Ahead of the Storm

Middlest and I did not stay long at Knit Night. And neither of us accomplished much in the way of knitting or browsing, though it was lovely to see our friends. About 8:15, if I remember correctly, we were both just suddenly wiped out, so we said our goodbyes, and I took her home. I also wanted to get home before the storm moved through.

The pyrotechnics were breathtaking. Whole sections of the sky lit up with what I think was sheet lightning, and the occasional brilliant bolt arcing up from earth to the heavens. About two miles east of the house, I started getting spatters on the windshield, but when I turned off the freeway for my neighborhood, there was only the occasional splat. I was able to get the recycling and trash bins back in place without having to wring myself out afterward.

I see that our neighbors in Oklahoma were not so lucky: tornadoes between here and Oklahoma City, and eight dead so far. How sad for their families.

I cannot think of a graceful jump from that news to yarn, so I will tell you about my trip to the dentist yesterday. I like the hygienist. [I like everybody in his office.] She is always learning something new to bless the patients. Yesterday she screened me for oral cancer. She also did a brief massage of my neck and jaw [checking, I suppose, for TMJ while she was at it] that felt marvelous; she could have continued that all day. My teeth feel happy and clean.

But.

When I was sitting on the couch yesterday morning, before I had anything to eat or drink, I felt something not-quite-right in the vicinity of my crowns. Not exactly a toothache, and I couldn’t tell if it was something in the gum or in the bone. Just -- something; rather like those whispers of intuition or inspiration you get from time to time, telling you to pay attention. So I told her about it, and when she was checking along the gumline, she found a softer spot, right there between the crowns. And we did an X-ray, and there is the start of a cavity.

So they will be replacing one of my crowns with an all-porcelain crown; they are checking into the cost, to see how much insurance will cover. I told them I couldn’t do anything until I get my bonus in April, and the dentist said it could certainly wait until then. I am hoping not to have to postpone new glasses for another year, and I am hoping not to have to cancel the romp I have budgeted at the Brooks Farm booth at the DFW Fiber Fest in April. But this is something that needs to be taken care of soon, to avoid an abscess or a root canal.

Both of which would seriously interfere with my knitting time and budget.

There’s my segue to a happy topic. I did allow myself one small splurge yesterday with the premium refund. I called the Shabby Sheep on my drive into Dallas, to ask if they carried Kureyon Sock, and they do. She helpfully added that they also carry Silk Garden Sock, and it was a tough decision, folks. But I thought my foray into entrelac ought to be with a yarn that doesn’t grow after washing, and we know how silk is.

If I get both heels turned on the January Mystery Socks by this weekend, and I finish Brother Sushi’s cowl, I will cast on for the February Mystery Socks, or more properly the entrelac option, which is a mystery all on its own. I will wait until then to photograph the yarn. Suffice it to say that it is mostly smoky purples, with lots of grey and the odd jolt of acid green, color S188. [I have to say that what their website shows, is nothing like what my eyes are seeing atop the printer as I type.]

I put exactly one row on the Clapotis en Soie last night. And I hauled out Brother Sushi’s Morningside cowl to show off the yarn, but worked not one stitch. Since I woke an hour and a half ahead of the alarm this morning, I’m going to see how much progress I can make on the heel flap on the second sock before I have to start acting like a responsible grownup and get ready for work.

*Fourth* time’s a charm.

I was beginning to think that the brioche stitch was something that Rorschach knitted up on a sleepless night to torment marginally OCD folks like me. I’ve read more than once that insanity is doing the same thing over and over, and expecting a different outcome. And I was suddenly feeling not the sharpest cheddar on the block...

Brioche stitch: now appearing on your local cowl. Something like unto ribbing with tiny outriggers. Or flying buttresses. I had managed to crank out an inch of it by the time I got home last night, and it is looking quite plausible, and wow! is this yarn ever fantastic. You would never guess that the first half inch or so has been frogged three times.



I was a little tired after dinner; not as tired as after I’d spent Saturday moving furniture and books around, but gently weary. So I rummaged around on NPR [yes, fiscal conservatives can and do listen to NPR] until I found a show featuring the late Blossom Dearie. I’d heard of her, but never listened to her. I rather enjoyed her quirky voice, songs, phrasing. I’m more a fan of blues than jazz, but this was a nice change, and I put 14 rows on one of the heel flaps of the January Mystery Sock. I thought her tribute to John Lennon was charming.

I get to go play at the dentist’s this morning; this is the routine cleaning which was scheduled for that day we had the ice storm. So I am driving in today, which gives me a little more time to knit before I scoot out the door. It’s also trash/recycling day; those bags are waiting just inside the front door. And the check for the refunded term insurance premiums was in the mailbox when I got home last night. My bank is near my dentist’s office. I’ll kill two birds with one stone, keeping enough cash for dinner tonight and parking once I get downtown. The rest of it will cover two bills that would otherwise have come out of my paycheck on Friday, which will make the next couple of weeks just that much easier.

I won’t say that I have entirely squelched the part of me that says “Oh look, I have extra money, let’s go spend it.” But I have taught her some manners. One of the hoped-for blessings in moving to such a tiny home, is coming to pass: before I buy something, I have to know [more or less] where it will go, and what it will replace. It may take me a few days to install it in its new location, but I have to know that it will play nicely with everything else.

I am going to continue to browse that little antiques shop, because I am replacing small MDF bookcases with real furniture which is taller and sturdier. The cheapie bookcases that will survive a trip back to Arlington, will go to Fourthborn and Fiancé if they want them. The one that is tucked under the living room window, will get taken apart and added to my food storage shelving alongside the fridge in the kitchen.

Use it up, wear it out, make it do, do without; rinse and repeat.

I thought I would be cooking all weekend

But instead I spent it puttering and knitting. I have cast on for the Morningside neckwarmer. Twice. Blithely ignoring brooklyntweed’s counsel to swatch first. Because I’ve been knitting for almost 50 years, and swatches are for sissies, right? The size 6 needles which I chose, because I knit so loosely, yielded a circumference more suited to BittyBit’s head size than Brother Sushi’s. So I cast on again, this time with my new KnitPicks Harmony DP’s in size 8.

Something stuck with me during the KnitPicks podcast yesterday, while the Chocolate Pecan Tart that I took to dinner, was baking. I learned the backwards-loop cast-on over twenty years ago, from Saint Elizabeth of the Circs. I somehow missed out on the crucial point that when knitting that first row, you should knit into the back of the stitch, twisting it an extra half-turn, and then the bottom edge will not be so loosey-goosey.

I remembered this advice about 5/8 of the way around the second cast-on.

I will be casting on ~ again ~ on the train this morning. [Hubris: it’s what’s for breakfast.]

When I came home from dinner last night, I was pleasantly weary. And my bed was piled high with all the things I had hauled up from the floor and the chair and on top of various lingering boxes, in order to photograph the new bookcase and the other one. Which meant that I had to have a fold-and-stow-fest before I could go to bed. Rather a pain, but how sweet it was to flip on the light when I woke up this morning and see a boudoir which was somewhat tidier than it has been for the past couple of months. There are still piles, but they are smaller, and I have more or less broken up the rest of the work into manageable portions: ten minutes here, fifteen minutes there.

It rained last night, a quick shower during dinner at my home teachers’ house, and a longer, more audible storm that woke me ahead of my alarm. But I am not dismayed, oh no, because I have my wonderful raincoat, and I will be both dry and chic. And there are pigs in blankets which are nearly ready to take out of the oven, and I was sent home last night with the last few squares of cornbread that my younger home teacher [son of the senior companion] had baked for dinner.

I wonder if Trainman got his living room painted this weekend, as he had planned?

What I’m working toward.

The goal is to be debt-free, originally by this time next year, but realistically sometime after that. I keep reminding myself that direction is more important than speed.

In the meantime, I continue to work on other aspects of chaos in my life. Last weekend it was the area just to the left of my desk, here in the living room. This weekend I am puttering around in my boudoir.

You may remember that after I painted the accent wall in there, it looked like this.



And this.



And then I scooted that dresser over against the west wall and moved the chair, preparatory to painting the other walls. Which hasn’t happened yet. Yesterday I moved the new bookcase out of the living room and put it where the dresser originally stood, then moved one of my skinny bookcases against it. And my sheep collection seems happy to be out of the cardboard box where it has been imprisoned stabled for the past year and a half. Even Dolly the Llama seems disinclined to spit.



I moved the knitting books out of the tower bookcase to the left of my desk and onto the bottom shelf of the new bookcase, convenient for the next time I wake up at 2:00am. My newer knitting magazines are contained in the red file box you see on top of the bookcase.



