Happy Thanksgiving!
In lieu of the requisite holiday feast shot, this drawing of all of the wonderful bits of fall by Maddy, age six.
No, I don't know what the green things are. Peas, maybe?
I am thankful indeed.
I finished that beaded scarf over the weekend.
Yummy, eh?
Here's the kicker, tho: I'm not sure it's for me. We shall see.
These, however, are for me:
The "Knitting is Sexy" necklace (complete with yarn ball) is an early holiday gift to myself from Cupboard Scraps' Etsy store. The button is a purchase from String Theory, one of the yarn vendors who just happened to be at the retreat last weekend. I may also have bought some yarn -- but the color is one that my camera can't seem to read right. I'll try again on a day with better light.
Speaking of the retreat, I may have used it as an opportunity to cut a big hole in Mary Tudor...
I just turned around to look out of my office window and discovered that it is snowing, the sort of big, fat flakes that waft more than fall. Fortunately, it's warm enough right now that it is mostly melting when it makes contact with the ground. I'm sure that'll change, tho.
The list:
* I find this report about a lost spider disturbing.
* I can't wait for Coraline. I'd love to take the Diva but am fairly certain she'll find it too dark. Or, at least, too free of princesses to be enjoyed. We shall see where we are in February, tho. I'll be going. With bells on. Or, in this case, buttons.
* Love these shoes. I have no idea what I'd do with them but I love them all the same.
* This story about "Failing Home Economics" in the NYT touched a nerve, if only because I know (not personally, just as archetypes) folks who will spend hours comparing prices, driving hither and yon, to save a minuscule amount of money. I've always felt like a loser because I don't do this, mostly because I feel that my time has value, too. And I'm lazy. But the whole idea that humans are hard-wired for risk aversion is fascinating. On a similar note, RadioLab has a new season up and the first installment is about this very notion. Let there be much rejoicing!
* If you've wondered about how the news gets made -- as well as all of its inherent biases (which aren't what you think), you ought to be watching the IFC Media Project.
* My college bud (and knitter) Trish sent this link to an online store with a note that pointed out that it isn't in English but to sit tight for a few seconds until it all becomes clear. Which it does. I'm amused that "ghettoblaster" defies translation.
* For those in the city (or able to get there in the next few weeks), two great shows are simply crying out for your attention. 1) The lovely and delightful Ellen Kushner will be treading the boards in the Vital Theater's adaptation of her story The Klezmer Nutcracker. This show seems to be up the Diva's alley and I just might have to pack her up for a road trip. 2) The equally lovely and delightful Ayun Halliday and her hub Greg Kotis (Urinetown) will be telling The Truth About Santa. I am told elf exploitation is involved. This is totally not up the Diva's alley -- but is up mine. Um....you know what I mean.
The KR retreat was a hoot-and-a-half. It would have been two hoots if I hadn't managed to catch The Hub's cold mere hours before I left. I offer this as further proof that boys have cooties.
My head is too full of phlegm to manage much of note. Sadly, much of note needs to be managed, not the least of which is figuring out how I wound up with all of this yarn and what I'm going to do with it. There is also a stack of papers to grade. Maddy has her Thanksgiving play at school at 1, which promises to be cute but puts a crimp in the day. Plus I have two deadlines for writing projects and, oh, this little Thanksgiving thing.*
And yet what I find myself doing is watching Roy Blount, Jr., talk about the alphabet while I sniffle and hack pathetically.
Don't you wish you were here? Ah, the glamour.
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* As much as I mock Heidi and her mad compulsive organizational skillz, I am in awe.
"A German shoplifter with no arms stole a 24-inch television. “It's hard to believe,” said a police officer, “that the sight of an armless man walking along with a giant TV clamped to his body did not get anyone's attention.”"
-- From Harpers' Weekly Review by Gemma Sieff.
The beaded bracelet will soon be traveling to "Candlepick" in San Jose. I can only tell you how hard it was not to type "will be asking if I know the way to San Jose." Apparently, I couldn't resist. Thanks to all for entering. I *heart* comments.
