Old Man River

My friend Kristen had this link on her blog. I’m going to see if I can embed the video:



I miss Jim Croce. He was one of a handful of things my mother and I could agree on, back when I was 20-something and knew it all.

It’s Wednesday, and I have slept, and this is a good thing. One of many in my life. Knit Night was perhaps even more restful ~ and delightful ~ than usual. My sock chose not to argue with me; I am maybe twelve rows from the ribbing on one sock and there on the other. BeadLady sat with me on the ride into work, and we chattered happily all the way into Dallas. She identified the beads I am using on the January Mystery Sock [Japanese, not Czech] and was pleased to see that the bead shop has them in stock again. Middlest gets paid tomorrow, and we are planning a field trip to the Wall of Addi’s on Saturday. She will be buying; I will be driving, as I have already spent my fun money for this paycheck.

Hey Middlest, if you can get the Moose to bring you over, I would feed you both brunch or lunch [coffeecake or spaghetti, depending on what time you got here and what I feel like fixing], and she could finish connecting my VCR/DVD player and the TV, and then we could all watch Dave. Just a thought.

I have hung out or showed up at Firstborn’s on three consecutive nights and have thoroughly enjoyed my time there, and I am feeling the need to not-go-anywhere for awhile. My goal for this evening is to come home and curl up with the materials I need to teach the Relief Society lesson on Sunday, and eat leftovers, and study. And the same for Thursday night, except for the visit from my visiting teacher(s), and Friday night. And on Saturday I should be ready to spend time with people again. I like people. I particularly like the people I am related to.

Work was good yesterday. I prayed that the one attorney would not have a tape for me to transcribe, and asked two of my friends to do likewise, and he must have gotten the message. I just sat at switchboard all day and fielded phone calls and typed drafts. I am nearly done with that, which is good, because I have a tape to transcribe for the other attorney, and it needs to be done by lunch today. And then I will polish off the rest of the drafts. I think by the time I am done, I will have typed about 60 drafts in three days. I have already gone through one and a half books of drafts, and there are 25 drafts per book, and I am about midway through a third.

This may not sound like a lot of work, but I have to make sure that the invoice has not already been paid, and that there is not a problem with the vendor which requires backup withholding, and that it’s not an expense which needs to be paid by the claims office directly. If the vendor is located in North Texas, it gets one code on the draft, and if it’s in South Texas [Austin, San Antonio, Houston, etc.] it gets another; other codes entirely for out-of-state vendors. And then the information from each draft needs to be entered into our system which tracks the expenses we incur on each lawsuit.

My personal goal is to have it all done, correctly and timely, and leave nothing undone for the secretaries. This is easier to do when I am not also answering the phones, pulling faxes, and flirting with the UPS man.

Ask me how little I miss sitting at the front desk. I am so glad that the receptionist will be back at work today; most of the local school districts had teacher inservice yesterday, and her kids are small. So she was doing the absolutely proper thing: staying home with them.

Must go hop in the tub. And then, I think, some cinnamon toast as a prelude to the real breakfast, which will be ... I have no idea. Maybe inspiration will strike while I am in the tub. Hey, it worked for Archimedes, right? [The philosopher, not the owl.]

Wii Will, Wii Will Rock You!

So, I went back to Firstborn’s last night to knit with Middlest, except we ended up watching a great DVD for Family Home Evening and then playing Wii Bowling, where on my third game I beat Lark [my extraordinarily athletic granddaughter; that’s the fastest way to tell that this connection is of the heart and not of the gene pool] by one point! And I broke 100 all three games, and no gutter balls. Or chipped polish, or popped nails. Age of miracles? Not past!

Though Middlest cracked everybody up when she alleged that I am athletic. No; that would be a miracle even more stunning than loaves, fishes, manna, quail, or jumbo shrimp. I can dance, and I can give birth like nobody’s business, and I can run a pool table on a good night. But I’m thinking that maybe next year, if there is a bonus, I might get Wii Fit. 1BDH says there is a skiing program where you stand on the balance pad and slalom. Maybe I’ll knit myself a Calorimetry in bunny-slope colors?

I came home and wound up three balls of yarn for Middlest, to atone for the fact that there was precious little knitting last night, and hardly any time to just sit and chat. I’ll run them by the house before Knit Night. She is planning a variation on the ubiquitous Noro Striped Scarf, out of Brooks Farm Fourplay.

The elders brought me a copy of the Book of Mormon to take to my friend at work. It was waiting in the mailbox when I got home last night.

Sad news: my second-favorite yarn shop, the one I live half a mile from, is closing soon. The husband of one of the owners was transferred out of state, and for some strange reason she thinks she wants to be with her sweetheart! Wishing her all the best, and wishing that I had spare change to hit their going-out-of-business sale, but I’ve already disposed of my disposable income from this paycheck. I am going to miss their cheerful welcome and the wall of Addi Turbos in minuscule sizes.

Despite the Wii distractions of the past two evenings, and the two wee distractions on Sunday night, I am still making progress on the Mean Green Jellybeans. I could tease you by showing just how little is left of the Jitterbug; I’m at the point where I knit twelve rounds on one sock, then twelve rounds on the other, but I’m thinking that pretty soon it’s going to be six and six.

I will get to watch the Inauguration from my workstation this morning; the corporation is linking us electronically. Maybe someday we will vote in a woman who is fiscally conservative and compassionate, some hitherto-undiscovered [and completely irrelevant] ethnicity, and LDS. In the meantime, hail to the Chief. And I think it’s time for me to haul out Dave and listen to Kevin Kline sing hail to the Chief, he’s the one we all sing hail to.

I will miss W, and I am truly looking forward to the next four years. What a wonderful time to be alive.

Good to Remember

MamaSays, thank you for letting me know that MovieMom is now on belief.net. I have added her to my Bloglines. This was waiting for me when I came home from church. How thankful I am that I am never entirely alone, that I have wonderful friends at work and at church, and that I have an eternal Friend who marked the path for me.

I came home and cooked. Macaroni and cheese and cauliflower, based on the recipe in the February issue of Real Simple. I added a box of frozen peas and used half of the smallest head of cauliflower I could find. I loathe cauliflower, and I know it’s good for me. Considering how much cheese and other good stuff I threw in, I figured I could sneak it past my tastebuds before they knew what had happened.

It calls for a cup and a half of grated extra-sharp cheese. I grated 8 oz of sharp and was thinking about grating in some Asiago, but I put in a cup of sour cream and another cup of crème fraîche, instead of the cup and a half of light sour cream specified. I left out the low-fat milk because it was creamy enough. And I tried a new variety of sweet white onion that didn’t stink up my kitchen and added much to the mix. I’ve never much cared for onions, but now my body seems to tolerate them better.

I omitted the breading on top. Not a big fan of parsley, flat-leaf or otherwise, and that was a major part of the breading. Even less of a fan of broiling stuff, even though it makes a prettier presentation. It used to drive me nuts when I was a kid. Mom made white sauce from scratch, melted Velveeta into it [because that’s what I would eat], stirred it all together, and baked the casserole in the oven for an additional half hour. She would top it with the last crumbs of the potato chips we had with the hamburgers she made every Saturday night. And I would be a whiny, ungrateful, starving mess when she finally took the casserole out of the oven and served it to us.

It’s one thing to graciously enjoy/endure delayed gratification in terms of romance. But I’m willing to forego at least some garnishes in order to legitimately satisfy one of my appetites!

I had a serving of the mac and cheese when it came out of the oven yesterday. No, I didn’t fool my tastebuds; they knew there was something suspiciously cruciferous every few bites. But I mostly enjoyed it, and I think I could get used to it. I have the batch divvied up in one-serving and two-serving portions and will take some to work today. And a deviled egg sandwich to eat on the drive home.

Since it’s a holiday, fewer trains will be running, and I will be driving in. And since Middlest has to work tomorrow night, she asked me to come over tonight so we can get our weekly knitting in. I will hit Knit Night tomorrow night as well. [Welcome to the all-knitting, all-the-time channel!]

I thought I would be going to Secondborn’s last night to have pancakes and bend the Sabbath by using her washer and dryer. We all ended up going to Firstborn’s, where the washer is so huge that I got it all done in one load of wash and two loads of drying [and that, only because I washed a couple of towels in with my dark T-shirts and slacks]. We had chili and cornbread, and we played Guitar Hero for dessert. They even got me on the mic for Fleetwood Mac’s “You Can Go Your Own Way”. I was on the money for the choruses and struggled mightily on the verses; I can’t sing deeply like Firstborn, who can cover just about anything from first-and-a-half soprano to tenor.

