I seem to have lost my knitting mojo. This is bad for a number of reasons, first and foremost being the fact that I have a cardigan for Julie on the needles that is 90% finished. I have let so much time go by now since I last worked on it that I am certain I will make a huge mistake as soon as I start up with it again. So it sits reproachfully in my knitting bag next to the couch, waiting for me to pick it up and fuck it up.
The second reason this is a bad thing is that I have literally thousands of dollars tied up in yarn and needles and patterns and just stuff that is necessary to have if one is going to knit on a regular basis - which I did for some years. I knit every day for years. Winter, spring, summer, fall, I had at least two or three projects I was actively working on. Now, I have, just, you know, that one.
You might not think so, but knitting is good mental exercise. It keeps my brain and my fingers nimble and quick. I like the challenge of puzzling out a new pattern - if it's not too difficult - and I like the feeling of pride that accompanies the completion of a successful project. I managed two Christmas presents this year, but that was more out of necessity than anything else. Since I didn't have much extra money, I used what I did have - time and yarn - to knit some gifts. Knitting has provided me with a wonderful creative outlet for the past five years, but that's gone, and I miss it.
Why did I lose my mojo? I have given that a great deal of thought, needless to say, and I think there are multiple reasons. But the most compelling reason, I believe, is that I don't have a knitting group anymore, and haven't since I moved here three years ago. I knew that I really enjoyed my knitting groups, and that I loved spending time with the warm, funny, intelligent women who comprised those groups. What I didn't realize was that the exchange - the give-and-take of yarns and patterns and ideas - was crucial to my continued enjoyment of knitting. But it turns out it was.
I am fortunate to have a yarn shop right here in the town where I live. I have gone in there countless times looking for, I don't know, some fellowship, I guess, or the spark of a kindred spirit. I have yet to find it there, and now don't believe I will. (Also, all the yarn I have is better than all the yarn they have.)
So, what to do? What to do? I don't know, frankly. I am open to suggestions.
Thursday, January 9, 2014
Sunday, January 5, 2014
lesson #439 for the life-long learner
So I've lived in Maryland for three years now, and have eaten my share of Maryland crab cakes in that time. Not as many as Ben, of course, but more than a few. Until yesterday, however, I had never attempted to make them myself. And I probably won't have even then without the prompting of the fish guy at my local grocery store.
There are two different fish guys, actually, and they are both extremely knowledgeable and friendly. In fact, one of them is too friendly and too loud and a bit alarming. I tend to shy away from the fish counter when he is working, frankly. But he wasn't working yesterday, and his slightly quieter co-worker was. "What's good today?" I asked him. "Lump crab meat, $7.99 a pound" was his reply. When I asked him if that was a good price, he was incredulous. "$7.99?! A pound?! Yeah, that's good! I bought two pounds myself." When I asked him what he would make with his two pounds, he launched into an explanation of how to prepare salmon stuffed with crab meat. "Or you could make crab cakes, of course" he said in an offhand way.
He made the sale, and we came home with a pound of fresh lump crab meat. Then Ben and I started searching on line for crab cake recipes. I mean, who uses cookbooks anymore? We knew we wanted to bake or broil the crab cakes, not pan fry them, so that ruled out quite a few recipes. We found a likely candidate (one that I had all the ingredients for) and I got to work. The only glitch was that the cooking time was off, and I flipped them too early. You can only flip those once, believe me. But I cooked them longer on the second side, and that seemed to work out okay. I include the recipe here:
Ingredients
How to make it
I did use Colman's dry mustard instead of Dijon to keep the crab cakes as dry as possible, and I would recommend letting them cook for 4 minutes before trying to flip them and 4 mintues after. But, keep an eye on them. I made six of them, not eight, and they weren't very big, so I wouldn't try eight from this much crab meat. Oh, also, I put them on a plate to refrigerate instead of on the cookie sheet. It seemed to me like it would take them even longer to heat up if they were on a cold sheet.
Anyway, our family crab cake expert (that would be Ben) declared them as good as any he has had out here. I'm going to count that as a huge success, and if you can get your hands on fresh lump crab meat, I heartily recommend this recipe. Bon Appétit!
There are two different fish guys, actually, and they are both extremely knowledgeable and friendly. In fact, one of them is too friendly and too loud and a bit alarming. I tend to shy away from the fish counter when he is working, frankly. But he wasn't working yesterday, and his slightly quieter co-worker was. "What's good today?" I asked him. "Lump crab meat, $7.99 a pound" was his reply. When I asked him if that was a good price, he was incredulous. "$7.99?! A pound?! Yeah, that's good! I bought two pounds myself." When I asked him what he would make with his two pounds, he launched into an explanation of how to prepare salmon stuffed with crab meat. "Or you could make crab cakes, of course" he said in an offhand way.
He made the sale, and we came home with a pound of fresh lump crab meat. Then Ben and I started searching on line for crab cake recipes. I mean, who uses cookbooks anymore? We knew we wanted to bake or broil the crab cakes, not pan fry them, so that ruled out quite a few recipes. We found a likely candidate (one that I had all the ingredients for) and I got to work. The only glitch was that the cooking time was off, and I flipped them too early. You can only flip those once, believe me. But I cooked them longer on the second side, and that seemed to work out okay. I include the recipe here:
Maryland Jumbo Lump Crab Cakes
- Time 7 minutes
- Serves 6
Ingredients
- 1 large egg
- 2 heaping tablespoons mayonnaise
- 1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
- 1/2 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
- 1/4 teaspoon Tabasco sauce, or to taste
- Few drops of lemon juice (no more than about 1/4 teaspoon)
- 2 teaspoons Old Bay Seasoning
- 1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
- Fresh ground black pepper
- 1/2 cup crushed Ritz Crackers
- 2 tablespoons chopped fresh parsley
- 1 pound fresh jumbo lump crabmeat -- drained of all excess liquid
- Non-stick cooking spray
How to make it
- In a medium bowl, combine the egg, mayonnaise, mustard, Worcestershire, Tabasco, lemon juice, Old Bay, salt and pepper. Mix so that all the ingredients are well-incorporated.
- Add the cracker crumbs and parsley and mix well.
- Gently fold in crabmeat until just combined (try not to break up lumps of crabmeat).
- Using wet hands, shape mixture into 6 patties---8 patties if you like them smaller (do not pack too firmly; cakes should be as loose as possible and still hold their shape).
- Put the crab cakes on a large platter or cookie sheet as they're shaped. Cover with foil and refrigerate at least 1 hour before cooking.
- Set oven on Broil ( around 450 ) and place crab cakes a non stick sprayed cookie sheet. Put crab cakes in oven on medium height rack.
- After 3 minutes of initial cooking time open oven to turn crab cakes over
- using a spatula and your hands. Cook an additional 2-3 minutes or until golden brown.
- Drain on paper towels. Serve with lemon and tartar sauce.
I did use Colman's dry mustard instead of Dijon to keep the crab cakes as dry as possible, and I would recommend letting them cook for 4 minutes before trying to flip them and 4 mintues after. But, keep an eye on them. I made six of them, not eight, and they weren't very big, so I wouldn't try eight from this much crab meat. Oh, also, I put them on a plate to refrigerate instead of on the cookie sheet. It seemed to me like it would take them even longer to heat up if they were on a cold sheet.
Anyway, our family crab cake expert (that would be Ben) declared them as good as any he has had out here. I'm going to count that as a huge success, and if you can get your hands on fresh lump crab meat, I heartily recommend this recipe. Bon Appétit!
Thursday, December 26, 2013
had ourselves a merry little Christmas
Ben and I did everything we could think of to guarantee ourselves a happy day yesterday, and, you know, it worked out okay. Ben's work life is so hellish and awful right now that the last thing I want to do is make his home life unhappy, as well. So we put up the tree and decorated the house and wrapped presents to be placed under the tree. Our house looked like a happy holiday home, anyway.