My vintage issues of Knitters are housed in two orange file boxes of their own, and I will eventually pick up others to hold my beading magazines, cross stitch magazines, back issues of Threads, and pattern leaflets. The file boxes wouldn’t fit inside the bottom shelf of the larger bookcase, so they’re resting here for now.



Five more boxes out to the recycling bin. And I moved the bookcase that had been by the front door, into the space along my bedroom wall that was formerly occupied by the tower bookcase and the short one that I shifted to the north wall. Then I spent about an hour shuffling books from one bookcase to another, and a fresh batch out of their box and onto shelves.

I did some knitting, too. Another 24 rows on the Clapotis en Soie yesterday, and more rows during Sunday School and Relief Society today. I frogged the heel flaps on both January Mystery Socks and got distracted while listening to the KnitPicks podcast and redoing the first one. I may have to frog back a few rows and try again. This is where knitting the Eye of the Partridge heel pattern in something other than a heathered yarn would be nice; I could instantly spot any mistakes. Now I can only try to read the reverse side and see if the floats are lining up properly. These socks are going back into timeout while I wind the yarn and cast on for Brother Sushi’s cowl.

Did you know that if you come back to the computer after a bit of puttering and wiggle your cell phone on the mouse pad, your computer will ignore you? Repeatedly!

I am headed to the home teacher’s house for dinner tonight. Made one of my chocolate pecan tarts to take for dinner. Am thinking seriously about a nap, but I think the lure of cashmere tweed is stronger...

This one’s for Middlest.

Firstborn had the link on her blog recently. [Middlest, honey, I know you don’t like country, but this one says it all.]



I bet it won’t get played at our singles’ dances.

☺

Speaking of which, I stayed home from ours last night. Long, l-o-n-g day at work. First, the receptionist got called to her daughter’s school for an emergency parents’ meeting. Her daughter was not part of the problem, but there definitely was a problem.

Then I made a trip to the Post Office [the 9:00 run for the early mail] and came back empty-handed.

Next, the scanning operator had to take her daughter to the doctor and was gone for the rest of the day. So I spent most of the day either at the front desk or back at the scanner. And our favorite court reporter was in the neighborhood and brought in half a dozen or more deposition transcripts, which also had to be scanned. Once the receptionist got back to the office, she came back and helped me scan, while the data clerk sat up front and fielded phone calls.

It was not a bad day, just a long one. In among the depositions and the file-stamped documents from the courts, I had to scan an assortment of family photos that I keep on my desk. Remember when I did the “day in the life” presentation last year? The managing attorney wanted to use my presentation, and two others, to combine in a PowerPoint document to share with her bosses.

She gave me the most wonderful compliment, when she stopped at my desk at the end of the day. She said, “Don’t ever leave here. You’re too valuable. You can’t go.”

Now, you know and I know that nobody is irreplaceable. We shift; we make accommodations; the work gets done, with or without us. But still, so nice to hear. I reassured her that I had no plans to go anywhere, that my plan was to continue working there until they took me out feet-first.

I was not much of a conversationalist on the ride home last night, just sat there and knitted and smiled. I did pass around the skein of cashmere tweed that came in the 11:00 mail yesterday. And I called Brother Sushi as soon as I sat down in the train car.

Me: “Guess what came in the mail today?”
Brother Sushi: “A million dollars?”
Me: “Better than that.”
Brother Sushi: “Well, if it wasn’t a million dollars, it must have been yarn.”

I told you he’s a smart guy [and he knows me so well]!

I dragged myself off the train last night and sleep-walked to the car and managed to stay awake on the drive home. Then I nuked two small quesadillas and followed that half an hour later with some pigs in blankets, put my dishes in the sink, and was in bed by 8:30 and up again at 2:15.

There may well be a nap sometime today. I feel all-slept-out but not entirely rested. There will definitely be knitting. And I think a lot more cooking. It has been so pleasant, this week, to just reach into the fridge for a portion of leftovers, nuke it, and have a stress-free meal.

The next singles’ conference is going to be in Arlington, in April. The DFW Fiber Fest is the same weekend. I am requesting that Friday off and am planning to go browse the vendors during the day, because that is also the day that my bonus hits my checking account. Brooks Farm is one of the vendors. They are local, and they have great yarns in splendid colors.

Here is a registration form, if you are interested in any of the classes. If you just want to go shopping, there is no charge.

OK, I’ve made the first run-through of my Bloglines, had some breakfast, and now I’m ready to do a little work. Can’t believe I’ve been up for almost two hours already. Later, gators!

“I see you’ve been to the liquor store.”

They say that a picture is worth a thousand words.



Here is my Claudia Silk Lace, all tidy and corralled in its yarn bra. One of my attorneys says that every bottle in the liquor store is shipped in a net like this, which means that I could ask my bibulous friends to save the yarn bras for me, and we would be blessing the landfill, not to mention my pocketbook.

One more thing to like about the Trainman...

As you can see, there has been some progress on the Clapotis en Soie. This is not going to be the knitting equivalent of Speed Dating. This is going to be a leisurely, old-fashioned courtship: lots of time spent sitting on the porch while the neighbors keep an eye on things.

I am thinking [wishing, hoping] that the cashmere tweed yarn will arrive in the mail today. I have been prepared for it since Wednesday morning; the pattern and needles are rattling around in my knitting bag.

Had an immensely productive day at work yesterday. First tape transcribed before I relieved switchboard for her morning break. Second tape mostly transcribed before lunch. I started entering a minor settlement, and the legal secretary brought me a third tape, which was mainly cut-and-paste; I finished it in less than half an hour and got back to work on the minor settlement.

When I got home last night, the jollop in the crockpot was absolutely, positively done. I dished up a bowl of vegetables and portioned the rest of them into three storage containers while the meat cooled. Then I sliced up the meat and divided it four ways and divided the broth likewise. One slice of boule, cut in half and toasted, then very lightly buttered, and that was dinner. I think the next time I cook a pork tenderloin, I will brown it lightly in my cast-iron skillet and toss it into the crockpot from the beginning. The sharp yeastiness of the near beer had been humbled by the time I got home from work. A couple of the carrots had gone from “caramelized” to “nearly scorched” after a night and a day in the crockpot, but on the whole it was a yummy way to end the day.

There is a dance tonight. Not sure at this point if I will go, or if I will just come home and putter and knit.

Time to go look in the fridge and see which of the many choices which are available to me, I want to take for lunch, and which to have for breakfast.

Technical Difficulties

When I got home last night, I couldn’t open an attachment I had sent from work. Frequently I will make notes in Word, either for things to do once I get home, or notes for a future blog post. Last night I kept getting a refreshed, unopened page. This morning I couldn’t get any closer to opening my document, but I did wade through links until I found a form to report the problem.

It had the makings of a brilliant post. If all else fails, I will have to print off that document and drag it home tonight.

In technical difficulties of another sort, the pork roast was nearly a fiasco. I came home and warmed up a wonderful bowl of chicken tortilla soup to fortify myself, and then I got cracking in the kitchen. Sliced up the second half of that large, sweet onion I bought a couple of weeks back for the mac-and-cheese-and-cauliflower casserole. Threw in two individual packages of baby carrots. Cut up a Granny Smith apple. Cut up my last three smallish red potatoes. All of this smothering the pork tenderloin. Baked it at 425°F [218°C] as the packaging required, for half an hour. Ended up with dry-looking veggies and a roast that was still oinking. Put it back in the oven at 350°F [177°C] for another half hour. Oink. I guess that timing is only for roasts that are cooked without accompaniment. So I pulled the roast out of the pan and cut it in half to confirm, No, I’m not eating that. Scooped all the veggies into my standard-sized crockpot and transferred the meat in on top of them, then opened two geriatric cans of O’Doul’s over that, put on the lid, and let it simmer overnight.

Petrified vegetables are not my idea of a real good time. Neither is food poisoning. If I am going to eat pork, I want it well and truly dead.

So I did not get to the meatloaf muffins last night, but I did make a batch of pigs in blankets, and I shredded a lot of old pay stubs while everything cooked. It definitely was not an evening wasted. I just popped the lid off the crockpot, and the contents look much more plausible than they did when I departed the kitchen last night.

I stayed up far too late, reading a good chunk out of my second library book.

I am home again tonight, and I suspect that I will spend most of the evening in the kitchen and possibly finish reading the book. Or I may just sit on the couch while the meatloaf bakes, and work on the January Mystery Socks and listen to another CD of To Kill a Mockingbird. I might even get the bookcase moved into place.

Brother Sushi’s yarn did not arrive yesterday. [Two-day service for $3.49 would have been amazing.] Maybe today.

