Whatever happens to strike my fancy, but surely some sort of fiber content.
|
|
| Like The Queen Whatever happens to strike my fancy, but surely some sort of fiber content. |
|
1 Comments:Bess, dear, glad to hear you are "as well as can be expected" after that glorious birthday dinner! Bravo to GD for her cake, and Happy BD to BD! Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom] Thursday, March 31, 2005 I must be old. I am always going on about my health. Happily I am, as Miss Bennet says “a little better.” Happier is the news that my long tall teenager will be here the next day it isn’t raining, to rake up the yard and garden. Little does he know I would pay him any price to shoulder this chore. Instead, I will let him bill me. Happiest of all is the sweet knowledge that I don’t have to hustle along this morning. I’m vacationing with BD on his birthday. We began celebrating last night with a steak dinner, cake and ice cream and presents. Our precious Bride baked the cake, a distaff celebratory custom of TOWERING CHOCOLATE, 4 layers high. Evidently, many scores were paid off with her presentation of this confection, not the least of which was the Triumph of Cake. I didn’t ask for details, but it was evident that this was MoreThanCake. Baking skills were not considered particularly rare in my family. Those who liked to cook were encouraged, but cakes, in my childhood, grew in boxes or came in kit form. Not unsurprisingly, all my sisters and I turned out to be pretty good bakers, but becoming so was never a goal. It was different for GD, and last night she was as proud as a glowing candle with her success. I, alas, overate - something I seldom do at one sitting - and went to bed groaning. In fact, it was all I could do to not tell them to run along, so I could go lie down. BD kept them talking forever, coaxing out more flattering attention, more tender gestures, more smiling conversation. Since it was his birthday I said not a word, and since I have been so silent all week, nobody noticed anything unusual in my lack of chatter. Today it is carrots and apples and water for me. I think today we shall drive over to the city and look at pretty things. I’m not sure. Though the weather dot com guys say it won’t rain till the evening, it looks mighty stormy right now. I will knit on the Mountains of Lace sweater and maybe wheedle BD into stopping at the bead shop so I can buy MORE stuff. But whatever we do, we will enjoy a day of happy birthday memories; the ones we make today added to the ones that have come before. posted by Bess | 7:37 AM 2 Comments:
Happy, happy co-birthday Ed dear!
By happidy birthday right back. you dear little rams Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom] Wednesday, March 30, 2005 Two days off, three days of almost not talking, has made some improving progress to my health. Eyes still burn and sinus .. well - if you live in Virginia, you have what is known as "Sinus" anyway. I just have a little more "Sinus" than I like, this week. I can at least talk - though after a while it really exhausts me. I have a story hour this morning but once the kiddies are gone I will sequester myself in the workroom and catalog books. That’s a wonderful way to be productive without thinking very hard. I finished knitting the baby sweater yesterday, with only steek cutting and the button band left to do. I knit up one little bootie too, from this:  It’s a garter stitch bootie and I was reminded once again how much I like the look and texture of garter stitch in fine wool. I hate the slowness of it - and the boring quality of just knit knit knitting. I can’t imagine ever completing one of those Einstein jackets - ugh a whole body’s worth of garter stitch - but I do love the fabric. The shower for this new baby isn’t till April 12 so I have time to do the last fiddly bits on the sweater. That means I really ought to get back to the Mountains of Hearts sweater. I believe I’m ready to anyway - I’ve gotten over the worst of the Fear - 0 - Running Out Of Yarn. It still niggles at me, but agonizing will not make the yarn grow longer while I sleep. There is nothing for it but to "grit my teeth and knit" as EZ says about the anxiety of ribbing. What I don’t see myself doing is making anything specific for the Md. Sheep & Wool competition. I really want to finish the sweater before MS&W - I’d like to show it off to the Brooks Farm folk - but I could enter it - only - it has errors in it. ‘Course, it’s very pretty anyway so ... we shall see. Certainly that would be my only entry. Well - let us see how I progress with it. Yesterday was the first real day of spring. Little leaves began unfurling on the wild plum and wild cherry trees. The yard looks green beneath the unraked leaves. The air was sweet and gentle, warm, but not hot. It’s almost April and the Yoshino cherry trees haven’t blossomed yet - they are usually in full blown cotton puffs by about the 20th of March. It’s been too cold and too rainy this spring, for much visible springtime. But I believe we have beaten winter at last. Tomorrow is BD’s birthday. I will take the day off to spend it with him. This is an annual ritual - this day and our wedding anniversary in April. We will get in the car and ramble around the countryside - or maybe go to the city. He’d said he’d like to scrounge around the used book stores. I will be happy to cooperate with him. But this year we have the added sweetness of TheDarlings, to help us celebrate. They’re coming over for dinner tonight. I will buy steaks but TheDarlings have picked up frozen custard from Karl’s and they baked a cake too! Not a bad way to begin a birthday celebration. So - let us pray that the body will quickly finish with healing itself and with that, life will be just perfect. posted by Bess | 6:59 AM 0 Comments:Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom] Tuesday, March 29, 2005 I am better, but not better enough to go to work. And certainly not better enough to write anything clever enough to be memorable. Today's entry is merely to record the passage of time. I knit a little on the baby sweater, played a little with my beads, sneezed about every 15 minutes, in spite of the AllegraD, and slept the afternoon away. If I had to go to work today, I would. But I have no important meetings to attend. I have no deadlined projects on my desk. I have a gazillion hours of sick leave and enough staff to keep the library open. I am completely dispensable. So - it's back to bed for me. posted by Bess | 6:21 AM 1 Comments:
Bess, dear, here's a long-distance hug and hope that your throat improves! Tea&honey, tea&honey, tea&honey must be your mantra! Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom] Sunday, March 27, 2005 Just a quick update about Saturday’s splendid foray into the Land Of Beads. GD and I made a brief stop by my parents to show them wedding photos and then battled Saturday in the Suburbs traffic across town to Bangles and Beads, a delightful little cave of wonders on Cary Street. They offer a weekly 4 hour beginner class for a bargain price of $25, all materials included! You make two necklaces, a pair of earrings and a bracelet. The first project is a necklace using head pins and chain links to connect the beads. This one takes the longest and when you are done you have begun to get comfortable using the pliers and wire cutters. We were introduced to the clasps that conceal the knots in the strung necklace and since there was time at the end of the class the teacher showed us how to do wire wrapping to turn beads into links. The hardest part of it all is selecting the beads, since there are so many to choose from and they are all tempting. There were only 3 students; after all, it was a holiday weekend. That probably made it easier for us to soak up the lessons. And afterwards, I couldn’t resist doing just a wee bit of shopping. I knew I had at least some of the pliers at home and didn’t want to buy duplicates, but I did pick up some delicious beads, some more wire and some other findings. Alas, once home I realize I don’t have any wire clippers, but they are easy enough to pick up - our local Walmart may even have them. Sigh. I see another serious stash enhancing activity infiltrating my life. And it was a sweet quiet time for talking with GD too - listening to her plans and ideas. It is just soooo wonderful to have a girl in my life. We swung by B&N on the way home to pick up BD’s birthday gift, only to find that none of the frickin’ B&N’s in Richmond - the capital of Virginia - have a copy of Virginius Dabney’s History of Virginia. There is something really wrong in this picture. They can get it for me? When? Next year? Geezoflip. Corporate megahemoth thinking is so stupid. Well, he and I plan to stalk used book stores on Thursday and we may get lucky then. If not, I will just have to order it for him - but I believe I shall go the used book route just to spite B&N. CONTINUED ON MONDAYAll that visiting, even though I tried not to talk, wrecked havock on my poor throat. I spent yesterday trying to be SILENT. (An impossibe, but worthy goal). I can croak out some conversation and did a wee bit at Easter supper with TheDarlings. But I know I have to stay home today and stay silent. Even if I hadn't planned 3 conversation requiring activities, I would talk at work. And talking is painful, my voice gets fainter and takes longer to recover, and eventually I begin to cough like a consumptive. I must sequester myself in the cave. (heh heh, with knitting needles and beads? who am I kidding?) No - in all reality - I must stay silent at least one more day. This is a major bummer because M, who is KnitSSK on the forums and with whom I visited 2 saturdays ago, is coming by the library. We had planned to have lunch. I am so bummed about that. To add to my dissapointment, tonight was to have been the final class in the My First Sweater class. I will have to postpone that too. This really was to have been the most talkitive day I could imagine in the library. Sheesh. Well. I am not going to risk getting actually worse, instead of better, by exposing me to conversations. Poor BD will have to make a thousand phone calls this morning. There is nothing for it. We must hope for better things. Tomorrow. posted by Bess | 8:25 AM 1 Comments:LOL and Hooray for you! Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom] Little golden chocolate box beside my coffee cup,Its sleekly pebbled surface gleams, as I pick it up. My fingers pluck the ribbon tails that decorate the top. The loops pop free, the ribbon falls, I can not seem to stop. I slide my nail beneath the flap, held down so snug and tight. The lid comes up, the tissue parts - reveals a thrilling sight. Inside are morsels sweet and dark, who’s fragrance so enflames My senses reel, that familiar feel is driving me insane. ‘Tis been so long since last we met I’d thought the memory gone And yet returned, this sweet delight will be mine ere too long. You little flirts, you’ve tempted me with promises so sweet But now my wait is over and I soon will get to eat You sugar’d bites that blossom forth with flavors rich and rare You’ll be all mine, each sweet delight, I will not have to share My lips do part, my teeth sink into candy so sublime For lent is gone, and Easter’s nigh. Oh chocolate, you are mine. posted by Bess | 8:06 AM 1 Comments:I'm already retired (achieved early when my company merged with another and I was downsized) and I'm using this part of my life to do some things I didn't have time for earlier. I've traveled quite a bit and look forward to doing more of that. Meeting new people on the trips makes them more enjoyable. Just this week I learned of a program where you can volunteer in Spain to speak English for a week to people who need to be fluent in English for their careers, etc. You pay to get to Spain and the first and last nights in a hotel but your room and board for the week between are paid for and you can't speak Spanish to be accepted. What a great way to go to Spain! Got the Elderhostal catalogue yesterday and what a wealth of opportunities to learn about a host of things and travel at modest cost at the same time. If I can do any of these, I'll be staving off Altsheimer's while I'm having fun. I think we just need to give ourselves permission to approach things with a child-like wonder.
By Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom] Saturday, March 26, 2005 It’s a quiet morning in my world. I zipped through my morning routine so quickly I have time for a blog entry after all. I must be on the road by 8:45 and I hadn’t thought I’d even have time to post. It’s a suitably gloomy day for staying indoors. We’ve had such a cold wet spring that I might have resented a golden sunshine Saturday spent in the bead cave. Instead, I’m getting a little more weather permission to stay inside. The closest thing to sunshine promised us by the weather dot com guys is partly cloudy on Wednesday. Other than that it’s 10 days of rain. I picked up the baby sweater yesterday and got those sleeves attached. I’m knitting my way around the widest part now and have about 15 more rounds to go before I begin decreasing. I’ll do that in the purl stitches so that this wide flat ribbing narrows towards the neckline. I hope to have a pair of wee booties and even a cap done before April 12 when the baby shower will welcome a special guest of honor. Miss Ruth Margaret decided to come yesterday instead of in May. The word is she was indignant at being whisked off to the NNU, kicking and screaming. Happily, the line of foot stomping shoulder shrugging H women is still going strong. This new generation is flowing in like the tide, a ripple here, a lapping wave there, then a little ebb to give people a breather. All my life my ambitions and fantasies, my focus, was on becoming AMother. I never had any daydreams about LifeAfterKids and in fact, the ones I have now are fairly pale. I enjoy what is happening in my world and when truly exciting events, like TheWedding, enter the picture, I can be as swept up in the excitement as the next person. But I don’t have projections about what comes next, or deep powerful longings. I will be glad to retire, but I’m in no hurry to skip the next 13 years either. I am just made that way. The big deal was having my children and ... well, my children turned out to be one boy who is now a man and it’s his turn. I’m blessed that GD really is a Darling and I am going to have a powerfully good time when they start a family. I’m doubly blessed that they live near by. It’s just that I don’t know how to daydream about this second part of my life. I can choose goals and achieve them. But that’s more like ticking off items on a list than dreaming of rosy futures. It’s fun, too. I love strategic planning. I sometimes like to carry out those plans. But they are not the same thing as fantasy daydreams, that glowy misty magical horizon that edged my youth. And since all my fantasies were about becoming something I was biologically intended to become, it isn’t really much of a surprise that my daydreams did come true. Since my retirement from Momdom, though, sometime in the summer of 1994, life has been much more serendipitous, much less predictable. The things that have popped up on my radar screen have been unknowns, strange and surprising. Who would have thought I would have been the entrepreneurial force that would bring Internet access to a rural community years before the dot com revolution? Who would have believed I would spearhead a million dollar campaign for a new library in a county where 40% of the adults didn’t graduate from high school? Whoda’ thought I’d discover spinning wheels - much less own two? When I hear about the “wonder of childhood” I always bite my lips closed. No point in arguing about something so subjective. Childhood was not that wonder full to me. It was an ordeal I had to get through, made easier by retreating into the pod. My young adult life was the fulfillment of the promises I made myself, back when I was 7, though their fulfillment was fairly predictable. But this second half of adult life is the one full of wonder, amazement and strange new things. For sure, today’s offering will be ... beads! posted by Bess | 7:28 AM 0 Comments:Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom] Friday, March 25, 2005 There has been a tactical victory in the war raging within my body. After camping out in front of the dr.’s office I managed to purloin a prescription and after waiting for the reserves to draw up behind the flag, I dosed the bloodstream with AlergaD and within hours I could tell the evil histamines were retreating. One tonsil is still doing its weird thing and the eyes still burn, but the threat of full blown bronchitis has been averted. Total victory is in sight. Just in time for the weekend. Heh. And the Bead Class da Capo which I will be taking with GD. Sweet sweetness. But I am pondering today. Thinking about an interesting article in the NYT book section, by William Grimes, about the plethora of memoirs available out there. He assures us there is something for everyone in the genre of self revelation: the druggie, the hippie, the slut, the soldier, the beltway bandit, the beltway victim, the mom, the one who walks among us, the one who walks with angels. You name it, someone is telling you about his experience with it. It got me to thinking about writing and why people write and why we read what they write and how memoirs are different from fiction and how they are different from other kinds of writing. It got me to thinking about blogging too - and why I am compelled to write mine and why anybody would want to read it. When we sit down to talk with loved ones, or get together with friends, or even when we meet someone new at a party, we put out little trays of ourselves, like human hors d’oeuvres; prettily arranged tidbits of information telling our stories. The closer we get, the larger the banquet. Unless we are instructing or demanding, in which case we are still letting ourselves be known, but for a different purpose, the act of conversation is always the revelation of self or the comprehension of another. We hope we will be found worth knowing. We fear we might not be. We dread having to find out about the unworthy, the offensive, the dull. We are all living the memoir we will at least contemplate, when we are older. We may never write the thing, but we are very likely to tell it, if only to our grandchildren. Some of us will write it as it is happening - hence the blogging phenomenon. Who doesn’t have a blog? What topic isn’t fringed with enthusiasts, journalling daily - with digital photos and animated smilie faces to keep it colorful? For that matter, who doesn’t love interesting, funny, poignant, witty tales of others lives? Don’t we have our favorite blogs, novels, movies - our favorite party guests, raconteurs and bossom friends? I venture to say that the enormous popularity of fiction isn’t because of the events that move the plot along, but because of the characters - the personality of the hero or heroine, with whom we identify, who thinks and acts and