reboant (REB-OH-ent) adj. loudly echoing or reverberating
(from the MMMW, edited by Laurence Urdang)
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
Wasting Time
We each got some kind of computer or handheld game for Christmas, and we like them. Consequently, we are not getting much done around the house right now, as we’re all trying to figure out our games and get better at them. It’s hard being a firm, decisive parent who tells their kids to quit playing games and do their chores, when I myself have just spent an hour and a half trying to get two of my Sim characters to fall in love, and failing miserably. Yes, thank you, I can say hypocrite, I just don’t want to.
All this game playing, with the differing situations and options and scoring, has also made dinner conversation peculiar, even for my family. Last night the conversation went something like this:
Hubs: Well, children, what did you do today? (I always hated this question as a kid myself because I instantaneously forgot everything positive I’d done, and sat there with my mouth hanging open, feeling like a moron. Usually my kids feel the same way.)
Doodle: I killed about a hundred allies.
Bunny: I grew three crops of rutabagas and married the mayor.
Hubs: (open mouthed) (silent and stunned)
Me: I think Dad meant what did you do in school.
Doodle: Nuthin’.
Bunny: Oh. I found all my new classes and got handouts and books.
(Large chasm of silence)
Me: So, Doodle, why would you kill allies? I thought allies were your friends and helpers?
Doodle, enthusiastically: Well, I’m supposed to be really sneaky and like a double-agent, so if I kill my allies and then pretend I just barely survived an attack by the “enemy”, then I get extra points!
Me: Cool! Sounds fun!
Doodle: Yeah! I’ve got all these great weapons, like a megatronic phaser blaster and…
Bunny, interrupting: I got a thousand points for marrying the mayor!
Me: Oooh, why?
Bunny: He’s really hard to get to know, and he’s rich.
Me: (slapping head and thinking of what this is teaching my daughter in terms of relationships) AAARGH!
Hubs, finally getting it: I’m hoping to chuck my racecar driver through 6 flaming hoops tonight, after the news.
Doodle: What news?
Hubs: The real news – you know, stuff that happened today, out in the real world.
Doodle: When will it be over? Can I trying chucking a driver, too?
Hubs: 7. OK, that would be fun!
Me: Bonding, dear?
Hubs: (winks at me and says to Doodle) Maybe we could also try crashing into stuff with trucks.
Me: (slapping head again) AAARGH!
Bunny: Hey, Mom, do you get extra points for marrying someone difficult?
Me: No, you just get ulcers and headaches.
Bunny: In Sims?
Me: No, in real life.
Bunny: What about in Sims?
Me: I think it just takes longer and then they’re always a little cranky with each other. Better to marry someone with whom you share interests. And work hours.
Bunny: That sounds like it would work better in real life, too.
Me: Why rutabagas?
Bunny: Big cash crop. I’m stinking rich now.
Me: Handy. Got any kids?
Bunny: No, but I adopted a flock of chickens. That’s not working out so well, though, they keep wandering through the house and that ticks the Mayor off.
Me: I probably wouldn’t want chickens in my house either. Got any homework?
Bunny: Nope. Just reading the class rules and stuff like that.
Me: Homework, Doodle?
Doodle: Nope.
Spawn (wandering in from work): Hey, what’s up?
Doodle: Dad and I are going to chuck people through flaming hoops and crash trucks into stuff after the news!
Spawn: Coooool! Can I watch?
Me, exasperated: Don’t you have homework from college?
Spawn: Naw, we just got class rules and got lectured about not being slackers.
Me: AAAAAAAARGH! OK, that’s it. All of you kids do some chores, I don’t care what, dishes, laundry, vacuuming, picking nits out of each other’s hair, I don’t care, just do something productive!
Spawn: Mom! I just got home from work!
Me: Laundry. You get to do laundry. Go fold something.
Bunny: Geez, Mom, what am I supposed to do? I don’t have any homework and my room’s clean!
Me: Help your little brother do dishes. And don’t look at me like that!
Hubs: (snickers) So, what did you do today, dear?
Me: Seven thousand things that are all incredibly boring and don’t sound like much and which no one will ever notice because I do them so routinely and seamlessly. You?
Hubs: Pretty much the same.
Me: Thank you.
Hubs: You, too.
All this game playing, with the differing situations and options and scoring, has also made dinner conversation peculiar, even for my family. Last night the conversation went something like this:
Hubs: Well, children, what did you do today? (I always hated this question as a kid myself because I instantaneously forgot everything positive I’d done, and sat there with my mouth hanging open, feeling like a moron. Usually my kids feel the same way.)
Doodle: I killed about a hundred allies.
Bunny: I grew three crops of rutabagas and married the mayor.
Hubs: (open mouthed) (silent and stunned)
Me: I think Dad meant what did you do in school.
Doodle: Nuthin’.
Bunny: Oh. I found all my new classes and got handouts and books.
(Large chasm of silence)
Me: So, Doodle, why would you kill allies? I thought allies were your friends and helpers?
Doodle, enthusiastically: Well, I’m supposed to be really sneaky and like a double-agent, so if I kill my allies and then pretend I just barely survived an attack by the “enemy”, then I get extra points!
Me: Cool! Sounds fun!
Doodle: Yeah! I’ve got all these great weapons, like a megatronic phaser blaster and…
Bunny, interrupting: I got a thousand points for marrying the mayor!
Me: Oooh, why?
Bunny: He’s really hard to get to know, and he’s rich.
Me: (slapping head and thinking of what this is teaching my daughter in terms of relationships) AAARGH!
Hubs, finally getting it: I’m hoping to chuck my racecar driver through 6 flaming hoops tonight, after the news.
Doodle: What news?
Hubs: The real news – you know, stuff that happened today, out in the real world.
Doodle: When will it be over? Can I trying chucking a driver, too?
Hubs: 7. OK, that would be fun!
Me: Bonding, dear?
Hubs: (winks at me and says to Doodle) Maybe we could also try crashing into stuff with trucks.
Me: (slapping head again) AAARGH!
Bunny: Hey, Mom, do you get extra points for marrying someone difficult?
Me: No, you just get ulcers and headaches.
Bunny: In Sims?
Me: No, in real life.
Bunny: What about in Sims?
Me: I think it just takes longer and then they’re always a little cranky with each other. Better to marry someone with whom you share interests. And work hours.
Bunny: That sounds like it would work better in real life, too.
Me: Why rutabagas?
Bunny: Big cash crop. I’m stinking rich now.
Me: Handy. Got any kids?
Bunny: No, but I adopted a flock of chickens. That’s not working out so well, though, they keep wandering through the house and that ticks the Mayor off.
Me: I probably wouldn’t want chickens in my house either. Got any homework?
Bunny: Nope. Just reading the class rules and stuff like that.
Me: Homework, Doodle?
Doodle: Nope.
Spawn (wandering in from work): Hey, what’s up?
Doodle: Dad and I are going to chuck people through flaming hoops and crash trucks into stuff after the news!
Spawn: Coooool! Can I watch?
Me, exasperated: Don’t you have homework from college?
Spawn: Naw, we just got class rules and got lectured about not being slackers.
Me: AAAAAAAARGH! OK, that’s it. All of you kids do some chores, I don’t care what, dishes, laundry, vacuuming, picking nits out of each other’s hair, I don’t care, just do something productive!
Spawn: Mom! I just got home from work!
Me: Laundry. You get to do laundry. Go fold something.
Bunny: Geez, Mom, what am I supposed to do? I don’t have any homework and my room’s clean!
Me: Help your little brother do dishes. And don’t look at me like that!
Hubs: (snickers) So, what did you do today, dear?
Me: Seven thousand things that are all incredibly boring and don’t sound like much and which no one will ever notice because I do them so routinely and seamlessly. You?
Hubs: Pretty much the same.
Me: Thank you.
Hubs: You, too.
Oddball Word of the Day
tutoyer (TOO-twe-yay) v. to address or treat (a person) with familiarity, especially where no familiarity exists
(from the MMMW, edited by Laurence Urdang)
(from the MMMW, edited by Laurence Urdang)
Friday, January 05, 2007
Five Good Things About Folks with ADHD
My husband and both of my sons have ADHD. It often makes life very trying, it can certainly be frustrating, but there are moments of lightness and humor that are pretty fun, too.
1. They think I am unusually smart because I can remember stuff that they haven’t even thought of since it flickered off the screen of their attention span. Sometimes, as a Mom and wife, this works out to my advantage – I can play head games on the unwary, swearing up and down that they really did like stuffed green peppers the last time I served them, although I always give myself up as a prankster after poking at them a few times. I have been dubbed the family Oracle because I remember what the dentist said to them the last time they went, where they probably left their shoes, and why so-and-so is no longer speaking to them.