Yesterday morning, we lit the tree and the wonderful old Santa Claus we found at an antique shop years ago. Ben put on the Christmas CDs we listened to every year as we opened our presents. And we opened our presents. Just the two of us. Well, and Rufus and Katie, of course. They were the absolute highlight of that event. I had shopped carefully for gifts for each of them, which I desperately hoped they would like. And they did! Rufus was the first to sniff out the fact that there were doggie presents under the tree, and he pulled out Katie's to unwrap for himself. We quickly gave him his own present, and Katie hers. They made short work of ripping off the wrapping paper, then they actually played with their toys! I was thrilled. Ben and I just sat and watched them and laughed. The money I spent on the dogs' gifts was well-spent. It made us happy.
We had decided to have lasagna for our Christmas dinner, which was what I made through the years that the kids were growing up. Amazingly, everyone liked that. It's a lot of work, though, and especially for two people. So this year, for the first time, we tried the Stouffer's frozen lasagna. And, you know, it was pretty good. And the clean-up was great. Perhaps the start of a new tradition.
There was a dearth of Christmas movies on t.v. (like none) so I put on the copy of White Christmas that I got for Christmas last year and searched out an old jigsaw puzzle from the big box in the basement. I have had this puzzle literally as long as I can remember. It belonged to my parents, of course, when I was a child. Its snowy winter scene seemed perfect for a quiet Christmas afternoon. Ben put in a few pieces, but puzzles have always been my pleasure, and working this one from my childhood while watching that old movie seemed just right, calming somehow.
Julie called us and Ben called his parents, and, mercifully, the day was short, as they are this time of year. With a little effort on both our parts, Ben and I got through another Christmas. May next year be a happier one.
Yesterday morning, we lit the tree and the wonderful old Santa Claus we found at an antique shop years ago. Ben put on the Christmas CDs we listened to every year as we opened our presents. And we opened our presents. Just the two of us. Well, and Rufus and Katie, of course. They were the absolute highlight of that event. I had shopped carefully for gifts for each of them, which I desperately hoped they would like. And they did! Rufus was the first to sniff out the fact that there were doggie presents under the tree, and he pulled out Katie's to unwrap for himself. We quickly gave him his own present, and Katie hers. They made short work of ripping off the wrapping paper, then they actually played with their toys! I was thrilled. Ben and I just sat and watched them and laughed. The money I spent on the dogs' gifts was well-spent. It made us happy.
We had decided to have lasagna for our Christmas dinner, which was what I made through the years that the kids were growing up. Amazingly, everyone liked that. It's a lot of work, though, and especially for two people. So this year, for the first time, we tried the Stouffer's frozen lasagna. And, you know, it was pretty good. And the clean-up was great. Perhaps the start of a new tradition.
There was a dearth of Christmas movies on t.v. (like none) so I put on the copy of White Christmas that I got for Christmas last year and searched out an old jigsaw puzzle from the big box in the basement. I have had this puzzle literally as long as I can remember. It belonged to my parents, of course, when I was a child. Its snowy winter scene seemed perfect for a quiet Christmas afternoon. Ben put in a few pieces, but puzzles have always been my pleasure, and working this one from my childhood while watching that old movie seemed just right, calming somehow.
Julie called us and Ben called his parents, and, mercifully, the day was short, as they are this time of year. With a little effort on both our parts, Ben and I got through another Christmas. May next year be a happier one.
Friday, December 13, 2013
annus horribilis
Taken all in all, it had been not a bad year. Not a great year, but not a
bad year. You know, “Strikes and gutters, ups and downs” as the Dude so
succinctly put it. I thought turning 60 was going to be okay. I was wrong. In a
day, in an afternoon, in an instant, my life went so horribly, heartbreakingly
wrong that nothing can ever set it right again.
The worst of it this time is that I can’t share it with anyone. Oh, a few people know, of course. That was unavoidable. But I can’t imagine ever sharing this heartbreak, so I’m not sure I can ever get over it. I only know I have to try. To that end, I have decided to give myself until the end of this year, my "annus horribilis" as Queen Elizabeth termed it some years ago, to mourn my loss. Then it will all be in my rear view mirror. That’s the plan, anyway.
The worst of it this time is that I can’t share it with anyone. Oh, a few people know, of course. That was unavoidable. But I can’t imagine ever sharing this heartbreak, so I’m not sure I can ever get over it. I only know I have to try. To that end, I have decided to give myself until the end of this year, my "annus horribilis" as Queen Elizabeth termed it some years ago, to mourn my loss. Then it will all be in my rear view mirror. That’s the plan, anyway.
Sunday, February 10, 2013
Sunday morning musings
I changed the sheets on my bed this morning because, well, it's Sunday, and that's the day to change sheets. I got to thinking about that, and realized that for probably fifty years now that task has been part of my Sunday morning routine. My mother pressed my brothers and me into unpaid servitude when we were very young, and one of my chores was to help her change the four beds in our house. All of our bedsheets were cotton percale and white, of course, and at first we didn't have any fitted sheets at all. A flat sheet would be tucked in all around on the bottom, then another one was used on top of it. Fitted sheets were a marvel to me.
My mother was loathe to lose me as unpaid help, and I remember the Sunday morning before I left for my sophomore year of college she insisted I help her change all the beds in the house before she would drive me back to Kent. I was understandably resentful (why couldn't my brothers do it?) and didn't realize until long afterwards that she probably just wanted to spend that extra time with me. Oh, that she had only said so. That was not our relationship, however.
I desperately wanted flowered sheets in the sixties, and finally got a set for my high school graduation. Of course, it was 1971 by then, and I was about to go away to college. The sheets we bought for the bed in my dorm room were flowered, of course, as were all the sheets I bought for years after that. Ben refused to sleep on flowered sheets, however, saying that men didn't use flowered sheets. I was skeptical since most of the sheets I saw in linen departments were flowered, but it seemed like a small thing. I bought a beautiful set of paisley sheets in soft pastel colors, and another set in pale yellow with a green leaf design. I think those were borderline for Ben, but he accepted them.
The sheets with the leaf design are the ones I put on the bed this morning. I am sure they are at least twenty-five years old, and the bottom sheet is almost worn through at one end. I remember my mother telling me that sheets were always at their softest and most comfortable right before you had to throw them out. The top sheet has small tears in a couple of places near the top edge. Bobo and Lucie - both gone now - used to love to dig in the bed sheets, whether toys were hidden there or not. I never minded, and now I am glad, actually, to have those small reminders of them.
The sheets I bought a couple of years ago are cotton percale, not sateen or bamboo or beechwood, and they are a pale cream color, which matches the decor. Flowered sheets are "out" now, and I would be hard-pressed to find a set anywhere, I suppose. I have no doubt they'll come back in style some day, and I'll be ready to buy some when they do.
I'm sure the sheets are ready for the dryer by now, and, really, that's all I had to say.
My mother was loathe to lose me as unpaid help, and I remember the Sunday morning before I left for my sophomore year of college she insisted I help her change all the beds in the house before she would drive me back to Kent. I was understandably resentful (why couldn't my brothers do it?) and didn't realize until long afterwards that she probably just wanted to spend that extra time with me. Oh, that she had only said so. That was not our relationship, however.
I desperately wanted flowered sheets in the sixties, and finally got a set for my high school graduation. Of course, it was 1971 by then, and I was about to go away to college. The sheets we bought for the bed in my dorm room were flowered, of course, as were all the sheets I bought for years after that. Ben refused to sleep on flowered sheets, however, saying that men didn't use flowered sheets. I was skeptical since most of the sheets I saw in linen departments were flowered, but it seemed like a small thing. I bought a beautiful set of paisley sheets in soft pastel colors, and another set in pale yellow with a green leaf design. I think those were borderline for Ben, but he accepted them.
The sheets with the leaf design are the ones I put on the bed this morning. I am sure they are at least twenty-five years old, and the bottom sheet is almost worn through at one end. I remember my mother telling me that sheets were always at their softest and most comfortable right before you had to throw them out. The top sheet has small tears in a couple of places near the top edge. Bobo and Lucie - both gone now - used to love to dig in the bed sheets, whether toys were hidden there or not. I never minded, and now I am glad, actually, to have those small reminders of them.