speaks the way we wish we would do in the same situation. We just love fascinating people and want to know more about them. We get ideas of how to behave, what to say, what to admire from these sources. We write to communicate. We communicate to validate ourselves. We long for proof that we are desired, and worthy of desire. We find that proof when others respond to our words. We find it again, when we respond to theirs. We want to matter and we want to know we do. So why does Mr. Grimes find the shelves of memoirs in his local B&N dismaying? Why are they worth a whole column? I suspect it is three things. First, the cynical and mercenary hooks upon which so many are hung - the a la carte variety of topics available from which the reader may select. Most of the authors are fairly insignificant in any global sense. They are largely your next door neighbor type, though a few, in the Hollywood or political arena will have at least had the opportunity to orbit other stars. And frequently these famous types have hired a ghost writer to do a vanity bio. But most of these authors are Like You Only More So. More into sex or drugs or travel or spirituality or nostalgia. Second, and of greater importance, is the fear that the quality of writing will be low or even bad. A promise of titillating details in the life of a prostitute is supposed to lure in the reader. It is a supposedly guaranteed but exceedingly low common denominator. But in fact, it takes a Madame du Bary or a Barbara Villiers to really make reading salacious chatter worth one’s while. Nothing can so waste a day like trying to read bad writing on a prurient topic, hoping and hunting for the good stuff, be it content or style. Third, and perhaps most important, is the fear that from the experiences of the author, we shall learn nothing. What does a teenage drug addict have to teach me? I am neither a teen, nor a drug user, AlegraD notwithstanding. Worse than that, I don’t like to think of teens and drugs. Not that I am in denial about them. They just don’t hold a place in my roster of recreational activities. But the likelihood of profundity arising from a Zoloft gobbling newspaper reporter or a Salsa dancing soul seeker is fairly slim. And if I have to slog though the tale of depravity, I want to find something worth holding on to at the end. We still have a deep regard for the printed word. Every person who brings her old books to the library, because she just can’t throw them away, proves the lasting hold a bound volume still has on the human psyche. We cringe at the thought of burned books, when really, it is the burned idea that is the loss, not the item itself, not in this world of mass production. We still believe that just having the book in some ways imparts its mystical preciousness onto ourselves. In conflict with this deep belief, though, is the fact that it’s the ideas that are really important. And when we hold what our cultural memory promises will be special and find within it only dross - we are disappointed. And the more one reads, the more one finds this to be the case. And that, I believe, is the real issue Mr. Grimes has. For that matter, it’s my real issue too. In my job. In my own reading. In what is offered to the rest of the world. I haven’t given up all hope, yet. I am not a cynic. I still have faith in the ideas of mankind. I still discover the gems, the jewels, the golden nuggets. I have merely had to don a finer meshed filter as I sift through the literary offerings. I’m willing to take some chances. I allow a certain percentage of disappointment and failure and I give myself one great permission, most especially when it comes to books. It is all I have to offer anyone who is still reading this. You are not required to finish the book. If you suspect there’s not much to it - you are probably right. There is no test at the end. You are truly in command of the ship when it comes to books. Steer yourself where you want to go. Read as little or as much as you please. Nobody will know. Your opinion is right. You are the boss. And when you are done - you can write your memoir about your journey through bookland. posted by Bess | 7:55 AM 1 Comments:I'm sorry to hear about your allergy woes. I did that for years when still living in Tennessee. Thanks for the encouragement about Phillip and Jessie's engagement. She really is a sweet thing. Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom] Thursday, March 24, 2005 Oops. Well, can't even get the cool name program to work on my blog. I wish I had a banner like that, all graphical and cute and colorful, instead of my sober bankers colors. I even have a book on how to blog, though it’s a lot more about how to be cool with your blog and I believe I am already cool. (Oh how I need smug smilie faces here.) The combination of being lazy as sin and too much of a Virgo puritan to feel like spending that kind of time on a blog when I could be DoingSomethingProductiveAndUseful means that, until I can kidnap one of those geeky cool types, I will continue to have a sober looking blog. Alas - I am not a whole lot better. Hooray - this is not a particularly bad allergy attack. On a scale of 1-10 it’s about a 5. I’m still trying to get hold of my dr., who must have had an AA himself, since his office was closed yesterday and won’t open up till 1 o’clock today. I plan to be camped by the front door so that I can wrest a prescription from his pen and scurry on down to the drugstore. The big question is "Do I go in this morning?" I know that if I get too tired there in the a.m. I’ll be coughing like a consumptive by lunchtime. I have a meeting in the p.m. that I really don’t want to miss (though I can miss it - I’m not that dedicated). If I thought I’d really sleep (Bess’ sure fire cure #2, directly after drink more water) the morning away I might stay home. But I am such a morning person that daytime sleeping is usually only possible - if irresistible - after noon. Happily I did come home yesterday afternoon and did sleep for several hours. Not a stitch of knitting done, either. In fact, I was too dopey to be able to tell if I had reattached the sleeves on the baby sweater correctly or not. You know you are sick when you can’t divide 130 by 4 and subtract 3 from the answer. What I did do was re-ignite an ancient crush. Eons ago I happened to walk through the den while Mama was watching the most unusual television show. The filmwork looked more like a soap opera but everyone was in costume. Turns out it was the BBC production of The First Churchills. I only saw the one episode. It must have come on some time when I was usually not at home, and this was in my youth, dearies; decades before home recording technology. 