2. They are very forgiving. They don’t remember what the hell they were supposed to be mad about unless it was truly huge and/or they did something to lock it in their memory cells. Before any of them were diagnosed, I used to think they had more grace and kindness than anyone I’d ever met. Now that I know they’re just senile as all hell, I still like to think of it as grace, merely unintentional grace, and it gives me an example to follow in my own mind.
3. They are very energetic. Sometimes this gets bad or annoying when it hits the frenetic stage. Other times it works out pretty well for me because I could easily slide into a state of permanent mediation and physical indolence, which would cause me to be mistaken for a large piece of damp laundry occupying couch space. Having a son or husband twitter through the living room, inciting small mayhem or a desire to sally forth and DO something is a good thing.
4. Their needs for tangible materials to cope with their memory/attention problems has made me more reliable, more organized and more receptive to using the same or similar strategies. When my husband and I were first married, I couldn’t believe how horrible his time sense was. I got him a better watch, a pocket calendar, a wall calendar, and finally, over the years, he added in his own reminder computer programs, little pocket doo-dads and the like to help him remember important dates and appointments.
When the kids headed off to school and we went through the forgotten homework, books, assignments, and so on, I was the first Mom to insist on a Day Planner for the kids, follow-up homework hotlines, the option of an extra set of books for home, and to drive, with unrestrained fervor, the first 504 plan for an ADHD kid through the local school system. Assignment books and follow up methods are now de rigueur for all kids in the schools.
I decided, about 6 years ago, that between doctor appointments, following up on homework assignments, and various activity meetings, I needed a day planner, too. I am never without it now, and I’m glad I got one. When I started having to remember things for not just the five of us, but also for my Dad, it became crucial, particularly for scheduling his medical appointments, which sometimes need to be done a year in advance.
5. I’ve gotten incredibly good at estimating time myself in order to teach my kids how to estimate preparation time for getting to school or other appointments without having to dash out the door, already late, with their pants unzipped and wearing only one sock. I also clock durations, so that I can use actual data in future estimates or even in arguments with them. They hate that, in a kidly way. No more can they argue that they can’t possibly do the dishes because they have a date – I ask what time the date is, then inform them that if they will quit whining, they can get the dishes done in 13.5 minutes if they focus, have time for a quick shower – 8.5 minutes, get dressed – 5 minutes for the boys, 12 for my daughter, and still have time to drink a glass of milk before they leave. And they’ll be on time. They give me the look. I return it, raising it one set of maternal eyebrows and adding that they’ll also be in my good graces if they get hopping.
I usually win, and they love me anyway – because they can’t remember how many times I’ve pulled the same damned stunt on them!
1. They think I am unusually smart because I can remember stuff that they haven’t even thought of since it flickered off the screen of their attention span. Sometimes, as a Mom and wife, this works out to my advantage – I can play head games on the unwary, swearing up and down that they really did like stuffed green peppers the last time I served them, although I always give myself up as a prankster after poking at them a few times. I have been dubbed the family Oracle because I remember what the dentist said to them the last time they went, where they probably left their shoes, and why so-and-so is no longer speaking to them.
2. They are very forgiving. They don’t remember what the hell they were supposed to be mad about unless it was truly huge and/or they did something to lock it in their memory cells. Before any of them were diagnosed, I used to think they had more grace and kindness than anyone I’d ever met. Now that I know they’re just senile as all hell, I still like to think of it as grace, merely unintentional grace, and it gives me an example to follow in my own mind.
3. They are very energetic. Sometimes this gets bad or annoying when it hits the frenetic stage. Other times it works out pretty well for me because I could easily slide into a state of permanent mediation and physical indolence, which would cause me to be mistaken for a large piece of damp laundry occupying couch space. Having a son or husband twitter through the living room, inciting small mayhem or a desire to sally forth and DO something is a good thing.
4. Their needs for tangible materials to cope with their memory/attention problems has made me more reliable, more organized and more receptive to using the same or similar strategies. When my husband and I were first married, I couldn’t believe how horrible his time sense was. I got him a better watch, a pocket calendar, a wall calendar, and finally, over the years, he added in his own reminder computer programs, little pocket doo-dads and the like to help him remember important dates and appointments.
When the kids headed off to school and we went through the forgotten homework, books, assignments, and so on, I was the first Mom to insist on a Day Planner for the kids, follow-up homework hotlines, the option of an extra set of books for home, and to drive, with unrestrained fervor, the first 504 plan for an ADHD kid through the local school system. Assignment books and follow up methods are now de rigueur for all kids in the schools.
I decided, about 6 years ago, that between doctor appointments, following up on homework assignments, and various activity meetings, I needed a day planner, too. I am never without it now, and I’m glad I got one. When I started having to remember things for not just the five of us, but also for my Dad, it became crucial, particularly for scheduling his medical appointments, which sometimes need to be done a year in advance.
5. I’ve gotten incredibly good at estimating time myself in order to teach my kids how to estimate preparation time for getting to school or other appointments without having to dash out the door, already late, with their pants unzipped and wearing only one sock. I also clock durations, so that I can use actual data in future estimates or even in arguments with them. They hate that, in a kidly way. No more can they argue that they can’t possibly do the dishes because they have a date – I ask what time the date is, then inform them that if they will quit whining, they can get the dishes done in 13.5 minutes if they focus, have time for a quick shower – 8.5 minutes, get dressed – 5 minutes for the boys, 12 for my daughter, and still have time to drink a glass of milk before they leave. And they’ll be on time. They give me the look. I return it, raising it one set of maternal eyebrows and adding that they’ll also be in my good graces if they get hopping.
I usually win, and they love me anyway – because they can’t remember how many times I’ve pulled the same damned stunt on them!
Oddball Word of the Day
nudnik (NOOD-nick) n. an importunate or tiring person; a nuisance
(from the guide to MMMW, edited by Laurence Urdang)
(from the guide to MMMW, edited by Laurence Urdang)
German Idiom for Friday
jemandem nach dem Mund reden: to say what someone wants to hear
zB: Um im Berufsleben weiterzukommen, redet Heinrich dem Chef immer nach dem Mund.
auf Englisch: To get on in his career, Heinrich always says what the boss wants to hear.
(from the Guide to German Idioms by JP Lupson)
zB: Um im Berufsleben weiterzukommen, redet Heinrich dem Chef immer nach dem Mund.
auf Englisch: To get on in his career, Heinrich always says what the boss wants to hear.
(from the Guide to German Idioms by JP Lupson)
Thursday, January 04, 2007
The Midyear Knitting Report
Yes, I said that right. Each profession seems to define the start and end of a year differently, fiscal years, school years, sales years, tax years, etc., so I get to define a Knitting Year for myself. It begins when the temperature hits 40 degrees for the first time after summer, and ends with the first full week of temperatures above 70 degrees in the spring.
I define it this way because, unlike most time periods of my life, which are rational and predictable, I am a whimsical wooly caterpillar when it comes to knitting – I knit for the weather I’m experiencing, and neither force of will, nor aggravations over UFOs (unfinished objects), nor a driving need to have a project finished in time for some particular event will cause me to pick up a handful of yarn during warm weather. I can occasionally fudge my way through with cotton and small kitcheny (and kitschy) stuff when it warms up, but I have an innate resistance to knitting while sweating.
I’ve already mentioned over the course of the last few months, directed projects attempted and completed – Hats to the Capital, Knit for Kids sweaters, things send to the Pine Ridge Reservation. I did wind up finishing the Fishwife’s Shawl (or whatever it’s called) from Cheryl Oberle’s book on Folk Shawls. I could be more impressed, and probably will be once it’s blocked. Right now the fishtail stitches at the bottom border are a little bunchy compared to the looser garter stitches of the main body.
I had an unpleasant surprise over Christmas, which I had to knit for – somehow the plastic storage box with the stockings in it had been breached since it was last seen, and mice had eaten away a large portion of my daughter’s stocking. It was not reparable. Her teddy bear’s stocking (she’s had the bear since she was 4 years old or so, and the bear is as much a part of our family as our live pets) had also gone missing. My imagination has placed it in a mouse den somewhere, acting as a sleeping bag for some elderly grandmother mouse, wearing Beatrix Potter tiny glasses and a mobcap.
So, I knit up another stocking for each of them, with fluffy cuffs and contrasting heels and toes. They were ready with 48 hours safety margin before the Big Night. The bear was worried, but we’re all OK now.
Since then, I’ve been in knitting limbo. It’s warm out, unusually warm, and that’s put a hitch in my get-along. Normally, in January, I’d be working on the last third of at least one afghan, finishing up a nice patterned sweater, and launching into mittens. I’ve stalled on a baby aghan in donated yarn (and therefore quite neon like colors of screaming yellow and eye popping bright pink), a mitered afghan lies under the coffee table only half finished, and the only thing I’ve been working on steadily, if half-heartedly, is a roll brim stocking cap in lightweight sock yarn of tan and brown. Bleah.