The receptionist took the day off, so I spent my day at switchboard. I very nearly zeroed out her desk. I stayed busy all day. It was a good day. There are two tapes waiting for me today, and another one in the works; I am ready to let those fingers fly. [The front desk is a nice place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live there.]

I put another six rows on the Clapotis en Soie yesterday; still making increases at the end of every row, and the ball is not appreciably smaller. I need to find the other yarn bra that is this size and weigh it, so I can weigh the ball occasionally and know when I’ve knitted up 20% of it and then start on the straightaway portion and its dropped stitches. This is going to be a seriously long-term project.

Yes, it does say “glutton for punishment” on my forehead. With footnotes that read “meshugeneh” and “oy! with the poodles!” [Gilmore Girls reference].

Eye of the Partridge

I finished the heel flap on the first January Mystery Sock while on the train last night. Or at least I thought I had. I got a little distracted from counting four-row repeats of the Eye of the Partridge pattern, and the light was too poor to accurately count the slipped stitches at the beginning of each row. So I think there might be 36 rows, instead of 32.

I began the heel flap on the second sock and had the same distractability [spell check says that’s not a word?] at Knit Night. Plus, the flap is narrower than I think it should be; I used the number of stitches specified in the pattern, rather than half the stitches on the needle. [I added another eight-stitch motif when casting on for the cuff, to allow for the beading and my cankles.]

I very much like the fabric that Eye of the Partridge produces, particularly in this yarn, which is fine but not skimpy. The pattern would be shown to greater effect in a handpainted yarn, where you would see a tiny checkerboard pattern because of the alternated slip stitches. I am thinking that my next pair of Koigu socks will be cuff-down and have the Eye of the Partridge heel flap, even though I prefer toe-up socks.

I think I will be frogging these heels and starting over. I think the frogging will happen as soon as I log off the computer, while the tub fills. At least the frogging of the first sock; I don’t want to think of the tangle that would result if I frogged both socks and let them bounce around in the knitting bag all day. And I think the re-knitting will happen once I get home, where there will be no Trainman and no Knit Night conversations.

I needed the fellowship last night far more than I needed knitting progress, so I am quite the happy camper. Just not sure what I want to do, knitwise, today. I am tempted to print off the pattern for Brother Sushi’s cashmere cowl and grab my needles, just in case the yarn arrives today and is in a ball and not a hank.

Speaking of cashmere, I wore my purple cashmere Flared Lace Smoke Ring yesterday for maybe the second time. Loved it. Love the yarn, loved making it, love the color. And have decided that I want a pair of purple gloves, probably those cabled ones I saw. At the moment, I can’t remember if I saw them on brooklyntweed’s blog or on Franklin’s. I have very short, very curved little fingers, a legacy from my father and his mother and who knows who before that. It will be lovely to have gloves that do not have half an acre of empty fingertip on each hand.

And I want lots and lots of purple socks. I think I will buy more of the purple tweed that I used for LittleBit’s first socks, and some of the Gloss fingering weight in purple, and some Koigu, and and and...

Not that I’m tired of red. The day that happens is the day they carry me feet-first out of the chapel.

Must run the tub. Now. Or I’ll be driving in to work today. I didn’t set the alarm last night; that’s how tired I was. But I only overslept 13 minutes. Still a little tired, and my left foot is just the tiniest bit swollen.

Tonight I am staying home and cooking; I’m really looking forward to that, as well as the fixing-of-the-heel-flaps. I wonder what amazing adventures will happen between now and then? Can’t wait to find out!

Beneficent Spiral

Clean laundry; mmm, what a sweet, subtle blessing. I did one load last night, between sprints to the store. I stopped at Target on the way home and picked up a pork tenderloin and a few other items. After taking my clean clothing home, I ran to Wal-Mart for things which they carry more cheaply. [I did compare their price on pork tenderloin to Target’s, and they were within pennies of one another.]

When my fridge gets this full, I start getting nervous. There is nothing in here that is past its prime. But it would be very easy to lose track of what I have and to start a ginormous bacteriology experiment.

I brought in the glass shelves to my bookcase, which have been riding around in the back footwell of Lorelai since Friday afternoon. They are now reposing on the living room couch. I am planning another cookfest for tomorrow night, and while the tenderloin is roasting and the meatloaf muffins are baking, I intend to move the bookcase into my room, polish the glass, and just generally make it feel at home. I spent a little time this morning, moving things around in my room, shredding some items and preparing to recycle others.

I also read several chapters in the current library book while watching my clothing somersault in the dryer. No To Kill a Mockingbird last night, and hardly any knitting yesterday, though I did knit enough to require another set of markers on the Clapotis en Soie.

I think it’s neat [pun intended] that one or two small activities or choices can expand into a streak of good stewardship over one’s possessions and one’s time. I saw those two organizational projects weekend before last, and last weekend the inspiration which they planted has blossomed here at the left of my desk.

My kitchen is hugely productive and relatively presentable. My fridge is full of possibilities. My living room is a little crowded right now because of the extra bookcase, but by the end of the week ~ I hope by tomorrow night ~ it will be ready to welcome company once more. With the majority of my dirty laundry out of the bathroom, that room is almost respectable. [I will probably head back to the laundromat on Thursday night and finish the job.]

Moving the tower bookcase out here to the living room, allowed me to recycle one large box and several small stationery boxes. One of these days I will have a scanner and will begin the process of turning paper into images and shredding the originals. My eventual goal is to condense three two-drawer file cabinets into one, or maybe none, one box or drawer at a time. And I can freecycle or use Craig’s list to get the cabinets, and the large marble slab that connects two of them to form a desk, someplace where they will be useful.

Direction is more important than speed. Though if I scoot right now, I can sort through a small stack of paperwork while the tub fills.

Knit Night tonight, huzzah!

David’s back!

Sticks and Strings is back from hiatus. Yesterday morning I curled up on the couch with the January Mystery Socks and worked endless¹ rounds of K3P1 ribbing while listening to his pleasant, soothing voice.

One of the options for Ravelry’s February SKA sock challenge is entrelac. I have gone so far as to download a free pattern that calls for Noro Kureyon sock yarn. No idea if the budget will allow a yarn purchase before the first of March; February seems as if it might be my last month of industrial-strength penny-pinching, with March considerably easier, and my raise and bonus in April. This might be one of those instances, as with Eleanora, where the challenge sock gets done nearly a year after the challenge was issued.

The Clapotis en Soie is shaping up to be a knit-at-home project. It’s a little nerve-wracking to wrangle that silk yarn on Addi Lace needles. [Not as nerve-wracking as dealing with the Alpaca Cloud, but still...]

Which means that I need to come up with another commuter project. The yarn should be here midweek for Brother Sushi’s belated Christmas gift. [I was astounded at the “2-3 business days” notation on my confirmation email. If true, that is some serious customer service!] The January socks are not likely to be done by the end of February; their PITA² factor is pretty high. It’s not the yarn; I love the yarn.

So, do I grab that last skein of Jitterbug in the bilious green and unvent another sock? Do I grab Rosie the Riveter and knit a fresh pair of Monkeys? Do I focus on knitting up ornaments from leftover bits and bobs? Do I curl up with my Barbara Walker stitch dictionaries and design a lace-ish kimono from the last of my Gloss Lace?

In the meantime, let me just say that cream of wheat with real maple syrup [cooking-grade, not that wimpy stuff they sell to tourists] is a lovely way to start the day. And there will be chicken salad sandwiches for lunch this week.

Gentle readers [I do love Miss Manners], I started this post before church yesterday, when my outlook was rosy and my nose was not. About five minutes before the end of sacrament meeting, I started sneezing.³ As I was edging down the hall toward Sunday School, I popped my head into the ward library to tell my friend M that I was going home and would not be attending the potluck and fireside. When I popped out into the hall again, there was a member of the bishopric waiting for me, with a big smile and a request.

Would I be willing to speak in sacrament meeting next Sunday?

Sure. Even though that means sitting in front of the congregation and not-knitting for the duration; I don’t think that the railing which separates the choir seats from the congregation comes up high enough to cover my hands. And I don’t want to be a distraction.

So, the first half of the carcass of the rotisserie chicken became Saturday’s chicken pot pie. When I woke up Sunday morning, I threw the other half into my mini crockpot and drowned it. After taking a long nap, I went out to the kitchen and peeled three small potatoes and put them into my favorite pot, along with a can of Ro-Tel. Then I put my strainer over that pot and drained the contents of the crockpot into it. The strainer and the twice-cooked chicken cooled, suspended over the empty crockpot. The stock, Ro-Tel and tomatoes went onto the stove to simmer awhile.