1969 probably or even 1970, when I would have actuallymoved out of the house. All I remember was how much I wished I could watch the rest of the series. Alas, I never did. And I never thought to look at the PBS/BBC catalogs either. Or perhaps they have only just brought the show out on Video 'n DVD. But the library owns it now and I am thoroughly enjoying it. The cinematography shows it’s age. The more recent BBC offerings (and all other televised production, for that matter) have better color, better special effects, and better sound. But that same fabulous British theater training conquers all and makes it glow even 35 years later. The costumes are glorious and convincing, the story line is well written, and I still think Susan Hampshire looks like Shari Lewis. It’s such fun to feel like a teenager again and get a good story with great acting all at the same time. I’m sorry to have so little fiber news this week - mostly because I am sorry to be doing so little fiber stuff. I keep thinking of things I might be doing but not picking anything up. We shall just have to wait till I’m feeling better. At least I am getting this sicky stuff out of the way before Md.S&W - which is only about 44 days away. And this weekend I will try again, to take the beading class that has been, for so long, put on hold. S can’t come with me, but GD has agreed to join me and put in a visit with the folks to boot. So the week will end with something sweet and begin with Chocolate. Who could ask for more? posted by Bess | 7:28 AM 1 Comments:Heya Miss Bess! The boxwood bed sounds like a love idea. I hope you get those allergy meds soon. Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom] Wednesday, March 23, 2005 Thank you all for your kind comments. It’s funny what a lift comments on the blog give one. I’m glad to have been able to help others along the way - and look forward to doing it more. I’m also running late this a.m. The result of these microscopic enemies attacking my body, and the counter attac, marshaled by over-the-counter mercenary soldiers, shoring up the home guard, make me drowsy and achy. It also makes my sleep different - more of a recreational activity or some sort of dramatic performance that I watch, instead of actually participate in. I drifted into semi-consciousness a dozen times last night and finally woke about an hour later than usual. Not pleasant, but not actually unpleasant - just rather weird. And no, alas, I have not used a mask when I’m raking leaves - but it’s a very good idea and BD has an industrial strength one he uses when working on his boat. I believe I shall borrow it - although I am even more inclined to rake my yard with my checkbook - just pay someone else to do it. As for the garden - we shall just have to see. It needs a major overhaul anyway and I very much want to start a boxwood nursery bed. A very very special man and his equally special wife used to propagate boxwoods around here. They both loved the library and made sure that some of their boxes were planted in both locations. He is gone now and she is in a home, completely lost to senility. I would like to make a bed of cuttings from their boxes and have some, not only for myself, but for other folk around here who would feel a warm fuzzy if they had some of the Little’s boxwoods. My car is in the shop - it quit making groaning, whining noises as soon as AMan got behind the wheel. Little flirty b***h of a car. But BD is tired of the interior light not working and the steering needed fluid - even the LFB couldn’t disguise that moan. She is spiffy with her new windshield - so we have now spent $$$ on an ancient sedan without hubcaps - are we nuts or something? (Bess has new car lust) But car in the shop means husband must drive wife to work - and since he is the King-O-The-Night, his QueenOfTheDawn has to nag to get him out of bed. Best be at it. Perhaps some knitting content tomorrow. posted by Bess | 7:49 AM 3 Comments:As someone who has been taught by you, I can attest that your love for teaching shines through, and manifests in your being a warm, encouraging, patient, desciptive teacher. Lucky, lucky students!
By
Bess, I share your love of teaching. I can just tell from your posts here and on KR that you are a born teacher. I look forward to the day we will finally meet and I can learn some of your wonderful techniques, especially for spindle spinning. Do you use a dust mask when you rake leaves? I have fairly strong allergies and when I used to cut grass, I had to use one if I hoped to breathe later. You might want to try that before you destroy all your gardens and plant them with boxwood. And why boxwood?
By Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom] Tuesday, March 22, 2005 The first day of spring brought me the ubiquitous March AllergyAttack. I still had one allergy pill left and called my doc to re-up the prescription, but too late. The eyes are bulging, the throat is on fire, and I am praying to every helpful spirit out there to keep my lungs free. This bodes quite ill for the garden. I swore last year that if I got sick again in the spring the whole thing was going to be dug up and planted in boxwoods. That future looks pretty certain. But when I log off here I am going to write in the calendar for November, to hire someone to rake up all those oak leaves. I suspect it is they, with their evil secret coating of mold, that has done me in. I have been raking in snatches of time for 2 days now and they have had all winter to grow their nefarious Spores-O-Death. Trouble is - by the time enough leaves have fallen to justify raking, I am deep in the arms of indoor pleasures. The thought of yard work never even impinges on my happily creative brain, all busy with thoughts of knitting Christmas gifts. A little planning is called for. Last night was the last class for my beginner knitters. We’d had to postpone two of the classes because of OtherThings and then had to switch the day to Monday. I believe last night’s class was the most fun of them all. My beginner class always involves making a hat, which takes 3 sessions. The last class is supposed to be a review of the basics: cast on, knit, purl, increase, decrease and bind off. As we worked on the little swatch/book mark I showed them tips, let them experiment with different sorts of increases, went over how to identify mistakes - there was even time to show them how to make a basket weave pattern with knits and purls. It was the most leisurely class and yet one of the most productive. La, I really do love teaching. I love the intimacy you get when you share the tiny movements of the hands and end up with beautiful knitted fabric. I love the swell of pride that beginners stretch into as they master something new. I get an enormous high just being the one to pass on information. I am - truly - a closet teacher. If I know something I absolutely must pass it on. I see people at