The sheets I bought a couple of years ago are cotton percale, not sateen or bamboo or beechwood, and they are a pale cream color, which matches the decor. Flowered sheets are "out" now, and I would be hard-pressed to find a set anywhere, I suppose. I have no doubt they'll come back in style some day, and I'll be ready to buy some when they do.
I'm sure the sheets are ready for the dryer by now, and, really, that's all I had to say.
Friday, January 25, 2013
a confession
How does one become a fan of particular professional sports team? Well, first of all, one has to love the sport, I think. I am never going to be the fan of any NBA team because I don't like to watch professional basketball, or any other basketball, on television. I do love to watch football, though.
I have very early memories of my dad and I watching football on tv together. We were probably watching college ball as my dad has always been more interested in that than the pros, but the same rules - for the most part - apply. I know that my dad was amazingly patient, especially for him, explaining the rules to me over and over again, game after game, season after season.
I don't remember specifically, but I am sure we watched the Browns during their 1964 championship season. I know my dad disliked the great Jim Brown, terming him "yellow" because he was so good at running away from his would-be tacklers. Even as a child I was confused by that. Wasn't that what he was supposed to do? So for many seasons I was a Browns-hater because my dad was, but gradually that changed, and I became a member of the long-suffering tribe of Browns fans. I lived and died - but mostly died - with the Kardiac Kids and their last-minute victories. I hated John Elway and the Broncos more than any other sports team. Elway's nickname at our house was "Bucky" due to his protruding teeth, and I loved to hate him.
I had to break up with the Browns, though, after "The Fumble", as it is known in Cleveland sports lore, left me sobbing in front of my television set. I just can't care this much any more, I thought, and although I remained a fan, I drew back to protect myself. I never liked Art Modell, but, along with everyone else in Northeast Ohio, I hated him with a passion after he stole the team away to Baltimore and left Cleveland bereft.
I loved watching Joshua Cribbs play, having spoken to him a couple of times on the Kent State campus. Once, in particular, Julie and I were walking Bobo and Lucie on campus, when we saw Josh playing with his young daughter near the MAC Center. His daughter wanted to pet the diminutive (but mean) Lucie, but we steered her towards mellow Bobo instead. Josh's kickoff returns were electrifying, and when other teams started kicking the ball away from him, it only validated his skill.
So I think I have established that I love watching football. We faithfully watched the Browns week after week until we moved, mid-season, two years ago to the greater Baltimore area. And you know what? They don't show the Browns' games here. They show the Ravens. The reviled Ravens. The team stolen away from us. I had to watch football, though, so it was the Ravens or nothing.
Which brings me to the second - and equally important - factor in how one becomes a fan of a specific team: proximity. Reading the local newspaper or watching the local news, I learned more than I wanted to know about the Baltimore Ravens and their players. I had to admit, I liked Joe Flacco, the young quarterback who was at the University of Delaware during the time Julie was there. And I learned that the party line around here is that Ray Lewis "was young, and running with a bad crowd, and has really turned his life around." Seriously. Everyone says that. Even the guy who came out to give me an estimate on a new fence told me those exact words.
So, yeah, I watch the Ravens' games now, and I do cheer for them. When the Ravens played the Broncos in Denver several weeks ago, I was filled with delight that my team knocked the Broncos out of the play-offs. It was deeply satisfying in a way I had not anticipated. Take that, Bucky, I thought to myself, as John Elway seemed to smile even in defeat up in the owner's box. With sincere apologies to my friends and family in Northeast Ohio, I will be cheering for the Ravens in the Super Bowl this year. They're my team, after all.
I have very early memories of my dad and I watching football on tv together. We were probably watching college ball as my dad has always been more interested in that than the pros, but the same rules - for the most part - apply. I know that my dad was amazingly patient, especially for him, explaining the rules to me over and over again, game after game, season after season.
I don't remember specifically, but I am sure we watched the Browns during their 1964 championship season. I know my dad disliked the great Jim Brown, terming him "yellow" because he was so good at running away from his would-be tacklers. Even as a child I was confused by that. Wasn't that what he was supposed to do? So for many seasons I was a Browns-hater because my dad was, but gradually that changed, and I became a member of the long-suffering tribe of Browns fans. I lived and died - but mostly died - with the Kardiac Kids and their last-minute victories. I hated John Elway and the Broncos more than any other sports team. Elway's nickname at our house was "Bucky" due to his protruding teeth, and I loved to hate him.
I had to break up with the Browns, though, after "The Fumble", as it is known in Cleveland sports lore, left me sobbing in front of my television set. I just can't care this much any more, I thought, and although I remained a fan, I drew back to protect myself. I never liked Art Modell, but, along with everyone else in Northeast Ohio, I hated him with a passion after he stole the team away to Baltimore and left Cleveland bereft.
I loved watching Joshua Cribbs play, having spoken to him a couple of times on the Kent State campus. Once, in particular, Julie and I were walking Bobo and Lucie on campus, when we saw Josh playing with his young daughter near the MAC Center. His daughter wanted to pet the diminutive (but mean) Lucie, but we steered her towards mellow Bobo instead. Josh's kickoff returns were electrifying, and when other teams started kicking the ball away from him, it only validated his skill.
So I think I have established that I love watching football. We faithfully watched the Browns week after week until we moved, mid-season, two years ago to the greater Baltimore area. And you know what? They don't show the Browns' games here. They show the Ravens. The reviled Ravens. The team stolen away from us. I had to watch football, though, so it was the Ravens or nothing.
Which brings me to the second - and equally important - factor in how one becomes a fan of a specific team: proximity. Reading the local newspaper or watching the local news, I learned more than I wanted to know about the Baltimore Ravens and their players. I had to admit, I liked Joe Flacco, the young quarterback who was at the University of Delaware during the time Julie was there. And I learned that the party line around here is that Ray Lewis "was young, and running with a bad crowd, and has really turned his life around." Seriously. Everyone says that. Even the guy who came out to give me an estimate on a new fence told me those exact words.
So, yeah, I watch the Ravens' games now, and I do cheer for them. When the Ravens played the Broncos in Denver several weeks ago, I was filled with delight that my team knocked the Broncos out of the play-offs. It was deeply satisfying in a way I had not anticipated. Take that, Bucky, I thought to myself, as John Elway seemed to smile even in defeat up in the owner's box. With sincere apologies to my friends and family in Northeast Ohio, I will be cheering for the Ravens in the Super Bowl this year. They're my team, after all.
Friday, January 18, 2013
because I need a new project, part 2
I love to knit socks. More than scarves or hats or mitts - of which I have knit many - I love to knit socks. I am hard-pressed to explain why. Sock yarn is the most beautiful yarn, it's true, but it is what I think of as the architectural nature of socks that appeals to me the most. I mean, I understand how a scarf progresses from a line of stitches to a very long rectangle. I understand how the tube shape that is the beginning of a hat gets pinched off at one end to form the hat. But the sock-in-progess is like a miracle to me.
I will try to explain. I am knitting along on this small tube, which is the leg of the sock. When the leg has reached the length I desire, I start the heel. After following a series of specific instructions, my sock has totally changed direction, and is now heading down the foot towards the toe. It's magical. Every single time. And that is a lot of times because I have knit a lot of socks.
I have knit socks for Tom and Julie and Kristen and Ben's dad and my dad. I have knit multiple pairs for Ben, who rarely wears them, and Andrew, who always does. But, mostly, I knit socks for myself. I have probably knit ten or twelve pairs of socks for myself. For the most part they sat in my top dresser drawer. I would get them out and wear them for "special" occasions, but mostly I admired them each time I opened my drawer.