Tonight I will slice up that avocado, save part of it for salad tomorrow, toss in some tortilla strips, and have a nice bowl of tortilla soup. Last night, after a simple dinner of microwave quesadillas⁴ and a Pink Lady apple, I had half of the butterscotch pudding that I made on Saturday.

The house still smells wonderful.

I had enjoyed a small, open-faced chicken salad sandwich when I first woke up. So I didn’t want more chicken for dinner. I just wanted to have soup on hand for later this week. I had gotten five meals [counting the individually-portioned dinners I took to the elders on Saturday] from this chicken, by Sunday evening. And there are two small containers of cut-up chicken in the freezer and three or four sandwiches’ worth of chicken salad in the fridge. Plus the chicken that was cooling on top of the stove, which rejoined the soup once the potatoes were done.

I listened to the new KnitPicks podcast as a break from To Kill a Mockingbird, and then I dragged my 6’ tall tower bookcase out of my room and put it in the corner by my desk. It now holds most of my knitting books, a basket with stationery and cards, the reference books and paper associated with the computer, and all of my software CDs. My two-hole punch sits on top, alongside a red chicken-wire basket that corrals my vast collection of cellophane tape and packing tape. I’d show you a picture, but the top of my desk is still messy. I think I will be hanging a couple of shelves above the desk, to hold the scanner that I want, and maybe a flat monitor as well, though I might put it where the behemoth now sits.

This is all my follow-through on the inspiration I got from unclutterer.com over the past week or so. I need/want to corral the kluge of cords beneath my desk, but that is a project for another weekend, and another paycheck. Preferably when the weather and my living room floor are somewhat warmer.

The second January sock was ready for its heel flap when I went to bed last night. And I slept like a rock.

Footnotes. [I feel just like Hugh Nibley, only not dead (the children’s father and I used to refer to him as Brother Footnote.)] Woohoo! I figured out how to format a superscript in Word and transfer that formatting over here! I think that calls for a mug of milk and some cinnamon toast.
¹ in this case, about four
² Pain In The Ahem
³ sneezing. An activity which many women can perform in a quiet, ladylike way. When I sneezed during the finals in my mechanical drawing class nearly 40 years ago, most of the guys started so, they broke the leads on their pencils and had to resharpen them. My name may have been taken in vain.
⁴ lay thin slices of cheese on half of a flour tortilla (or two, or three); fold tortilla in half and nuke 20-30 seconds, until cheese is melted but not all over the floor of your microwave.

Sweet

I was thinking about this, a little, after one of the CD’s finished. A friend commented at the service project on Friday, that she had seen “one of [my] sweet daughters” recently. And I was utterly at a loss as to whom she meant. My girls are bright, decent, frequently kind, and often hard-working. But in spite of their innate goodness, I don’t think of them, or myself, as sweet.

Sweet is one of those loaded words for me. I can generally recognize sweetness in other women and a rare handful of men. And I respect it and appreciate it. In others. But I tried to write a poem, ten years ago or so, about that word and how it made my hackles rise if applied to me. And, to a lesser degree, to mine.

The children’s father used to be sweet. And I suppose that today he mostly still is, although Firstborn said that the last time she visited him in the nursing home, he was irate about some bureaucrats somewhere, and cussing up a storm. 1BDH says it’s probably because of the strokes and which parts of the brain were affected.

I also think there was a tremendous anger at the “unfairness” of life that was a subtext of our marriage, which manifested as passive-aggression because he was unwilling to admit that he was angry. [My own unwillingness to admit anger manifested in eight years of cyclical depressions, the trigger being his repeated unemployment. And our children are picking their way through minefields of their parents’ making; some are doing better than others, at least on the surface, but all of them are battle-weary and scarred.]

I think there is a part of me that would like to be sweet. And I do not know that I will ever feel safe enough to do so. I think that I was meant to be sweet, and tender, and generous. Perhaps I need to dig a little deeper, and pray a little harder, to be led to appropriate venues where I can share what I have to give, and not jeopardize my health, my sanity, or my salvation.

I love our hymn that asks, “Have I done any good in the world today?” [Cool. I just discovered that I can transpose the key downward. I used to wish there was a separate hymnal for early morning seminary, or for when church begins at 9:00 because we are sharing the meetinghouse with two other congregations. In the world they say, “Busier than a one-armed paper hanger with the hives”. In the church we say, “Busier than a four-ward chapel,” which may only be a Utah/Arizona/Idaho phenomenon and one I have never personally experienced.]

I love being joyfully involved in helping out. It has staved off many a pity-party.

Speaking of which, I had one that lasted maybe fifteen seconds after reading Firstborn’s comment on yesterday’s post. I don’t think of myself as somebody so decrepit as to require an electric scooter at Costco. I can, after all, dance for hours when it suits me. But that is typically on a wooden gymnasium floor, which has a little give to it. Half an hour on that concrete floor made my feet and legs hurt. Maybe it wouldn’t be exactly awful to try out a scooter next time.

It’s vanity, pure and simple. The pride which the Nephites were always being warned about. I remember how invisible [to men] I became when I was walking with a cane two years ago, while the leg I broke line-dancing, healed. I hadn’t expected to be that invisible for another thirty years at least.

Maybe I could play “chicken” in the aisles with other geezers and geezettes? And it would certainly make the interminable waiting in line, more bearable. I could just sit and knit and smile benignly at the toddlers on wheels.

Maybe I should put that on my list of 57 things to do this year.

In the meantime, here are 50 ways to eat your chicken.

1. Have some chicken pot pie, guys!



2. And a little fajita, Rita.
3. Just pass me a leg, Meg [can’t, that’s in the stew].
4. What about some spaghetti, Freddy?
5. Or a chicken salad sandwich, Mitch?



[I don’t seem to be doing any better numerically than Rhymin’ Simon; I might be a better cook.] This is the butterscotch pudding from February’s Gourmet.



But there is great joy in Mudville. When I turned on my phone to call the elders to ask what time they would like their drive-by fooding, there was a message from Brother Sushi, saying that I had a one hour and fifteen minute window in which to call him back, because he was headed over here to Central Market, and he could very easily stop off at the antique store and pick up my bookcase.

I told him he had better call the antiques guy first, because typically that shop is not open on Saturdays; that’s when he and his brother make their deliveries.

So, I got to see my best buddy, and I have all of my bookcase in the house, if not in its final location, and one of us did some serious damage at Central Market. Wasn’t me, for a change.

He is a dangerous man to shop with; when we went on his first outing to Garden Ridge, I came home with a dozen earthenware soup bowls, a dozen small heart-shaped bowls for desserts or condiments, some Red Hat napkin rings, and a tab of over $125.

I did a lot better yesterday. Just under $25, and I brought home enough strawberries for a batch of orange-strawberry muffins; enough grapes and celery sticks to chop for my chicken salad sandwich(es); two bags of chips that leaped right into my cart when I wasn’t looking [both of them very low sodium and will last me for months]; a fresh boule; a ginormous avocado that I declare is not going to end up all shriveled and moldy like the last one that wandered home with me; a bag of the frozen sweet potato fries I like so much, which haven’t been in stock the last two times that I shopped; 2# of Key limes; a middling-sized bag of french vanilla almond granola; a handful of shallots; and a small bottle of amber agave nectar.

I resisted the temptation to buy a chunk of the Wensleydale cheese with craisins that I love so much. Nor did I get any piedras de chocolat, the chocolate-covered almonds. Nor the focaccia [spell check on Blogger offered me Fibonacci, bless its heart] that Brother Sushi bought, but which was $3.29 for one, and why would I buy one of those when I can get a week to ten days’ worth of boule for $2.29? He made me take a bite when we were out in the truck, just to torment me. When we pulled up in front of the house, I asked sadly, “I suppose I have to hand the rest of this back, right?”

Yeah.

Meanie.



I consoled myself by driving over to the taqueria and getting an aguacate torta for an early dinner. Which I parsed relentlessly, bite after bite: the roll was larger and softer than a bolillo and toasted. Thin layer of refried beans on the bottom half, then shredded lettuce and onion, thin slices of tomato and oodles of avocado chunks. Washed down with a Mexican Coke, which is allegedly made using cane sugar, but the label said “and/or high fructose corn syrup”, and I didn’t much care for it.



Although it was OK if I alternated a swig of Coke with a bite of torta. I poured most of it down the drain. [Trainman would cringe.] I ate half and have saved the other half for lunch tomorrow half an hour later ate the other half.