I know; if we didn’t love her, we’d beat her about the head and shoulders with a conductor’s baton.

BittyBubba, of course, was fascinated by all the electronics, cords, etc. Uncle 1BDH spent much of his time wrestling and distracting him so he wouldn’t try to play jump rope with the mic cord. But you ought to see that little boy boogie! He will be the darling of the youth dances at church in a few more years. BittyBit had a blast playing drums; they quietly turned off that part so she wouldn’t get them booed off the stage, and I suspect that in a few years she will be able to hold her own on drums, guitars, and vocals.

And now if you will all excuse me, I think the chocolate is melted for the triple chocolate muffins from my Williams-Sonoma muffin/quickbread cookbook. I haven’t made these for about four years; we are talking seriously geriatric baking chocolate here, but it smells just fine from where I sit. Two of these should just about equal the large double-chocolate muffins I get from the deli at work, both in terms of volume and caloric density. Not to mention that I had everything I needed in my pantry, so I will save between $5 and $10 over the next two weeks without feeling deprived.

I think that next payday I want to go to Costco with one of the girls and pick up a case or two of individually-portioned fruit juices. They could go into my pantry and year’s supply and would save me another $7.50 a week at the deli. Typically I bring the bottles home, rinse them out thoroughly, and take them back filled with fruit juice from home, and once again with 1%, at which point I pitch them. [I really should bring them home and recycle them. Baby steps.]

The smell of chocolate is about to overwhelm me, so I’d better get out to the kitchen and finish making those muffins. I’m also incorporating all the crumbs and broken bits of pecan from the bag of pecans that my home teacher gave me for Christmas, year before last. I have about a pie’s worth of unbroken halves still in the freezer from that batch, and an untouched bag from when they came to dinner last fall. There is also a recipe for ginger-pear muffins in the same cookbook, and I think it calls for pecans as well.

Nobody’s starving chez Ravelled.

List-ing slightly to starboard -- AND -- a wedding [not mine!] -- AND -- a marriage [ditto!]

Firstborn had this on her blog recently. What have you done on the list? I have saved some of her comments, deleted others, and added some of my own.

1. Started your own blog [duh]
2. Slept under the stars
3. Played in a band [does banging pot lids with other kids in the neighborhood to approximately the tune of “Henry the Eighth” when I was 14 and had a crush on the boy across the street, count?
4. Visited Hawaii
5. Watched a meteor shower
6. Given more than you can afford to charity Every payday. You don’t tithe because you have money; you tithe because you have faith
7. Been to Disneyland [no, Firstborn, Disney World does not count]
8. Climbed a mountain (Firstborn deems Enchanted Rock to count as we live in TX and there aren’t really any mountains. I climbed Enchanted Rock on what would have been my twenty-first wedding anniversary after my divorce from her dad. But I have also hiked the hills above Boise.)
9. Held a praying mantis garter snake. Snakes are cool. I was the only girl in the neighborhood who didn’t run screaming.
10. Sang a solo
11. Bungee jumped
12. Visited Paris
13. Watched a lightning storm at sea
14. Taught yourself an art from scratch [Tatting. Scrapbooking. Spinning. Weaving. Driving a stick shift. Milking a goat. Quilting. (How long do you have?)]
15. Adopted a child
16. Had food poisoning [not serious enough to be hospitalized]
17. Walked to the top of the Statue of Liberty
18. Grown your own vegetables
19. Seen the Mona Lisa in France
20. Slept on an overnight train
21. Had a pillow fight
22. Hitch hiked
23. Taken a sick day when you’re not ill
24. Built a snow fort
25. Held a lamb kid [4-legged as opposed to two]
26. Gone skinny dipping [suit always fits, though these days it bags around the ankles]
27. Run a Marathon
28. Ridden in a gondola in Venice
29. Seen an eclipse
30. Watched a sunrise or sunset
31. Hit a home run
32. Been on a cruise
33. Seen Niagara Falls in person
34. Visited the birthplace of your ancestors [do Colorado and Oklahoma count?]
35. Seen an Amish community
36. Taught yourself a new language [resurrected my high school French via the Le Livre du Mormon et Cantiques (the hymnal) and picked up a smattering of German, plus I speak Texan as well as standard English, and I sign (badly, these days)]
37. Had enough money to be satisfied [that’s not what gives me satisfaction].
38. Seen the Leaning Tower of Pisa in person
39. Gone rock climbing
40. Seen Michelangelo’s David
41. Sung karaoke
42. Seen Old Faithful geyser erupt
43. Bought a stranger a meal at a restaurant Often, if you count drive-ins and the people who stand at corners and beg.
44. Visited Africa
45. Walked on a beach by moonlight
46. Been transported in an ambulance
47. Had your portrait painted [non-caricature at the Western Idaho State Fair, and another commissioned by a friend about ten years ago; we didn’t like it, and the artist has probably long since painted over it]
48. Gone deep sea fishing
49. Seen the Sistine Chapel in person
50. Been to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris
51. Gone scuba diving or snorkeling
52. Kissed in the rain
53. Played in the mud
54. Gone to a drive-in theater [necked at a drive-in theater; more than once]
55. Been in a movie
56. Visited the Great Wall of China
57. Started a business
58. Taken a martial arts class belly-dancing class
59. Visited Russia
60. Served at a soup kitchen [almost; helped make sandwiches at church for the Night Shelter]
61. Sold Girl Scout Cookies [bought some yesterday]
62. Gone whale watching
63. Got [myself] flowers for no reason
64. Donated blood, platelets or plasma
65. Gone skydiving
66. Visited a Nazi Concentration Camp
67. Bounced a check
68. Flown in a helicopter
69. Saved a favorite childhood toy [left behind in one of many moves]
70. Visited the Lincoln Memorial
71. Eaten Caviar [you can have my share; ditto, calamari]
72. Pieced a quilt
73. Stood in Times Square
74. Toured the Everglades
75. Been fired from a job
76. Seen the Changing of the Guards in London
77. Broken a bone
78. Been on a speeding motorcycle [dirt bike up in the hills, over the crest, through a bush full of Monarch butterflies. They taste bad.]
79. Seen the Grand Canyon in person
80. Published a book [three self-published (poetry) chapbooks; Great American Novel in a notebook in one of my drawers]
81. Visited the Vatican
82. Bought a brand new car
83. Walked in Jerusalem
84. Had your picture in the newspaper
85. Read the entire Bible [yea, verily, and more than once]
86. Visited the White House [and the Smithsonian]
87. Killed and prepared an animal for eating
88. Had chickenpox
89. Saved someone’s life [maybe; not that I know of; does all the time I didn’t strangle my teenagers count?]
90. Sat on a jury
91. Met someone famous [Orson Scott Card, at a book signing]
92. Joined a book club
93. Lost a loved one
94. Had a baby [been there, done that, have the stretch marks]
95. Seen the Alamo in person
96. Swam in the Great Salt Lake
97. Been involved in a law suit [two, count ’em, two divorces]
98. Owned a cell phone
99. Been stung by a bee
100. Milked a cow goat
101. Never had a cavity
102. Had a dream come true [5 kids!]
103. Had surgery in the hospital
104. Drove a stick shift car
105. Shoed and rode a horse
106. Capsized a sail-boat
107. Recorded a CD
108. Burped the Alphabet [eww, no!]
109. Sang in an Opera
110. Gotten a piercing [ears only, but multiple] or a tattoo.
111. Eaten an entire meal from the Costco sample tables. [now Central Market? that’s another story]

About a year ago, I got a call from the boyfriend I mentioned in yesterday’s post, the one I dated for a year and a half, beginning about two and a half years after my divorce was final. He was good to me and good for me, and we remained friends even after I stopped dating him, at least until First Hubby came back into the picture.

I was pretty sure that I didn’t want to rekindle anything with First Hubby. And I was definitely sure that the ex-boyfriend was not The One; but I had been so content dating him that there was no room in my heart or my life for somebody who could become a permanent part of my life. And I wanted no distractions while I sorted out what was what with First Hubby.

That was the only break-up I have truly managed well, in that it was bilateral. Or bicameral. Or something. [I did an excellent job on my end, breaking up with Brother Abacus, other than the fact that he wasn’t there to tell face to face, so I had to call him on his behavior via letter.]

Anyway. I was afraid when I got the call last year from the former boyfriend, that he wanted to get back together, and I did not want to do that for numerous excellent reasons. So I asked him to call me after LittleBit graduated and I had completed my move to new digs. He’s older than I; I figured he might have a senior moment [not statistically likely; he was one sharp cookie, but you never know] and forget that he had called me.