That changed this year. "I'm wearing these socks," I thought to myself, and I did. Almost immediately, my beautiful, hand-knit socks started sprouting holes in the heels. Huge holes. In both heels. I probably have four pairs right now with blown-out heels. The socks are perfect other than that, and I just can't throw them out for that reason alone. So I'm going to do the only other thing I can do. I'm going to learn how to darn socks. Women have been darning socks for generations, and I can do it, too. No, I don't know how to do it. Yes, I hate to sew. Still, that is what I am going to do.
I enlisted Ben's help in a very crucial part of my plan. "Find me a darning egg, will you, please?" I asked him. If there is one challenge Ben loves, it is searching out just the perfect thing on line. In no time at all, he had a selection of darning eggs available as buy it now on ebay for me to chose from. You might think a darning egg looks like an egg, and some of them do. But they also can look like mushrooms or maracas, and I knew it was the maraca-shape that I wanted. Most of those available were wooden, but the one I selected was plastic, half red and half cream-colored. The red half will show up through light-colored socks, while the cream half will be perfect for dark socks. Ben agreed with my selection.
The darning egg now sits on my desk, waiting for me to learn how to use it. And I will. I'm sure there are dozens of tutorials on YouTube detailing how to darn socks. So just as soon as I finish this pair of socks I'm working on, I'll get right to it.
I will try to explain. I am knitting along on this small tube, which is the leg of the sock. When the leg has reached the length I desire, I start the heel. After following a series of specific instructions, my sock has totally changed direction, and is now heading down the foot towards the toe. It's magical. Every single time. And that is a lot of times because I have knit a lot of socks.
I have knit socks for Tom and Julie and Kristen and Ben's dad and my dad. I have knit multiple pairs for Ben, who rarely wears them, and Andrew, who always does. But, mostly, I knit socks for myself. I have probably knit ten or twelve pairs of socks for myself. For the most part they sat in my top dresser drawer. I would get them out and wear them for "special" occasions, but mostly I admired them each time I opened my drawer.
That changed this year. "I'm wearing these socks," I thought to myself, and I did. Almost immediately, my beautiful, hand-knit socks started sprouting holes in the heels. Huge holes. In both heels. I probably have four pairs right now with blown-out heels. The socks are perfect other than that, and I just can't throw them out for that reason alone. So I'm going to do the only other thing I can do. I'm going to learn how to darn socks. Women have been darning socks for generations, and I can do it, too. No, I don't know how to do it. Yes, I hate to sew. Still, that is what I am going to do.
I enlisted Ben's help in a very crucial part of my plan. "Find me a darning egg, will you, please?" I asked him. If there is one challenge Ben loves, it is searching out just the perfect thing on line. In no time at all, he had a selection of darning eggs available as buy it now on ebay for me to chose from. You might think a darning egg looks like an egg, and some of them do. But they also can look like mushrooms or maracas, and I knew it was the maraca-shape that I wanted. Most of those available were wooden, but the one I selected was plastic, half red and half cream-colored. The red half will show up through light-colored socks, while the cream half will be perfect for dark socks. Ben agreed with my selection.
The darning egg now sits on my desk, waiting for me to learn how to use it. And I will. I'm sure there are dozens of tutorials on YouTube detailing how to darn socks. So just as soon as I finish this pair of socks I'm working on, I'll get right to it.
Thursday, January 17, 2013
because I need a new project
The yarn I bought finally
arrived, and, boy, does it ever reek. I knew it would, though. The woman I
bought it from warned me that it had been stored in mothballs. Initially, I
thought that was a deal-breaker, but, having used the yarn before, I knew it would
be perfect for a new project I have in mind. Internet searches had already
informed me that the yarn has been discontinued, so when the seller told me
she had turned up another skein of yarn that she would include for the same
price, that clinched the sale.
It took forever for the yarn to get here, but that is another story. Now that it has, I have to deal with the smell. Apparently some people actually like the smell of mothballs. I am not one of them. After opening the package, I immediately placed the box and its contents on the glider on the back porch. It was 38° degrees outside and raining, but the yarn spent the rest of the day and that night out on the porch. I couldn't have it in the house, after all. I brought it in the next morning, but it still smelled bad.
Next, I took it to the basement and loosely re-wound all the tightly-wound yarn cakes. It sat on an open shelf in the basement all day yesterday. It still smelled bad. Currently, the yarn is in a lidded plastic container with one of those room freshener cakes. This room freshener has been working for an entire large room in the basement, so I am hoping it will do that trick, but I am not optimistic.
I checked on Ravelry, of course, to see how other knitters have dealt with this problem. There is not a yarn-related issue I could possibly come up with that has not already been addressed on Ravelry. Suggestions ranged from ridiculous to way-more-work-than-I-would-ever-do. So now my plan is to try one thing and then another until a) the smell goes away or b) I get tired of trying and use the yarn anyway. I'll keep you posted. Let me know if you have any suggestions.
It took forever for the yarn to get here, but that is another story. Now that it has, I have to deal with the smell. Apparently some people actually like the smell of mothballs. I am not one of them. After opening the package, I immediately placed the box and its contents on the glider on the back porch. It was 38° degrees outside and raining, but the yarn spent the rest of the day and that night out on the porch. I couldn't have it in the house, after all. I brought it in the next morning, but it still smelled bad.
Next, I took it to the basement and loosely re-wound all the tightly-wound yarn cakes. It sat on an open shelf in the basement all day yesterday. It still smelled bad. Currently, the yarn is in a lidded plastic container with one of those room freshener cakes. This room freshener has been working for an entire large room in the basement, so I am hoping it will do that trick, but I am not optimistic.
I checked on Ravelry, of course, to see how other knitters have dealt with this problem. There is not a yarn-related issue I could possibly come up with that has not already been addressed on Ravelry. Suggestions ranged from ridiculous to way-more-work-than-I-would-ever-do. So now my plan is to try one thing and then another until a) the smell goes away or b) I get tired of trying and use the yarn anyway. I'll keep you posted. Let me know if you have any suggestions.
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
can you tell the difference?
My computer died a couple of weeks ago. I know, I know. It's sad. But, mostly, it's pretty friggin' inconvenient. And really kind of unexpected and sudden. Here's what happened. I did my normal late night surfing one night, then went to bed. The next morning I sat down to see what was new, but what was new was that my computer wouldn't boot up. It wouldn't do anything, really, except sit and spin. I shut it down. I turned it on. Nothing.
Fortunately, we have a laptop, so I was able to do pretty much everything I needed to do from there. But all my bookmarks were gone. And I couldn't access my é.doc, which I always keep right on my desktop. The é.doc is where I keep all my frequently-used symbols that I hate to look up all the time. Here is the entire content of that document, if you are interested:
Fortunately, we have a laptop, so I was able to do pretty much everything I needed to do from there. But all my bookmarks were gone. And I couldn't access my é.doc, which I always keep right on my desktop. The é.doc is where I keep all my frequently-used symbols that I hate to look up all the time. Here is the entire content of that document, if you are interested:
"¡ ü é ° © ½ ⅓ ¼ ¾ ë
In knitting, "pm" stands for "place marker" and "sm" stands for "slip marker". The markers are there to help you remember to do the seed stitch border.
Hope that helps!
Anne"
Yeah, that last part is what I mail to the dozens of people who email me about a section of a knitting pattern I wrote that they don't understand. It is confusing, I guess, but hundreds of other people have successfully navigated the pattern. But I digress.
As soon as Ben got home from work, he was on my computer problem. He tried all the things I had already tried. I know he has to do this, but it is maddening, all the same. After doing many other things that I didn't do, he reported that my hard drive was dying. Now, I know virtually nothing about computers, but I know that my hard drive is essentially my computer. So that sounded bad.
Ben went right to work, backing up everything on the dying hard drive as best he could. He went online (on another computer, of course) and ordered me a new hard drive, which arrived in good time. Then came the real work. And I know it was a shit-ton of work even though I don't have the slightest idea what it all was. If you are computer savvy, you understand all about re-formatting and installing and recovering. If, like me, you aren't, you still probably know It takes a lot of time and effort. Not to exaggerate, but hours of time and effort.
