Knitting 40 shades of green

What Not To Do: the note series, part 3

What Not to Do:  A look at Dating in your 30's and Beyond*

• Should you find yourself with notes on your merits, or your foibles, or why she shouldn't break up with you, wait to dispose of these notes until after you leave her house.  Little pieces of paper floating in the toilet after you have asked to visit the bathroom are a dead give away.

The  break-up had already come and gone (three days in a row, apparently I was doing something wrong and it wouldn't take), and he wanted to come over and explain himself.  He had seen a priest and come to some self realizations and needed to let me know that he wasn't as crazy as I thought he was.  There were extenuating circumstances.  He wanted to be understood.  I thought this was a fair enough request and so gave him a chance to speak his piece.  Upon leaving he asked to use the restroom...

TSA socks

These socks that you first met when I flew back from the UK got a little more plane time on the trip to Milwaukee for Irish Fest.  Here they were at DCA in the Samuel Adams bar enjoying a cherry wheat.  The flight took me through the toe and I was able to kitchner it as soon as I got home (as I forgot my darning needle).

• Pattern:  Based on "Basic Sock Pattern in 8 sizes" (2002)
  
• Yarn:  Trekking XXL, color 331
• Needles:  Random wooden needles (4) size 1 (2.25 mm)
• Started:  July 21, 2009
  
• Finished: August 17, 2009
• Notes: Cast on 72 stitches on three needles (used wood so they wouldn’t be confiscated at security). Knit 10 rows of ribbing and then kint until they were the length of a dollar (6 inches) before starting the heel flap. The first sock was finished on July 28.

*should you see yourself in any of the stories and you aren't the one who told me the story, JUST STOP DOING WHATEVER IT IS.

The best birthdays of all are those that haven't arrived yet.

    I have always had a strange relationship with birthdays. I have lots of birthday memories and while I remember them as great days to look forward to and one of my favorite days of the year "like Christmas but it is all about you", I also remember a good amount of tears.  I don't remember what I wore to school on my birthday in elementary school, but by high school I had taken to dressing up special on my birthday.  More often then not it was a black dress though since there was always something a little morose about the day.  I feel like birthdays are such an emotionally charged day and I am always just seconds away from tears some of them happy and some sad.  As an adult, I am still all about birthdays, I talk about it non stop for the weeks leading up to it so that people will know (and are not  expected to remember) it is coming up.  And then I throw/plan my own party in some way or another so that the day is recognized.

   

This morning several 5th grade students sneaked into the auditorium to wait for me, when I entered and was about to ask what they were doing there before 7:35 since I was early, they broke into "Happy Birthday".  Then Gustavo, whose birthday is tomorrow, went around and told all of the other grade levels that it was my birthday.  So I ended up with lots of birthday hugs and well wishes.  Later this evening I am getting together with friends for tapas and sangria at Jaleo.  I think it will be a fine way to start off my 39th year.

Decoration Day

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

— Lt.-Col. John McCrae (1872 - 1918)
 
My father and grandfather shared a birthday, May 24.  I usually go to visit my father at the cemetery on their birthday but I found myself out of town for most of the day and so I went to the cemetery today for Memorial Day.  I placed flags by their headstones and shared a moment of thanks for their military service, that they came home safely and for the military service of everyone else who has ever fought for what this country stands for.  I appreciate that there are men and women who are willing to do this.  I just wish they didn't have to...

The sun's shining down on these green fields of France;
The warm wind blows gently, and the red poppies dance.
The trenches have vanished long under the plow;
No gas and no barbed wire, no guns firing now.
But here in this graveyard that's still No Man's Land
The countless white crosses in mute witness stand
To man's blind indifference to his fellow man.
And a whole generation who were butchered and damned.

And I can't help but wonder, no Willie McBride,
Do all those who lie here know why they died?
Did you really believe them when they told you "The Cause?"
Did you really believe that this war would end wars?
Well the suffering, the sorrow, the glory, the shame
The killing, the dying, it was all done in vain,
For Willie McBride, it all happened again,
And again, and again, and again, and again.

~Eric Bogle

November 5: another year older

Well, four days in and already I have missed a day. I spent over 2 hours trying to download a picture on dial up and finally decided to go to bed. I have DSL now and apparently, my computer has to have some software removed and reinstalled to get the signal. So, so much for the post a day. I had written a long post about new years and changes and how I am excited about my birthday today and even tried to share some pictures when the whole thing just wouldn't cooperate. Here is a before and after picture of my haircut that Bill has been badgering me to show...
I am starting my 38th year short and sassy and ready for good times.