I tweaked the recipe for the orange-strawberry muffins by substituting raspberry jam for the middles, because I didn’t want to open a second jar of jam. The strawberries were so large that the recipe made more than a dozen. For the orange zest, I used one of my blood oranges when I was feeling a bit hungry earlier in the day; the zest seemed more flavorful than usual, and definitely more colorful. When I baked the last three muffins, I omitted the dab of jam in the middle; I wanted to see how that affected both the flavor and the tendency of the first batch to fall apart when I tried to pop them out of the muffin pans.



Sweet.

A Most Excellent Day

And another one ahead of me. Nails are done, a little shorter than I like, but impeccably shaped and polished, and they will grow out. I had planned on doing the Costco run with Firstborn today, but we met there on her way home from work, instead. I gave her a check for $25.00 and came home with a rotisserie chicken, two pounds of sharp cheddar, six cans of chili [without beans, for those of you outside of Texas], six cans of Ro-Tel Original, and four dozen flour tortillas.

I sliced a serving of chicken breast, cut most of the meat off the bones, and tossed half the carcass into my mini crockpot, to simmer overnight. It might be fun to track how many meals I get from one $4.99 chicken. I am planning on a small pot of chicken soup, some chicken pot pie, a chicken salad sandwich or two, and who knows what else? [I am also craving pork tenderloin; haven’t fixed one in maybe two or three years. Just not a serious carnivore, but every so often I get that urge.]

After I had eaten my dinner, I went shopping for the rest of the ingredients I needed to make another Rocky Road crockpot cake. We are having our monthly singles fireside and break-the-fast tomorrow night, and I am determined to take that cake with me instead of tending an unplugged crockpot for three and a half hours [again].

I also brought home what I need to make the butterscotch pudding on page 4 of the February Gourmet. And more recyclable storage wear to store the portions in.

I was a little disappointed not to find the pint-size bottles of juice that I buy at the deli, at Costco. I wonder if I have to go to Sam’s? And it was not in the budget to buy the large bottles of juice, as I have done in the past. Next time, almost certainly. Along with that 42-pack of the 100-calorie bags of my favorite popcorn.

If I go once a month or so with Firstborn, I can get affordable treats to fill the gaps in my pantry. When I bought popcorn last month, I thought I was getting the small portions, but I got normal-people bags instead. Great to have on hand for when company comes over and the VHS/DVD players are fully connected, if that day ever comes, but too much food for me. Wasting food just makes me shriek. Stale popcorn makes me grumble. But sunshine on my shoulders, makes me happy.



Heard that on the oldies station the other day, and couldn’t resist. Far out!!! I used to love listening to him, but after reading his autobiography it just wasn’t the same. His assertion that it was really his first wife’s fault that he cheated on her, because she stopped going on road trips with him, didn’t set well with me. People cheat for all sorts of reasons; I can’t think of one that isn’t selfish.

What’s on the agenda today, you ask. Not sure. I canceled my 7:30 appointment for maintenance on the car. [Yes, I will reschedule.] I bagged the haircut; not sure if I will do that today, or wait another couple of weeks. I no longer need to go to Costco. BestFriend’s daughter’s graduation celebration is tonight, and I’ve been invited to that. It’s also time for the monthly drive-by fooding of the missionaries, and I am miraculously in the mood to cook.

I am also in the mood to spend, and I have no wish to wreck all my hard work of the past five months, so I may very well hole up at home all weekend, except for feeding the elders and church tomorrow and the potluck tomorrow night.

So I will not be tiptoeing over to the Blue Moon website, nor ordering Franklin’s book online, nor checking out the knitting magazines at the bookstore, nor scooping up deals at the LYS which is closing. After five-plus decades, I’ve learned the difference between buying things I need, and retail therapy.

I may trot over to the scratch-and-dent grocery and see what bargains I find there, with a budget of $10 or $15. But I think most of the weekend is going to be spent in the kitchen, cooking and washing up. With little breaks on the couch, knitting and listening to the audiobooks I checked out from the library last weekend.

I may nip out at lunchtime and pick up an aguacate torta from the taqueria by the laundromat. But this time to see what-all she puts into hers, so I can make them at home.

I spent about five minutes on my morning break yesterday, tinking down those two columns of stitches and manually twisting the ones on the purl rows to match the ones on the knit rows. I am ready to add my next sets of to-be-dropped stitches and will have to figure out how to twist my stitches in the same direction, from the purl side.

All of which ought to keep me productively busy, happily creative, and out of the pool halls.

[I just checked her blog; Alison’s surgery was successful. Bless her hubby for keeping us posted.]

Between getting my nails done and meeting Firstborn, I stopped at the antique store which has my paid-for bookcase to see if maybe we could shoehorn it into the back of Lorelai. We lack about three inches of being able to do so. I called Brother Sushi to see if he had a minute, and I told him that NO was a perfectly good answer, and it turned out to be the best answer. So I brought the glass shelves home with me and will carefully bring them in, sometime today, and put them in a safe place until the rest arrives.

I had forgotten how pretty that bookcase is. And it will get here when it gets here. I am not even the tiniest bit antsy about it; yesterday was just one of those moments when I thought, hey, I’m here, it might work. Probably just as well; I couldn’t have gotten it out of the back seat without help.

And I might have messed up my manicure...

Well, this post is certainly all over the place. Must be time to rustle up some grub.

Happy Friday, Everybody!

Just a quick post before I scoot out the door. I am working half a day today, getting my nails done and my hair cut, and going over to my friend J’s to work on her service project. I have paid all the bills but one, which can be postponed until next payday, and ordered the yarn for Brother Sushi’s [*cough*] Christmas present. That’s OK, though; his present to me came in the mail yesterday: my first issue of Gourmet magazine, and I wish I could stay home all morning and cook!

I met another knitter on the train yesterday. She’s regular Army and has been knitting about a year. Chicks with sticks, grenades optional. Gotta love it!

Finished the first Christmas ornament. No knitting yesterday on the Clapotis; I think I may carefully tink down the columns of twisted stitches ~ at this point there are only two columns like that ~ and twist the stitches on every row with my crochet hook, rather than having them twist every other row. I think the silk yarn requires that.

Alison’s having surgery today; please send up prayers on her behalf.

[I told you this would be a short post!]

Jeannie, revisited ever-so-briefly

I fell in love with Jeannie, in the 2007 issue of Knitty. Tried knitting it with the Berroco Denim Silk which I bought to make the Elann Crop Cardi [and frogged when nearly complete] and which is now my wonderful [Almost] Cozy.

It has been haunting me. Cables. Reversible cables. Dropped stitches. Handpainted yarn. So yesterday I wound up the Claudia laceweight that I bought for my birthday last year and grabbed my trusty size 4’s [3.5mm] and cast on.

Make that: tried to cast on. I had forgotten until I was sitting on the train, needles in hand, that Jeannie requires a provisional cast-on. I managed 137+ backward loops, with markers every ten loops, and gave it up.

When I got home again, I looked up the directions for Clapotis and cast it on, instead.

And there were other adventures. Remember that we were under an ice storm advisory? I called the Weather Line at 5:30 yesterday morning, and they said we were opening at 10:00, but to check back at 8:30 before getting on the road. I went out to Lorelai at 8:00 to scrape windows and was still scraping 20 minutes later, when the 8:19 would have been pulling out. So I drove to the T&P station [more about which, in a minute] and parked under the freeway and called again. We were not opening until 11:00, which meant that the next train would get me into BigD at 10:30, and the bus or my own two feet would have me at my desk on time, rather than half an hour late. Sweet!

When I walked out to the car yesterday morning, it looked like somebody had emptied a beanbag chair all over my lawn. The steps were glazed-over; I made it down to the sidewalk all in one piece. Lorelai's doors were almost frozen shut, so that was my first bit of aerobic activity. And then there were the upper-body exercises, where my arms went up and down, the girls went side to side, and the tush danced counterpoint; I may have invented the Ice Storm Mambo!

The street looked like a Martha Stewart wedding cake, the kind with fondant icing. Montgomery was a sheet of white all the way to the freeway; the overpass crossing I-30 was just what I expected, and the ramp of the service road was like a curly-slide at a park. Fort Worth, at least at 8:30 on an icy Wednesday morning, was populated by people who knew how to drive on ice, were keeping it between 15 and 20 mph, and were staying well back from one another.

I had no problems getting where I needed to be; it just took twice as long as usual. And then, since so many people were staying home, I parked in the shelter of the freeway overhead [though it still makes me a little nervous, but I figured the pigeons that would ordinarily festoon my car, had better things to do that day, and the likelihood of the freeway falling down on my car was less than usual because it was frozen into place; yeah, I am just a wee bit claustrophobic, but I cope, weirdly].