He called again yesterday afternoon; I recognized the number on my cell phone. He’s getting married on Valentine’s Day, to the woman who was [ahem] his bed buddy while we were dating. [Hey, I didn’t resent her in the slightest; she took all the pressure off me! And since I was (A) not going to be intimate with him and (B) free to date anybody else I chose, I was perfectly safe, and it was entirely his moral dilemma. And hers.]

Sometimes they really do marry the cow. Let the record show that once in a blue moon, my mother was wrong!

So as not to end on that cynical note, I’ll share my newest brainstorm. One of the attorneys in my office sat down with his wife and made a list of 25 things to do to celebrate their 25th anniversary. I’m thinking of a shorter list for this year, one item for each year of my life. Not necessarily something I haven’t done; maybe just something I haven’t done in awhile. [Yes, kissing would be somewhere in that list, maybe even in the top 10. You had to ask?]

Oye. To the veh. On the drive to the dance last night, with a sister in my ward and a sister in the stake riding along, I commented that next time we should drag the Silver Fox [that is not how I referred to him; I do occasionally know how to be discreet]. And the sister in my ward said, “Him? He’s married. His wife lives in Houston. She was up here the Sunday before Christmas, and he was sitting there with his arm around her shoulder.” That would be the Sunday that I went to church in Firstborn’s ward.

It was a good thing it was after sundown, so she could not see how deeply I was blushing. I told Brother Sushi at the dance last night. After he picked his jaw up off the table, all he could manage was “OOPS!” So the incident of the hand on the knee must have been an entirely avuncular gesture, and I will make sure that I sit on the other side of the classroom from here on out, and in a couple of days I will stop blushing and feeling like an idjit.

And life will go on, and as Brother Sushi said, that’s one more I can cross off the list [of bad dates and/or misreadings and/or miscommunications before Brother Right drags his sorry self into my life].

On the other hand, the dance was good, very good, and there is still a chance that I will be able to climb out of bed later this morning without radioing for backup. Though following “Suavemente” with “Achy Breaky Heart” and then “The Cotton-Eyed Joe”, just about did me in.

I think I will just open up that convent I’ve been talking about for ten years or so. I think it would be simpler, and way easier on my heart. And in the meantime, I will need to take the Marriagometer in for a tune-up, because while it clearly registered “he’s not flirting with you, honey”, it blipped right over the important fact that the only way he would be more unavailable, would be if he were gay.

I’m going to bed, where I will arm-wrestle with the Sandman and probably punch him in the schnozz in a fit of pique.

The Sour Cream Effect

The old boyfriend [the one I dated for a year and a half, not the one who ghosted on me] and I had dinner once a week. This was before the late Brother Stilts and the very-much-alive Brother Sushi became part of my world. Frequently we ate Mexican food of one sort or another: Tex-Mex, Mex-Mex, or New-Mex-Mex.

For some people, it’s all about the tamales. And I do appreciate the effort and artistry that goes into making tamales, but I am funny [OK, maybe a little weird] about corn. I like my corn frozen or canned and far from the cob; definitely not creamed, though I loved it as a child, before Niblets nibbled their way into my heart. And I love cornbread. I use my mother’s recipe, from the back of the Albers cornmeal bag. Yankee cornbread. Yellow cornmeal, and a quarter-cup of sugar. Sliced into nine squares, each neatly subdivided into a top half and a bottom half, with a sliver of butter on each, and washed down with plenty of milk or buttermilk.

I do not like tamales. I like the fillings just fine, but not the steamed cornmeal that surrounds them. No rational reason for it. [Not all that crazy about grits, either, though LittleBit loves them; she got custody of the two small containers of grits when we divvied things up last year.] I suppose I feel about what goes between the filling and the cornhusks the way my girls felt about stuffing/dressing when they were little.

“Eww. Wetbread.”

So for me, it has pretty much always been about the enchiladas. And most likely the sour cream chicken enchiladas. Last night I had enchiladas with Brother Sushi, at our favorite restaurant, the one owned by the aunt of someone he knows. Nelda’s, down on Far South Cooper in Mansfield, almost to the intersection with 287.

Bliss. I had the triple plate: one sour cream chicken enchilada, one beef in Colorado sauce, and one spinach in crema sauce. A mess of beans on one side of the plate, and a generous serving of rice on the other. Did I mention, bliss?

The old boyfriend used to say that he could watch the stress ebb out of me as we ate, starting at the crown of my head, moving on down through my forehead, eyes, mouth, and chin. And he learned that when the relaxation hit my chin, he had about fifteen minutes to get me home, kiss me goodnight, and gently push me through the doorway.

My life is significantly less stressful than when I had the responsibility for kids still at home. But the past couple of weeks have had rather more drama than I’d been used to, and last night the sour cream worked its magic yet again. I picked Brother Sushi up about 7:20 and dropped him off about 9:30. We were both yawning prodigiously at that point. Too tired to get out of the car and hug in front of his house. We both just kinda leaned shoulders in the middle of the car and laughed wearily.

I am so thankful for that man! It is such a blessing to be able to compare the behaviors of new men in my life with that of my established friendships. I can recognize that the friendship with Trainman is healthy, because I feel safe and peaceful in his presence. I can take my interactions with the Silver Fox and what I have observed of his teaching style and get a plausible outline of his character.

I remarked to Brother Sushi last night that while yes, I am rather smitten with the kind, decent, smart, funny Trainman, I am also not truly in love with him [at least not yet; wouldn’t take much to nudge me off the cliff], because I am also feeling that perk! when I see the Silver Fox.

And then there is the whole question of testosterone. LDS men, at least the ones I want to spend my time around, the ones who are more or less my age and have spent a lifetime pruning themselves to fit the covenants they have made, are typically buttoned-up. Not stuffy. Not boring. But disciplined. And I like that; it’s the same discipline, whether internally chosen or externally imposed, that draws me to military men, cops, and firemen.

I dated a man, not long after my baptism 30+ years ago, who was notable for his self-discipline. And I, trying hard to be a lady and to not make life any more difficult for him, or us, was never quite sure if there was any passion lurking under all that self-discipline. [There was no question at all with some of the men I dated back then; our challenge was to stay on the Lord’s side of the line.] I was crazy about that man, and I didn’t want to end my single years with a marriage that was merely dutiful and committed.

That hasn’t changed. I’ve just gotten smarter about which men to avoid and how to recognize when something isn’t working.

The Silver Fox is definitely buttoned-up, except when he is teaching. And then he just blooms! I suspect that he is doing what I do, channeling his energy into service, study, prayer, and wholesome activities. [I also think he might be shy.] So I am finding opportunities to speak with him briefly each week. I would really like to be friends with him, but since I think I might like to be more than friends with him, I need to treat him about the way I do the husbands of my friends. I don’t flirt with them. I can’t really flirt with him.

Aughh.

And then there is Trainman. The nimbus of testosterone about that man is something I am very much aware of. Do you remember the cartoons where somebody has baked a cake, and one of the characters floats along in the air, following the scent in the breeze?

Like that.

My guyfriends do not lack in the testosterone department. Several of them are black belts, some in multiple disciplines. They surround me with a certain level of ambient manliness that helps me to feel safe, secure, and protected. [Brother Sushi and I joke that he and a couple of others are my testosterone maintenance program. Just enough gets through to keep me sane, but not enough to cause problems.]

Any man with whom I allow myself to fall in love, will have to have approached me, and not the other way around. I want a righteous patriarch in my home [eventually, in the good time of Heaven, not two weeks from next Wednesday], and leading by example starts at asking for the first date.

I also remind myself that if it were the right time for Brother Right, he would already be in my life. So if he’s not, it’s because he’s Brother Not Quite Right, or Brother Not Right Now, or there is something that I need to be working on. Which takes any sting out of the current situation, and in the meantime there is knitting.

Which is calling my name more loudly than any human male; I must obey...

One of those days

One of those days that was absolutely glorious! You’ve known me long enough to know that I am not one of those people who walks around, beating people about the head and shoulders with the Book of Mormon. [Sometimes I am tempted, but I digress...] I am happy to answer questions when my friends have them. I try to live the principles to the best of my understanding and ability. But I am not aggressive about it.

A friend at work commented the other day that she had an issue with something that had happened in her church. Just a passing comment; she had observed it, and she was frustrated by it. Yesterday she told me that she realized what was really happening: she was having a crisis of faith. Not faith in God, but faith in her locally-administered part of the Kingdom.