So, I’m planning instead. Some of my former “wanna dos” are still undone. I hope to do a Charlotte’s Web shawl this year and that pair of Sanquahar gloves I’ve been eyeballing for much too long. I have the yarn and the pattern for the Peacock Feather shawl, but I’ve been dawdling along, a little daunted by the lace charts. I think I’ll take either CW or PF in to my Chix with Stix group, now that we have another experienced knitter and see if she can bolster my skills and confidence. I’d also like to get three oddball afghans done, including the mitered squares one from under the coffee table, and then send them off to Pine Ridge. That should probably hold me until summer arrives.
I define it this way because, unlike most time periods of my life, which are rational and predictable, I am a whimsical wooly caterpillar when it comes to knitting – I knit for the weather I’m experiencing, and neither force of will, nor aggravations over UFOs (unfinished objects), nor a driving need to have a project finished in time for some particular event will cause me to pick up a handful of yarn during warm weather. I can occasionally fudge my way through with cotton and small kitcheny (and kitschy) stuff when it warms up, but I have an innate resistance to knitting while sweating.
I’ve already mentioned over the course of the last few months, directed projects attempted and completed – Hats to the Capital, Knit for Kids sweaters, things send to the Pine Ridge Reservation. I did wind up finishing the Fishwife’s Shawl (or whatever it’s called) from Cheryl Oberle’s book on Folk Shawls. I could be more impressed, and probably will be once it’s blocked. Right now the fishtail stitches at the bottom border are a little bunchy compared to the looser garter stitches of the main body.
I had an unpleasant surprise over Christmas, which I had to knit for – somehow the plastic storage box with the stockings in it had been breached since it was last seen, and mice had eaten away a large portion of my daughter’s stocking. It was not reparable. Her teddy bear’s stocking (she’s had the bear since she was 4 years old or so, and the bear is as much a part of our family as our live pets) had also gone missing. My imagination has placed it in a mouse den somewhere, acting as a sleeping bag for some elderly grandmother mouse, wearing Beatrix Potter tiny glasses and a mobcap.
So, I knit up another stocking for each of them, with fluffy cuffs and contrasting heels and toes. They were ready with 48 hours safety margin before the Big Night. The bear was worried, but we’re all OK now.
Since then, I’ve been in knitting limbo. It’s warm out, unusually warm, and that’s put a hitch in my get-along. Normally, in January, I’d be working on the last third of at least one afghan, finishing up a nice patterned sweater, and launching into mittens. I’ve stalled on a baby aghan in donated yarn (and therefore quite neon like colors of screaming yellow and eye popping bright pink), a mitered afghan lies under the coffee table only half finished, and the only thing I’ve been working on steadily, if half-heartedly, is a roll brim stocking cap in lightweight sock yarn of tan and brown. Bleah.
So, I’m planning instead. Some of my former “wanna dos” are still undone. I hope to do a Charlotte’s Web shawl this year and that pair of Sanquahar gloves I’ve been eyeballing for much too long. I have the yarn and the pattern for the Peacock Feather shawl, but I’ve been dawdling along, a little daunted by the lace charts. I think I’ll take either CW or PF in to my Chix with Stix group, now that we have another experienced knitter and see if she can bolster my skills and confidence. I’d also like to get three oddball afghans done, including the mitered squares one from under the coffee table, and then send them off to Pine Ridge. That should probably hold me until summer arrives.
I’ll post pictures along the way.
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
Tag! I'm it!
I've been tagged by Judy, as follows:“THE RULES: Each player of this game starts with the ‘6 weird things about you.’ People who get tagged need to write a blog of their own 6 weird things as well as state this rule clearly. In the end, you need to choose 6 people to be tagged and list their names. Don’t forget to leave a comment that says ‘you are tagged’ in their comments and tell them to read your blog.”
OK, I’ll bite on telling six weird things about myself, probably mostly because I am a diehard list maker, and anything that needs to be numbered already has points in its favor (shall I count them???). I’m not tagging anyone else – not because I have some large objection to it, I just don’t know that many Bloggers personally that I feel I have sufficient friend points with to tag. So, if you are reading this and would like to add your six eccentricities via a comment, please do. Or, if you’re a Blogger, tag yourself for me, and leave me a note so I can read about you.
1. I talk for my animals. I talk for other people’s animals in front of my family. I have a hard time not doing my anthropomorphizing interpretations in front of other people. For example, when I speak for my Labrador, he has a kind of kid voice and a little trouble with his double els. He “smews the smews”, he doesn’t “smell the smells”, for example. And, if he crawls up on hubs and looks adoringly up at him, I wind up saying, “I love you Dad. You smew like beef. Do you have beef? Dogs like beef. In case you were wondering. Scratch my neck, Dad.” When he looks hopefully at one of the kids and wags, my mouth says, “Hey, Spawn, let’s go run really fast in the yard until our ears flap in the breeze! Then we can roll in the grass!” Or something equally strange.
My mother-in-law’s dog, Maggie, comes to visit sometimes, and she always “sounds” like Marcie of the Peanuts comic strip/cartoons. She’s a little nervous, so when she goes to beg for pats from hubs, it’s, “Sir? Sir? Sir? Will you please rub my head, sir?” And so on. Oddly, my family has not yet committed me involuntarily for observation; instead, they wonder what kind of voice I’ll give a pet, even one in a home we’ve just visited.
2. I have a huge yarn stash, but I don’t think that’s particularly weird for a knitter. I also have a stationery stash. I love really good quality paper. I love stuff with my name printed on it, and if it happens to be on good quality paper, even better. I have personalized memo pads left over from a job I haven’t had for almost 20 years, and I think the company went defunct over a decade ago, but, by gosh, I still have those pads. I finally threw out the stationery with our old address from 10 years ago. It might be a “Kilroy was here” thing buried deep in the warehouse of my mind that makes me keep this stuff and/or like it.
3. I am strangely attracted to sticks. Perhaps I was a Labrador in a former life (which would explain a LOT) and never got in that one last game of fetch. When I was a kid, my Dad gave me a pocketknife, as one of his life truisms was that everyone should have a pocketknife. (So, there, TSA!) We would sometime sit out in our back yard and strip the bark off of sticks with our pocketknives, side by side, not talking much, just spending time together. Sometimes, when we went fishing together, those pocketknives came in handy for cutting bait or tangled lines, or whiling away time while waiting for a bite by whittling on a stick.
I’m invariably very happy when I find a nice stick – fairly straight, not too many knots or boles or whatevers, and about three to four feet long. The first time my now-husband, then-date and I went camping, I was thrilled to find a nice stick. I waved it at him and said, “Hey! I found a really nice stick!” He laughed like hell, even bent over and hooted and slapped his knee. I was at a loss as to why that was so funny until I realized he hadn’t heard “nice stick”. He had heard “nice d*ck”. Guys are so weird.
4. I don’t trust raisins. I know they’re healthful, full of iron and fiber, and I can eat them out of a package that has just been opened with no problem. If they’re in a salad or food, or it the package has been open for a while, I don’t trust them to be raisins anymore. They could be flies that drowned in the mayonnaise, or maybe I thought they were going to be chocolate chips in my cookies, but they turned out to be raisins instead, and that really disappoints my expectant tastebuds. When they’re dry, they get that funky brown crusty thing going on, which is just wrong for food products to have – it looks like tree fungus or something. Don’t ever serve me Waldorf salad at an open-air picnic, either, no way. Those could be flies, and, man, I’m not even coming close to taking a bite of it, not to please ANYONE’S mother. Besides, mayonnaise on fruit is….wrong.
5. Ice in my cold drinks – I like more ice in my cold drinks than anyone else I know. I will pile it up precariously over the top of the glass before putting the beverage in. Fast food restaurants, regular restaurants, whatever, no one ever puts enough ice in my drinks but me. I have no idea why. After it’s been shaken down and slightly melted by the beverage, I put more in, too. I also drink the melted ice, so it’s not going to waste, and I kind of like watered down drinks anyway.
6. I put reading material in the bathroom that is too boring for me to concentrate on elsewhere. OK, that’s probably hitting the TMI marker pretty hard for the more squeamish among you, but it’s true. I get scholarly magazines from two organizations I belong to, and while they are certainly worthy publications, I just can’t get into them while sitting on the couch or at the table, or riding in a car. I fall asleep or get exasperated with waiting for the point to be made, or even some really stirring verbiage. While enthroned, it’s a different matter, and I really do read them then, and then I can feel secretly smug and virtuous. I don’t read much in the tub anymore – I’ve dropped too many novels into the soapy water over the years and choose not to run the risk anymore.
OK, what odd things can you tell me about yourself?
OK, I’ll bite on telling six weird things about myself, probably mostly because I am a diehard list maker, and anything that needs to be numbered already has points in its favor (shall I count them???). I’m not tagging anyone else – not because I have some large objection to it, I just don’t know that many Bloggers personally that I feel I have sufficient friend points with to tag. So, if you are reading this and would like to add your six eccentricities via a comment, please do. Or, if you’re a Blogger, tag yourself for me, and leave me a note so I can read about you.