I ended up on one of the trains that only runs half the route, to Centrepoint/DFW Airport, and changed trains there for BigD. Nice, easy trip, except for the part about exiting the train, walking across twenty feet of icy sidewalk, and climbing up too-shallow, too-steep steps to the old Silver Bullet and its bench seats.

While waiting for the first train to depart, I had discovered that Jeannie was still not to be, not with this yarn, not without a provisional cast-on. And I had left the Mystery Socks on the couch at home. But thankfully, I had grabbed some bits and bobs from other projects, to get a start on ornaments for this year, and I had my box of miscellaneous DP’s, so I worked on one miniature sweater on the ride in, and another on the ride home. Good times.

When I got to work at 11:00, I learned that the receptionist had not waited for the second announcement at 8:30, so she and one of the attorneys arrived at 10:00. She got to go home at 4:00, and I took care of switchboard until we closed at 5:00. But before that, she and I were the only admins besides the office manager, who arrived maybe five minutes after I did. We had three legal secretaries, then four, then five, and no paralegals. We had maybe five or six attorneys coming and going throughout the day. Thankfully, one of the legal secretaries who showed up, is the one I back up with my word processing, so she handled that task for the day, and I scanned the mail, which was blessedy lighter than usual.

Lunch and breaks were improvised around the workflow. I think I took my lunch around 2:15; I was maybe the last customer in the deli downstairs, and I got one of her fantastic chicken salad sandwiches.

Trainman was pleasantly surprised to see me, and we had another great visit. He introduced me to a woman who rides our train, and the three of us chatted about this and that. When we pulled into the station, I wished him goodnight and safe travel and a good weekend with his son. I walked to one end of the traincar; he walked to the other. He called back to say he would meet me outside and go down to the parking lot with me. Good thing, too; there was a weird, scary-looking guy who stepped off the elevator so we could get on. I felt just that bit safer with the Trainman standing at my side.

Once outside, we walked up the stairs to the parking lot. He was parked on the first row. I was a little farther back. I saw him get into his car, and I started looking around for mine. It wasn’t where I remembered it, so I was wandering about a bit. Then I noticed that he hadn’t taken off, and was rounding a turn to catch up with me.

I have had the sense before, that he waits until I get in my car before he takes off. Last night I hopped in his car, and we drove around a bit until we found Lorelai. He waited until I was in, buckled, and with my backing lights on before he waved again and headed out. And he stayed in front of me until I signaled for my exit.

It is things like this, that remind me what good care my Father takes of me.

I came home, reheated the leftover pizza from Tuesday night, and knitted while listening to another instalment of To Kill a Mockingbird. I didn’t turn on my cell phone, once. I need to, to see when the office is opening today, and then I need to bundle up and go out to the car much earlier than I did yesterday morning, in case the windows need scraping again.

I have worn handknitted socks every day of the week, so far. I have very, very happy feet.

But I want to do my *taxes*!

My W-2 came in the mail on Monday, possibly the earliest that it has ever arrived. And neither bank has a TurboTax link up on its website yet. [Correction: SFBank does, but you have to have an actual account with them, and I closed mine when I shut down my MK business. Last year I was able to link to TurboTax because I have multiple lines of insurance; looks like that dog won’t hunt for tax year 2008. So I sent an email to my primary bank and will hear from them in the next day or so. You don’t ask, you don’t get.] I am not expecting a refund, not with the change in status from head of household to single, but I’d like to get my return done early so I know how bad it’s going to be, and budget for it.

In other financial news, I had the performance part of my PRT on Monday. I got a better rating than I expected, considering that I was volunteered for a number of committees that couldn’t or wouldn’t commit. And I know the approximate percentage by which my base salary is likely to increase: a smaller percentage than last year, but applied to a larger base salary, so still quite acceptable in my book; far better than a punch in the nose!

Especially since there are law firms in town where the staff has been told not to expect any raises this year. And I still have a job, and I like my job.

We will get the numbers for raises and bonuses in four to six weeks, after everybody’s PRT scores are fed into the computer at corporate and it spits out yet another report. And then I get to figure out how to divide the increase among a cost-of-living adjustment to my budget, my emergency fund, my 401K 101K, and debt reduction.

We are in the middle of an ice storm. When I got to the car last night, there was what looked like a quarter-inch of ice on it. I started scraping away with my dull plastic scraper that I bought a few years back. In a couple of minutes, a kind gentleman approached and asked if I would like a little help. He had a metal scraper, and we soon had Lorelai ready to roll. I called Middlest and told her I was heading straight for home. No Knit Night for us.

Note to self: add new scraper to shopping list for Friday.

I was supposed to have a dental checkup this morning at 8:00. They called me at work yesterday to provisionally confirm; she said she was taking our numbers home and might be calling to cancel. Which she did, about two minutes after I had settled in on the couch with my knitting and the second CD of To Kill a Mockingbird.

I just called the weather line for work; we are not opening until 10:00. Which means that I need to leap over to the website for the TRE and see when my train will run. It also means that I will have lots of happy knitting time this morning while listening to at least one CD of To Kill a Mockingbird, and will get to ride home on the TRE tonight and surprise Trainman. I told him I would probably be driving in today, because of my appointment and the commuting fiasco after my last one. And that I will definitely be driving in on Friday, because I have half a day of comp time.

Says he, “So I won’t see you until next week.”

To which I reply, “It’s good for you to miss me. Builds character.” And we both laughed.

He had a great time visiting his sister last weekend. [And no dinner with the leggy blonde. I did not turn cartwheels over that. I am much too ladylike. (Plus, I can’t turn cartwheels.)] We have fixed an evening for our field trip with DecoratorDude: three weeks from tonight.

There has been actual knitting progress. Red Fetching is done and tossed into a drawer. I put another inch or so of K3P1 ribbing on the cuff of one sock. Not feeling the love. Love the yarn, love the beads, thinking seriously about frogging back to the end of the beading and inserting more beads down the ribbing, if only to justify that second trip to the bead shop a few weeks ago.

Also racking my brain for what project to start next. Am toying with the idea of knitting a full Clapotis from the skein of silk laceweight I bought myself for my birthday last year. I already know that the pattern works well with handpainted yarn. And I know that if I go with a 20% for the increase portion, 60% for the straightaway, 20% for the decrease portion formula, I will be able to use up every scrap of yarn productively. [Thank you, Jeri, for doing the math for us. Would link to her blog, but she hasn’t updated it recently.] Not sure if it would work out to be a stole or a wide scarf like the one I have, but whatever it was, would be gorgeous.

Have a good day, everybody, and try to stay warm. Unless you are Ruth, in which case try to stay cool.

Alison hits one out of the ballpark!

I want to share with you my friend Alison’s post from Sunday afternoon. It fits in so nicely with the lesson I taught in Relief Society on Sunday, which is based on one talk from last October’s General Conference and two from September’s annual Relief Society broadcast: one by the prophet, President Thomas S. Monson, one by his counselor, President Dieter F. Uchtdorf, and one by Sister Barbara Thompson of the Relief Society General Board. The theme which our stake presidency chose for January was “Joy in These Days”.

Alison has family in my ward. It was comforting to speak with them between meetings on Sunday, to get the family’s perspective on her health, as well as what I read on her blog, and to know that we are uniting our faith and our prayers on her behalf. It is also comforting to read the loving, faithful comments on her blog.

Remember that story in the New Testament about the man who sat patiently by the pool, because once a year an angel came and stirred up the waters, and the first person into that pool was healed? He had been unable to make it into the pool, because he had no servant to assist him. But the Master and Servant of us all, saw him and healed him.

I had a little vision or impression of all these individual prayers that are being lifted up on Alison’s behalf, little eddies of righteousness and selflessness in the general murk which afflicts mortality. People of all faiths and beliefs are praying for her, momentarily setting aside their own pressing needs to stir up the powers of Heaven on her behalf. Her illness is not a good thing; it is an exquisitely painful reminder that we are all wonderfully and sometimes fearfully made, and wonderfully connected. Alison is important. So is the housekeeper at her hospital. So are you. So am I.

When we love one another, and we serve one another, even by something as seemingly inconsequential as saying thank you for a clean floor, we build the Kingdom in preparation for the King. We lessen the power of the Destroyer in our own hearts, in our families, in our communities. Peace on earth is not going to be superimposed from without, though we should certainly work as well as pray for peace. It is going to be established in our individual hearts, by the grace of Heaven, by loving service to one another, and by seeking to comprehend the motivation that underlies the all-too-fallible execution of the actions we observe.

