weight yarn for a shawl, but the one I had had in mind required 400+ stitches to be cast on (and I couldn’t find the beads I’d bought for it). A simpler shawl or at least something with few stitches to cast on was needed.

And it was there, in a different magazine – the one that I had tried to knit all those years ago, but had decided that the yarn was not right for the pattern. “Cast on 17 stitches” was almost enough to have me hooked, but I still needed to think about it. Would my yarn produce the same kind of fuzzy, lofty and light shawl? Was the colour mine or someone else’s? A few days later I cast on those 17 stitches and haven’t looked back since.

But I kept looking back at the US election, and kept reading articles about why Clinton lost or did not inspire or that the establishment was the problem and Trump will change that, because he’s (apparently) anti establishment. In some ways though, whoever was chosen as the Democrats nominee would have been highly unlikely to win this election. Why? Because for the last 8 years the US president came from the Democrats and like a yarn over following a knit-two-together, Republican follows Democrat. Not always, but the pattern is there and it would have taken a Democrat candidate even more extraordinary then Clinton to keep a Democrat in the White House. 

How the Trump years shape up? Only time will tell. Like blocking lace work (soaking, stretching out, pinning in place, and allowing it to dry before removing the pins), the work has been done but the result (how good or bad) will only be known after the work has been soaked, pinned and dried. One hopes it will turn out alright.

Unlike life (or a Trump presidency), knitting can be undone and reworked. A dropped stitch can be picked up easily - a person who falls through the cracks is harder to pick up. And it is easier to forgive the wonky stitching of an early piece of lace work because it all takes time and practice. Usually a presidential candidate has cut their teeth working their way through various political pathways, i.e. independent senator or Secretary of State. A brash businessman with no experience in the political realm? Hopefully he has as a good (or better) team than Regan.

It’s hard to frog lace (frog: undo at least one row to correct an error) and it’s hard to wind back legislation one it has passed – although at least one Australian government has done so in recent years. It’s hard to know if the result will be as one hoped – only history or blocking will reveal whether or not it was worth it.

So much of this election had made me upset and angry and sick to my stomach, yet I am more determined than ever to be the change I seek in this world. Knitting lace with lace weight yarn has helped keep my calm, helped focus my mind and cleared my head when anxiety (job hunting and US election related) might have consumed me.

The therapeutic nature of knitting is well documented, but, for me, the therapeutic nature of knitting lace with lace weight yarn has surprised me: given that I nearly threw the yarn across the room in frustration last time I tried it. Now, all I want to do is knit this shawl. It’s coming along nicely and, as mentioned, it is the opposite of frustrating. I have less than half of it to go, and the ball of alpaca and silk seems to still be the same size as when I started – it’s not, I had to weigh it to make sure that it wasn’t a magic ball of yarn, somehow related to Norman Lindsay's Magic Pudding.

I am hopeful that it will be a nice shawl and that I, or whoever receives it, will like it. I am trying to be equally hopeful that Trump makes an alright president.

A few weeks ago...

It finally happened: a few Sundays ago we had to use the storm shelter. As in there were warnings sent via text message and the tornado siren and storm clouds and wind and we went to the shelter.

While we were in the shelter we watched the news and saw a band of really heavy rain passing across the north east of town. No tornados. There was hail and Michael ducked out to get some. The hail was so round, almost perfect spheres of ice.

We were only in the shelter for 45 minutes but it was enough to disrupt our neighbours birthday party, even though one of the other guests brought paper cups and a bottle of wine. Michael and I were a little more pragmatic: we brought our cameras, passports, change of clothes for Jimmy, one laptop and a raincoat.

Yes, I look calm, but I was freaking out on the inside. Jimmy was really good, even though it was nearly bedtime. He was also really good about going home in the pouring rain and not so keen to have a warm bath after. The raincoat kept the computer, cameras, and passports dry on the walk home.

Before going to bed I checked the weather forecast and there was going to be another storm and tornado watch for Monday afternoon.

So Monday...

(No, no, it was ok.)

