Knitters-Knitters

Appearances

Sabina requested a tower of florentines instead of a birthday cake.  Despite my adherence to Giada's recipe, these really don't look much like florentines.

And though delicious, I'm not sure I can say they tasted like florentines--not nearly crispy and lacy enough.  (I tend to be suspicious of Giada's recipes overall, not because her physique suggests she lives on dry arugula but because of the odd way she peels back her lips in a grimace before taking a bite, as if the very act of ingestion pains her.)

This expanse of seed stitch bears little resemblance to the coat it will eventually become (before the end of the Olympics--that's my goal). 

And this is not a horticultural alien invasion, but apparently, a natural denizen of earth called Ligularia.  Now emerged from its pod state, it's kind of pretty.

But I'm thinking this is actually recognizable as yarn.  Spun and plied by me, on my drop spindle, from Blue Faced Leicester. 

I'm going to make Olive a little Olive-colored vest (probably just a basic, stockinette in the round pattern with a v-neck and a bit of ribbing at the sleeve openings).  I'm not sure I have enough yarn to complete it, but I've got tons more of the roving if I need it.

Speaking of Appearances, tomorrow is the open-house for Olive's school.  Seeing as how it'll be held at 11 in the morning and in an elementary school, I'm guessing there'll be no alcohol.  Not that my colon lets me imbibe, but I always find these things easier to endure if everyone else is tipsy.  My main concern is that I have already met the principal of the school, and given this, she will probably expect me to recognize her.

I am Bad With Faces.  Not just bad with faces in the sense that it takes me a few seconds, but then I can eventually place the person.  I mean really, really bad--the kind of bad where people assume I must be snubbing them.  When LB and I attend social functions together, he helps me out with little reminders like, Why, hello Mr. and Mrs. Joel Shlabotnik!  Jen and I haven't seen you since that Milwaukee Chamber Music Society get-together in '04.  Or even, Nicole Dillenberg, Tom Chao's former roommate whom I met once 14 years ago but whom Jen has known since 1989.  What a rare treat! 

This second incident has never actually happened, but it could.  And if it does, Nicole, don't take it personally.

Connect the Blueberries

Today this little person...

who is now this person...

is this many:

A Late-Summer Night's Special Ed Dream

Several nights ago, I had a dream that I was angsting over feeling unprepared for Olive's first day of school (which is less than a week away).  I worried that I didn't know what school supplies she needed to have in advance, if any.  I wondered if her school had a microwave, so that she could enjoy her typical fare of Indian curry dishes, black beans and rice, and spicy noodles instead of just cold sandwiches.  Now, this part of the dream isn't hard to analyze--at that time, I actually didn't know the answers to these questions (since remedied).  Where things get strange is when Soon-Yi Previn and Eric Lax materialize out of nowhere, to help.

Now, Mia Farrow is a regular in my dream-chamber and has played everything from starring roles to a face in the crowd.  Woody Allen, though not a frequent guest, has appeared here and there.  And, even though I didn't know what he looks like in real life until today (when I Googled his photo) this is the second time I've dreamt about Eric Lax.  But Soon-Yi?  Never, and I never wanted her there.  I had no interest, and if one could hire a dream-bouncer, she'd have been on my Denied Access list--for Mia's sake.  Yes, I chose sides.

The thing is, in this dream Soon-Yi was nice.  She gave me a list of everything Olive needed, and each item had a check mark next to it.  Then Eric Lax wordlessly handed me a large white plastic bag.  I didn't open it, but I understood it to be full of all the supplies on the list.  And I remember that I could clearly see a curve in the bag's shape that suggested one of the items was a protractor.  Soon-Yi did all the talking in this dream, and though I don't remember specifically what she said, it was general reassuring remarks about drop-off and pick-up locations, fat, non-toxic crayons, rolls of sticky-tape and how everybody worried about this sort of stuff.  She patted my hand a lot, which is, incidentally, Olive's main way of saying hello and good-bye (patters-patters, we call it).

The dream ends with a close-up on the face of Eric Lax, and my noticing that he's wearing a bow tie.

*******

The bow tie is significant.  I know of only one person in real life who wears a bow tie regularly, and that's my shrink.  Actually, saying he wears a bow tie regularly is an understatement.  He always wears a bow tie.  I've never seen him without his bow tie.  He is the bow tie.  You'll think I'm making this up for the quirk-factor, or, at the very least, to make my psychiatrist sound more interesting than your psychiatrist.  It's true, though---if I entered his office and found him in an ascot, a bolo, or a regular old necktie, I think I'd burst into tears.

After dreaming of Soon-Yi and her being so kind and all, I felt I should at least read her Wiki page.  I was shocked to see she has a Masters in Special Ed.  Had I heard this somewhere, and that's why my brain conjured her for this odd orientation? 