Trip to the Dentist

I hate going to the dentist. Now, I know that no one really wakes up and says "yea, I have a dentist appointment today" but my dislike of going to the dentist is deeper than that. As a young child I had a dental hygienist who was from Germany. I remember her [now I am pretty sure that my memory is faulty as we magnify our fears] as a very large and imposing woman. She would yell at you with her German accent and I am sure on more than one occasion she brought me to tears. You would often hear the formidable "you're not flossing" as you passed the exam room where she was working on some unsuspecting victim patient.   As an adult, I had a conversation with my father about her, thinking that my childhood fears might be unjust.  My normally stoic father commented, she was pretty harsh when cleaning your teeth.**  I was terrified of her and whether due to poor childhood dental hygiene, too much sugar, or bad genes, I cannot say, but I often had cavities and had to return for subsequent visits after my cleanings.  It seems I had fillings in most of my baby molars and quite a few of the permanent ones as well.  So, my trips to the dentist have been many.  I have always been afraid of needles and often have to be given extra shots of Novocain as I can still feel the drilling.   

When I was in college I tried to remain faithful to my twice a year cleanings because I have always hoped that prevention would avoid more trips with Novocain and drilling (the truly traumatic part of dentistry).  Before heading out to Costa Rica for 5 or more months I stopped by my mother's dentist to have a check up.  He decided that my wisdom teeth (or at least one of them) was impacted and should come out before the trip.  He referred me to an oral surgeon. Because of the short window in which the surgery needed to be completed, there was no time to meet his or have a consult before he was to do the procedure.  The office where this oral surgeon worked was undergoing massive renovations and as I waited in the outer chambers of the office, loud clanging and banging could be heard from other parts of the building.  Next thing I know, the surgeon comes out with a monkey wrench in hand and introduces himself.  To hear him tell it, my eyes became as big as saucers and I never actually looked at him, only at the wrench until he had sense to explain that this was not part of his surgical kit.

So, I went for my 6 month cleaning last month and saw a new dentist (while I have fired my share of dentists over the years, this new dentist comes to me by way of retirement -- luckily, I get to keep the wonderful hygienist associated with the practice.  One of the pluses of the dentist who  had retired was that he felt that whatever made the visit easier for me made it easier for him and was quite free with the Nitrous Oxide, the new guy a little less so but he is coming around.)  The new dentist felt that several of my teeth that had been "watches" needed to be taken care of.  He had a few silver amalgam fillings he wanted to replace and a crown he thought I needed as one of my molars had cracked.  That is three additional appointments that I have had over the past month.  I won't go into any of the details (like when the dentist walked out in disgust because my gag reflex is so keen that I had ruined the first mold for the crown) since they are all still a little too fresh.  However, I did a bit of self medicating.  I bought some sock yarn (kind of a lot considering how little yarn I have purchased lately).  There is some Socks that Rock, a sock of the month club (or two), a Celtic sock kit, Regia silk and some trekking.  I will take pictures and post them tomorrow to share my new acquisitions.  I will spare you the picture of my new crown. 

**As an aside, I was telling my current hygienist about my "apprehensive" nature as a dental patient and mentioned this chapter of my childhood dentistry at a practice (although my dentist has long since retired) that still exists in town.  She said that she works at that practice once a week and the German hygienist is still there.  One of her favorite stories is when she was passing an exam room and over heard the following exchange.

Hygienist hands patient a tissue.

Male Patient:  What is this for?

Hygienist:  Spit or tears, vhatever!

Apparently after more than 30 some odd years (and I don't remember her as a young woman) she has yet to develop a softer "bed side" manner. 

Cookie Saturday

As a child my mother was constantly making up new family traditions.  One of my favorites was called "Cookie Saturday".  This was a ritual for an early weekend in December.  The female members of the family would assemble at my grandmother's apartment (and later at our own house) and bake cookies, tons and tons of cookies.  I remember the entire dinning room table covered in different types of cookies.  We would then pack the cookies up into coffee cans (remember when we bought our coffee in a metal can with a removable plastic lid?) which we decorated in wrapping paper for the holidays. These cans would be distributed to friends and neighbors through out the holidays.

Well, my friend Kirsten decided that she was going to have a cookie baking party at her house this Saturday and while it is a little early for Cookie Saturday, as the Saturday after Thanksgiving it should surely count.  I came for the early shift and helped her to make the spritzes (you know the cookies made with a cookie press?)

I also helped with the Bavarian (?) Nut Horns (Kifles if I am to believe my Google search) and making a batch of ginger bread cookie dough.  After I left they made chocolate chip pecan cookies, a cranberry bar cookie and chocolate mint fudge.

In the next couple weeks I have plans to make a few more holiday favorites.  If you should be in the area, stop by for a couple of cookies with milk or tea.  There are plenty to last throughout the month. 

As an added bonus, I stopped by to pick my cookies up this morning and was able to catch the Dupont Circle farmer's market to pick up some seasonal fresh vegetables and dairy for local meals this week.  (Sorry for skipping that feature last week but with all the travel and family meals I was not able to pull off  a mostly local meal.)

They say it's your birthday...

well, actually, they don't say it is my birthday -- the family story is a little different than that (considering all of the family stories I might start to wonder if I was adopted if I didn't look so much like my mother).