I took a deep breath. “Faith is something that is very personal and very private, and I respect that. Would you like to know what my church teaches about Christ and our relationship to him?”

“Yes, I would.” Looking me straight in the eye.

“Would you like me to get you a copy of the Book of Mormon?”

“Yes, I would.” Again, looking me straight in the eye.

“OK, I’ll get one from the missionaries this weekend. Would you like me to put your name on the prayer roll at the temple?”

“Yes, I would.”

“Would you like a hug, too?”

“Oh, yes I would!”

The rest of my day was peacefully spent typing out reams of dictation while pondering this quietly in my heart. She printed off the entire book of First Nephi from lds.org. [And knowing her, will have read it before getting to work this morning.]

Can’t wait to tell the missionaries on Sunday, though if she decides that she wants to take the discussions, it will be from other elders in another stake; she lives in Dallas County.

The Mean Green Jellybeans are coming along nicely. I realized that I wanted to reverse the twist of the cables on the back of the leg, so all the cables on one side will be going in the same direction, and all the cables on the other side will mirror them. This involved tinking half a round on one sock, and frogging seven rounds on the other. I like the yarn, and it frogs well, so it was not a problem.

I printed off Clue #3 on the January Mystery Socks and realized that my printer had left off half of Clue #2 last week, the part where I was supposed to continue in K3 P1 ribbing until the socks are 6” long or as long as I want the cuffs to be. I think I will be holding off on these socks until the Mean Green Jellybeans are done. I am feeling those first stirrings of finish-itis.

Dinner with Brother Sushi tonight. My nickel, and still no idea where. The Blue Tower Cafe, which allegedly serves great burgers, closes about the time my train pulls out of the station in BigD. So, not there, obviously. I nosed around a link from my friend Francis’s blog, looking for an interesting hole in the wall, and nothing appealed to me. So we may default to the pancake house, or I may grab a pizza from Little Caesar’s on the way home. Or inspiration may hit, sometime between now and dinnertime.

Tune in tomorrow.

Miscellaneous Musings and Mutterings

@ Firstborn: thank you for your kind offer to find me some random guy to kiss. You wouldn’t have kissed anybody I picked out for you when you were a teenager. What makes you think I would kiss anybody you picked out for me, now that I’m a middleager? Besides which, it’s way more fun to find my own random guys to kiss, even if they are scarce as hen’s teeth. As I have said more than once, at my age the odds aren’t good, and the goods are definitely odd.

Trainman really likes his nickname. I told him that everybody gets a nickname, that the Near-Fiancé Experience was referred to as Brother Lucid until he demonstrated that he was better named the Brother Formerly Known as Lucid. I haven’t told him about Brother Tightly Wound. BestFriend and a couple of my daughters know exactly who that is, and how well it describes him [Firsborn’s current visiting teacher was once briefly, or maybe nearly, engaged to him].

When I merged onto the freeway from the station tonight, I wasn’t able to get over into my usual lane. [But I was going in the right direction.] Which meant that I was more or less forced to exit at 8th Avenue, which not-coincidentally leads straight to the chapel, and I did have something to add to the visiting teaching report from last week.

I also learned, from a comment by one of the brethren who was trying to figure out what I had done to the computer at church to make it so mad that it wouldn’t print my report, that the Silver Fox is 6’5”. Which is way too tall. Not that I’m suggesting we do anything to shorten his legs, but no wonder I get nosebleeds when I speak to him. And here I thought it was just a case of the vapors...

Trainman has a date, weekend after next. I find that I am only the tiniest bit wistful at being his Sancha Panza, rather than his Dulcinea [besides which, I vaguely remember how Dulcinea earned her living, and I don’t think that’s a good career choice for a grandmother].

I finished turning both heels on the Mean Green Jellybeans while feeling the living room get cooler. [I am definitely under the influence of yarn fumes.] I figure that the fireplace will kick on, just as I go to bed. It’s supposed to be 20°F overnight. And I am too frugal to kick the fireplace up a notch. The bed itself is toasty-warm, and I am heading there directly. But first I need to update my notes for the socks, before I arm-wrestle with the Sandman; otherwise I will look at those socks in the morning and wonder “How on earth did I manage that?”

[To be finished when I wake up.] Which I now am. Both awake, and up. Also clean and foofed and ready to head out the door.

As I was walking from the train to the bus yesterday morning, I overheard two women talking about “the second volume” and “the third volume”, and as one split off to cross the street and the other headed to the bus with me, I asked,“Twilight?” She nodded and grinned.

You can have Edward. I’d like Edward’s dad. He is an excellent example of how a righteous patriarch leads his family and his tribe.

I found that link through Laura Brotherson’s column; I subscribe to her newsletter, because next time around, I want to get it right. I also printed that column off and gave it to Trainman, because if there is a next time around for him, I also want him to get it right.

Grabbing my knitting, my breakfast, and my remaining marbles; heading out the door.

Thinking about kissing, so I missed my exit.

It’s all Trainman’s fault. No, he didn’t steal a smooch on the 5:35 last night. It’s a little more complicated and a whole lot less exciting than that.

I had finished the gusset increases on Sock #2 and was ready to finish tinking Sock #1 back to the same point. I reached into my bag and pulled out four empty bamboo DP’s and clamped them crosswise between my lips [lipstick long-since history, so no danger to needles or knitting there] as I worked them into the stitches on my Addi circ. About halfway around the sock, he starts chuckling.

“Oh, I know that lips-pursed-up look. I’m in trouble, and you don’t want to talk to me anymore.”

I mumbled around the two needles still in my mouth,“My lips aren’t pursed. They’re keeping my needles from falling on the floor.”

“Nope, you’re mad at me, I can tell.” This, with a big mischievous grin on his face.

I took the needles out for a minute. “No, I’m in listening mode. Your turn to talk. Fire away!”

“You kiss people with those lips? Knowing where those needles have been?”

“Not recently, no. And I know exactly where these needles have been. In my hands, which are clean, and not-on-the-floor!”

And then it developed, or possibly degenerated, into a reminiscence of the last time either of us had been kissed by somebody who knew what they were doing. December 2006 for me. And somewhat more recently for him, but still fairly pitiful.

So I got off the train and into my car and buckled my seatbelt and took off to pick up Middlest. And turned left, to go home, instead of right to head to her house. I was thinking about that last kiss from the last boyfriend.

Sigh...

And had to make a U-turn at the next exit.

Another Trainman story from last night. He asked if my child were out of jail yet. I told him that she had sent me a text message saying that she was out, and she was safe.

He asked if she had gotten a prison tattoo while she was in the slammer. I told him I was severely tempted to text her and ask. He egged me on. So I did. “Trainman wants to know if you got a prison tattoo? Maybe in the form of a Hot Pocket or a slice of cold pizza?” [That’s what they fed her in the hoosegow.]

“ha ha you’re funny”

And then, of course, I had to explain to him why I called him Trainman, “because it’s faster and easier than saying ‘the nice man I talk to on the train’.”

And he said, “Oh, that’s so cool. I have a nickname, and [Decorator Dude] doesn’t.”

“Actually, he does. Decorator Dude. But you got yours before he got his, because I’ve known you longer.”

The let’s-jump-off-a-cliff part of me thinks that I should tell him that I missed the exit, and it was all his fault, because he brought up the topic of kissing, and I got distracted, and maybe he should kiss it better. The smart part of me thinks I should just clamp a knitting needle [or 12] in my mouth until that urge passes.



Let me tell you about the goodness of God. You might think that this is an ordinary skein of yarn. It is not. It is a hug from my friend Tan, nominally an award for a contest on her blog, but really her way, and God’s way, of saying, “I love you, and I value you, and I value our friendship.” There is no other explanation for the fact that opening this package while I was relieving @ switchboard, should move me to tears. Thank you, ma’am!

Switching topics now, before we all get too verklempt. If you have made financial resolutions this year, you might find this helpful. Even though I am irresolute, I still thought it was interesting and useful.

@Melissa: hi, welcome, and thanks for de-lurking!

We now return you to your regularly scheduled knitting.

A Productive Evening, Another Good Night’s Sleep

When I got off the train last night, I headed straight for the nursing home to put the children’s father into the loop. He was reading quietly in his room; the girls tell me that mostly he sits on his bed and reads all day. Secondborn and 2BDH thoughtfully keep him supplied with large-print novels from the library.

We had a good visit. [The English language does not convey how much is wrapped up in those five short words.] If our situations were reversed, and I were the one reading novels in a nursing home and he were the one bustling about in the world, I would have wanted to know that one of the girls had gotten herself into a pickle, even if I could do nothing about it. [Just as I can ~ realistically ~ do nothing about it now, except to love her and pray for her and hope that she gets her act together sooner rather than later.]