I'm pretty good at analyzing other people's dreams, but rarely my own.  In this case, I'm left with a thought that comes to me so often in this strange and convoluted journey that is Olive's--and our--education: help often comes from unusual sources.

Famous Milwaukeeans, Part 1

I came across this while searching youtube for Desi Arnaz singing "El cumbanchero." I didn't find it, but this rendition certainly does not disappoint!

More than you need to know

TMI Meme, pilfered from Blackbird

Eye Color: Green
Hair Color: Dark Brown
--Dyed or Natural: Dyed.
--Curly or Straight: Wavy

Right- or Left-handed: Left
Tan or Pale: Ghostly
Jeans or Khakis: Jeans.
Country, Rap, or Rock: Rock.
Heritage: Jewish, Latvian, Cuban by way of Spain

Shoes you're wearing today: Clark sandals
Your weakness(es): Yarn
Your perfect pizza: sausage and peppers, from the Nines in Ithaca, NY
Favorite color: Green

Favorite place: Usually, wherever I just left
Goal you'd like to achieve: Communicating with Olive
Your most overused phrase(s): WHERE'S OLIVE?

Your thoughts first waking up: What'd I miss?

Your best physical feature(s): Eyes
Your bedtime: 12 pm.
Your most missed memory: Truthfully? Memory often feels like a burden.
Pepsi or Coke: Diet Coke.
McDonald's or Burger King: McDonalds.
Single or group dates: Single.

Adidas or Nike: Tretorns.  Worn rarely.
Lipton Ice Tea or Nestea: Bleah.  Not a tea person.
Chocolate or vanilla: Chocolate.
Cappuccino or coffee: Coffee, black.

DO YOU:
Smoke: No
Cuss: No, unless "crap" counts
Have a boyfriend/girlfriend: No

Take a shower: Yes.

Have a crush(es): Does Charlie Sheen count?

Think you've been in love: Yes.

Want to get married: Already am.
Believe in yourself: Usually
Believe in God: Yes.
Believe in your government: More or less
Get motion sickness: Only on Highway 1.
Think you're attractive: Yes
Think you're a health freak: Bwaha!

Get along with your parents: Yes.
Like thunderstorms: Love them

IN THE PAST MONTH, HAVE YOU:
Drunk alcohol: No
Gone on a date: No
Gone to the mall: No.
Been on stage: No.
Eaten an entire box of Oreos: No
Eaten sushi: No

Been dumped: No.
Gone skating: No

Gone skinny dipping: No.
Stolen anything: No

What a slow month!

HAVE YOU EVER:
Played a game that required removal of clothing: Just once--Strip dreydl.  Shortly after playing Dreydl for Shots.

Been trashed or extremely intoxicated: Yes.  See above.
Been caught "doing something": Yes.  Again, see above.
Been called a tease: Yes

Gotten beaten up: No

Age you hope to be married: From now on.
Number of children you'd like: 6 will do.
Describe your dream wedding: I never had a fantasy of what my wedding would be like, but both were very nice, with no cake mushing in the face.
What do you want to be when you grow up: Lucid.

WHAT YOU LIKE IN THE OPPOSITE SEX:
Best eye color?: Green
Best hair color?: Black (and white)
Short or long hair: Short

Height: Tall.
Best first date location: La Brea Tar Pits
Best first kiss location: Disneyland

IN THE NUMBERS:
Number of people I could trust with my life: Two

Number of CD's: 1500 +
Number of piercings: Two, one in each ear
Number of tattoos: None
Number of times my name has appeared in the newspaper: Hmmm..twice maybe?
Number of scars on my body: Many, but only one really impressive one, a keloid going from navel to right hip.

I don't have a Niddy-Noddy, and I'm OK with that.

This hank of Blue Faced Leicester looked so full of potential when it was two small skeins of single ply yarn wrapped around the backs of my kitchen chairs, but somewhere in the process of plying, washing and drying, it became, shall we say, a novelty yarn.  Now, if I had spotted this in my local yarn shop bearing a tag that read, kettle-dyed using elderberries and imported tree-frog droppings, then handpsun by a disadvantaged Ukrainian feminist collective, I'd probably have been willing to pay $20 a skein for it.  But having made it myself and being intimately familiar with the accidental nature of its irregularities, I can't help thinking...it looks like I made it myself.

Home?

For several weeks we hovered in that danger zone of unpacking, where you've basically moved in but scattered throughout the house are 8-10 boxes which run the risk of becoming a permanent part of your landscape--and thus--invisible. This week, we've been tackling a small stack of boxes in the basement playroom, and have found a few items we haven't seen in two moves.

First off, a coat hand-knit by my grandmother.  I wore this quite a bit in college and felt very retro vintage.  And warm.