Day by day, I got more and more of my computer back. And I was delighted to have it back, as I was learning to hate the laptop, with its very touchy and surprising touch pad. Instead of moving the cursor, it would suddenly enlarge the image I was looking at ten or twelve times. It would abruptly shut down what I was reading and offer me something else. I don't like that.
So here I am today, with my brand new computer. Oh, it looks all the same from here. Ben even found the image I have always used for my desktop - a photo of Julie reading on the glider on our patio in Kent, with Bobo and Lucie on either side of her. I tell you, it brought tears to my eyes the day I logged on and noticed them all sitting there as they always have.
So, yes, it looks the same, but it works so much better. For example, I am using my normal browser to write this blog post, where I used to have to switch to Chrome to access it. I lost all the photos that were on my desktop, it's true, but I chose to use that as an opportunity to clean off my desk, as it were. All the documents I had scattered there were placed in folders named "recipes" or "patterns". It just makes sense.
I am very, very happy to have my computer back, needless to say. But what does need to be said is THANK YOU, BEN. I appreciate it more than you can know. And now I have the opportunity to tell you so.
Day by day, I got more and more of my computer back. And I was delighted to have it back, as I was learning to hate the laptop, with its very touchy and surprising touch pad. Instead of moving the cursor, it would suddenly enlarge the image I was looking at ten or twelve times. It would abruptly shut down what I was reading and offer me something else. I don't like that.
So here I am today, with my brand new computer. Oh, it looks all the same from here. Ben even found the image I have always used for my desktop - a photo of Julie reading on the glider on our patio in Kent, with Bobo and Lucie on either side of her. I tell you, it brought tears to my eyes the day I logged on and noticed them all sitting there as they always have.
So, yes, it looks the same, but it works so much better. For example, I am using my normal browser to write this blog post, where I used to have to switch to Chrome to access it. I lost all the photos that were on my desktop, it's true, but I chose to use that as an opportunity to clean off my desk, as it were. All the documents I had scattered there were placed in folders named "recipes" or "patterns". It just makes sense.
I am very, very happy to have my computer back, needless to say. But what does need to be said is THANK YOU, BEN. I appreciate it more than you can know. And now I have the opportunity to tell you so.
Thursday, December 20, 2012
a temporary antidote for what ails me
One thing that's always sure to give me a brief respite from the Christmas blues is to watch the movie White Christmas. Now that is an odd thing because I really detest Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye, and to think of either one of them as a romantic lead is beyond ludicrous. And yet, I love that movie. I have loved it since I was a kid. I can remember singing the songs from it with my brother Thomas as we did the dishes. He must have liked it, too, because he would even sing Sisters with me.
As much as I dislike the male leads, I love Rosemary Clooney and Vera Ellen. I think Rosemary Clooney is lovely in a fresh, natural way, and her voice has always been one of my favorites. When she sings Love, You Didn't Do Right By Me, she is stunning. But this year, I have been noticing Vera Ellen especially. What a spectacular dancer she was! She had such a tiny waist, and her legs went on forever. I just can't take my eyes off her in the production numbers. This was the first year I noticed George Chakiris as one of the dancers in Mandy because I have always been so busy watching Vera Ellen dance. And the clothes she wore! I just loved her outfits when I was a kid. She seemed like a Barbie doll without the gross, over-inflated boobs.
The music is just fantastic, but I love the story, too, and I always tear up when General Waverly walks into the darkened dining room, the lights come up, and he sees his troops assembled there. Then they all begin to softly sing We'll Follow the Old Man. What a finale! Unfortunately, no one in my family shares my passion for this movie so I generally watch it for a bit on my own while I am knitting. AMC has been showing it this year, but I generally have to click away during their ridiculously long commercial breaks. Hm-m-m. Wonder if it's too late to add it to my Christmas list?
As much as I dislike the male leads, I love Rosemary Clooney and Vera Ellen. I think Rosemary Clooney is lovely in a fresh, natural way, and her voice has always been one of my favorites. When she sings Love, You Didn't Do Right By Me, she is stunning. But this year, I have been noticing Vera Ellen especially. What a spectacular dancer she was! She had such a tiny waist, and her legs went on forever. I just can't take my eyes off her in the production numbers. This was the first year I noticed George Chakiris as one of the dancers in Mandy because I have always been so busy watching Vera Ellen dance. And the clothes she wore! I just loved her outfits when I was a kid. She seemed like a Barbie doll without the gross, over-inflated boobs.
The music is just fantastic, but I love the story, too, and I always tear up when General Waverly walks into the darkened dining room, the lights come up, and he sees his troops assembled there. Then they all begin to softly sing We'll Follow the Old Man. What a finale! Unfortunately, no one in my family shares my passion for this movie so I generally watch it for a bit on my own while I am knitting. AMC has been showing it this year, but I generally have to click away during their ridiculously long commercial breaks. Hm-m-m. Wonder if it's too late to add it to my Christmas list?
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
not everyone has a Merry Christmas
Last night at dinner I asked Ben what might be considered an odd question, but one that I had definitely been wondering about. I asked him why he liked to decorate for Christmas so much. I just don't understand it. He told me that he likes to commemorate holidays; that it breaks up the year for him. And he does like to put out gourds in the fall and Easter eggs in the spring, as well. I still don't get it. Now, I understand that when you have small children in the house, it is fun to decorate for their sake. I liked doing that very much. We are long past that stage, however.
I tried to enter into the holiday decorating spirit this year. Ben and I bought some new things together, and I went out and got some things on my own. The house looks very pretty. It looks like a stage set where no play will be performed. It looks ready for a party that no guests will attend. I would much prefer that it look the same way it does every other day, because that is what Christmas will be - like any other day. And that's just not that merry.
I tried to enter into the holiday decorating spirit this year. Ben and I bought some new things together, and I went out and got some things on my own. The house looks very pretty. It looks like a stage set where no play will be performed. It looks ready for a party that no guests will attend. I would much prefer that it look the same way it does every other day, because that is what Christmas will be - like any other day. And that's just not that merry.
Monday, December 3, 2012
William H. H. Krear 1839-1864
I took up knitting five years ago, and got into it big time. I think it would be fair to call it an obsession. I still pretty much knit every day of my life, and have completed dozens of hats, scarves, afghans, sweaters, etc. I have a yarn collection (my stash) that I can knit from for a very long, but that doesn't stop me from adding to it on a regular basis. Julie has also become a knitter, and there's nothing we enjoy more than traveling from yarn shop to yarn shop, comparing - and buying - yarn.
Which brings us to my current obsession: Ancestry.com. I saw a commercial last week while I was watching TV (and knitting) about their free 14-day trial offer. Oh sure, I had seen the commercial many times before, but that day, for some reason, I got up, went to my computer and signed on. I started with myself, of course, and before I knew it, I was adding family members in widening circles all around me. I was still at it when Ben got home from work that night. I was totally hooked. I practically hopped on Ben along with the dogs as I told him all about it.
Ben had gone through a geneology phase several years ago, which I hadn't really shared at the time, and he couldn't quite understand at first what had gotten me so excited about it now. But I kept talking, and eventually, he was digging out old photos and family records from plastic tubs he brought up from the basement. Soon, we were each seated at a computer, logging in information and photos, and yelling back and forth between our rooms with the nuggets of information we had uncovered.
When Ben asked me what got me started, I said, oh, you know, that commercial on TV made me curious about what I could find, and I truly thought that was it. It wasn't until I uploaded one of the photographs that Ben took for me that I realized what I most urgently wanted to accomplish. The photograph is of a framed document that has hung on the wall of every house where Ben and I have lived. The document is entitled "THE SOLDIERS INDIVIDUAL MEMORIAL" across the bottom, and, I believe, was sent to grieving families back home when a soldier died. Ben and I matted and framed the document, actually, before we were married. While I was growing up, the document was rolled in a tube and stored on the top shelf of the bathroom linen closet.
