...the tough pull grasshoppers off their windowsill.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Monday, June 09, 2008
When women molt
They get haircuts.
I bought a cheapo digital camera, and should now be able to share more projects and things on Ravelry and here.
Thursday, June 05, 2008
Two Prescott stories
*Gasp* I mentioned the town I live in, which you need to know is at least %40 retired. This used to be a non-issue to me, but lately I've had some experiences.
Sunday: I'm checking out at the grocery story, and a woman in her late 70s or 80s comes behind me in the checkout line. I'm loading my cart, my daughter is standing quietly and using her punching balloon under control. This bitch yells at my kid, "Excuse Me!" She is clearly destined by decree to own every inch of the belt she's loading her banal groceries on, and I ignore her and let my child ignore her, too.
She loads the groceries, and does everything she can to inch her way into our existence while I'm still conducting my transaction. She squirts out another nasty, acidic "Excuse me!" I ignore her and let my child ignore her, too.
I'm collecting my receipt and putting my wallet away, when I notice that she's Literally Pushing My Child With Her Goddamn Fucking Shopping Cart because my daughter, who's waiting for me to finish shopping, is also trying to get her shoe on so we can both leave.
I lose it. I'm not one for public spectacles, but I say in an elevated voice, "Will you stop? You are hitting my child with a shopping cart, and she's trying to get her shoe on!" (Flip flops slide off from time to time, let's live with it.)
She says to me, "I'm sorry your child is such a brat." The woman that's been obnoxious, aggressive, and intolerant is calling my child, who's been quiet and patient and hasn't yelled at this lady (I instructed my child to do so next time), a brat. I can't believe I let that slide. Instead, I go for a personal attack: "I'm sorry that your life is so damn rotten!" I think I hissed, man was I ticked off.
__________________________________________________________________
Monday: I do something drastic. I get my eyebrows waxed and all of my hair cut off. The lady doing my eyebrows is nice enough, and I'm guessing from how she speaks that she's an immigrant from a Spanish speaking country somewhere South of Arizona. We get talking, and it's clear that I'm the one with the immigrant accent. It winds up she's done her geneology back six generations in Monument Valley, she's Navajo, and her grandfather a famous interpreter.
Sunday: I'm checking out at the grocery story, and a woman in her late 70s or 80s comes behind me in the checkout line. I'm loading my cart, my daughter is standing quietly and using her punching balloon under control. This bitch yells at my kid, "Excuse Me!" She is clearly destined by decree to own every inch of the belt she's loading her banal groceries on, and I ignore her and let my child ignore her, too.
She loads the groceries, and does everything she can to inch her way into our existence while I'm still conducting my transaction. She squirts out another nasty, acidic "Excuse me!" I ignore her and let my child ignore her, too.
I'm collecting my receipt and putting my wallet away, when I notice that she's Literally Pushing My Child With Her Goddamn Fucking Shopping Cart because my daughter, who's waiting for me to finish shopping, is also trying to get her shoe on so we can both leave.
I lose it. I'm not one for public spectacles, but I say in an elevated voice, "Will you stop? You are hitting my child with a shopping cart, and she's trying to get her shoe on!" (Flip flops slide off from time to time, let's live with it.)
She says to me, "I'm sorry your child is such a brat." The woman that's been obnoxious, aggressive, and intolerant is calling my child, who's been quiet and patient and hasn't yelled at this lady (I instructed my child to do so next time), a brat. I can't believe I let that slide. Instead, I go for a personal attack: "I'm sorry that your life is so damn rotten!" I think I hissed, man was I ticked off.
__________________________________________________________________
Monday: I do something drastic. I get my eyebrows waxed and all of my hair cut off. The lady doing my eyebrows is nice enough, and I'm guessing from how she speaks that she's an immigrant from a Spanish speaking country somewhere South of Arizona. We get talking, and it's clear that I'm the one with the immigrant accent. It winds up she's done her geneology back six generations in Monument Valley, she's Navajo, and her grandfather a famous interpreter.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
In case you were wondering...
when one is totally pissed off at their spouse, and exhilarated yet anxious about the imminent arrival of their elderly and not entirely well moving-in Father, a perfect cocktail, my dear colleague, is Jack Daniels cola, w/ alternate sips of Earl Grey tea. I'm not much of a drinker, but should have thought of increasing my levels long before tonight.
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
How Children See The World
We were driving by the church I voted at during the AZ Primary months ago, when Cassie asked, "Mom, how come we can go to that church to vote when we're not Christian." Even for a kid that goes to a church school, somehow it goes deep that "going to Church" is something only some people do, rather than a community center.
Friday, April 11, 2008
What's that swiping sound?
It's me, stealing the Yarn Harlot's copyright for self-effacing posts. I don't know if I have insomnia or "aging sleeping habits" *snort*- but I have to air my irritation w/ how the past four hours went.
First, I finished "The Book Thief." Shed a few tears, will think of these characters from time to time. Being Jewish, we have "Never Forget" flavored on our pacifiers, and that's just where Holocaust education begins. It's good to see a book like this (note: it is a fiction title), where never forget includes the precious souls that said Fuck You to Hitler And His Germany, regardless of the personal cost.