1. I talk for my animals. I talk for other people’s animals in front of my family. I have a hard time not doing my anthropomorphizing interpretations in front of other people. For example, when I speak for my Labrador, he has a kind of kid voice and a little trouble with his double els. He “smews the smews”, he doesn’t “smell the smells”, for example. And, if he crawls up on hubs and looks adoringly up at him, I wind up saying, “I love you Dad. You smew like beef. Do you have beef? Dogs like beef. In case you were wondering. Scratch my neck, Dad.” When he looks hopefully at one of the kids and wags, my mouth says, “Hey, Spawn, let’s go run really fast in the yard until our ears flap in the breeze! Then we can roll in the grass!” Or something equally strange.
My mother-in-law’s dog, Maggie, comes to visit sometimes, and she always “sounds” like Marcie of the Peanuts comic strip/cartoons. She’s a little nervous, so when she goes to beg for pats from hubs, it’s, “Sir? Sir? Sir? Will you please rub my head, sir?” And so on. Oddly, my family has not yet committed me involuntarily for observation; instead, they wonder what kind of voice I’ll give a pet, even one in a home we’ve just visited.
2. I have a huge yarn stash, but I don’t think that’s particularly weird for a knitter. I also have a stationery stash. I love really good quality paper. I love stuff with my name printed on it, and if it happens to be on good quality paper, even better. I have personalized memo pads left over from a job I haven’t had for almost 20 years, and I think the company went defunct over a decade ago, but, by gosh, I still have those pads. I finally threw out the stationery with our old address from 10 years ago. It might be a “Kilroy was here” thing buried deep in the warehouse of my mind that makes me keep this stuff and/or like it.
3. I am strangely attracted to sticks. Perhaps I was a Labrador in a former life (which would explain a LOT) and never got in that one last game of fetch. When I was a kid, my Dad gave me a pocketknife, as one of his life truisms was that everyone should have a pocketknife. (So, there, TSA!) We would sometime sit out in our back yard and strip the bark off of sticks with our pocketknives, side by side, not talking much, just spending time together. Sometimes, when we went fishing together, those pocketknives came in handy for cutting bait or tangled lines, or whiling away time while waiting for a bite by whittling on a stick.
I’m invariably very happy when I find a nice stick – fairly straight, not too many knots or boles or whatevers, and about three to four feet long. The first time my now-husband, then-date and I went camping, I was thrilled to find a nice stick. I waved it at him and said, “Hey! I found a really nice stick!” He laughed like hell, even bent over and hooted and slapped his knee. I was at a loss as to why that was so funny until I realized he hadn’t heard “nice stick”. He had heard “nice d*ck”. Guys are so weird.
4. I don’t trust raisins. I know they’re healthful, full of iron and fiber, and I can eat them out of a package that has just been opened with no problem. If they’re in a salad or food, or it the package has been open for a while, I don’t trust them to be raisins anymore. They could be flies that drowned in the mayonnaise, or maybe I thought they were going to be chocolate chips in my cookies, but they turned out to be raisins instead, and that really disappoints my expectant tastebuds. When they’re dry, they get that funky brown crusty thing going on, which is just wrong for food products to have – it looks like tree fungus or something. Don’t ever serve me Waldorf salad at an open-air picnic, either, no way. Those could be flies, and, man, I’m not even coming close to taking a bite of it, not to please ANYONE’S mother. Besides, mayonnaise on fruit is….wrong.
5. Ice in my cold drinks – I like more ice in my cold drinks than anyone else I know. I will pile it up precariously over the top of the glass before putting the beverage in. Fast food restaurants, regular restaurants, whatever, no one ever puts enough ice in my drinks but me. I have no idea why. After it’s been shaken down and slightly melted by the beverage, I put more in, too. I also drink the melted ice, so it’s not going to waste, and I kind of like watered down drinks anyway.
6. I put reading material in the bathroom that is too boring for me to concentrate on elsewhere. OK, that’s probably hitting the TMI marker pretty hard for the more squeamish among you, but it’s true. I get scholarly magazines from two organizations I belong to, and while they are certainly worthy publications, I just can’t get into them while sitting on the couch or at the table, or riding in a car. I fall asleep or get exasperated with waiting for the point to be made, or even some really stirring verbiage. While enthroned, it’s a different matter, and I really do read them then, and then I can feel secretly smug and virtuous. I don’t read much in the tub anymore – I’ve dropped too many novels into the soapy water over the years and choose not to run the risk anymore.
OK, what odd things can you tell me about yourself?
Oddball Word of the Day
cunctator (kung--TAY-ter): n. one who delays or procrastinates
(from the guide to MMMW, edited by Laurence Urdang)
(from the guide to MMMW, edited by Laurence Urdang)
Monday, January 01, 2007
Happy New Year!
That being said, I suppose it’s time for a wish list after such a long break from posting.
Wishes for 2007
1. God and good luck save us from any more of George Bush’s maniacal governance. I don’t know how much more of his corrupt administration and morally bankrupt choices this country can take. We’re heading downhill fast for third world status in terms of economic stability, international financial status, and we’re already in the sh*tcan of world opinion for his deranged warmongering. Our education system is largely a joke, and living in the US feels, every day, more like the reason for the tag, “Some days it’s not worth chewing through the restraints.”
2. I hope that environmentalists will be able to make themselves heard and that changes will be made. The first dolphin group has just become extinct, and I don’t think it’ll be long before extinction of species becomes everyday news. Maybe it already has, and we’re not hearing any of it, here behind Mr. Bush’s Irony Curtain.
3. I wish people would quit asking me what my resolutions are for 2007. I don’t DO resolutions. I set goals as I go along, as they seem appropriate. Are there things I’d like to accomplish? Sure. But my life has been, and with all probabilities examined, will most likely continue to be way more unpredictable than not, and setting a lot of optimistic resolutions would just wind up frustrating me as it used to before I gave them up.
4. I hope my physical therapy works. Right now, I think it’s working, and I hope my insurance carrier doesn’t give me any malarkey. I need to have my back strength again. It’s really hindering me, not being able to walk or stand for more than 10 minutes at a time without having to find some support. I hate that. I really don’t want to even consider surgery.
5. I hope my kids mature a little; I hope they become a little more confident, a little more forward-looking, a little more self-reliant, and a little more compassionate this year. I don’t know what lessons I’ll need to learn to pass on to help those hopes, but I do hope I recognize them when I see them.
6. I hope I don’t lose another family member this year.
7. I’m hoping to get the den bookshelves cleared of old, ratty books and books I don’t like.
8. I’m not going to hang myself out to dry if none of the above occurs, and I hope I remember that!
And, here’s hoping that you all have a great year!
Wishes for 2007
1. God and good luck save us from any more of George Bush’s maniacal governance. I don’t know how much more of his corrupt administration and morally bankrupt choices this country can take. We’re heading downhill fast for third world status in terms of economic stability, international financial status, and we’re already in the sh*tcan of world opinion for his deranged warmongering. Our education system is largely a joke, and living in the US feels, every day, more like the reason for the tag, “Some days it’s not worth chewing through the restraints.”
2. I hope that environmentalists will be able to make themselves heard and that changes will be made. The first dolphin group has just become extinct, and I don’t think it’ll be long before extinction of species becomes everyday news. Maybe it already has, and we’re not hearing any of it, here behind Mr. Bush’s Irony Curtain.
3. I wish people would quit asking me what my resolutions are for 2007. I don’t DO resolutions. I set goals as I go along, as they seem appropriate. Are there things I’d like to accomplish? Sure. But my life has been, and with all probabilities examined, will most likely continue to be way more unpredictable than not, and setting a lot of optimistic resolutions would just wind up frustrating me as it used to before I gave them up.
4. I hope my physical therapy works. Right now, I think it’s working, and I hope my insurance carrier doesn’t give me any malarkey. I need to have my back strength again. It’s really hindering me, not being able to walk or stand for more than 10 minutes at a time without having to find some support. I hate that. I really don’t want to even consider surgery.
5. I hope my kids mature a little; I hope they become a little more confident, a little more forward-looking, a little more self-reliant, and a little more compassionate this year. I don’t know what lessons I’ll need to learn to pass on to help those hopes, but I do hope I recognize them when I see them.
6. I hope I don’t lose another family member this year.
7. I’m hoping to get the den bookshelves cleared of old, ratty books and books I don’t like.
8. I’m not going to hang myself out to dry if none of the above occurs, and I hope I remember that!
And, here’s hoping that you all have a great year!