So now she will have both parents praying for her. I think these strokes have paradoxically cleared his mind of a lot of clutter; he seems more lucid and more himself these days, more the man of the first few years of our marriage. I don’t know that he will ever come back to the church; I cannot see myself ever taking him back. But there is truly peace between us now, and that is a good thing.

After I left the nursing home, I popped in at Secondborn’s just in time for Family Home Evening. BittyBubba is still more of a point-and-grunt fellow, but he musters up an enthusiastic “amen!” and loves to help lead the music. I love to hear BittyBit sing; I think she might have a lovely voice like her mother and her aunts when she is older.

And then I came home and grabbed one small bag of laundry and washed a load of lights while taking the second Mean Green Jellybeans sock up to its first gusset increase. And tinking back the heel turning on the first sock; I think I increased too many stitches and will continue to tinker with it until I am satisfied.

I ate a light dinner [rice and one of the meatloaf muffins] once I got home, then knitted and read until after 11:00. Could get interesting today because of insufficient sleep, but I think I did all the important stuff last night and one urgent thing. [I was utterly out of clean socks.]

Knit Night tonight, and my kid gets out of jail in four hours. I’m feeling significantly less unRavelled this morning. Thank you for your good thoughts, kind words, and prayers.

@ Francis: I think that Brother Sushi and I will tackle that Blue Whatzit restaurant this Friday night, if they’re still open. Will let you know what I/we think of it.

Knitting up that Ravelled Sleave

A good night’s sleep did wonders. So did reading a few pages in Talmage’s Jesus the Christ. So did finishing Clue #2 on the second mystery sock.



And I am nearly to the gusset increases on the Mean Green Jellybeans.

Can’t wait until Trainman asks how my weekend went. Can’t wait to get to my desk at work, where ~ as with my knitting ~ I have some small degree of control over what happens. Feeling very thankful for that blessing yesterday; at least this morning I did not wake up with clenched shoulders, and tenderness radiating up into my neck and jaw, or possibly vice versa.

Have a little more baklavaa-a-a-ah! [second song]

Stay me with chocolate, comfort me with croissants

With apologies to the Song of Solomon, which is the only book in the Old Testament [KJV] that we do not study in Sunday School. Not as a metaphor for the Lord's love for his church, not as an example of wedded passion, not as some of the world's oldest and most tender love poetry. For all that we are a fruitful-and-multiplying bunch, we skip right over the Song of Songs and go straight from Ecclesiastes to Isaiah without even blinking.

Not really grousing, just observing that we are better at teaching our kids that physical intimacy before marriage is BAD and can ruin their lives and their eternity, than we are at teaching them that intimacy after marriage is GOOD and is meant to be enjoyed and can heal a lot of the rough-and-tumble that is mortality.

Blame this rant on the moon, if you will; she is still having her way with my one persistent ovary.



Click to embiggen; there is a lovely charcoal-grey branch at the top of this picture that is invisible until you look closely.

On to a safer subject; I think there are few perfumes more lovely than that of a croissant fresh from the oven. My friend who runs the deli makes superb croissants. Light, flaky, the crust shattering at a touch. I had one of her croissants for a mid-morning snack on Friday, chased with a bottle of better-than-average orange juice.

And while we are on the subject of flakiness, I asked for and received a blessing from my good home teacher; I also put my visiting teacher in the loop re: what’s going on in my tribe. And yes, I feel immensely better now.

@Secondborn: that “get out of jail free” card is expired, and only good for a fashion faux pas, not a driving one. I guess I had better take it down from my page, right?

[Later] Middlest and I went to visit our jailbird, who seemed remarkably chipper about the whole incident, which of course is the fault of the police officer who wrote her the ticket. Our penitance detectors were absolutely silent, but the needles on our nonsense detectors were going berserk. [Denial is apparently flowing other places than in Egypt.] Oh well, at least she knows that I love her, even if she is mad at me for tough-loving her over the past several months. I was going to drive over to the nursing home and put her father in the loop, but after driving back to Fort Worth, I just want to put my jammies on and knit until it’s time for reading and then bed.

He would probably only say “I don’t know what you want me to do about it.” This is one of those times when I understand why some species eat their young. And why Mrs. Mantis behaves the way she does.

The evening was not a total loss, however; I had several hours of near-hysterical laughter with Middlest, Fourthborn and Fiancé, visiting with Fourthborn’s new doll, who has the dearest elfie ears [rather like LittleBit’s when she was small] and teeny vampire teeth, while adding row after row to the second Mean Green Jellybeans sock. Fiancé also sent me home with a plate of baklava which they had been given. I am heading out to the kitchen in a minute to fix a small plate of edible joy and proceed to eat my feelings.

Church today was even better than baklava. Both the talks in sacrament had principles that are immediately applicable to my current challenges, and one of them was given by the Silver Fox. And the closing hymn was “Let Us Oft Speak Kind Words to Each Other.”

And people think the Almighty has no sense of humor?

It's 10:26 at night -- do you know where your child is?

I know where all of mine are. Four of them are not in jail on traffic warrants.

So I was standing in the bookstore, searching unsuccessfully for that new British knitting magazine, when my cell phone rang. “Have you spoken to [sibling]?”

“No, why?”, knowing that this could not be good.

“She called [another sibling], who told her you might know what to do.”

So I called my misdemeanorious child’s cell phone and left a message. And followed it up with a text message, asking if she wanted me to bake her a cake with a file in it.

I have come a long, long way from the hysteria I would have felt, had this happened ten years ago. She is not in the pokey in Arlington, so it took awhile to find out which of the smaller municipalities was feeding her bread and water. And unlike the last time the traffic cops caught up with one of my kids, at least she is not supposed to be somebody’s maid of honor tomorrow...

I suppose we can call this progress, of a sort. And since we went through this last summer with her father, I think it entirely fair to blame it on his DNA [yay for the Mom Song; I’m headed over there in a minute or so].

I think I would be nowhere near as calm if I had not spent last Tuesday afternoon serving in the temple. Truly the peace that is not of this world. [I will confess to being mildly curious as to the whereabouts of her vehicle; it wasn’t towed today. Presumably one of her friends picked it up for her.] Plus, I have been following the counsel of one of our church leaders, who suggested that if we have children who are not spiritually inclined, that we pray that they might have experiences that help them feel Heaven’s love for them [as well as showing them that whatever course they are on, is perhaps not the wisest]. So it wouldn’t be sensible, or grateful, for me to whine because my child is receiving the natural consequences of her choices.

She will be sitting out her warrants and will be released on Tuesday morning. I’m just glad that she’s safe, and I look forward to giving her a hug, if she wants one, on Tuesday night. And now I am headed over to YouTube and then to the fridge for some chocolate cake therapy. There may or may not be another post in the morning.

The Blessed Weekend

I woke ahead of the alarm today, or rather ahead of when the alarm would have gone off, had I set it. It’s a little past 7:00am as I begin this post, and I have been awake for three and a half hours. In which time I have nearly completed Clue #2 on the first sock and am currently enjoying an omelette and some toast.

Last night I came home and made a pan of cornbread. I have several of those nice silicone pans in various configurations, and I scootched that one to one side of the jelly roll pan and put half a sheet of parchment on the other side, which I then covered with potatoes for roasting. Half an hour later, the cornbread was golden brown, and the potatoes were still slightly al dente, but I ate them anyway; it had been a long day, and I was in serious need of nourishment! I nuked one of the meatloaf muffins and washed it down with a cup of milk. A healthy dinner, and there are enough potatoes left for another meal. When I nuke them, they will probably cook through the rest of the way.

This may have been the first time that I have roasted potatoes since I was a young bride; I tossed them in a gallon ziploc bag with some sweet Hungarian paprika, a generous amount of herbes de Provence, and the last of the olive oil. I planned to salt them when I took them out of the oven and completely forgot, and didn’t miss the salt. Though I realized when I reheated some of the cornbread earlier this morning, that while I don’t ordinarily put salt in my cornbread, it was a little flat this morning. So next time I’ll just put in a pinch, for the sake of the leftovers.

I finished the toe on the second Mean Green Jellybeans and am working my way up the foot. I’m hoping for a quiet weekend, in which knitting is the most exciting activity that happens. I will leave shortly to finish up the laundry, and then I have a couple of small housekeeping goals, but for the most part I want to spend this weekend eating, sleeping, reading, cooking, and knitting. Not necessarily in that order. I do have a wedding reception to attend tonight, so I won’t be entirely unsocial. I definitely want a nap after church tomorrow, since I didn’t get one last Sunday because I was babysitting the [unplugged] crockpot.