the gym with their feet lined up wrong on a weight machine and have to whisper, as I walk by, "Line your toes up with the top". The first time I dyed fiber up at Stony Mt. I drove away thinking "Man I have to hold a dye workshop in the back yard!" There is a constant refrain running in my brain. Something like "Lookee lookee lookit! See how you do this?" Hmmm. What am I talking myself into? More classes? But it’s getting hot. Who wants to knit in the warm weather. Hmmmm. I see I must design a warm weather beginner knitter class. Of course, most folk seem to want to learn to knit those tiresome eyelash scarves. I don’t mind teaching them, even if the yarn is difficult, you can’t see what you’ve done, and you don’t learn anything but cast on, knit stitch and bind off, but perhaps I can think of something a bit comprehensive to do with them. Hmmm. Yes. The brain is clicking. In the mean time, I have 2 more classes in the My First Sweater series and one of them is tonight, when I am supposed to show them the crocheted steek, so I had best dash and finish knitting the baby sweater so I can steek it tonight. Ta. posted by Bess | 7:53 AM 0 Comments:Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom] Monday, March 21, 2005 “Nothing like a wedding to bring about a wedding.” All the years I’ve been married to the Haile family I have heard this phrase. Hailes all love to trot it out whenever the discussion turns to marriages because Grandma’s best friend met her husband at Grandma’s wedding and my SIL’s best friend met her husband at Sil’s wedding. Haile crones would nod sagely and sit back with smug satisfaction, impervious to anyone’s effort to dissuade them. They spoke with such surety I thought it was an old cliché. A cursory search for the phrase didn’t turn up anything. I did find some interesting sites, though, and some interesting additions to my repertoire of the trite. How’s this one for when you’re in need of an extreme make-over? I don't give a ****! Your the one who has to look at me!! And how about clichés for when you are dead? You see? I told you I was sick! Well, I think they read more like Mad Magazine’s snappy come-backs, but I will take a chuckle whenever I can find one. To get back to romance and weddings, though, it seems a very lovely romance was struck up at TheWedding between my west coast sister and an old family friend. They both visited yesterday afternoon and we had a grand time catching up on things. The day was pretty enough to take them on the short tour of the forest, down BD’s old paths. Mr. Bald Eagle bid us a good day. Mrs. BE is busy right now, in the nursery, but he gave us a mewling hello. He likes to perch on the big oak tree that stands guard at the bottom of my garden. He can keep an eye on the entire bay and pick up tasty morsels whenever something, usually a fish, gets careless. TheDarlings joined us for dinner and brought wedding photos and WCSister and GD talked shop, since both of them are photographers, both for work and for play. WCSister has GD’s dream camera and much snapping was done. Someone managed to get an ugly picture of me and an interesting one. After a certain age, a woman ought always to be photographed looking slightly up. Otherwise the only thing that gets captured is a graphical demonstration of the theory of gravity. We sisters talked long into the evening and it was sad to bid WCSister good-bye, though her extraordinarily courteous man said “stay as long as you like” and never once squirmed in anticipation of getting started on the 2 hour drive home. What made it easier to wave them off was the welcome fact that she will be back in about a month. This is good. I say no more. I will add the happy news that spring really is creeping across the landscape. The most notable evidence is not visual, though. It’s the bird song coming in the windows every morning. It’s a sweet sound, mostly made up of cardinal tunes, but it includes some other chirpy notes. I raked out one garden bed, only 18 more to go. What sort of idiot would build a garden that big? Oh - yeah - me. I will be busy as a ... as an ant, for the next 6 weeks and I still don’t think I can get this garden in shape. It is in dire need of a rebuild. I doubt I’ll get the whole thing done this year, but I will do some rebuilding - and maybe do some next year and I suppose I can always abandon some to the forest. We shall just have to see. As for fiber content - I knit a few rounds on the baby sweater and I tried my hand at wet felting. Like other seemingly easy looking things - it’s not. Not easy, that is. It is easy to stack your fibers unevenly and end up with thin spots or even holes. I will have to practice with this. Fortunately, I have boxes and boxes and boxes of roving and bats and fibers. I don’t have to spin them all. So. Today is our first full day of spring; that time of rebirth, that time of light. Less t han a week till I can have Chocolate again. posted by Bess | 7:38 AM 0 Comments:Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom] Sunday, March 20, 2005 Nothing can lift your spirits like a yard full of 6 year olds in long frilly dresses, squealing with the joy of springtime. I was of two minds about exposing my darker side on this DiaryAsLiterature site. On the one hand, it’s mine and I can durn well put what I want on it. On the other hand, I durn well better be ready to see it on the front page of the Times, or at least, to expect a phone call from my mother if I get too far off the GoodTaste-0-Meter, onacounta it’s a blog fer cryin’ out loud. It’s narcissism to the max and it’s public. Anyway, it is true that I’m at one of those portals - those passages in life - that requires me to stretch out of my comfort zone. I am in awe of those wonderful people, who, when pressed into corners, come out fighting. I so admire the one who says "Stifle Me? Tell ME no!?! Just you wait and see!" Growing up, how I wished I had the backbone my sister had, stomping her foot in fury over what was UNFAIR or WRONG. Of course, even as a kid I knew that she would have gotten where she wanted to be with a lot less pain if she’d used patience, time and diplomacy. But oh how I honor her sheer physical courage. And patience, time and diplomacy only come to us when we know where we want to go, not when we are trying to decide. Which is where I am. Yesterday the weight of deciding was just too much for me. I glumped and gloomed all morning, sending BD off with his truck, to help friends move heavy objects. Something told me to go to the gym and work out. I know that when I’m blue, a good hard sweaty aerobics session will lift my spirits. The urge to GoToTheGym was quite overwhelming. And the workout was uplifting, but it was what happened afterwards that really made me tingle all over. M, the WW leader, holds a meeting on