So the story starts with my mother being very sick and needing to go to the hospital. If it was ever determined what the sickness was, I am sure that I don't remember it. Anyway, my father was sitting around at the hospital waiting for the doctor to come out and give him an update on my mother's "condition". While he was waiting a neighbor stopped by and they decided to go out behind the hospital for a cigarette (it was 37 years ago, everyone smoked). While they were walking in the woods behind the hospital (and possibly taking nips from a flask) they came across a garden. It was November so much of the garden had been harvested but there were a good number of cabbages left in the ground. As they were walking by one of the cabbages let out a cry. My father went to investigate and found a wee bairn under a cabbage leaf. He rushed the baby back into the hospital and while he was gone my mother's condition seemed to have improved and she was delighted with the baby my father had found. Maybe I am an original cabbage patch child.
[As an aside other than the dolls of the 80's, the only references to this myth/theory I came across were on blogs discussing teaching of alternate theories to evolution (stork theory, cabbage patch teory and intelligent design). There was nothing on the orgin of the theory or what culture it comes from -- although there was talk of cabbage in helping with fertility and being fed to new brides.]

Fairies

Legends say that on certain moonless nights, a fey child will be switched at birth with a mortal child.  This unknowing child grows up unaware of its true place in the order of things.

When I was younger and my sister and I would fail to see eye to eye on something, she would accuse me of being a fairy changeling. It is kind of like accusing your sister of being adopted -- a way of saying we couldn't possibly be related because we are so different. I always kind of liked the idea of being a fairy.  They seemed so magical and mysterious living in the shadows.  When I read myths of Avalon, I thought it was kind of a cool and became immersed in the legend about the Lady of the Lake.  Later I did some research and fairy changelings weren't mystical, eccentric children but rather sickly babies. It is thought that the Picts, who were driven into hiding when the Celts came to Ireland, may have actually stolen traded babies with the Celts and in this way they were able to introduce more genetic diversity into their clans (although I doubt they explicitly understood what they were doing).  Not so sure it was good to be a sickly baby -- maybe I should have taken it as an insult?

Why all this talk about fairies?  Well growing up my family had lots of fairy traditions.  My favorite was the birthday fairy and I will be waiting for her tonight.

Happy Birthday, mother!

My mother turned 68 yesterday. She says that she likes being older because you are allowed to be as silly as you want. (I have to admit that I had to ask when her age had stopped her from being silly.)

She has taught me a lot of good things over the years. Most of which seem to boil down to "don't get side tracked by your problems, solve them". I remember being on the dock at the summer house her father had bought when she was a child. I had dropped something in the water and as I started to cry, she shouted at me "Action, not reaction". That sort of sums up my mother...she is a problem solver, a quick thinker and a creator. She builds things, but they are usually more functional than beautiful. Presented with a problem she would not complain instead she would find a way to solve it.

She was not one for drama or tears, and if she was angry it wasn't something she held onto. She let it go. When I dropped and broke the glass canister for the blender, she walked in, grabbed the broom and dust pan, and confidently stated "I always wanted one of those in plastic". Then handed the broom to me and had me sweep up the mess.

She trusted me and trusted my judgment. She let me make decisions and taught me to live with the consequences. (You don't have to take your coat if you don't want to but don't complain about the cold if you choose not to.) When I tried to be mellow dramatic and take the weight of the world on my shoulders (or at least be responsible for ruining everything). She would say "Don't take so much credit, you couldn't be responsible for all of that if you tried."

She is retired now and enjoys her gardening, and her chickens and most of all her grand children. So for her birthday I drove down and had lunch with her and then my sister made dinner and cake. I hope she enjoyed her birthday and I am wishing her many more.

November 23: Happy Thanksgiving

I spent many a Thanksgiving of my youth in Northern NJ.  We would go and visit my grandparents and have dinner at my uncle and aunt's house.  They both lived on large half acre lots in old suburban neighborhoods.  There were woods behind all the houses, the kind that you imagine have many creeks to play in.  It was my idea of quintessential 1950's suburbia. 

In late fall when all the leaves are off the trees and there is a steady drizzle or light rain from a  low cloud cover, I think of these neighborhoods and the many Thanksgivings and Christmases we spent in these houses.  It seems that it was often raining during these family get togethers.  The houses were large with formal parlors in addition to a living room/den with a TV.  We would play in the basement and generally try to stay out of the way.  We would hope to sit at the children's table so as not be made to eat scary  gelled salads of tomato aspic and  avacado (although  I think I may have been the only one who didn't like this) by loving relatives.  We would wait forever for the grown-ups  to finish eating so that we could all go into the front parlor  for desert.

The weather brought back these memories today as I drove down to my sister's house for Thanksgiving.  Soggy yards, trees bare of their leaves, dark heavy skies, and then the sun came out just before it set and I was returned to the present.

Happy Thanksgiving!!