Oddball Word of the Day
pyrogen (PIE-ruh-jen) n. any substance which causes a raised body temperature when it enters the bloodstream of man or an animal
(from the MMMW, edited by Laurence Urdang)
(from the MMMW, edited by Laurence Urdang)
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
Reviews of Christmas from Various Points of View
Hoover (the Labrador): Santa Claws was here! He left stockings full of stuff! My stocking had a huge, wonderful, tasty rawhide chew bone in it! I could smell it! I smelled it for hours, and I got all worn out from the smelling and zonked out on the couch. The humans took forever to get up and hand out the stockings, but when the oldest boy handed mine – I could tell it was mine because I could smell the goodies – to Dad, I followed it the whole way! Dad barely had it in his hand before I grabbed the chew bone, which was sticking up out of it, and worked it free. I showed everyone my marvelous, wonderful, fabulous bone! I was wagging so hard I could barely walk straight, and if the human I was showing it to didn’t admire it aloud, I walked by them over and over again until they said how wonderful it was! The liver treats were good, too. What’s a “Shed Ender”? (Wanna see my wonderful bone?) Beef smells at dinner.
Spawn: Duuuuuuude. Quake. Rome. Pants. Doom. Nintendo rocks! Got Dad a Fathead poster of his favorite NASCAR racer. Mom wouldn’t let us put it up in the living room, but it looks excellent across one entire wall of the basement. Jelly Belly jellybeans. Goddamned braces.
Bunny: A Computer of My Very Own! Wireless, High Speed Internet! Must Send Emails to Friends, Right Away! Oh, man, I can’t believe Santa brought me a laptop! I’ve been dreaming of one for ages. I always thought we were SO behind the times, and now I’ve finally got one! I’m never going to have to leave my room ever again! Now Mom will never have to fuss at me about being on the family computer too much, and I can stay on mine for as long as I want! OHMIGOSH! (much happy squealing) I know there’s not really a Santa Claus, I know it just has to be Mom and Dad, but I can never really catch them at it. They’re SO sneaky! I got chocolate-covered strawberries, too! My Own Computer!….
Doodle: I must now surrender to the local forces of love and goodness. For years I, as a cyborg, have been maintaining a distinct distance from my so-called parents and siblings. I have been waiting for others like me to appear and take me back to their planet. It has sometimes been hard to maintain a human façade. I was betrayed earlier this year by my organic exterior, which grew unexpectedly quickly, causing the maternal parental unit to supply me with drab male-appropriate fabric coverings for my lower limbs, in order to keep, as she puts it, “my ankles warm.” Ha. Cyborgs do not feel the cold. Yet she insists on covering my unit in fabric and knitwear. Nonetheless, this formerly pagan holiday has caused me to reevaluate my status here on this planet as potentially permanent. I was given many colorfully wrapped packages containing items that caused sensations of glee and, I must admit, outright happiness in my circuitry. It is not so bad here, as long as I continue to avoid the violent and only partially-sentient component of my chronological cohort. All of the mammals in the home were pleasant and kind to me today; they allowed me to fully indulge in my deep needs for contact with high-tech items and minature building materials. I feel….content. I must examine these emotions further during my leisure time before programmed instruction begins again.
Hawthorne: I got cheated out of a Grapple. I specifically asked for a Grapple, and I didn’t get one. I did get other lovely chew things, but Santa Claws did not bring me a Grapple. I will need to yell this many times today, so that Mom and Dad send Santa a nasty email. Perhaps I should chew on Mom’s kitchen pictures while I think about the best way to get Grapples in the future. (Mom note: They were out of Grapples at the grocery store, for Pete’s sake. Get away from those darned pictures, you little feathered handful!)
Hubs: HA! The Christmas Buffalo has been successfully hunted and captured! I am the warrior! Oooh, high tech crap. Things with parts and things that need batteries! And BEEF! I love beef. I love my wife’s beef. I love my wife when she cooks beef. I think I’ll lie down on the couch now and digest my beef. Where’s my dog? I need to scratch my dog while I fall asleep. Nobody eat my beef leftovers while I’m sleeping!
BoS: Well. There we go. Did the religious thing Chrismas Eve, which always makes me feel both melancholy and happy, watched Christmas movies and listened to happy holiday tuneage for the preceding week, got all the shopping, wrapping, receipt saving, cooking, etc. done. The kids were a huge help this year, making cookies, doing their best to be on good behavior – I think that their being teenagers makes them a little calmer. Stayed up until 2 am on the Eve, ostensibly playing Sims, but mostly waiting for the kids to finally go to sleep, and I could do the sneaky thing which none of them believe anymore, but we like to pretend. Hubs helped with the hauling (my back is not up to par yet) which was very nice of him. Got the elf positioned putting a last item in a stocking. Everyone was thrilled; there were no disappointed faces or noises this year. That was nice. Really scored big hits with Bunny and the Doodle. And Dad got a good meal in him and liked his small gifts. He’s so feeble and shaky now that he can barely feed himself and has to drink out of a sippy cup, but he ate like a horse, and with any luck, he gained a pound or two today. I hope he remembers tomorrow that he was here today. Spawn was excellent with Grandpa today – keeping him company while I was flitting off to finish cooking. Big points to Spawn. Good Christmas this year – everyone pitched in, everyone helped, nobody stressed out, no questionable incidents, and I am going to sleep like the dead.
“She lay on the couch, to the family gave a nod,
Stretched out her legs, and mumbled, ‘thank God’,
But we think she exclaimed, as she sighed one last sigh,
“ ‘Twas a nice Christmas for all; I’m just resting my eyes.”
Spawn: Duuuuuuude. Quake. Rome. Pants. Doom. Nintendo rocks! Got Dad a Fathead poster of his favorite NASCAR racer. Mom wouldn’t let us put it up in the living room, but it looks excellent across one entire wall of the basement. Jelly Belly jellybeans. Goddamned braces.
Bunny: A Computer of My Very Own! Wireless, High Speed Internet! Must Send Emails to Friends, Right Away! Oh, man, I can’t believe Santa brought me a laptop! I’ve been dreaming of one for ages. I always thought we were SO behind the times, and now I’ve finally got one! I’m never going to have to leave my room ever again! Now Mom will never have to fuss at me about being on the family computer too much, and I can stay on mine for as long as I want! OHMIGOSH! (much happy squealing) I know there’s not really a Santa Claus, I know it just has to be Mom and Dad, but I can never really catch them at it. They’re SO sneaky! I got chocolate-covered strawberries, too! My Own Computer!….
Doodle: I must now surrender to the local forces of love and goodness. For years I, as a cyborg, have been maintaining a distinct distance from my so-called parents and siblings. I have been waiting for others like me to appear and take me back to their planet. It has sometimes been hard to maintain a human façade. I was betrayed earlier this year by my organic exterior, which grew unexpectedly quickly, causing the maternal parental unit to supply me with drab male-appropriate fabric coverings for my lower limbs, in order to keep, as she puts it, “my ankles warm.” Ha. Cyborgs do not feel the cold. Yet she insists on covering my unit in fabric and knitwear. Nonetheless, this formerly pagan holiday has caused me to reevaluate my status here on this planet as potentially permanent. I was given many colorfully wrapped packages containing items that caused sensations of glee and, I must admit, outright happiness in my circuitry. It is not so bad here, as long as I continue to avoid the violent and only partially-sentient component of my chronological cohort. All of the mammals in the home were pleasant and kind to me today; they allowed me to fully indulge in my deep needs for contact with high-tech items and minature building materials. I feel….content. I must examine these emotions further during my leisure time before programmed instruction begins again.
Hawthorne: I got cheated out of a Grapple. I specifically asked for a Grapple, and I didn’t get one. I did get other lovely chew things, but Santa Claws did not bring me a Grapple. I will need to yell this many times today, so that Mom and Dad send Santa a nasty email. Perhaps I should chew on Mom’s kitchen pictures while I think about the best way to get Grapples in the future. (Mom note: They were out of Grapples at the grocery store, for Pete’s sake. Get away from those darned pictures, you little feathered handful!)
Hubs: HA! The Christmas Buffalo has been successfully hunted and captured! I am the warrior! Oooh, high tech crap. Things with parts and things that need batteries! And BEEF! I love beef. I love my wife’s beef. I love my wife when she cooks beef. I think I’ll lie down on the couch now and digest my beef. Where’s my dog? I need to scratch my dog while I fall asleep. Nobody eat my beef leftovers while I’m sleeping!