There is a new British knitting magazine that I may look for at the bookstore, while I’m out picking up fresh produce after checking the laundry off my list. Mason-Dixon Knitting says it’s a corker! And I want to listen to the KnitPicks podcast sometime today, and Sticks and Strings tomorrow.

I verified this at snopes.com [the urban legends website]. Beware of emails with Trojan viruses.

The moon is full, or near enough as makes no difference. I am feeling it. Just a wee bit loony [not one word, Ms. Firstborn!] and wistful. Brother Sushi and I rescheduled last night’s dinner for next Friday, which works better for both of us. This is likely to be the most testosterone-free weekend I have experienced in a very long time. And probably just as well. I seem to have mislaid my invisibility cloak. I suspect that rogue, stubborn ovary is the source of the problem. I think she must be yodeling again. I am wishing her a permanent case of laryngitis.

Oh drat! I am now officially drowsy after eating breakfast. Looks like I will be taking the first nap of the weekend, before heading out with the laundry. Happy Saturday, everybody! Remember who you are, and be careful out there.

Just a quick post

The tub is filling. I woke about an hour and a half before my alarm and have spent much of the morning puttering in the kitchen. Divided up the ground beef I bought a few days ago and made myself a hamburger patty for an appetizer, and a little while ago a bowl of cream of wheat with brown sugar and freshly grated nutmeg. And now I have one slice of the boule which I’ve toasted and am enjoying it with my mug of milk.

Sat with Decorator Dude on the train home last night. We overheard somebody on the cell phone, talking with somebody at home, “No, I had that for lunch today.” Pause. “No, I had that for lunch yesterday.”

And I said to Decorator Dude, “One of the blessings of living alone is that I never have conversations like that.”

His phone rang shortly after that. And he said, “I’ll be home shortly. What would you like for dinner? OK, sounds great, would you mind starting the salad? See you soon.” Sounds like he doesn’t have those conversations, either.

While I was playing with the ground beef this morning, I baked some meatloaf muffins. They are cooling in the fridge. When the girls were little, they loved hamburgers. I have never been able to make them as tasty as Mom did, and I learned something of human psychology while raising the girls. Meatloaf is yucky. Hamburgers are yummy. A batch of meat formed into patties and cooked in a skillet, garners compliments. A batch of meat seasoned more or less identically and formed into a meatloaf, garners complaints.

I will be having a meatloaf muffin, possibly two, with dinner tonight. If they taste half as good as they smell, I will have no complaints.

I forgot which station I rode in from, yesterday, and came all the way in last night, only to remember that my car was back at Richland Hills. Thankfully, the train has a 20-minute layover, so I got right back on and finished turning the heel on the Mean Green Jellybeans. I am not entirely satisfied and will probably frog back and redo it, but first I will cast on the other sock and bring it to the end of the gusset increases.

The second clue came out on the Mystery Sock, and my printer thinks it wants fresh cartridges, so I may have to print this off at the library or have one of the kids do it, because lately my printer doesn’t want to print in grayscale. Oh gee, I guess I am forced [grin] to work on the second green sock today, right?

I’ll close with this link, because it’s always good to be reminded.

“Why is there a horse in your back seat?”

And I replied, because it was in my trunk, and I had forgotten it. I found it when I pulled those three bins out of the trunk in order to get at my spare.

Eventually it will canter into the house.

Yesterday at work was pretty amazing. I entered a lawsuit to help out the data clerk, then printed off vacation letters and mailed them out for one of the secretaries. I am coming up with a system that works for me, to make sure that the right bits get into the right envelopes. After lunch, I transcribed a discovery summary for one of the attorneys; he came by mid-afternoon to see how much was left to do on it, saw that I was nearly done, and said, “Oh. You’re almost done. Very good!” And his assistant told me that she no longer needs to proofread my work. Woohoo!

When I left for the day, I was partway through a lengthy and complicated medical summary for another attorney. I marked my place on the draft in red, bolded type and will pick it back up when I get into the office. This is tape one of two [the second is yet to be dictated], and there is another, smaller, tape for the first attorney which I will transcribe between the two. I was busy all day, and when I went home last night my brain had that pleasant tiredness that comes from mental muscles being stretched.

And today, in between the flurries of transcription, I need to email the office manager my final 2008 PRT with attachments, to show her all the many ways in which I made myself useful during the year, so that I will get a nice raise this spring. I hope to be on fewer committees this year. Only one of them was even remotely effective last year, and I’m sure I’ll/we’ll get dinged on the two that were non-functional.

On a happier note, the second clue for the Sockdown January Mystery Sock will come out sometime today; don’t know if it will happen before I leave for the train station. My own sock is coming along nicely, though I didn’t get much knitting done last night.

I think there will probably be some visiting teaching tonight; I’ve left messages and need to check my voicemail and email to see if the sisters have responded.

Eye Candy and the Odd Metaphor

I was driving north on the Tollway after leaving the office yesterday afternoon, and I thought to myself, “I am almost to the Galleria. There is a Godiva store in the Galleria. And I have a gift card that the kids gave me for Mother’s Day, year before last. I wonder if it’s still any good?”

So I bought two of these [on sale, no less] and had one of them for my lunch. And the other one I saved to photograph this morning.

I picked up my check from the credit union, cashed it, and reset my mind to Heaven Standard Time. I spent the next couple of hours serving in the temple, deposited the cash in my primary account here at home, paid three bills [and still have money leftover], almost did the rest of the laundry but decided that I needed to keep the peaceful timelessness that followed me home from the temple, more than I needed clean socks at that particular moment.

So I drove back to Arlington and picked up Middlest, and we went to Knit Night, where I finally got to meet Francis’s wife! Who was knitting a scarf for her son, out of the most berry-licious yarn, which prompted Middlest to say, “Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s yarn.”

The Sockdown January Mystery Socks were a big hit. Everybody else seemed to like the subtlety of those glass beads as much as I do. And they liked the Mean Green Jellybeans; one of them said she is definitely interested in test-knitting the pattern, and could I please hurry up and finish the sock so she can get her hands on it?

It’s funny; I did very little actual knitting last night, and I had a great evening! Spending time with these ladies is like going to your sock drawer, pulling out a pair of socks in your favorite color(s), and enjoying how well they fit. Warmth, light, color, resilience, hugs, support, inspiration. And just as I can feel the individual stitches on the soles of my handknit socks with my princess-and-the-pea feet, so I can appreciate the differences as well as the similarities among each of us.

I woke up this morning to a happy fireplace. I almost cannot bear to leave this desk and start getting ready for work, but I need to leave in less than half an hour, and I really do like my job. Not to mention that it keeps me in chocolate, and yarn, and books.

So Glad I Rode the Train Yesterday!

This is what accompanied me on the walk to the station last night. Dozens of trees, dripping and spitting on my head.



Pretty, though. I had the sniffles yesterday. I grabbed a spare box of tissues for my desk at work, then left it on the coffee table. So I took the box that was in Lorelai. And I ran through it before noon. Which meant that I had kim-wipes for my poor abused schnozz. I didn’t even bother to put on lipstick yesterday, so I probably looked even worse than I felt.

I think there must have been something in the air, which was washed away by the precipitation. Or possibly just frozen into submission. Because I feel fine this morning; a little tender about the beak, but that will pass.

I am taking the afternoon off to do a few errands and the smallest bit of indulgence shopping for myself. Yay for my Christmas Club account, which had more in it than I remembered. I will pay three small bills, and there will still be a smidgen of fun money. Not sure what I want to do. Maybe a trip to the Shabby Sheep? Or maybe I will stop at La Madeleine for an order of Strawberries Romanoff? It’s nice to have options.

I did a quick load of laundry last night, and I think I will go back and finish it up this afternoon when I’m done with the truly fun stuff. For some reason, it seems easier to do laundry in two batches these days; a load of whites, then fold them and put them away, and all the colored things another time. If I do it all at once it turns into a two-hour ordeal to sort by color and wash and re-sort by drying temperature and dry, and fold, and bring home, and another hour to put everything away.

I finished Clue 1 on the second Sockdown January Mystery Socks and will take them to Knit Night. I am also nearly done with the gusset increases on the Mean Green Jellybeans. I think I will rip back about five rows, because there is a nasty ladder developing along one side of the heel [but not on the other; weird!], and I think I will re-knit on two circs, or possibly go back to DP’s until I finish the increases. I’m glad that I know how to knit socks using three different modes and can switch back and forth, depending upon what part of the sock I’m on.

