YO K2TOG

Yarn over, knit two together.

So getting ones tonsils out as an adult is about the most painful thing that you could ever possibly imagine. OK, maybe not the worst pain, but right up there. Now I haven't given birth, but a couple of women whom I know parted with their tonsils like one would first husbands noted that the pain and recovery is worse than childbirth.

So I found myself with a couple weeks of time on my hand not working, not doing housework and not doing much else (including sleeping) except whimpering and whining. I took some pretty rudimentary knowledge of knitting and set to work creating stitches in order to pass the time between hours when it would be safe to take the next painkiller or when exhaustion led me to sleep.

I made two scarves for my Mom and surprisingly a sweater for her the family hound, which surprisingly fit.

I am, not surprisingly hooked, or should I say well-knit.

The repetitive nature of knitting contributed to keeping my sanity as the days turned from wrong side to right and back again.

On the needles I currently have:

A thick winter sweater for Starbuck. I may do one for Soph too. They are so athletic that neither dog has much in the way of fat for warmth, and being short-haired, not much in the way of insulation. I am making it like a lettered raglan sweater (having easily mastered ribbing). My Mom, while she was here taking care of me, insisted I make it pink to contrast the blacklabness of the dog. Not wanting to spend a lot of money, I picked up some el-cheapo Carron 1lb skeins in both black and pink and I am achieving a very 1983 affect by working two strands at once. It looks tweed-y.

I also have the Doctor Who scarf on the go.

I promised K & D a wool sweater for their poor little whippet-cross Ruby. I picked up some super-chunky NZ wool on ebay.

I have some six skeins of retro estate yarn, an acrylic/wool/viscose retrosity also a $4 ebay find to make a funky shawl.

I am also wanting to make that dang poncho on the Rowan "Everyday Knits For Real Women" knitting book that Laren lovingly gifted for me. The problem would be the >$200 cost in yarn if I buy the Rowan tweed they recommend.
So much yarn...so little time.

Paint It Periwinkle Baby!

I have finally gotten off my ass and started to scrub down the beautiful wrought-iron patio set that we have had outside. When we bought it off of a seller on Craigslist we recognized that it would soon need to be painted from it's chipped and faded pink. However, with it's weaving ivy leaves in iron and swooping swirls - it is a thing of beauty. I am guessing it's from the 40's.

Today I started scrubbing a couple of decades of dirt and gunk off. The chairs are sitting outside drying and waiting for a coat (or two) of primer. I had hoped to get a coat of primer on them today, however I don't think that is going to happen on account of pending rain.

I've chosen periwinkle blue as it will blend well, I think, with the bevy of galvanized plant pots we have around here as well as the dark green leaves of the hydrangea.

I think when I get the tables and chairs painted, I will invite Liarbyrd over for tea. Oh wait, Omouse is coming soon - if I hurry up I can have Liarbyrd, Laren and Omouse over for a proper tea in the garden.

Boring post or what?

Stiffling the Souffles

D and I went to an auction this past weekend. The owner of the local antique emporium is terminally ill (colon cancer) and has decided to auction off the entire contents of her store to provide for her family after she is gone. I wish her peace.

Saturday was such a crappy day. Hrothgar has really angered the Godzilla this summer as we have had some ten straight days of thunder, lightning and heavy rains. There was no way we could make it into the garden to plant the vegetables without risking slomping (a new word)through the mud and squishing the squashes. As such, we walked down to the antiques store and sat in on the auction.

It was all very exciting with so many lovely and historical pieces being sold off. I couldn't help but remark that it was like watching an episode of Antiques Roadshow. We bid on a number of items that would add some nice accesory to our house including an old china closet with serpentine glass in front. It ended up selling for $750 - which was far beyond our means. We ended up succesfully bidding on a very large Chinese glazed pot, decorated with goldfish. Indeed it would be large enough to contain goldfish had we a pump. I briefly toyed with the idea then remembered that Mom and Dad have had a lot of problems with racoons fishing in their pond. Our lot also came with a very large china bowl, gold trimmed and decorated neatly. I am very pleased.

We also bid on another china closet, this one solid mahogany and in very good shape. We managed to win it for $200.00 and I am very, very pleased as I will have a place to put my Grandmas silver. Its hue matches perfectly the surrounding millwork and the justices podium we have in the dining room.

Our final bid is among the most exciting and difficult. I saw a dutch oven that I wanted to double as a dutch oven and a donabe. I think I am going to make Bamberger Krautbraten in it to please D. He loves German food so very much.