Saturdays at my gym. I don’t go to that one because I try to avoid going back to town on the weekends. But she had said something at the last meeting about dealing with a life change and I wanted to quiz her on it. I finished up my workout as she finished up her class and we had a little time to chat. Turns out she has just retired - somewhat unexpectedly, after 30 years of working with the same bank. She told me how she had struggled with the decision (she can’t be any older than I) and how she’d finally just flung up her hands in prayer and said "Okay, God - you handle this one" . And even as I was murmuring my usual "yes yes that’s what you should do.." that tingly wave of self-knowledge washed over me. Heck. It’s what I should do too! What a load off. Just taking this "YouMustDecIDE" proviso off my shoulders was such a relief. Of course I must decide, but I don’t have to decide NOW. I just have to look around some - with the idea that the choices are all nice, not with the idea that I will RUIN my life if I make some wrong step. And if I just shut up long enough to listen, I will hear the answer anyway. I know this. It’s how I solve all those "what to do" problems anyway. All I have to do is ask for help. From someone who won't try to fix me, but will just roll out the carpet and say "step aboard". Evidently, the preparatory worry and anxiety is something I do all the time too, though. What an utter waste of my emotional powers. What an idiot I am. So, with lifted spirits I toddled off to BH’s where the BirthdayGirl awaited 9 little princesses, all frilled and curled. BH had scheduled the thing from 11 to 2 and when I heard that I was appalled. An hour and a half max is a birthday party in my book, and part of that should include a meal. And the darling hadn’t even thought about asking another adult to help out. Big Sister E and her girlfriend were manning a craft table, but it was good to have another set of grown-up hands and a second authoritative voice. Happily, the day was sunny - the first sunny Saturday we’ve had in months in fact. The last 15 minutes were spent just running outdoors, riding bicycles, swinging on swings. It was so pretty, though, to see those fluffy frilly blossoms, floating like some Disney cartoon, against the backdrop of the first green grass of spring. I was never a squealie girl. I actually turned my nose up at squealing and I don’t believe my voice could have even hit those decibels if I had wanted it to. But I enjoy listening to it when it represents the spilling over of joy and life, after a long wet winter indoors. I didn’t knit a stitch yesterday but I did cook an interesting quiche made with ricotta cheese and too much spinach. There were about a thousand other ingredients in it, but the crust was what really tempted me. The recipe is from a Weight Watcher’s cookbook: WW Entertains: with the chefs from The Culinary Institute of America. It’s made with 1/3 cup of cooked wild rice, 1/4 cup of bread crumbs and 3 Tbls. of chopped pecans, mixed with about 2 Tbls. of water. This is pressed into the pie plate and then the filling is scooped inside. Baked for 20 min. at 370º. Well, anything with pecans and wild rice has to taste good and I did like this recipe a lot, though I think it should have cooked longer and have had less spinach in it. Mind, now, I love spinach and I liked this dish, but BD did not. Next time I’ll try mushrooms and maybe more eggwhites. The part that holds it all together, though; the egg whites and ricotta cheese, would welcome all sorts of delicious additions. And today my west coast sister visits. She’s on the east coast for a brief trip and is coming down to see us in the afternoon. This is enough to make even the gloomiest gal happy. posted by Bess | 7:43 AM 1 Comments:Hey girl, hugs to you. I understand how you feel - I do the same thing when something is wrong that I have no control over. Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom] Saturday, March 19, 2005 Ahh sweet Saturday welcome at last. If I can’t be inspired, at least I can be relaxed. It’s unusual that I can find nothing interesting out in that wider world, viewed from within the pod. I suspect I know what the reason is, though I’m not ready to bet the farm on it - but how strange to be experiencing this pulling in and shutting down. It’s not exactly unfamiliar. At the ripe age of 52 I’m beginning to see a pattern, familiar, but not particularly pleasing: When confronted with a problem for which I can find no solution, I withdraw, deep into the cave. Mama told me once that when I was a toddler and hurt myself - a cut, a fall - I would go hide in the closet. Unlike normal kids, who let you know something’s wrong and demand help, I went undercover, like some wild animal. A sort of primordial control freak response - as if I were just a little closer to the wild state than the normal person. While I’ve learned enough first aid to handle the cuts and bruises to my body, I still creep off into the brush when the spirit takes a blow. Some blows, of course, are really easy to identify; job loss, empty nest, that sort of thing. Others, alas, are more insidious. They disguise themselves as bits of daily life and snatches of ordinary conversations. They can be so hard to identify it isn’t until I find myself deep in the den that I realize SomethingIsWrong. And unlike problems, that usually have solutions, a SIW issue usually means there's not a freakin' thing I can do about it but suck it up. Rats. posted by Bess | 6:44 AM 1 Comments:
What a sweet Girlie Girl! Of course, my DD takes the cake as the Princess! LOL! Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom] Friday, March 18, 2005 Give me an F! Give me an R! Give me an IDAY!There must be some special alignment of the planets going on. I know so many people who are suffering from job burnout/ennui/boredom/frustration and the accompanying longing to be on balmy beaches with someone else doing the scutt work and lots of beautiful yarn on the needles. So - if I must make my way through this slough of despond, then I shall just do so. But oh I am so glad for the weekend. Doubly glad since it is my little goddaughter’s birthday party weekend. We have long since agreed on the preferred birthday and Christmas gift - This is a girlie girl of extreme proportions. She looks like a miniature Nicole Kidman with curly hair. This is the flower girl who wants to wear her FG dress to school. No T-ball for her, she is all ballerina. She gets porcelain dolls for both big festivals and they are to be of the frilliest. No clown dolls for her, we want princesses please. Since the magnificent Sheryl has taken care of the dirty work in my house I have only laundry to do. How fortunate there is the promise of sunshine. The rest of my time will be divided between gardening