Gotta run; the tub is full, and I need to take the recycling out to the bins and then to the curb. My hair, which thankfully does not need to be washed this morning, is in serious need of fluffing. When I went to bed last night, my scalp was cold. So I took a page from the 1700’s and put a hat on my head, then the chinstrap for my CPAP, and then the facegear. My feet were warm [I slept with one sock on because I renewed my Rx for the athlete’s foot and treated my foot before I went to bed], my head was warm, and I slept like a baby.

When Brother Right does show up, he had better be a man with a good sense of humor, because I caught a look at myself in the bathroom mirror with my chinstrap on, before I took it off to put on the hat. I looked like Albert Einstein’s baby sister. After the hat went on and the chinstrap went back on and my foot was bundled up, I looked like Ruth Buzzi’s character from Laugh-In masquerading as Darth Vader’s mom for Halloween.

Nice, nice visit with Trainman last night, catching one another up on our respective New Year celebrations. As I suspected, I had way more fun than he did. He was tired and went home and was in bed by 9:00 [middle age, I once read, is when you choose the option that gets you home earlier], while I was still dancing at 11:18. I told him about my adventure with the flat tire. He told me about an inexpensive compressor which he keeps in the trunk of his car for such emergencies. That may well be part of my splurge this afternoon, but there is going to be something impractical and [1950’s style] feminine to the day as well. I won’t go so far as baking and dusting in my pearls, however; I do have standards!

Church was wonderful, as usual; just what I needed. The regular Gospel Doctrine teacher was back from her vacation, rosy-cheeked and rested from skiing and visiting with friends. This year we are studying the Doctrine and Covenants [modern canonized revelations] and church history. She passed around a picture of the Salt Lake Temple and asked us to look at the statue of Moroni which tops one of its six spires [why six, I wonder? twelve is a pretty big number in Christianity, why not 12?]. His feet stand on the capstone.

The Book of Mormon is frequently referred to as the keystone of our religion; the keystone is that wedge-shaped stone at the top of an arch that holds everything together. Remove the keystone, and the structure collapses. A modern prophet has called the Doctrine and Covenants the capstone of our religion; the Book of Mormon will lead you to Christ, and the Doctrine and Covenants will lead you back into the presence of the Father. [And Christ is and always will be the chief cornerstone of our religion. No matter what some traditional Christians have been led to believe.]

See, I was too paying attention in class! Even though I had a sock in my lap that was arguing with me.

In other ward news, our Relief Society president became engaged on New Years Eve. She is a schoolteacher and will be getting married in June and moving to another state. I am so happy for her, and I will miss her. I love working with her in church.

And I learned that the Silver Fox may be even more silver than I thought. We were discussing how a church that began in obscurity in New York in the early 1800’s is now a world-wide church with over 13 million members. In the study guide, it says that there have been six historical periods since its establishment: the New York period, from 1820-1830; the Ohio-Missouri period, from 1831-1838; the Nauvoo period, from 1839-1846 [when Joseph and Hyrum Smith were martyred]; pioneering the West, from 1846-1898; expansion of the Church, from 1899-1950; and the worldwide Church, from 1951-present. We were wondering why 1950 was such a pivotal year, and the Silver Fox raised his hand and said that he was alive in 1950 [that was a given; I figured he is older than I], and...

I might have wandered off, chasing rabbits in my head at that point; I’m guessing that he could be anywhere from 60 to a very lively 70. Oye. Maybe that whole hand-on-the-knee bit a few weeks back was the gesture of a man to someone the age of his children? Does not bear thinking!!! Oye, squared!

Amazing discovery: my ladybug kitchen timer moonwalks when it rings! Now, that might have something to do with the fact that it sits on my mousepad here at the computer, and the table slants slightly to the rear, because of the weight of the monitor and printer.

Postscript from the fireside. Our stake president was supposed to speak to us tonight, but his daughter in another state went into labor three weeks ahead of schedule, and since he is a good dad as well as a good stake president, he stayed there to welcome the new grandson. One of his counselors spoke to us, instead. The one in your ward, Secondborn, President Whozit. Good man, nice relaxed assortment of stories and scriptures, and something meant absolutely for me, though I’m sure he didn’t know that when he walked into the room. I love it when I am in the right place at the right time and prepared to learn and I hear it and I get it.

Something I didn’t get, however, was the memo that not only should I put that amazing assortment of ingredients into the crockpot and put on the lid and set it to LOW, I should also remember to plug in said crockpot. I could have taken a nap. Instead, I kept myself awake at the keyboard all afternoon, setting and re-setting the timer until the allotted 3.5 hours were done. When I went out into the kitchen to take the cake to the potluck, the sides of the crockpot were cold as a bill collector’s heart. The insides weren’t any warmer. This is what I get for daydreaming about guys instead of napping or knitting.

I reached in the fridge and grabbed my precious boule so I would have something to contribute to the potluck, and off I went [remembering to plug in the crockpot and make note of the time]. We had some great soups at the potluck. Brother Abacus was kind enough to bring me a glass of water when he saw that I hadn’t gotten myself one. And later, during dinner, he handed me the perfect straight line.

Somebody mentioned the stake president’s new grandson, and one of the sisters said that she had three sons and three daughters, and now also has five grandsons and five granddaughters. I said that I have five daughters and three granddaughters and when the grandson arrived, we had no idea what to do with him.

Which is when Brother Abacus said, “Be gentle now. We’re fragile. That’s why 93 of us are born for every 100 of you, or is it the other way around?”

To which I responded, “The other way around. More of you are born, because fewer of you make it to maturity.”

Which was not intended as a slam, but the woman sitting across from me got the giggles, and then I started laughing, and all the women at our table roared when he said, “And some of us never get there, right?”

Well, I didn’t say it, now did I?

I also got an explanation for “Crazylegs”; the good brother said it’s an old, old term for people who love to dance. Yes, that would be me.

This is what was waiting for me when I came home last night.



And an hour later, the crockpot cake was finally done.



At great personal sacrifice, I did not eat the whole thing before bedtime.

OK, this is more like it!

I carefully tinked back two and a half rows, putting the 8° beads away as I went, and started over from that point with these plum matte 6° beads, which I bought at The Artful Bead. Because the hole is significantly larger than on the smaller beads, I was able to gear up to a size 10 crochet hook. No more splitting. [No childbirth words.] Just fluid, stress-free knitting progress. Behold the end of Clue 1, sock #1, for the January Sockdown on Ravelry, posed artfully against the bag which TxKnitter gave me for Christmas two years ago. I have transferred sock #1 onto my 000’s and am keeping it in the bag while I work on the second one; as you can see, sock #2 is coming along nicely.



I thought this article was both interesting and comforting. I do a better job of pacing myself than I did five, ten, or fifteen years ago. “No, thank you” falls a little more easily from my lips. But I’m still learning, and [for me, at least] it’s always good to get a gentle reminder.

I had an opportunity to practice last night. Took a bag of books to Half Price Books, and the clerk admired the sock I was knitting and said, “I think I need you to make me some socks.”

“I’d be happy to teach you how to knit.”

Grimace. “That’s OK. I’ll just ask my roommate. She knits all the time.”

“I have five kids and four grandkids. I’m not knitting for you.” With a big smile to take away any sting.

I’m just a girl who *can* say no.

I did quite a bit of uncluttering yesterday. Four empty boxes to take out to the recycling bin. A bag of VHS tapes and a few CD’s to HPB when I drove back to Arlington to see the Nail Dude. Another bag, this time full of books, to the local HPB after dinner and my victory lap with the new beads. I can get rid of the second VHS rack on the door to my studio. I have about half a dozen more CD’s to cull before I can do the same on the closet door in my room. And the closet in the studio is almost to the point where I can take all the bins off the top of my desk in there, or all the boxes on top of the work table, and move them into the closet.

Another benefit of this uncluttering is the cash bonus for selling my stuff. I paid for my manicure, a few items from Town Talk to fill gaps in my food storage and pantry, the new beads, and something else which escapes me at the moment, with no impact on Friday’s paycheck. And I still have enough left to do laundry.

We move to the new schedule at church today. Which means that I need to be there at 9:00. Which gives me about an hour to get ready. Which means I am in trouble...