My pressure canning pot.  Many years and several children ago, I used to can!  Not out of necessity, but for the rustic romance of it.  I remember being very disappointed with my initial results, and complaining to Susan that my canned green beans tasted disturbingly like canned green beans.  She said, And what, pray tell, did you expect them to taste like?

LB found my Morse code clicker with instruction booklet. I'm not expecting to be using my nascent coding abilities anytime soon, but this is Abel memorabilia, and... well, they aren't making any more of it. I blame part of my reluctance to finish unpacking on the fact that clicker and booklet had not yet been found, and, as odd as it sounds, I didn't want to know that they weren't in one of those final boxes. When LB came across this last night, my relief was palpable.

Also discovered recently were my capris length navy blue sweatpants with the baggy knees.  A minor find, but comforting, nonetheless.

I'd like to say all this has made my feel more at home, but there are still a few things around here that frighten me.  Case in point: several plants in the side-yard that I can't identify.  I know they're here on purpose, because we kept the same gardener as the home owners, and he has pruned around them but not removed them.  To me, they look very much like extra-terrestial dandelion heads emerging from one large alien pod.  I don't like seeing several things emerging from one thing (it's a good thing I never had twins), and this fear is at the root of my fear of opossum and echidnae.

As if the plant isn't scary enough all by itself, while I was leaning in to get a close-up, some sort of animal came darting out from behind the plants and ran right over my foot and I was wearing sandals at the time.  The animal was too heavy to have been a mouse or a chipmunk, but I felt distinctive rodent toenails scrambling across my instep.  I think it was a rabbit.  I let out the sort of scream one might save for being chased across a deserted parking structure in the dead of night, and my heart rate still has not returned to normal. 

Soon.

Still Spinning

It may be difficult to discern this with the naked eye, but this hank of yarn actually shows progress on my part.  The park and draft method of spinning makes sense to me now; I can get my brain around it.  I'm not good at it, but I understand, at least, what it is I'm not good at. Besides, learning a new skill is what will keep my brain fresh and resilient.  This is what I tell myself during those humbling, contemptuous moments of working very hard at something I'm not good at.

As you can see, my main problem is still over-twist.  For those of you who don't spin, the over-twisted bits are those warbly, stenotic lengths of yarn in the hank, the ones that look like they've been through some sort of traumatic experience.  And like all things that have been through traumatic experiences, those lengths of yarn are more likely to snap during the next part of the process.  If not during the washing and drying, then perhaps during the actual knitting.  Or, God forbid, the wearing. 

With apologies to Nietzsche, Kanye West, et al, the saying  That which does not kill me makes me stronger has always irritated me.  Rather, that which does not kill me--at the very least--leaves me shaken, and, most likely, a poor emotional risk.  I think we all know this, or we'd be telling our children to quick!  snap up life partners who'd been through as much previous emotional and physical upheaval as possible. 

During our adoption home studies, at no point did the social worker sigh deeply and say to LB and me, "Well, we really prefer to work with couples who've had at least one legal separation, a bankruptcy, a history of childhood abuse, or at the very least, a potentially fatal illness."  In fact, for both adoptions I had to get my doctor to write a reassuring letter saying my Crohn's was in remission and did not impede my ability to parent.  Note: he did not write that Crohn's made me, in the long run, healthier.  He did not say that anastomosis gave me a new and improved illeum.  And he did not say, "I bring you tidings of great joy.  Not being able to process most fresh fruits, vegetables, and Total cereal with raisins has actually made Jen stronger."

It's probably apparent that my level of spinning expertise has not reached a point where the process leaves me serene, optimistic and confident.  I'm still in the bowels of this exercize, where my efforts cause unilateral arthralgia of the wrist, and the results put me in the mind of loops of diseased viscera.  Spinning is not yet a hobby for me--I'd call it more of a risk factor.

Thank goodness for knitting.

The Spaniel is a Lonely Hunter

The other night, when we let Clover out for her final business of the evening, she did not come right back in on her own as usual.

Then we heard growling and shrill barks.  We couldn't see her well on the dark lawn, but it was apparent from all the noise that Clover was hunting.

The fight went on for at least five minutes--the yipping and leaping, the beating of wings and horrific shrieks of her winged prey. 

From the way Clover kept jumping back, then pouncing again, we figured she was a bit afraid. Clearly, Clover and whatever it was she was battling were evenly matched.  We considered intervening.

But ultimately, the cicada got away.

Contest Results!

The contest results are in!  The city is indeed Milwaukee, and that building in the last photo is the Mitchell Building.  Interestingly enough, while I was photographing it I thought I was capturing the old Grain Exchange. Sindi is right though--t'is Mitchell.

The winner of the Malabrigo is: Julie

and the winner of the CD set is Joan.  By now, you both should have received personal emails from me requesting your addresses.  Thanks so much to all of you who participated, and here are a few more photos of our fair city to enjoy, in the gloaming!

OFD, anxiously awaiting our arrival.