Back to knitting. Attempt #2 at the Mananita cast on. We left off with me spending three hours trying to figure out a way to invisible cast on, and then kind of getting the hang of it, w/ the realization that I need smoother joins on my circulars and in my brain. On a whim I ordered the needles and a Schoolhouse video for Mananita. They arrived, and it's a different Mananita, lo and behold, w/ a different (long tail) cast on method. After looking at that video, back to the web for video and written tutorials, back to the book, I've got 80 stitches of invisible cast on that are too damn tight. I'm just not getting how to do this w/out twisting the hell out of my waste yarn.
I decide to bag the invisible cast on, and use the long tail cast on. Who cares, right? Long tail cast on, I've used it for seven years. I NO LONGER REMEMBER HOW TO DO IT. Forgive the caps lock. But that's what happened in one evening of this try and try again. Do I make an albatross for myself, or look for some finger candy like finishing some sweater sleeves.
I picked this silk out w/ pure love and weak knees, and just may walk into the Yarn shop someday soon (anyone volunteering to take my kid?) and pay for a tutorial, something I've just not ever considered doing before. I love those ladies, hope it's true on the other end of help.
First, I finished "The Book Thief." Shed a few tears, will think of these characters from time to time. Being Jewish, we have "Never Forget" flavored on our pacifiers, and that's just where Holocaust education begins. It's good to see a book like this (note: it is a fiction title), where never forget includes the precious souls that said Fuck You to Hitler And His Germany, regardless of the personal cost.
Back to knitting. Attempt #2 at the Mananita cast on. We left off with me spending three hours trying to figure out a way to invisible cast on, and then kind of getting the hang of it, w/ the realization that I need smoother joins on my circulars and in my brain. On a whim I ordered the needles and a Schoolhouse video for Mananita. They arrived, and it's a different Mananita, lo and behold, w/ a different (long tail) cast on method. After looking at that video, back to the web for video and written tutorials, back to the book, I've got 80 stitches of invisible cast on that are too damn tight. I'm just not getting how to do this w/out twisting the hell out of my waste yarn.
I decide to bag the invisible cast on, and use the long tail cast on. Who cares, right? Long tail cast on, I've used it for seven years. I NO LONGER REMEMBER HOW TO DO IT. Forgive the caps lock. But that's what happened in one evening of this try and try again. Do I make an albatross for myself, or look for some finger candy like finishing some sweater sleeves.
I picked this silk out w/ pure love and weak knees, and just may walk into the Yarn shop someday soon (anyone volunteering to take my kid?) and pay for a tutorial, something I've just not ever considered doing before. I love those ladies, hope it's true on the other end of help.
Sunday, April 06, 2008
Oh yeah
And there was a finished project this week. This kid had picked out a bamboo/cotton/silk/sparkly blend, and I turned it into a drawstring back w/ a svelt ribbon (called a bonk in this house, by she) that held her bday present. I need these knitting in the round projects that pass quickly, and as soon as one is over, it's a little bit of a rut to get the next one going. Next, the Pi shawl, w/ that crochet over a loop cast on I need to sit down and do.
How funny to find me here
Natalie commented that I don't have pictures (yet). It's true, and I need to not tell anyone, walk out the stinkin' door, and buy myself a digital camera that would do the simple job, probably even cheaply. Sorry, pal. It's hilarious to revisit this thought. In Summer 1998, when I was living in Scottsdale for an internship with Motorola, I accidentally got involved in needlework. (Listening to NPR instead of t.v., came across a cross-stitch kit on my walk home from work, and was on usenet in 1.7 seconds learning of different embroidery resources.) It was the first time in my life I walked away from text and into technicolor, and obviously there is no looking back. Here I am, reporting on my technicolor in monochrome.
Report: Yesterday a.m. I took out some solid Merino top, and started testing for a 4-ply "over balanced" Merino yarn, something like a Koigu. I'm trying to barely twist the singles (1/4 done), and we'll see where this goes. I'm spinning slowly, and love my wheel best (Lendrum folding) when operating it like this. (Love laceweight for the cadence and meditative feel.) Funny how the time goes: I dived through one pound of Wensleydale top in the past month or so (including some weekends off), and this little skein of a few yards and barely an oz will probably take me much longer. 5 oz. of Corriedale took me almost two years to hand card and spin up (it's 450 yards, sitting on my shelf, and I cannot believe I spent two Fucking years on it, why?). Why do we spend our time the way we do.
Time is running short for me nowadays. We're househunting today, and my Dad is supposed to be here in about four weeks. The school year is running out, and somehow I feel like a certain chapter of my adult life is, too.
Report: Yesterday a.m. I took out some solid Merino top, and started testing for a 4-ply "over balanced" Merino yarn, something like a Koigu. I'm trying to barely twist the singles (1/4 done), and we'll see where this goes. I'm spinning slowly, and love my wheel best (Lendrum folding) when operating it like this. (Love laceweight for the cadence and meditative feel.) Funny how the time goes: I dived through one pound of Wensleydale top in the past month or so (including some weekends off), and this little skein of a few yards and barely an oz will probably take me much longer. 5 oz. of Corriedale took me almost two years to hand card and spin up (it's 450 yards, sitting on my shelf, and I cannot believe I spent two Fucking years on it, why?). Why do we spend our time the way we do.
Time is running short for me nowadays. We're househunting today, and my Dad is supposed to be here in about four weeks. The school year is running out, and somehow I feel like a certain chapter of my adult life is, too.
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