As we pray in faith for others, and as we serve them to the best of our ability, we cannot help but purify our thoughts, our words, our deeds, and our motives.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled whimsy. My friend Lauren sent me this. A few years ago, Brother Karitas and I went to a similar exhibit ~ or would that be exhibition? ~ here in Fort Worth. My two favorites from this one would be “Thelma and Louise” [although I loathe one word in the title], and the political one, which expresses how I felt during the last campaign. Gird yourselves! [Which has to be my favorite line from The Devil Wears Prada.]

I came home last night and turned up the setting on my gas fireplace. We are under an ice storm advisory until noon tomorrow, and I didn’t want my pipes to freeze, or the water in the reservoir of my C-PAP, either. I am hoping that turning the gas up from 1 to 2 does not double my bill. But stoic as I am, I was getting a little tired of being a Momsicle. I am sure my Scots ancestors have officially disowned me now.

However, I am loving the fact that it is cold enough, and my feet seem to be well enough, that I can take my precious handknit socks out of the drawer and put them on my feet. Eleanora went to church with me on Sunday. Anastasia trotted along to work yesterday. Today Swan Song [my Wollmeise socks] will go swan-diving with me. Or possibly just ice-fishing.

When I woke up this morning, the chill was definitely off my bedroom and the kitchen. And the living room was stuffy. So I have turned back the dial to approximately 1.5 and will see how that goes. I suspect that at 3, I could grow orchids if I provided enough moisture for them, and at 5 [where the dial maxes out] I would have to change my name to S’more.

I sat on the couch last night and listened to Sissy Spacek read To Kill a Mockingbird while I finished the first Fetching and nearly finished its mate. I wish there were time to listen to another CD before I have to get ready for work. [I wonder how bad the roads are? It’s 34°F out there, as we speak. And I have to drag the recycling out to the curb. It was raining last night, and it took me an hour and a half to drive home because of the wrecks (others’, not mine), and my teeth were floating. So the last thing on my mind was social responsibility.] I can’t call the weather line at work for another ten minutes or so, to see if we will be opening late.

I am not driving in again today. I am not. Which means that I had better get a move on.

Is it just me?

Or is the idea of a gun show that opens on Singles Awareness Day as absurd and ironic to you as it is to me? [Promise her anything, but give her a .357 Magnum?] Almost as good as the e-card I once sent to a friend, claiming that Cupid had flown into a bug zapper.

[Which would explain my love life, or lack thereof.]

In other news, I have been having adventures. On Saturday, after I picked up two novels and two audiobooks at the library, I decided to locate the next restaurant that I want to try. I had printed off the directions on Google [and left them at home, on the printer]. I knew I had to navigate the Weatherford Traffic Circle [which is not in Weatherford, any more than the Bluebonnet Traffic Circle is in Bluebonnet, if there is a Bluebonnet; but I digress] and go out Highway 377 until I got to Highway 1187. So I took the first exit for 1187 and drove and drove and drove until I found myself in Aledo.

Aledo is one of those places where people with lots of new money are building McMansions whose sole purpose seems to declare, “I could afford to buy a million dollars’ worth of bricks, and then I had my three year old design our house.” I have seen [and built] Lego houses that were more attractive.

I turned Lorelai around and drove the other way on that section of 1187 until I got back to 377, then turned right and drove a few blocks and turned left on eastbound 1187. And there it was!

Cafe 1187 is in a yellow house that I thought I remembered Trainman describing as “little”. He used to live in a cottage here in The Heights. So either I misunderstood him [not out of the realm of possibility], or he has forgotten what “little” means and now lives in one of those horrible McMansions himself. I will ask clarifying questions, next time I see him, and get back to you.

B*i*g house. Not as big as Southfork, perhaps, and certainly more modest than the monstrosities a few miles away on the other side of the highway, but way bigger than either of the places in which he and I have dined together.

I was hoping to go there for lunch next Saturday with BestFriend, but that day is getting all clabbered up with other commitments, which is why we had planned to have her come visit after church yesterday. When I do get there, I’ll give y’all a review.

A book recommendation, from the book group column at Meridian. The Fiction Class, by Susan Breen; it’s one of the books that I got at the library. I loved how, early in the story, the protagonist comments that she has been engaged, twice, to men who looked like Atticus Finch but had more kinship with Boo Radley. Why, you ask? On the back of my couch is the audiobook of To Kill a Mockingbird, which also followed me home from the library. And there is a writing exercise at the end of one of the chapters near the end of the book, where we are told that there is a man sitting in a tree, and what he is wearing, and are invited to explain how it happened. I hooted in a most unladylike manner. I may have to write that one out, myself. And there is a genteel but lively May-December romance, something with which I have more than passing familiarity.

Speaking of romance, I want to see the new Dustin Hoffman movie. I adore Emma Thompson, and I usually enjoy him. [Tootsie is one of my all-time favorites.]

In yet-more-news-of-the-weird, I got an alleged match on the Churchboy Dating Service with one of the four guys I asked out back in 2000; this would be the one who makes sure there is an entire gymnasium between us if we happen to show up at the same activity. And the day before that, I was matched with one of the other guys who turned me down, who has become [and remained] a friend.

After church yesterday, I pulled out my camera so I could take the picture that opens this post; I was driving home at my usual sedate pace when I noticed an unusual emblem on the back of a minivan. It consisted of a heart superimposed over a triangle. Something like agape colliding with a Star of David in a New Age feel-good frenzy. I followed the van over hill and down dale for several miles, until I could pull alongside and make the “roll down your window” sign.

I asked her what it stood for. [Gladney Adoption. I tried to find it on their website and came up empty.] Now if I could only figure out what that weird symbol is on the back of some pickup trucks; it looks like a cross between a Keith Haring figure and the Green Man, or maybe a moose. And then I could stuff Pandora back into her room with the box, and shut the door, and get on with my knitting.

No Wooz is Good Wooz

@ Tan, who asked how I got the comp time, and if it was for staying awake in the meeting without my knitting [because I got in trouble with the office manager a few months ago, for knitting in a meeting]. No, I wasn’t in Friday’s meeting; I was out on the front lines at switchboard, telling people who called for attorneys [who were in trial or at client meetings or depositions or mediations], that the secretaries and paralegals were in a staff meeting, and yes, I knew the meeting had been going on since 9:45 and they still weren’t out. That meeting.

I got half a day of comp time because I got the second-highest number of “Good for You”s last year. Among the support staff, if somebody helps you accomplish something, you send them a thank-you email with a copy to the office manager. The person who gets the greatest number of them during the year, is awarded a full day of comp time when we have our first staff meeting in the new year.

When she gave me my certificate on Friday, the office manager said that my friend led the pack by only a few emails, and that it didn’t seem fair that I should not get a reward as well. [One of many reasons why I like my office manager, even if she doesn’t understand that knitting in meetings is not a sign of disrespect, and keeps me awake.] All those invoices that I paid for my legal-secretary friends last year, are what got me my “Good for You”s. That, and other odd bits of service that I was able to do at switchboard, before I moved back into a cubicle.

I typed about 60 drafts last week, for two legal secretaries serving four attorneys. And Friday afternoon I got a frantic email from another legal secretary, asking if I could pay her invoices this coming week. [She writes “Good for You”s that sound like Academy Award acceptance speeches. I don’t recognize the person she is describing when she thanks the office manager on my behalf, but it’s always fun to read them.]

@Kristen, who commented on how much I get done each day before she has eaten her breakfast. My creativity is what keeps me sane. Literally. Twenty years ago, when we were waiting for the children’s father to begin chiropractic school, and more specifically for the student loan money to arrive, we lived for two weeks on two large boxes of powdered milk [reconstituted, of course] and 56 loaves of bread [14 of those four-conjoined-loaves packages from Sack N Save]. I told the kids not to kill each other, and I warped my loom and focused on making beauty. Creativity and my somewhat skewed sense of humor have gotten me through other experiences that were soul-shattering, faith-numbing, and testimony-depleting.

And when I am creating, I am more apt to notice the Creator’s beauty which surrounds me, and to be grateful for my blessings and willing to serve others.

I am also a little hyper, in mind if not in body; my body is a little slower to learn things, but once they are learned, they stay learned. Creating things helps me to remain in the moment, to not postpone joy for some mythical future day when everything in my life will be just-so. Not to mention that it effectively burns off energies that could easily get me in trouble if not diverted into chastely productive channels.

I have the same hungers and longings as every other healthy human adult. You see all these projects flying off my needles; I see a boudoir which is a sanctuary, and a home and heart which are peaceful. My girls are well aware of my imperfections and weaknesses, but I think it is safe to declare that we are all thankful I do not have a revolving door on my bedroom.