At my urging, my dad would sometimes get the document down, unroll it, and talk to me about his Grandma George, and her father, who was killed in the Civil War. He was called "Colonel Krear" in our family, although he was never a colonel. On the document, there is a small oval photograph of my great-great-grandfather in his uniform, and a hand-written list that includes when he was mustered in, the promotions he received, and the battles in which he fought, up to, and including, the battle at Jonesboro, Georgia where he was mortally wounded in August of 1864. He was twenty-five years old. Two months after his death, his widow gave birth to his only child, Carrie Krear, my father's Grandma George.
Today I transcribed all the information from the document and uploaded that to Ancestry.com, as well. Ben had suggested that I just toggle back and forth between the two electronic documents, but I really wanted to read from the original. I put on my reading glasses, got a strong magnifying glass, and began. I listed the names of the battles: Shiloh, April 7, 1862, Siege of Vicksburg Miss. May 19 to July 4 ‘62, Kenesaw Mt. June and July /’64. I realized I was crying as I typed in the words. I thought about this man, this boy, really, from Massillon, Ohio, who had probably never left Ohio before, who was fighting and bleeding and dying in conditions we can't even imagine. And he kept fighting. A dozen battles in cities across the South until his final battle in Jonesboro, Georgia.
Ben and I have been talking about how gratifying it has been to work on this project. Aunts and uncles we loved, grandparents long-dead come alive for us as we think and write about them. Most gratifying of all for me has been memorializing William H. H. Krear, whom no person living today ever knew. Now he will not be forgotten.
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
ready or not, Thanksgiving is here
I put my turkey in the oven at 2:00 so I can't really smell it roasting yet. And, no, I don't have the date wrong - we are having our turkey dinner tonight, on Wednesday, instead of tomorrow on Thanksgiving day proper. Last year, Ben and I were all alone for the holiday. I still wanted to cook a turkey dinner with all the trimmings, even for just the two of us, but it just didn't seem all that festive. I don't remember which of us proposed it now, but we decided to go out to a Thanksgiving buffet.
I made reservations at a restaurant in Baltimore, we got all dressed up, and drove into the city. It was a warm, sunny day, and we strolled along the inner harbor a bit before we ate. It seemed strange to see no boats in the water on such a beautiful day. All enjoying their turkey, I guess, and we decided to do the same. Well, Ben did, anyway. I think I might have had a bit of everything except turkey from the buffet tables that were piled high with good things to eat.
I won't go into what we ate, but I will say that all of it tasted really good - well, except the raw oysters, which one should probably never eat from a buffet table. It was so tasty, in fact, that when Julie and Andrew told us they would like to spend Thanksgiving with us this year, we proposed a return trip to the buffet. Julie doesn't care for roast turkey, so she liked the idea right away, but Andrew, who is a big fan, had to be assured and re-assured that roast turkey and all the trimmings would definitely be on the menu.
So tonight we'll have turkey and stuffing and mashed potatoes and gravy and cranberry sauce and corn and rolls, then we'll have pumpkin pie with whipped cream. Then we'll either burst or have coronaries, I'm not sure which. It won't be the same as Thanksgiving at Aunt Louise's house, or even in our house on Grove Avenue when Tom and Julie brought Kristy and Andrew home, and my dad and brother drove down from Elyria with Laura and her pies and photos, but it will be a holiday, all the same. And we will celebrate it. That's what families do.
I made reservations at a restaurant in Baltimore, we got all dressed up, and drove into the city. It was a warm, sunny day, and we strolled along the inner harbor a bit before we ate. It seemed strange to see no boats in the water on such a beautiful day. All enjoying their turkey, I guess, and we decided to do the same. Well, Ben did, anyway. I think I might have had a bit of everything except turkey from the buffet tables that were piled high with good things to eat.
I won't go into what we ate, but I will say that all of it tasted really good - well, except the raw oysters, which one should probably never eat from a buffet table. It was so tasty, in fact, that when Julie and Andrew told us they would like to spend Thanksgiving with us this year, we proposed a return trip to the buffet. Julie doesn't care for roast turkey, so she liked the idea right away, but Andrew, who is a big fan, had to be assured and re-assured that roast turkey and all the trimmings would definitely be on the menu.
So tonight we'll have turkey and stuffing and mashed potatoes and gravy and cranberry sauce and corn and rolls, then we'll have pumpkin pie with whipped cream. Then we'll either burst or have coronaries, I'm not sure which. It won't be the same as Thanksgiving at Aunt Louise's house, or even in our house on Grove Avenue when Tom and Julie brought Kristy and Andrew home, and my dad and brother drove down from Elyria with Laura and her pies and photos, but it will be a holiday, all the same. And we will celebrate it. That's what families do.
Saturday, November 17, 2012
stock up now
So it's the end of Twinkies, is it? Well, I have mixed feelings about that. The fact of the matter is, I can't remember the last time I ate a Twinkie or a Sno-ball or one of those banana things. We used to have them quite a lot when I was a kid, though.
It would usually be on a weekend when my dad was home, and he would get a hankering for something sweet. He would give me a couple of bucks and send me (and one of my brothers, if I forced the issue) over to Captain E-Z's on Middle Avenue. I hated going to Captain E-Z's. The captain was a sleazy, creepy guy, and he employed sleazy, creepy guys to work for him. But I digress. We would walk the block and a half to Captain E-Z's, and buy the two-packs of whatever types of desserts had been requested. And here's the amazing things about that - two dollars bought enough snacks for the entire family.
I don't remember who always ordered what, but I know that I vacillated between the pink sno-balls and the chocolate cupcakes with the loops of white frosting on top. I loved those perfect loops, but the spongy, pink coconut stuff on top of the sno-balls was very appealing, as well. I only had the banana things (Flips?) a couple of times because the fake banana flavor reminded me of the smell of spray paint or nail polish remover. Yum.
I hear that people are racing out to buy Twinkies et al and stockpile them. I think that is a great idea - for someone else, that is. I don't know what the half-life is for those things, but one could literally buy enough to last a lifetime. That's probably reassuring.
It would usually be on a weekend when my dad was home, and he would get a hankering for something sweet. He would give me a couple of bucks and send me (and one of my brothers, if I forced the issue) over to Captain E-Z's on Middle Avenue. I hated going to Captain E-Z's. The captain was a sleazy, creepy guy, and he employed sleazy, creepy guys to work for him. But I digress. We would walk the block and a half to Captain E-Z's, and buy the two-packs of whatever types of desserts had been requested. And here's the amazing things about that - two dollars bought enough snacks for the entire family.
I don't remember who always ordered what, but I know that I vacillated between the pink sno-balls and the chocolate cupcakes with the loops of white frosting on top. I loved those perfect loops, but the spongy, pink coconut stuff on top of the sno-balls was very appealing, as well. I only had the banana things (Flips?) a couple of times because the fake banana flavor reminded me of the smell of spray paint or nail polish remover. Yum.
I hear that people are racing out to buy Twinkies et al and stockpile them. I think that is a great idea - for someone else, that is. I don't know what the half-life is for those things, but one could literally buy enough to last a lifetime. That's probably reassuring.
Thursday, November 15, 2012
it's the little things
I loved my grandparents' little house on Shriver Avenue. I loved it from the front entryway to the varnished, creaking, wooden steps that led to the big, bright basement. I loved the portrait of my mother in her wedding dress that hung in the living room. I loved to linger in the hall studying all the small photos of Aunt Helen's graduating class at her nursing school in Chicago. I loved the small telephone nook in the hallway where they really did keep their telephone. I loved my Aunt Joanne's flowery, feminine bedroom in the back of the house where the vanity skirt matched the window curtains. I loved my grandma's big, dark bedroom where she kept her treadle sewing machine. I loved the basement where my grandpa's bed was tucked in a cozy corner, and where a swing hung from the rafters for us grandchildren.