Sounds cool right? Except that I forgot to mention that the dutch oven was part of a lot of items that were shelved on a bookcase. We bought the bookcase and the entire lot of whiteware for $5. The bookcase is now in the hall as the perfect place to put shoes (great idea A!) and the dutch oven will be used, but the lot also contained:

4 large souffle dishes
2 ramekins
2 apple crisp dishes
4 other glazed stonewear pieces that I could make frittata or such with
4 miscellaneous casseroles
8 white restaurant style dinner plates (in use now)
4 other white plates
Some other stuff.

I have no idea what I am going to do with everything. While mismatched it is still quality! What I don't keep, I will take down to good will.

I am thinking of redoing my day to day dishes to be all patterns in white. Mismatched and what not. What do you think?

Guilt

Today we had a blood donor clinic at work and I was turned down - evidentally my hemocrit level was too low to donate. I have never been refused to donate and it sucks that this time - I couldn't. It fills me with guilt in a sense. Had my iron been a bit better - had I actually bothered to eat more spinach and what not, I could have been fine to donate and some poor soul in need of blood could have had some of mine.

Be A Better Patriot

You are more of a patriot if you question authority rather than simply accept it.

You are more of a patriot if you fight for every little right (given no rights are little) rather than surrender them without second thought for a sense of security.

There is more to patriotism than a magnetic ribbon on the bumper of your car and a flag flying in front of your house. There is question, concern, involvement and voice. Use yours.

You are more of a patriot if you work in your community and with your community for the rights and equality of everyone - not isolate yourself in an "us vs. them" situation.

Are you really so one dimensional? Do not fall into the circle and squared pits of "liberal" and "conservative" Why should you satisfy yourself with such polarized, simple titles? You are so much more than the black and white that weak, unimaginative people would want to classify you as.

Make your own informed decisions. Do more for yourself, your community, your country than being told what to think.

Seek news from a wide variety of sources. While you might share a lot in common with your favorite columnist, afford yourself the opportunity to know what others think. It's called perspective. You might not agree with what others have to say, but you deserve to know what they think. Draw your own conclusions.

Don't be hasty to slap weak titles such as "conservative" or "liberal" on others. You can easily avoid this by being informed.

Open dialogue with others. Your neighbors. The guy in line with you at the grocery. Learn about their lives, share with them about yours. Build relationships, lengthy or fleeting.

Finally, no one is going to take your guns away or force you to go to church. Not if you can help it. However, step back and think about it. Are single-minded issues the only things you care about? There is more to life and how we live it together than gun control, abortion, religious lobby, drug use and war. Let's not forget about job security, personal rights and freedoms and the environment around us. There are also butterflies and a good hotdog, time spent with your family and time spent snoozing out in the sun. There is the satisfaction of participating in a neighborhood cleanup and singing for fun. There are blowing out candles on a birthday cake and dancing with a loved one.

The Time In Which Our Heroine Demands Proper Tea

My zany moment of the week.

Since I have been off the Juice Of Java (a painful experience akin to quitting smoking I assure you) on Doctor's orders, I have switched over to tea. It hasn't been so bad. As I have never really considered tea to be a source of caffeine in the past, accepting decaff tea is quite easy. What I can no longer accept is sipping my tea out of a styrofoam cup! I began to protest two days ago to my demi-quad mate (ours is not a full quad, rather it's a doubler) and we both determined that the best way to enjoy our tea, and indeed there is no reason why we can't do so in this fashion at work, is from a proper teacup and saucer.

The hunt is on and I have to tell you it has been a blast. I have been searching ebay for the most froofy of teacups and saucers and teapots I can find. Everything I own at home is depression glass and that simply won't do. I figure if we are going to enjoy afternoon tea outside of the sleeve of styrofoam cups, there better be some gaud and china chinking going on. I have already bid on one of the patterns my Grandma had, Royal Albert Petit Point. Any other pattern ideas?

Damn, I am getting old.

Let It Snow

Hell No!

This weekend the heavens opened up and let forth a 15" torrent of two day snowfall. While initially enchanting and captivating, it soon becomes bothersome and icky as you find yourself slogging though slush and ice and wishing that your neighbours didn't own snowmobiles. Snowmobiles that they ran practically 24 hours up and down the street whooping and a'hollering as they zoomed along. At first, they, like the snow itself, were charming. There was a certain joyful contagion to their folly. However the charm iced sometime during hour 12 of their snowmobile derby.