So, do not envy me because of the socks and scarves and shawls that are filling up my drawers, or the stash-busting that continues in spite of the generosity of my friends. Hug your spouse or your sweetheart, and be thankful that you have one. And if you don’t feel like hugging your spouse or your sweetheart, may I suggest that you see if there is something you can do that will change your attitude, or your circumstances, whichever is appropriate. The gifts which Heaven has given me, which I recognize in all their abundance and variety, are given to me in compensation for the gifts which I yet lack, but will one day enjoy.

[Don’t cry for me, Argentina. Just hand me the stitch marker which sailed over your head a minute ago when I was cabling without a cable needle, and love the one you’re with...]

I got to spend some time with Middlest yesterday. She was more than a little under the weather, to the point that she brought a doubled plastic bag with her in the car, just in case. As she began to feel better, she remarked that the nausea had passed, but she still felt woozy. At which point I told her she had just given me the title of this morning’s post.

Feeling a little woozy myself, but not from illness. I just finished printing off my notes and multiple strips of quotations for the RS lesson I will be teaching in four hours. I read each address that is the basis for the lesson, at least once, and last night I made an outline of which quotations I wanted to use. This morning I excerpted them from the PDF’s of the talks and formatted them for printing. The subject which our stake president has chosen for us? Joy in these days.

I know a little bit about that, and I cannot wait to share with my friends and to hear their own experiences.

All Kinds of Good News

I cast on Fetching yesterday morning. The first mitt on the way into work, and the second one on the way home, so that I would make sure to keep them perfectly mirrored. Last time I whipped these up, I was off by one round and had to buy another ball to finish the project. This way I can tweak as I go. I needed some instant gratification that would neither end up on my hips, nor land me in the bishop’s office for a chat. I had forgotten how much fun they are to knit, and how quick.

I am continuing to add to my list of little piddly things that really ought to get done today, in addition to fun things like spending time with Middlest and maybe some of the other girls.

I have bragged before about my wonderful insurance agent. It’s time for more bragging. I noticed last payday that they were still taking out the premium for the term insurance policy that I thought I had canceled after LittleBit graduated high school and we separated households. So on Thursday I sent him a quick email, asking for his help.

It was a glitch on the company’s end, not his office’s. He sent me a form yesterday, which I signed and faxed back to him, and now the company has a second notification to cancel the policy, effective last June, and to refund the premiums I have paid since then. I have no idea how long it will take them to regurgitate my money, but it’s handled.

It is such a pleasure to deal with a man who takes his fiduciary responsibilities seriously. He is honest, competent, and diligent; I couldn’t be happier, and if you are local and need the name of someone who will sell you exactly the coverage that you need and nothing superfluous, email me and I’ll give you his contact information.

This is the first time that I have used the cabling-without-a-cable-needle technique on Fetching, and it’s definitely faster and easier. Though I find that the left-leaning cables are just a smidgen easier for me than the right-leaning ones. I listened to this week’s new KnitPicks podcast while finishing the wrist cables on the second mitt.

My friend Alison is having a particularly bad episode of Crohn’s and is in the hospital. [In the small-world department, I go to church with her sister-in-law, who used to be in Secondborn’s ward.] Alison’s hubby is keeping us updated. Go send her some love!

Well, I’ve been up for about an hour, and my stomach is yodeling that it wants me to refuel. I made pigs in blankets yesterday, but I think I am more in the mood for some cream of wheat. The office manager bought breakfast tacos to the staff meeting yesterday morning. I handled switchboard for the duration, but I grabbed a taco before the meeting started. And another one when it ended. And ate the last two for lunch. Small ones, all of them, but nonetheless I am not in the mood for eggs today, or maybe all weekend. And maybe not until next Wednesday.

I was awarded a half day of comp time during the meeting yesterday, which I will use next Monday afternoon to attend my friend J’s service project, without having to tap into my PT. Woohoo!

See, I told you. Lots of good news today.

Mean Green Jellybeans are Done!

I bound one off using a size 2 [2.75mm] needle, but it was not quite stretchy enough. So I bound off the other sock using the sewn cast-off and liked it much better, then unpicked the bind-off on the first sock and finished it the second way. Finito!

Two long, skinny, very stretchy socks, much in need of a soaking and a good blocking. And it occurred to me yesterday that the pattern would work very well as wrist warmers, so once this pattern is proofed and perfected, I will want to work out that variation. As my visiting teacher said last night, these are too pretty to be hidden away in shoes. [And I didn’t even pay her to say it.]

Can you see why I like her so much? We had the best visit last night. We usually bypass the formal message, because my VT companion and I teach it to the sisters we visit. Instead, we sit and talk about life, about our blessings and challenges. Thankfully, regardless of recent upsurges in drama within the tribe, my life is generally peaceful and crisis-free. I plan to savor that for however long it lasts!

She likes to come to my house, because it is quiet and peaceful. [I like to spend time at home for the very same reason.] Middlest made a similar comment when she spent the night at Christmas. After umpteen years of raising kids, I still love spending time with each of them, and with my grandkids.

And I love coming home to my nearly-silent house. The quiet tick of the ceiling fan here in the living room. The soft hum of the CPU on my computer. An occasional random flush from the bathroom. Beams creaking overhead, up in the attic. The whoosh of the wind in the trees outside my bedroom window. Train horns a mile or so south of me, and the cars clanking around in the train yard in the middle of the night. The occasional sound of children in the neighborhood. This is pretty much a middle-aged neighborhood. The little girls across the street are well-mannered and cheerful.

I do appreciate well-mannered and cheerful, I do!

I am back at work on the January Mystery Socks. I like the fabric that 3x1 ribbing produces on the non-beaded portion of the cuff. I think it will be just about perfect for my ankles. And I think that with this yarn, it will be much too airy on 00’s on the sole of the socks. So I think I will work both socks to the heel flap and then work that and the soles on 000’s and the insteps on 00’s. I did that with those turquoise socks a few months ago and really liked the outcome. I will get to learn the Eye of the Partridge pattern on the heel flap for these socks, but other than that I foresee no surprises or challenges, and I am starting to feel the teensiest bit bored with the project, although I still love the yarn as it passes through my hands.

I spent a few minutes on Ravelry this morning, perusing my queue for the next pair of socks to cast on. Maybe instead, I will whip up Fetching in my red Cashmerino Aran.

@ my Knit Night sisters: I will endeavor to have the pattern ready for you to proof, next Tuesday night. I’m looking forward to seeing this sock in other colorways and yarns.

Good News, Bad News

Good News:
The receptionist was back at work yesterday, after her day off on Tuesday. I got to spend most of the day at my own desk, where I transcribed three discovery summaries and entered 2.5 minor settlements into the system.

Good News:
Middlest called me right before I left the office, saying that her interview went well. She starts the new job on Monday.

Good News:
LittleBit called me at work and was happy for me that I now have my own extension, just like all the other grownups.

Bad News:
She had a piece of mail for me from the City of Arlington. I had allegedly been caught by one of their red-light cameras. [No, that doesn’t mean that I have changed my name to Aldonza.] She was also a little gloat-y that I had been caught doing something bad.

I was astounded, and a little bummed, for the rest of the work day; I really do drive like a grandmother. One of my attorneys told me that frequently those cameras photograph people who are making a legal right turn on red after a full stop.

Good News:
LittleBit was willing to drive over last night and bring me the ticket. She also asked me to make bread cheese pudding and said she would bring the new boyfriend. [I have not been allowed, for several years, to refer to them as the BoyDuJour. So I won’t.]

Bad News:
I really wasn’t in the mood to cook, and I had to buy the right kind of cheese.

Good News:
I had enough gas in the tank to get from the train station to the gas station [yay! for prayers] and then to the grocery store on the way home. I also had enough heels in the freezer to fill the pan, so I didn’t have to sacrifice any of the boule that is in the fridge.

Good News:
Dinner was ready less than five minutes after they walked in the door.

Good News:
Her new boyfriend seems nice. He has the same given name as one of my grandfathers, so I might be able to remember it. He is also a foodie, and he cooks.

Bad News:
We had so much fun visiting that we forgot to have LittleBit finish connecting my DVD and VHS players to the TV.

Good News:
Guess that means they will have to come back soon for another visit!

Bad News:
She wanted me to open the envelope before we ate, I guess for further gloating opportunities. I should have. It wasn’t my car; it was hers, on which I have signed over the title, but which she has not troubled to put in her own name.

Good News:
There is a form which I can download and get notarized, explaining all this to the lovely folks at the APD, and giving them her mailing address so she can deal with it.

Good News:
I am nearly done with the ribbing on both Mean Green Jellybeans.

And my visiting teacher is coming over tonight.