It wasn't that my grandma's house was comfy and warm and welcoming; that was never the case. I loved it there because it was clean and bright and it smelled good - all things that made it totally different from our house. Everything had a place, and it was in that place, and that was oddly comforting to me. I knew that even though months might go by between our visits, the bisque ladies with their frilly petticoats would still be standing atop the big radio in the living room, flanking the portrait of my grandma with her arms around my Aunt Joanne, her youngest (and favorite) daughter.
I knew, most importantly, that the bathroom would be clean and bright, and that the curtains on the bathroom window would be lightly starched, with their tiny pansies lined up in orderly rows. Not to be indelicate, but many was the time I sat on the toilet there and just gazed at those curtains. They were so unlike anything in my own home. I loved how the pansies were so neat and predictable in their little rows. I loved the white shade on the window, its crocheted pull at the end of the cord the first I had ever seen. It was cool and quiet in my grandma's bathroom, and I was always allowed to close the door - something that wasn't permitted at home.
I got to thinking about all this the other day when I was in my own little bathroom. Oh, it's nothing like my grandma's, really, but it is clean and bright, although on hot summer days I prefer to keep it cool and dark. I don't have flowered curtains at my window, of course, but if I did, why, then it would be perfect.
It wasn't that my grandma's house was comfy and warm and welcoming; that was never the case. I loved it there because it was clean and bright and it smelled good - all things that made it totally different from our house. Everything had a place, and it was in that place, and that was oddly comforting to me. I knew that even though months might go by between our visits, the bisque ladies with their frilly petticoats would still be standing atop the big radio in the living room, flanking the portrait of my grandma with her arms around my Aunt Joanne, her youngest (and favorite) daughter.
I knew, most importantly, that the bathroom would be clean and bright, and that the curtains on the bathroom window would be lightly starched, with their tiny pansies lined up in orderly rows. Not to be indelicate, but many was the time I sat on the toilet there and just gazed at those curtains. They were so unlike anything in my own home. I loved how the pansies were so neat and predictable in their little rows. I loved the white shade on the window, its crocheted pull at the end of the cord the first I had ever seen. It was cool and quiet in my grandma's bathroom, and I was always allowed to close the door - something that wasn't permitted at home.
I got to thinking about all this the other day when I was in my own little bathroom. Oh, it's nothing like my grandma's, really, but it is clean and bright, although on hot summer days I prefer to keep it cool and dark. I don't have flowered curtains at my window, of course, but if I did, why, then it would be perfect.
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
an opinion poll, of sorts
I can remember going to the polls with both my parents in the mid and late 1950s. My mother would take me during the day, and my dad would take me in the evening when he got home from work. Although we lived across the street from the closest polling place (the high school) for some reason our ward had to vote at a small parish hall on Third Street, I believe it was. So we would walk over there, and if I was lucky, the parent I was with would allow me a few spins on a lonely merry-go-round in a small playground next to the hall.
It seems like it was always cold outside, and the hall felt overheated as we entered wearing our heavy coats. My parents waited their turns to vote in the wonderful old voting machines with the curtains around them. I watched, fascinated, as voter after voter entered the booth and closed the curtain, seeing only their legs as they did - whatever it was one did - in that secret place. Those machines seemed straight out of The Wizard of Oz, and it has since occurred to me that perhaps that is exactly what the movie intended. ("Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.") But I digress. How thrilled I was the first time I entered one of those booths on my own to cast my first vote - for George McGovern, to be sure.
I can't remember where Ben and I voted when we lived in the apartment on Washington Avenue. The church across the street? The American Legion Hall on Gulf Road? Nope. Can't remember. When we lived on Longford, we voted at St. Jude's, and in 1980, Ben and I had to take turns going in to vote, as one of us had to stay in the car with our newborn son while the other voted. We just couldn't risk exposing him to all those germs that would surely be found in that public place.
When we lived in Eastern Heights, we voted at Eastern Heights, of course. I loved voting there. In later years, my walk down the hall to the polling room took me past photos of Tom and Julie and their friends, hung on the wall for their academic excellence. It was with great pride that I took each of them there twelve years ago to cast their first votes. (Tom and Julie I mean. Their friends were on their own.)
In Kent, we voted at the shelter house at Fred Fuller Park. That was a great place to vote. It was great to vote in Kent, in general, where everyone voted just like me, of course, but it was more than that. There was always a fire burning in the big fireplace, and I loved that some voters brought in armloads of firewood when they came to vote. One year I was asked to remove my campaign button from my jacket as I stood in line there. I thought it was a pricky thing to do, but legally correct, so I removed it.
I think in the near future we will probably be able to vote online, and I am sure I will do so. But, I tell you, something is lost when parents no longer bring their children to see our democratic process at work, to eagerly await the day when they can vote, just like mommy and daddy. And I'm not sure being able to vote in one's pjs will make up for that.
Monday, November 5, 2012
we both so excited
Last week while Julie and Andrew were staying with us - because Hurricane Sandy knocked their power out early and it stayed out - I lost one of my hoop earrings. It was not the fault of Julie or Andrew or Hurricane Sandy, that is simply when it happened. I had a sense that I had lost it in my bedroom, and looked around quite a bit in there, but didn't find it anywhere. I took the other earring out of my ear and put it on my dresser, thinking as I did so, "every time I see this sitting here, I will probably think it is the lost earring". And that was the case, until several days later when I wised up and put the lonely earring in a small covered dish that is a piece (the powder jar) of my antique dresser set.
I looked around the house in a desultory manner over the next few days, not finding the lost earring, but finding a quarter in between the couch cushions among the dust and crumbs. I was encouraged that I didn't find the earring mangled and bent after Katie found it somewhere and chewed it all up, but I was sad that it was gone because those earrings were expensive, damnit.
Then, yesterday, as I was changing my bed, I spotted the missing earring at the foot of my bed, underneath the bench where I sit to tie my shoes. I know it wasn't there before because, of course, that was one of the places I looked. I didn't care, however, and quickly picked up the earring and opened the powder jar to place it with its mate. And do you know what song played in my head as I did so? "Reunited, and it feels so good...." I love that.
Thursday, September 27, 2012
maybe I should just stay home... nah!
At the risk of sounding like Andy
Rooney, why is it that I always take the wrong clothes when I
leave home for a few days? Julie and I just got back from
Charlottesville, Virginia, where we spent the night before driving to
Monticello the following day. I read all the weather forecasts, I packed
and re-packed my suitcase, but when we got there, I hadn't brought anything
that seemed appropriate to wear.
I have never been to Charlottesville before, so I think that may
have been part of the problem. People - people my age, anyway - were way
more dressed up and covered up than I wanted to be in humid 80°+ weather.
And that is the other part of the problem, I think. I still have
not learned to dress in an age-appropriate manner. Oh, I don't dress like
my Aunt Joanne or anything - she who always dressed more youthfully than me,
and probably still does. I stopped wearing t-shirts in public years ago -
a step in the right direction, I'm sure. But I don't think I should
really wear shorts out as much as I do, and my skort may have been a
fashion faux pas, as well. I feel that if the weather had
been cooler, I could have dressed better, but I fear getting overheated and
sweaty on my outings almost as much as I fear unexpected rain or bee stings -
maybe more.
The good news is that Julie and I
enjoyed Charlottesville so much, and found Monticello so incredibly beautiful,
that for long periods of time I forgot that I wasn't as
beautifully dressed, coiffed, or manicured as some of the genteel
Southern ladies in our tour group. I hope on my next trip to Monticello -
and I know there will be a next trip - that I will know exactly what to bring
and how to dress. But I have my doubts.
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
laundry day blues over whites
As I was putting the laundry away yesterday, I noticed that I have six white shirts in my closet. Two of them have three-quarter length sleeves. Two of them have short sleeves, and two of them are sleeveless. None of them are exactly what I want. That's obvious, I guess, or I won't have to buy six of them. I have a picture in my mind of exactly what I am looking for, but I haven't been able to find it anywhere in the more than two years that I have been in the market for white shirts.