“Three Rolling Lawsuits Gather -- No Mas”

Another crazy-busy day at work, but one where I felt I had earned my keep. The primary data clerk took a day of vacation. And the two attorneys whose dictation I transcribe, were also out on vacation. So I spent much of the day entering three lawsuits [two of them fairly complicated, involving multiple parties, counterclaims, and/or intervenors], running the conflict checks, and setting up scheduled activities on each suit once the managing attorney’s lieutenant assigned the cases. When the secretary who hands out the incoming suits for entry came toward me late in the afternoon, I flapped my eyebrows at her and grinned and said “No mas!” And was just loopy enough from minutiae overload to think it would make a good title for a blog post.

It was a little weird to work a full day, after all the short days and short weeks I’ve enjoyed recently. I’m glad that I have a weekend in which to reorient myself, so I can hit the floor running on Monday.

It was payday. Paid bills. Came home and nuked some leftovers, then made a quick run to Central Market and came home with fresh fruit, a sliced boule, and one glorious sausage [turkey with cranberries, pistachios, and smoked Gouda] that I will cook up and incorporate into two or more meals. I eat very little meat, preferring to use it as a seasoning rather than a main ingredient. If I like this sausage, I’ll buy more than one next time.

Will do my main shopping at the neighborhood W-M this morning. I’m continuing to rotate my food storage. So much easier to do that, now that I’m the only one at home. If I felt like whining about what’s on my plate, I would have only myself to blame, but I’m learning to season and embellish the basics; I have yet to feel bored or deprived.

Here’s what I accomplished on the Mystery Sock before I could no longer keep my eyes open. Click to embiggen.



This yarn is so much easier to play with than the Alpaca Cloud which is marinating in my stash.
It’s a little splitty but not too bad. However, trying to keep all three or four plies on a size 12 crochet hook and thread them through an 8° bead is crazy-making. I will have to stop in at the bead shop when I’m running errands this morning and pick up a package of 6° beads and see if I like that any better.

I also need to figure out where I put my vial of crochet hooks when I was putting things up last night. I suspect it is tangled in the bedclothes or has rolled under the bed. I was pretty groggy when I turned out the lights. It’s not in the black bag where I keep all the small tools and bits; don’t know if it fell out or didn’t get put back in there in the first place. I remember opening it last night and fishing out one hook and another. Tis a puzzlement...

Meanwhile, the sock is stalled with a round and a half of beads on it, because I am just not in the mood for yarn-wrangling.

Have an appointment with the Nail Dude this afternoon. You don’t want to know how bad my nails look, but at least they are all still attached. No redneck manicures this pay period, and that’s a mercy.

I got a little bored last Sunday after church and decided to hang up a few things. That little blue bear cop is something Middlest gave me. Somebody needs to direct traffic in my kitchen!



I also spent some time daydreaming with the TCU community education catalogue and found several classes I would like to take. Unless I suddenly discover oil or natural gas in my yarn stash, I will have to wait until summer or fall, but I was impressed by the range of classes available, and the affordability. I would particularly like to take their photography classes.

Found the vial of crochet hooks; yes, it was tangled up in the duvet. Time for a victory lap around the kitchen!

Irresolute

She says what I’ve thought for many years; I am just not into New Years’ resolutions. Or some of the traditions I learned about when I moved to Texas thirty years ago. Particularly the one about eating black-eyed peas on New Years Day for good luck. I have eaten bad black-eyed peas and good black-eyed peas, and to my palate there isn’t much difference between them. [I will concede that they sustain life.]

But I was in the mood for some nice beans yesterday. And that means garbanzos or black beans.

I opened and rinsed a can of frijoles negritos, threw in the leftover canned carrots from my dinner on New Years Eve, added a box of the buttery sweet corn soup I like so well, tossed in a bit of minced bottled garlic and some dried onion bits, and decided it was still a thinner soup than I wanted. So I stirred in half a cup of long-grain rice from my pantry that needed using up. Texmati’s subtlety would have been lost in this concoction. Wild rice might have been perfect or a bit too much, but at any rate I was out of that, so oh well.

I almost ruined it, sitting here rhapsodizing about the ingredients before I went back in to stir the pot. But all was not lost, as you can see. Though a quarter-cup of rice or maybe a third of a cup might have been better in terms of consistency. Not a big fan of sopa seca, which this nearly became.



I spent a good part of the afternoon writing out and then graphing my own pattern for Mean Green Jellybeans. Mirrored irregular cables and a bit of lace, all wrapped up tidily in a twelve-row repeat. No pictures yet; you’ll just have to come see them at Knit Night. Plus, I want to get my friends’ opinions as to whether these might be worthy candidates for a PDF and my first foray into design-for-profit.

We may be getting bold in our old age. My dad’s mom used to say to him when he was young, “Be bold, son, be bold. But don’t be stupid.” Ninety years later, it’s still good advice.



Here is some knitting that I *can* show you. Behold January Sockdown’s Mystery Sock. Frugal wench that I am, I will be using the peacock iridescent beads which graced MS3 and the Mrs Beetons I made for Firstborn. And I am using the Berroco Ultra Alpaca Fine that I brought home from the Christmas sock yarn exchange. It has been sitting atop my printer, whining softly for me to come and play; I usually like Berroco yarns and am hoping devoutly that the 30% nylon will not be as crazy-making to my hands on this project as it was in BittyBit’s scarf.

Fourthborn cannot touch wool without breaking out. She is a silk girl, all the way. And when my hands touch most man-made fibers, they start screaming “Unclean! Unclean!” In the skein, this yarn just felt soft and sproingy. So far, which of course is not far at all, I have heard no leprous outcries from my epidermis. Just happy humming. And this is such a pretty color.

I think I will knit these socks from both ends of the ball. When I finish this part, I will slip it onto my 000’s and knit the second sock to this point. The first clue is eight rounds of ribbing, which I did yesterday, and 17 rounds of pattern. Beads notwithstanding, I should easily get that done today. And then tomorrow I can work the second sock. I will just need to put a marker of some sort on the sock which is parked on the smaller needles. [Or I could trot over to Yarns Ewenique tomorrow and acquire a second 00 Addi Lace needle. But that would be logical, and I think I would rather spend that money at Central Market.]

Time to load up my bag and put it by the door. I am hoping that most folks have taken a day off and that traffic will be light. I’m driving in again today and will miss out on two-plus hours of prime knitting time. But I won’t be spending a lot of time at switchboard, so I might be able to finish the Herculean task of sorting the contents of the last of those 44 boxes the records service sent us when we told them we didn’t want to play in their sandbox anymore. When I left on Wednesday, we [the admin team and I] had a little over a dozen boxes left.

Job security. Which pays for knitting needles, field trips to Central Market, and the occasional bushel of sock yarn.

“Crazylegs?”

I seem to have acquired a new nickname. Crazylegs. Addressed to me in the buffet line at the dance last night, by the brother in Secondborn’s ward whom 2BDH thinks should ask me out. But who has not. But I digress.

I had a blast at the dance, East Coast Swing with my favorite dance partner, a couple of slow dances with other friends and acquaintances, mostly just lots of good old-fashioned foot-stompin’ rock and roll. I remained lively until nearly the end, leaving at 11:20 or so rather than midnight. And staying awake until after midnight, once I got home.

Proving that the age of miracles is still with us, I was able to roll out of bed this morning under my own steam. There are a few aches and creaks, but nothing hurts. And the blisters I thought I might be putting on my feet [I dance barefoot] are nowhere in sight this morning. Although I think there might be some brownie crumbs permanently fused to a callus or two.

Happy New Year, everybody! I slept in until after 7:00, have inhaled some breakfast, and am almost ready to take on the day. First item of business?



There are some of you who think my knitting is the equivalent of walking on water. So not true. I make mistakes, just like everyone else who picks up sticks and string. Here, to start off the new year on a proper note of humility, is a spectacular one.

Behold the noble experiment, also known as the Mean Green Jellybean. It does not look half as awful in this picture as it does in real life. Camo upchuck. The visual equivalent of much of Prokofiev’s work. [I love Peter and the Wolf, and the Lieutenant Kije Suite, and *that’s it*. Here is a link to mp3’s of both works. Boris Karloff narrates the first.] These greens are Ugly Stepsisters, each quite civil on her own, but poisonous when you get them together.

I think I will frog back to the end of the toe increases and knit something like unto a plain green sock [albeit a short one; Jitterbug is a lovely but notoriously skimpy yarn at 320 yards, and I have been spoiled by Wollmeise-ish generosity].

I have documented the changes to this project, over on Ravelry, and now I will go back and see what the January Sockdown challenge is. Maybe I can knit two birds with one Magic Loop?

Tomorrow? Look for my thoughts on New Years’ resolutions.