Katie Granju, who is a little bit pregnant, was kind enough to list this here blog as one of her faves. A big thanks (and a congrats!) to her as well.
Since she listed this as a parenting blog, a weird parenting-related story:
For the last few nights, I've been having dreams about my firstborn. In awake life, Maddy and I have been going through one of those periods where we keep irritating each other. She's too clingy, in my opinion. I'm too bossy, in her opinion. It's the old mother-daughter shuck-and-jive.
But in the dreams, from which I keep waking up in a heart-pounding panic, I've lost her. One night, I dropped her off at a day camp. When I went to pick her up, they couldn't find her yet seemed unconcerned by this. Oh, and in that dream-like way, the camp was surrounded by deep wells of water,* which would be perfect for a kid to drown in. Last night, I she wandered away from me at a yoga retreat. Again, I seemed to be the only one freaked out by this. In that dream, I did find her. She was covered from top-to-toe in paint, which she proceeded to get all over everything, which made my relief quickly turn to fist-clenching rage. So it goes.
On a non-parenting note, I'll be off to Western Mass. this weekend for the Knitter's Review Retreat. Not only will there be knitters and knitting, there will also also bisque and pie. Plus, there's a twitter feed and rumors of yarn swapping. Yes, you should be jealous.
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*Let us not ask the obvious question, which is: why would any parent send a kid to a place surrounded by open wells? My subconscious will not be circumscribed by niceties like logic.
I may require an intervention soon.
I can't seem to stop putting beads on my knitting. They are just so pretty. And shiny. And look what they do to the end of this silk scarf? Dude.
I keep looking around the house for other things that need beads, like lampshades, potholders and Trout.
I keep wandering by EarthFaire, whistling innocently. It is madness. Pure madness. But pretty madness, no?
(FYI - tonight I shall pick a winner...)
The Boy's ear is infected. He seems to have bounced back during the night. We'll see if it holds.
A list:
* It is nice to know that I'm not alone in my love for the cranberry. You have to embrace the zing. Fighting it only leads to disappointment.
* Those of us who own old houses are already living this new game show on the SciFi Channel. It's only a matter of time before we discover nests of scorpions and/or pits of leeches.
* A crystal-filled room = made.of.awesome. Be sure you read how they did it. It is even awesomer than you'd imagined.
* Via Doula K: the Flying Spaghetti Monster lands on a Crossville, TN, courthouse lawn. I find this stunning, if only because Crossville is not exactly a hotbed of liberal thought and is one of the parts of the state where the only radio options are Jesus or commercial country. Ask me how I know this.
* On coaching girls' soccer.
* One of these days, I need to take the Grand Central Station tour. Man, I love that place.
* The Dude abides...and knits?
* Ignore everything that I said about Anathem. What I meant to say was this.
* The Six Kingdoms Yarn Club. Brought to you by the same folk who came up with the Seven Deadly S(p)ins.
My ears were cold.
Close up:
Even closer:
That white spec you see isn't dandruff. It's snow. I finished this just in time, eh?
The specs: Calorimetry in Noro Silk Garden in the evocatively named "226." The button came from the amazing Romni Wool in Toronto. My ears are nice and warm now.
Thanks so much for all of the comments on the post below. I love to hear about where y'all are, both physically and metaphorically. I'll generate a winner on Wednesday.
In other news, the Boy is sick. He's at the doc right now so that we can know what flavor of sick. He sounds kind of tubercular to me -- but there's a reason I don't practice medicine, which is that I know very little about it and tend to go with the worse case scenario.
While he's off coughing on others, however, I need to scramble and get some class notes whipped up. Woo.
"Mainly, as a writer, I have no need to dress for work in anything other than gym clothes, or no clothes at all for that matter, and when writers do try to 'dress up,' they are generally granted a lot of leeway. I remember attending a banquet with the poet and short-story writer Grace Paley, who appeared in a loose pink floral dress. When I complimented her, she confessed it was a nightgown, which was obvious on closer inspection."
-- Barbara Ehrenreich, "Bait and Switch: The (Futile) Pursuit of the American Dream"