I suspect I could find something looking like what I want on line, but I have not had good results with ordering clothes on line. Clothes that look great on teeny models look less than great on me. And I like to try on multiple sizes. You know, like, this size is okay, but would I look even better in the next smaller size? Or, more likely, do I need the next bigger size?
Maybe what I want is just too plain. Maybe I am shopping in the wrong places. Whatever. Like Bono, I still haven't found what I'm looking for.
I suspect I could find something looking like what I want on line, but I have not had good results with ordering clothes on line. Clothes that look great on teeny models look less than great on me. And I like to try on multiple sizes. You know, like, this size is okay, but would I look even better in the next smaller size? Or, more likely, do I need the next bigger size?
Maybe what I want is just too plain. Maybe I am shopping in the wrong places. Whatever. Like Bono, I still haven't found what I'm looking for.
Monday, August 6, 2012
orzo, hot or cold
I have been on an orzo kick lately. We had orzo with our homemade marinara sauce, and it was surprisingly good. I made up a couple of recipes featuring orzo, as well, and, I have to admit, they turned out pretty well. The first one is a variation on the meal that Julie likes to make that consists of vegetables, pasta, and protein of some kind - kielbasa or pork or chicken, usually. The second is a variation of the Thai peanut chicken recipe that I make to use up leftover pasta. Julie asked me for both recipes - which is very flattering - but, of course, I don't have recipes, per se. I will create some.
Orzo with Summer Vegetables and Italian Sausage
olive oil
1 lb. sweet Italian sausage
assorted fresh peppers - I used 3 or 4 jalapenos, 1 bell pepper, and 5 or 6 banana peppers
3 cloves garlic
1 medium onion
1 small zucchini
1 small yellow squash
1 tsp. salt
½ tsp. freshly ground pepper
1 tsp. Splenda sugar substitute
¼ to ⅓ cup apple cider vinegar
1 cup uncooked orzo
Heat 1 tbsp. olive oil in large frying pan. Cut the sausage into about 3-inch long pieces (or whatever size you like) and brown on all sides in hot oil. When sausage is browned, turn burner down, add about ¼ cup water, put lid on pan, and simmer until sausage is cooked through. At the same time, cook orzo in large pot of salted, boiling water; drain and rinse.
While sausage is cooking, clean and chop vegetables. I left my peppers about an inch and half square; I slivered the garlic and onions; and after chopping the tops and bottoms off the squash, I sliced them in ¼-inch thick disks. I cut the disks in half if they got too big. When the sausage is cooked, remove to a plate so vegetables can cook. Add another tablespoon of olive oil and the vegetables to the pan. Make sure the veggies are not wet or you could get burned. Sauté vegetables, adding salt and pepper, sugar and vinegar. It is important to taste the vegetables as they cook, and adjust seasonings as needed. Cook vegetables until they are almost as done as you like them; then add sausage and orzo, and heat through. Serve with fresh summer fruit.
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This is a seasonal meal, meant to take advantage of fresh summer vegetables. As regular readers know, I am fussy about my cooked vegetables, and find that I can stand all of these. If there are other veggies that you like or have on hand, by all means, use them. This recipe makes a lot, and could easily be halved.
My second recipe was supposed to be a simple, cold pasta salad with shrimp, but I found that I didn't have a lot of the ingredients that I thought I had to make it. I did, however, have these ingredients, and so that is what I used.
Thai Shrimp and Orzo Salad
1 cup uncooked orzo
1 lb. medium-sized shrimp, cooked, cleaned, and chilled
1 medium onion, chopped
2 large celery stalks, chopped
½ green pepper, chopped
⅓ cup roasted peanuts, chopped
10 - 12 basil leaves, chopped (cilantro would be good here, but I used it all in the salsa)
1 tsp.salt
½ tsp. pepper
1 tsp. curry powder
½ cup good mayonnaise
1 tbsp. lime juice
Thai peanut sauce
canned coconut milk
Cook orzo in large pot of salted, boiling water; drain and rinse. Combine shrimp, vegetables, peanuts, and basil in a large bowl. Add orzo. Add salt, pepper, and curry powder; stir well. In a smaller bowl, add lime juice, peanut sauce, and coconut milk to mayonnaise and whisk until smooth. This is where you will have to taste frequently and use your own judgement as to how much of each of these to use. This "dressing" that you are making should be soupy - the orzo will absorb a lot of it. When the taste is to your liking, pour dressing over salad and mix well. Spoon into a lovely bowl and refrigerate until well-chilled.
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I am very pleased with how both of my new recipes turned out, but shall I tell you how I like the orzo best of all? Piping hot with butter and salt on it. It reminds me of the spaghetti I ate when I was a child. I wouldn't eat tomato sauce, so my spaghetti always had butter and salt instead. It tasted great.
Orzo with Summer Vegetables and Italian Sausage
olive oil
1 lb. sweet Italian sausage
assorted fresh peppers - I used 3 or 4 jalapenos, 1 bell pepper, and 5 or 6 banana peppers
3 cloves garlic
1 medium onion
1 small zucchini
1 small yellow squash
1 tsp. salt
½ tsp. freshly ground pepper
1 tsp. Splenda sugar substitute
¼ to ⅓ cup apple cider vinegar
1 cup uncooked orzo
Heat 1 tbsp. olive oil in large frying pan. Cut the sausage into about 3-inch long pieces (or whatever size you like) and brown on all sides in hot oil. When sausage is browned, turn burner down, add about ¼ cup water, put lid on pan, and simmer until sausage is cooked through. At the same time, cook orzo in large pot of salted, boiling water; drain and rinse.
While sausage is cooking, clean and chop vegetables. I left my peppers about an inch and half square; I slivered the garlic and onions; and after chopping the tops and bottoms off the squash, I sliced them in ¼-inch thick disks. I cut the disks in half if they got too big. When the sausage is cooked, remove to a plate so vegetables can cook. Add another tablespoon of olive oil and the vegetables to the pan. Make sure the veggies are not wet or you could get burned. Sauté vegetables, adding salt and pepper, sugar and vinegar. It is important to taste the vegetables as they cook, and adjust seasonings as needed. Cook vegetables until they are almost as done as you like them; then add sausage and orzo, and heat through. Serve with fresh summer fruit.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This is a seasonal meal, meant to take advantage of fresh summer vegetables. As regular readers know, I am fussy about my cooked vegetables, and find that I can stand all of these. If there are other veggies that you like or have on hand, by all means, use them. This recipe makes a lot, and could easily be halved.
My second recipe was supposed to be a simple, cold pasta salad with shrimp, but I found that I didn't have a lot of the ingredients that I thought I had to make it. I did, however, have these ingredients, and so that is what I used.
Thai Shrimp and Orzo Salad
1 cup uncooked orzo
1 lb. medium-sized shrimp, cooked, cleaned, and chilled
1 medium onion, chopped
2 large celery stalks, chopped
½ green pepper, chopped
⅓ cup roasted peanuts, chopped
10 - 12 basil leaves, chopped (cilantro would be good here, but I used it all in the salsa)
1 tsp.salt
½ tsp. pepper
1 tsp. curry powder
½ cup good mayonnaise
1 tbsp. lime juice
Thai peanut sauce
canned coconut milk
Cook orzo in large pot of salted, boiling water; drain and rinse. Combine shrimp, vegetables, peanuts, and basil in a large bowl. Add orzo. Add salt, pepper, and curry powder; stir well. In a smaller bowl, add lime juice, peanut sauce, and coconut milk to mayonnaise and whisk until smooth. This is where you will have to taste frequently and use your own judgement as to how much of each of these to use. This "dressing" that you are making should be soupy - the orzo will absorb a lot of it. When the taste is to your liking, pour dressing over salad and mix well. Spoon into a lovely bowl and refrigerate until well-chilled.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I am very pleased with how both of my new recipes turned out, but shall I tell you how I like the orzo best of all? Piping hot with butter and salt on it. It reminds me of the spaghetti I ate when I was a child. I wouldn't eat tomato sauce, so my spaghetti always had butter and salt instead. It tasted great.
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