BoS: Well. There we go. Did the religious thing Chrismas Eve, which always makes me feel both melancholy and happy, watched Christmas movies and listened to happy holiday tuneage for the preceding week, got all the shopping, wrapping, receipt saving, cooking, etc. done. The kids were a huge help this year, making cookies, doing their best to be on good behavior – I think that their being teenagers makes them a little calmer. Stayed up until 2 am on the Eve, ostensibly playing Sims, but mostly waiting for the kids to finally go to sleep, and I could do the sneaky thing which none of them believe anymore, but we like to pretend. Hubs helped with the hauling (my back is not up to par yet) which was very nice of him. Got the elf positioned putting a last item in a stocking. Everyone was thrilled; there were no disappointed faces or noises this year. That was nice. Really scored big hits with Bunny and the Doodle. And Dad got a good meal in him and liked his small gifts. He’s so feeble and shaky now that he can barely feed himself and has to drink out of a sippy cup, but he ate like a horse, and with any luck, he gained a pound or two today. I hope he remembers tomorrow that he was here today. Spawn was excellent with Grandpa today – keeping him company while I was flitting off to finish cooking. Big points to Spawn. Good Christmas this year – everyone pitched in, everyone helped, nobody stressed out, no questionable incidents, and I am going to sleep like the dead.
“She lay on the couch, to the family gave a nod,
Stretched out her legs, and mumbled, ‘thank God’,
But we think she exclaimed, as she sighed one last sigh,
“ ‘Twas a nice Christmas for all; I’m just resting my eyes.”
Oddball Word of the Day
redivivus (re-duh- VIE-vuhs): adj. revived; living again; reborn
(from the MMMW, edited by Laurence Urdang)
(from the MMMW, edited by Laurence Urdang)
Sunday, December 24, 2006
Christmas Eve Special: Birdie Wishes
Yesterday I asked my parrot, Hawthorne, what he wants for Christmas.
H: I wanna Grapple
Me: You like Grapples?
H: And cheese.
Me: Anything else?
H: Chicken breast on bread
Me: So, for Christmas, you want a Grapple, a chicken sandwich, and some cheese?
H: Cheese on a cracker.
Me: Seems like birdies think with their stomachs, like Labradors. Maybe you’re a Labrador!
H: (big razzberry noise) Chirping birdie! Chirp! Chirp! (He says the word “chirp”.)
Me: Well, I’ll get the message to Santa.
H: Perch, too.
Me: You want a new perch?
H: Blue perch for birdie (bobs head) (aside: blue perches are made from calcium and other safe consumables and help keep toenails trimmed and birds like to scrub their beaks on them)
Me: You must think you’ve been really good this year.
H: Hawthorne’s a good birdie! (loud whistle) A GOOD birdie! (many chirps)
Me: Oh, my!
H: I’m a good boy.
Me: Yes, you are.
H: Mommy?
Me: Yes, Hawthorne?
H: I’m a good boy?
Me: Yes, Hawthorne, you’re a very good boy.
H: (big happy whistles) Pretty Hawthorne, pretty birdie! Yo ho ho ho ho ho ho!
Me: Very pretty Hawthorne.
H: Love the birdie! (smooching noises)
Me: I love you Hawthorne. Kisses for Mommy? (kiss him on the beak)
H: Wanna Grapple.
Me: I won’t forget.
Yes, in case you’re wondering, I am sappy and sentimental enough to have knit stockings for my pets – I try to match them to the personality or appearance of each entity – Hawthorne’s is gray with a white toe and cuff and a red heel.
H: I wanna Grapple
Me: You like Grapples?
H: And cheese.
Me: Anything else?
H: Chicken breast on bread
Me: So, for Christmas, you want a Grapple, a chicken sandwich, and some cheese?
H: Cheese on a cracker.
Me: Seems like birdies think with their stomachs, like Labradors. Maybe you’re a Labrador!
H: (big razzberry noise) Chirping birdie! Chirp! Chirp! (He says the word “chirp”.)
Me: Well, I’ll get the message to Santa.
H: Perch, too.
Me: You want a new perch?
H: Blue perch for birdie (bobs head) (aside: blue perches are made from calcium and other safe consumables and help keep toenails trimmed and birds like to scrub their beaks on them)
Me: You must think you’ve been really good this year.
H: Hawthorne’s a good birdie! (loud whistle) A GOOD birdie! (many chirps)
Me: Oh, my!
H: I’m a good boy.
Me: Yes, you are.
H: Mommy?
Me: Yes, Hawthorne?
H: I’m a good boy?
Me: Yes, Hawthorne, you’re a very good boy.
H: (big happy whistles) Pretty Hawthorne, pretty birdie! Yo ho ho ho ho ho ho!
Me: Very pretty Hawthorne.
H: Love the birdie! (smooching noises)
Me: I love you Hawthorne. Kisses for Mommy? (kiss him on the beak)
H: Wanna Grapple.
Me: I won’t forget.
Yes, in case you’re wondering, I am sappy and sentimental enough to have knit stockings for my pets – I try to match them to the personality or appearance of each entity – Hawthorne’s is gray with a white toe and cuff and a red heel.
Friday, December 22, 2006
Five Good Christmas Memories
1. Rabbit Fur Coat: When I was 17, it was 1977. Rabbit fur coats were all the rage for teenaged girls and young women that year. That was a year after I moved in with Dad and Ellen in Chicago and I had only a token winter coat, having come straight from much more moderate temperatures in Virginia. My best friend had a rabbit fur coat, as did a couple of other girls at school. I had borrowed my best friend’s coat a couple of times and thought how warm and trendy it was. I felt so cool, so sophisticated and uptown wearing it. I never nagged Dad and Ellen for anything; after all, they were providing me with a home away from the Sturm and Drang of living with my mother, I was in a whole new city with cool things to do, and they were so very loving and so good to me.
With my Dad being a cost accountant with the Federal Reserve Bank, we lived, and often talked about, budgeting, the importance of living within one’s means, and I even had a monthly budget. My folks gave me a generous allowance, and with it I could buy whatever I wanted, but the only way to get more money was to get a job. I was fine with their boundaries and limitations, and I was already living so much more peacefully and with so much more joy and love in my life than I had ever expected that I never even dreamt of any extravagant gifts. They’d already given me so much, and I knew they were saving for retirement.
They always had a real tree, a small one, which they put on an end table and we decorated and put our modest presents around the base of the table. Stockings went on the back of the couch, and we opened stockings on Christmas Eve. Well, I got some lovely things in my stocking, perfume, I think, and toe socks, and lip-gloss or something. On Christmas day, we opened our presents. Dad always gave Ellen a piece of interesting jewelry, she’d give Dad some appliance, I gave small (affordable) gifts that were usually in the nature of curios. I think they gave me a gorgeous sweater and some fancy jeans. I was very happy and started picking up wrappings to discard.
I was halfway to the kitchen with a handful of paper when my Dad said, “I think you missed something.” I turned back and checked to see if I had dropped some ribbon or something, couldn’t see anything and said, “Oh, where?” He said, “I think there’s still something behind the tree.” He and Ellen exchanged a furtive glance. I still didn’t get it, and I thought he was talking about maybe a piece of wrapping paper that had somehow wound up back there, and I said I’d come right back and get it once I threw out what I had in my hand.
When I checked behind the tree, there was a large clothing box there. “Oh,” I said, “I’m so sorry I missed this.” Then I checked the tag and saw it was for me. I hadn’t been expecting another gift, so I know my mouth was hanging open a little, and I looked at Dad and then at Ellen, and I said, “Oh, it’s for me?” Dad said, “Sure! We hope you like it,” very matter of factly.
When I opened the box, and folded back the tissue paper, I saw rabbit fur – all browns and grays and taupes and black with very little white (at some point in time I must have mentioned that I liked the darker coats more than the ones with a lot of white in them). Tears started to pour down my face, and I had to sit down. I pulled it out of the box and held it up. “It’s for ME?” I asked, shocked. “Yes! Try it on!” said Ellen, with a huge grin on her face.
I pulled on the coat and hooked up the front, wiping tears from my face. I couldn’t believe it was really for me. Ellen checked the fit and told me how great it looked, Dad felt the sleeve and said it was so soft and looked nice and warm, and I think I spent the next hour alternating between thanking them and touching my coat to make sure it was real and putting it on again, then taking it off to look at. I don’t think I’ve ever been happier over a gift in my whole life.
I called all my friends to squeal and brag over my coat, and they squealed with excitement for me, so loud that Dad and Ellen could hear them, too. I knew I couldn’t wear it to school because it might get stolen, and my folks said I could invite my friends over, if I wanted, during vacation, to show off my coat. I did.
I know that coat made my Christmas, and I think my excitement and joy and appreciation for it made that Christmas for my Dad and step mom. It was really great. And I wore that coat for years, until it was damned near bald.
2. Indoor Lights: Spawn was born in early December, and by the Christmas a year later, I had quit my job and was still incredibly tired. I did some shopping, and mailed out gifts to the far-flungs. We were fairly penny pinched at the time, and hubs was suffering his Christmas blues, despite having a new son. I did convince him to get a tree, and, I decorated it. There were only a couple of gifts under it, but that was OK, I was tired. We hadn’t put up any other Christmas decorations. I moped a little at hubs. He glumped at me. I figured the tree was going to have to be it.