and knitting. I am also just barely thinking about some spinning with beads. But I am on a deadline with this baby sweater. I’ll attach the sleeves today but I am trying to figure out a right slanting decrease that lets the purl stitch gobble up a knit stitch lying to its right. I may have to take home all the how to knit books in the library and pour over decreases. Yes - I think a right slanting decrease in reverse st. st. might be how it would be listed. It doesn’t really matter that the “gobbled” stitch is a knit stitch, what matters is how to make a right slanting decrease on purls. I’m still a little leery about trusting a lengthy discourse to Blogger. I’ve had too many posts disappear, only to show up doubled or tripled the next day. I’ll just end with this happy thought - There are only 11 days left of my Chocolatelessness! The Sunday after next I plan to indulge!! posted by Bess | 6:47 AM 0 Comments:Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom] Thursday, March 17, 2005 Well - I don't know why everybody else has been able to post to blogger for the past 24 hours and I haven't. Humph. Let me add that to the other things that have me feeling sorry for myself. And let me congratulate you that you didn't have to read yesterday's gloomy post. My cyber twin, for different reasons, is taking her mental health day today, but I had to take mine on Tuesday. This was supposed to be such a super week for innovation and finding my own true path and I'm not getting there at all. My solution was to crawl into bed on Tuesday afternoon and sleep it away. A super workout with TthePT helped too, pulling endorphins out of my pituitary glands (is that where they come from?) But I had better plan on getting one a day, at least, for the length of this bout with the blues. And since blogger has been playing havoc with my posts for days now I will end here with the happy news that I'm knitting the second sleeve of the pretty baby sweater. I'll finish everything but the steeking by Tuesday, when we have our next class. Then I'll go back to MOH and finish that baby no matter how much yarn there is. posted by Bess | 7:09 AM 0 Comments:Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom] Wednesday, March 16, 2005 Old habits die hard. They represent neural pathways that have been trodden so well that they have worn a deep rut in our brain. New resolutions require us to be constantly conscious. The minute we forget to pursue change, precedent starts to pursue us. Even so, you now have a rare and wonderful chance to attempt an important innovation. Keep reminding yourself that you want things to be different, and you'll find they really can be. Hip! Hip! Go! Go! Go! You can do it girl. ahem. yes. Some cheers for the despondent up there. I am having the absolute dickens of a time pursuing the needed changes in my life. It’s as if an evil sticky web is clinging to my spirit, not just making me eat too much and fail to get into the serious discussions that need to take place, but depressing my normal ebullience. This low grade sadness/stress has comes with it’s own unwelcome side effect - menopausal temperature fluctuations. I had them all the time while I was working on TheWeddingDress until I reached that point where I knew it was going to work. Worry seems to really bring them on, and I’m having a nice rash of them this week. Hmm. The taxes have been taken care of, so I ought to feel better, but I’m dont. And I’m eating like a mad thing - that "fill up the empty spaces" type of eating that just piles on flesh in the most un-summerish places. Eh. Nothing for it but to keep working on those changes. Keep the Faith Babeeee. So - on to something else. Nobody who reads this is unaware that I like clothes. I like to read about fashion and to think about it. I like to understand how clothes are made. I like to examine the lines, textures and colors as much as I like to fantasize about how they’d look on me. I may not take up the latest and the newest, but at least I keep a finger on fashion trends. So this morning’s latest NYT spread is all about the "new" slim suits that are going to chase the full skirts off the streets and out of the offices. Hmmm. Okay. I am trying to remember when full skirts came into fashion here in the southern fringe of the east coast. The last time I saw full skirts in the work place (which is where most women are today) was in the high ‘80’s. Mind, now, I liked that look, but I don’t wear it now. The trouble with fashion, of course, is that even if you like it - where do you get to wear it? I have to go to work, you know - I can’t slouch in with my sheepskin pea coat, Klondike hat, and chiffon pleated skirt. (And why is it that designers think that same old tweed-over-chiffon is "new"? Why do fashion reporters say it is? Wearing your boyfriend’s jacket is as old as ... as old as you are!) What I have seen so much of for the past 5 years, is a very unflattering, fairly slim, flat, ankle length skirt, pulled into the waist with elastic instead of darts. Now, I admit, I live in a true fashion backwater, and I am also smack in the middle of middle age - if one accepts a definition of middle age as TheWorkingYears - but -AfterYouCanNoLongerWearPatternedTights. This very unstructured and very ugly look (think a tank top that extends to the floor, only, not knitted, but made of woven rayon - with a little jacket over top) has been the uniform du jour for so long I would almost even welcome a ‘60’s rehash just for the change. And you might remember the trouble I had last summer, trying to find a plain knee length skirt. Something I could wear to work. With a jacket or without. An entire mall was able to produce only 2 such garments. But what made me chuckle about the article was the slide show they ran along side it. If I hadn't looked at the show I might have dispaired about what to wear next fall. Instead I found something that really does have a place in the normal woman's life. Does this look like a slim suit?  But for a bit of my past come back as style, here's this bit of knitted retro from 1973. I remember I had a hat just like that.  If I had that same youthful jaw line I’d probably have another. Okay - enough fashion talk. Except for baby fashion - since I am knitting away on the baby sweater. Working on the sleeves. I’ll finish it all up except for the kitchner stitch at the underarms and doing the crocheted steek. I’ll save that part for my class next week. And then I really will have to turn my attention to Mountains of Lace. I’d like to have it finished before MdS&W. posted by Bess | 7:16 AM 1 Comments:Can I join you and Catherine and make it a trio? ;-) Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom] Monday, March 14, 2005
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 |
||||
|
|||||
40