I decided to pick Jimmy up after nap time because in the event of a tornado I wanted to have my boy with me (I also figured it would be easier on his carers if they had one less child in their "storm shelter", the restroom). My sweet boy was still asleep when I went to pick him up. I wasn't the only parent collecting their child/ren.

Jimmy was pretty happy to be going home. We hung out and watched Trains: The Movie on Michael's computer. And then it started to rain, with thunder and lightning and hail. We switched to using my laptop.

The rain stopped and not long after that the tornado warning siren sounded and we hid in the hall cupboard.

It was not the smartest place to hide, because we live on the second storey and shelter below ground level is best. Yeah... I know...

I exchanged text messages with Michael and neighbours and on hearing the news that a tornado was sighted around town it was clear that Jimmy and I had to get to proper shelter.

We put shoes on, I put Jimmy in the Manduca and my computer in my backpack, and with rain coats on, even though it wasn't really raining, we went to the shelter. I went as fast as I could, watching the sky the whole time.

It was not scary. Tense, but not scary. Why?

Well, when we first moved I talked to one of our neighbours about tornadoes and it turned out that she and her husband have lived in Tornado Ally most of their lives. She had some interesting information to share.

But before I do, I must state that this is not official information and if you happen to live in Tornado Ally, please follow the official recommendations and respond to warnings as they come out. I felt pretty silly about sitting in the cupboard after being told about the nearby tornado sighting.

So, what did my neighbour say? Well, she wasn't keen on the storm shelter provided at our complex because it's not completely underground. She also said that the tornado siren might start up after a storm has started raging, with debris already flying around and she'd prefer to stay in her (groundfloor) apartment.

But the thing that stood out was her comment that the first thing she and her husband notice is ear-popping changes in air pressure as the tornado drew near.

On that Monday, neither Jimmy nor I did not notice ear-popping changes in air pressure before, during, and after our dash to the storm shelter. And being little, Jimmy is more sensitive to changes in air pressure than I am.

So, between the light wind, the drizzle, the not-so-ominous sky, and the lack of ear-popping changes in air pressure, I was sure we would be ok, but I was still worried and still felt a little silly for not going to the storm shelter straight away.

But there was no tornado, "just" a swirl of  clouds that could have turned into a tornado.

Next time, if there is a next time, I'll be taking Jimmy straight to the nearest storm shelter as soon as the siren sounds during a tornado-watch or tornado-warning.

A toothy subject too...

As a sequel to K'la's post about the biting incident I was making some light conversation with the resident 2-year-old over dinner, and I mentioned that one day... in the future... but not too soon... his teeth would fall out."Jimmy, do you know that one day all these teeth that you have now are going to fall out" 

Now, I tend to think I have my biases as daddy, and that those biases are usually to assume Jimjim to be the brightest, spunkiest, and savviest possible dude that could possibly be - to the point where I wonder if I tend to overestimate his comprehension. But on this occasion I think I underestimated, and so the news of his dental impermanence may have been delivered a little too bluntly.

CUE SHOCK AND AWE

As soon as I saw his reaction I knew I had a battle. I couldn't well back-pedal, so I had to qualify. In a moment between forkfulls of shell pasta the words left my lips, were processed in gory detail and extrapolated in the full-spectrum imagination of the soon-to-be-gummy-jim.

It was not that he was upset, but he was swept over with a small kind of terror that I've not seen in him before, as his eyes widened and his face paled at the prospect of being left without the tiny white pegs he was so attached to. He asked Mummy to tell him it wasn't true. She said it was. He said he didn't want it to happen. We said it would happen regardless.  

We assured him it would be years before it happened.

We assured him new, big teeth would grow to replace them. 

We assured him that M and D had been through this process too and that he could still eat his dinner without it happening tonight.

Losing and replacing teeth is something all human adults have been through, and it was so easy to take the normalcy of this process for granted. But in the mind of a 2 year old whose entire experience of their body is additive development this must have been a horrifying thought. 

Giving him these little insights into his future - watching as he conceptualises these words - is one of the most rewarding things about parenting. It's this lesson in delivering a message to a profoundly uninformed little person in such a way as to prevent horrifying misconceptions. Even if the thoughts are scary, it's pretty cool to see how he responds and know he's a bit more prepared for the messy business of growing up.