I was grabbing a late afternoon nap one day while Spawn slept, and when I woke up, hubs had on a drug store Santa hat and was lurching around the living room making stapling noises. Our bedroom was on the first floor, so I lay there for a few minutes, thinking, “Oh, what the hell is going on out there?” and “Geez, I think I’ll try for a few more minutes sleep.” It didn’t work. I got up to go to the bathroom, and lo and behold, hubs had strung lights in garlands all around the ceiling of the living room, the windows, and down the hall. I followed the lights, and they led to the kitchen, where there were lights around the window, and a star hanging in the window itself. All inside. He said, “Oh, I was hoping to have all this done before you got up.” I looked around in amazement. He turned off the lights, leaving only the Christmas lights shining. It was beautiful.
“I didn’t want to hang lights outside because it’s too damned cold,” he said, “but these should be OK indoors.” I hugged him and thanked him and really, really appreciated it. Those lights made me smile, and I realized that Spawn could enjoy them this way, too. They were pretty, and fun, and there was no damage to the walls or anything other than a few staple holes. I was a little sorry when we took them down at the end of January.
In good years, we still hang a star in the kitchen window. On the inside.
3. Children Around the World: I don’t have a lot of good memories about Christmas before I moved in with Dad and Ellen in 1976. Life was difficult, often dangerous, and always stressful with my mother. I was not the favorite child, and that showed up even more glaringly and publicly than usual at Christmas. But, not everyone treated me that way. When my sister was a senior in high school, and I was 9 years old, she was dating a very handsome (I thought) fellow named Brian who always treated me like I mattered. If I answered the door, he talked with me as if I were important and he didn’t act like he was in any hurry to get away from me to schmooze my sister. He had been a lifeguard at the pool I went to in the summer, and he and I were kind of friends, as much as a 9 year old and an 18 year old can be friends. I suppose, looking back at it, he probably felt sorry for me – I spent all day, every day, at the pool, weather permitting, not even going home for lunch unless I was forced to do so. The lifeguards sometimes had to ask me to leave in the evenings, too.
Anyway, that year, it was a couple of days before Christmas and Brian came over. I answered the door, and there he stood, so tall, so strong-looking, so grown up to my 9 year old self. He had a package wrapped in Christmas paper in his hand. I said, “Oh, I’ll get my sister,” and started to turn away. He said, “No, this is for you,” and he handed it to me. I was tongue-tied and just looked at it, then at him. I managed to choke out, “thank you” and then asked if he wanted to come in. He said he didn’t and wished me a merry Christmas and went back to his car and drove off.
I stood there in the foyer, holding the package. I knew it was a book, but I couldn’t believe it was really for me. When I did begin to believe it, I thought about how just having received it was likely to complicate my life – what kind of crap was my sister going to put me through for getting a book from HER boyfriend, what was my mother going to do to me for not making sure Brian came in to flatter and admire my sister and my mom, just what was the price I was going to have to pay for getting a gift from someone who my mom and sister believed should be so totally absorbed in my sister that he couldn’t even see anyone else. It was going to be ugly, I was sure of it. So I hid the package in the closet.
I couldn’t stop thinking about it – worrying what would happen if someone spotted it and started asking questions; I didn’t want to get Brian in trouble, too. I couldn’t understand why he’d give me a gift, when I knew he hadn’t given my sister one yet. I wanted that book so badly; it would be the first book anyone ever gave me, despite the fact that I read obsessively as a child. But I was afraid of it. I knew I couldn’t give it back because that would be rude and horrible, but I had almost convinced myself that I would have to find someway to do that to keep the backlash to a minimum.
Then Brian took my sister out for a romantic Christmas eve dinner, gave her some jewelry, and I was able to figure out that if I took the gift up and put it under the tree, I’d be able to pass it off, without directly lying, that he had offhandedly given it to me while picking her up, instead of having made a special trip to drop it off for me. So, I did, and my mom was so preoccupied with her speculations and whatever, that I didn’t have to answer any questions. My sister was so pleased with her fancy dinner and her jewelry that she didn’t even notice or lay into me for it either. I breathed a sigh of relief.
When I finally got to open the package on Christmas day, I was overcome. It was a beautiful, coffee table quality book on children around the world, and he had even written in it, “Merry Christmas BoS from Brian”. I probably developed a full-fledged crush on him right then. There were illustrations of children and ethnic dress and housing and customs for dozens of countries. There were long, long passages with nice, big words in them. It was really a book that should have been over my head, at age 9, but it wasn’t. Whether he knew it or not, it was a book that spoke to who I was on the inside – curious, intelligent, and a voracious information hound.
I made a point to thank him profusely the next time he came over. I read and re-read it; I probably memorized portions of it without even realizing it. It probably planted the first seed for my lifelong interest in foreign languages without anyone ever realizing it. It was a wonderful gift, and he was the nicest person my sister ever dated, at least as far as I was concerned.
4. New House Christmas: When we first moved into our current house, Spawn was 8 going on 9, Bunny was 6, and Doodle was 4. We had comparatively little furniture, and most of it was pretty crappy. We had a big, empty, beautiful living room with marble flooring and a fake fireplace with a carved wood mantle and edifice around it. So, we put our tree in the living room. There weren’t a lot of presents from us, but my sister has always been very generous and her gifts made the presentation quite splendid looking. My parents and in-laws were still sending gifts instead of checks at that time, so there was no shortage of stuff for any of us, especially not the kids. Since we didn’t really have any seating, that first Christmas, I spread blankets on the floor and brought in a big box for the wrapping paper.
It was a riot watching the kids rip through the paper and fling it haplessly around, then run around the big living room, squealing with delight, playing with their new toys and hopping and laughing and singing. It was very carefree and wild, filled with laughter, and wonderful because of it. Yes, my butt got cold from sitting on the floor, but when one of the kids launched at me to hug me and knocked me backwards, we both lay there laughing and chortling. We all sat on the floor together, which was nice, too. And they were so little, so uninhibited, and so happy with all their gifts, in that little kid way, that it made Christmas very fun, just the way I like for it to be.
(I’m trying to cut things short here, since I went on so long before.)
5. Burnt Slam Up: One year I was making fudge for my far-flungs and burnt the living snot out of my right, dominant hand. I was in the hospital, shaking with adrenaline withdrawal, on serious drugs. It was horrible, and, worse yet, it was three weeks before Christmas. I was not going to be able to get all the cookies made from the four different doughs I had already made, the fudge disaster had melted not only the a significant percentage of the skin right off of my hand, but the trash can I dropped the boiling mass into melted, too. I was restricted from touching my youngest, who was still a diapered baby, due to his germy bottom, and I was helpless for everything functional. Things really seemed to stink to high heaven.
It was the only time in my adult life that I have ever been that helpless, and I was, somewhere under the Vicodin, scared to pieces about what was going to happen with my kids, if I’d ever really get full function back in my hand (I did), and what was going to happen for Christmas. I can’t say as I actually remember that Christmas. For all I know, I got a bag of pressure wrapping for my fingers.
When my husband came and got me, and took me home, somewhere in the haze of extreme painkillers, I’m pretty sure I heard him carelessly say, “Don’t worry, I’ll do all that stuff.” For a workaholic, that’s a pretty rash statement to make to a very busy full-time SAHM. I figured it was the drugs, since they were pretty tasty, so to speak.
I slept a lot and watched Monty Python marathons for the healing effects of humor, and still, to this day, don’t remember much of them, also due to the drugs.
What I do remember is lots and lots and lots of wonderful cuddles from my tiny kinder. They crawled all over me like ants on a big jelly sandwich at a picnic. I also remember that my husband baked a bazillion batches of cookies from all that stored up pre-made dough. I won’t say he did it well because there was some scraping necessary, and I was in no fit state to issue any reminders about quirky ovens and how to compensate. But, he got off his work pony and came home and baked cookies and diapered the kids and hired a maid to clean the house and did what he could to help out otherwise.
Once the drug and pain haze cleared, and I was able to hunt and peck type with my left hand, I told my email group what had happened. What a wonderful outpouring of tasteless and therefore hysterically funny jokes, puns, and commentary they offered, as well as real-space help, sympathy, compassion, and general fun.
So, between my husband being such a good helper, my kids loving me to bits, and my e-space friends sending good wishes and bad jokes, it was a pretty good Christmas. And you can’t even tell I burnt my hand that badly – just a few spots with no pigment and some unimportant numbness in the pinky finger epidermis.
and MERRY CHRISTMAS!
With my Dad being a cost accountant with the Federal Reserve Bank, we lived, and often talked about, budgeting, the importance of living within one’s means, and I even had a monthly budget. My folks gave me a generous allowance, and with it I could buy whatever I wanted, but the only way to get more money was to get a job. I was fine with their boundaries and limitations, and I was already living so much more peacefully and with so much more joy and love in my life than I had ever expected that I never even dreamt of any extravagant gifts. They’d already given me so much, and I knew they were saving for retirement.
They always had a real tree, a small one, which they put on an end table and we decorated and put our modest presents around the base of the table. Stockings went on the back of the couch, and we opened stockings on Christmas Eve. Well, I got some lovely things in my stocking, perfume, I think, and toe socks, and lip-gloss or something. On Christmas day, we opened our presents. Dad always gave Ellen a piece of interesting jewelry, she’d give Dad some appliance, I gave small (affordable) gifts that were usually in the nature of curios. I think they gave me a gorgeous sweater and some fancy jeans. I was very happy and started picking up wrappings to discard.
I was halfway to the kitchen with a handful of paper when my Dad said, “I think you missed something.” I turned back and checked to see if I had dropped some ribbon or something, couldn’t see anything and said, “Oh, where?” He said, “I think there’s still something behind the tree.” He and Ellen exchanged a furtive glance. I still didn’t get it, and I thought he was talking about maybe a piece of wrapping paper that had somehow wound up back there, and I said I’d come right back and get it once I threw out what I had in my hand.
When I checked behind the tree, there was a large clothing box there. “Oh,” I said, “I’m so sorry I missed this.” Then I checked the tag and saw it was for me. I hadn’t been expecting another gift, so I know my mouth was hanging open a little, and I looked at Dad and then at Ellen, and I said, “Oh, it’s for me?” Dad said, “Sure! We hope you like it,” very matter of factly.
When I opened the box, and folded back the tissue paper, I saw rabbit fur – all browns and grays and taupes and black with very little white (at some point in time I must have mentioned that I liked the darker coats more than the ones with a lot of white in them). Tears started to pour down my face, and I had to sit down. I pulled it out of the box and held it up. “It’s for ME?” I asked, shocked. “Yes! Try it on!” said Ellen, with a huge grin on her face.
I pulled on the coat and hooked up the front, wiping tears from my face. I couldn’t believe it was really for me. Ellen checked the fit and told me how great it looked, Dad felt the sleeve and said it was so soft and looked nice and warm, and I think I spent the next hour alternating between thanking them and touching my coat to make sure it was real and putting it on again, then taking it off to look at. I don’t think I’ve ever been happier over a gift in my whole life.
I called all my friends to squeal and brag over my coat, and they squealed with excitement for me, so loud that Dad and Ellen could hear them, too. I knew I couldn’t wear it to school because it might get stolen, and my folks said I could invite my friends over, if I wanted, during vacation, to show off my coat. I did.
I know that coat made my Christmas, and I think my excitement and joy and appreciation for it made that Christmas for my Dad and step mom. It was really great. And I wore that coat for years, until it was damned near bald.
2. Indoor Lights: Spawn was born in early December, and by the Christmas a year later, I had quit my job and was still incredibly tired. I did some shopping, and mailed out gifts to the far-flungs. We were fairly penny pinched at the time, and hubs was suffering his Christmas blues, despite having a new son. I did convince him to get a tree, and, I decorated it. There were only a couple of gifts under it, but that was OK, I was tired. We hadn’t put up any other Christmas decorations. I moped a little at hubs. He glumped at me. I figured the tree was going to have to be it.
I was grabbing a late afternoon nap one day while Spawn slept, and when I woke up, hubs had on a drug store Santa hat and was lurching around the living room making stapling noises. Our bedroom was on the first floor, so I lay there for a few minutes, thinking, “Oh, what the hell is going on out there?” and “Geez, I think I’ll try for a few more minutes sleep.” It didn’t work. I got up to go to the bathroom, and lo and behold, hubs had strung lights in garlands all around the ceiling of the living room, the windows, and down the hall. I followed the lights, and they led to the kitchen, where there were lights around the window, and a star hanging in the window itself. All inside. He said, “Oh, I was hoping to have all this done before you got up.” I looked around in amazement. He turned off the lights, leaving only the Christmas lights shining. It was beautiful.
“I didn’t want to hang lights outside because it’s too damned cold,” he said, “but these should be OK indoors.” I hugged him and thanked him and really, really appreciated it. Those lights made me smile, and I realized that Spawn could enjoy them this way, too. They were pretty, and fun, and there was no damage to the walls or anything other than a few staple holes. I was a little sorry when we took them down at the end of January.
In good years, we still hang a star in the kitchen window. On the inside.
3. Children Around the World: I don’t have a lot of good memories about Christmas before I moved in with Dad and Ellen in 1976. Life was difficult, often dangerous, and always stressful with my mother. I was not the favorite child, and that showed up even more glaringly and publicly than usual at Christmas. But, not everyone treated me that way. When my sister was a senior in high school, and I was 9 years old, she was dating a very handsome (I thought) fellow named Brian who always treated me like I mattered. If I answered the door, he talked with me as if I were important and he didn’t act like he was in any hurry to get away from me to schmooze my sister. He had been a lifeguard at the pool I went to in the summer, and he and I were kind of friends, as much as a 9 year old and an 18 year old can be friends. I suppose, looking back at it, he probably felt sorry for me – I spent all day, every day, at the pool, weather permitting, not even going home for lunch unless I was forced to do so. The lifeguards sometimes had to ask me to leave in the evenings, too.
Anyway, that year, it was a couple of days before Christmas and Brian came over. I answered the door, and there he stood, so tall, so strong-looking, so grown up to my 9 year old self. He had a package wrapped in Christmas paper in his hand. I said, “Oh, I’ll get my sister,” and started to turn away. He said, “No, this is for you,” and he handed it to me. I was tongue-tied and just looked at it, then at him. I managed to choke out, “thank you” and then asked if he wanted to come in. He said he didn’t and wished me a merry Christmas and went back to his car and drove off.
I stood there in the foyer, holding the package. I knew it was a book, but I couldn’t believe it was really for me. When I did begin to believe it, I thought about how just having received it was likely to complicate my life – what kind of crap was my sister going to put me through for getting a book from HER boyfriend, what was my mother going to do to me for not making sure Brian came in to flatter and admire my sister and my mom, just what was the price I was going to have to pay for getting a gift from someone who my mom and sister believed should be so totally absorbed in my sister that he couldn’t even see anyone else. It was going to be ugly, I was sure of it. So I hid the package in the closet.
I couldn’t stop thinking about it – worrying what would happen if someone spotted it and started asking questions; I didn’t want to get Brian in trouble, too. I couldn’t understand why he’d give me a gift, when I knew he hadn’t given my sister one yet. I wanted that book so badly; it would be the first book anyone ever gave me, despite the fact that I read obsessively as a child. But I was afraid of it. I knew I couldn’t give it back because that would be rude and horrible, but I had almost convinced myself that I would have to find someway to do that to keep the backlash to a minimum.
Then Brian took my sister out for a romantic Christmas eve dinner, gave her some jewelry, and I was able to figure out that if I took the gift up and put it under the tree, I’d be able to pass it off, without directly lying, that he had offhandedly given it to me while picking her up, instead of having made a special trip to drop it off for me. So, I did, and my mom was so preoccupied with her speculations and whatever, that I didn’t have to answer any questions. My sister was so pleased with her fancy dinner and her jewelry that she didn’t even notice or lay into me for it either. I breathed a sigh of relief.
When I finally got to open the package on Christmas day, I was overcome. It was a beautiful, coffee table quality book on children around the world, and he had even written in it, “Merry Christmas BoS from Brian”. I probably developed a full-fledged crush on him right then. There were illustrations of children and ethnic dress and housing and customs for dozens of countries. There were long, long passages with nice, big words in them. It was really a book that should have been over my head, at age 9, but it wasn’t. Whether he knew it or not, it was a book that spoke to who I was on the inside – curious, intelligent, and a voracious information hound.
I made a point to thank him profusely the next time he came over. I read and re-read it; I probably memorized portions of it without even realizing it. It probably planted the first seed for my lifelong interest in foreign languages without anyone ever realizing it. It was a wonderful gift, and he was the nicest person my sister ever dated, at least as far as I was concerned.
4. New House Christmas: When we first moved into our current house, Spawn was 8 going on 9, Bunny was 6, and Doodle was 4. We had comparatively little furniture, and most of it was pretty crappy. We had a big, empty, beautiful living room with marble flooring and a fake fireplace with a carved wood mantle and edifice around it. So, we put our tree in the living room. There weren’t a lot of presents from us, but my sister has always been very generous and her gifts made the presentation quite splendid looking. My parents and in-laws were still sending gifts instead of checks at that time, so there was no shortage of stuff for any of us, especially not the kids. Since we didn’t really have any seating, that first Christmas, I spread blankets on the floor and brought in a big box for the wrapping paper.
It was a riot watching the kids rip through the paper and fling it haplessly around, then run around the big living room, squealing with delight, playing with their new toys and hopping and laughing and singing. It was very carefree and wild, filled with laughter, and wonderful because of it. Yes, my butt got cold from sitting on the floor, but when one of the kids launched at me to hug me and knocked me backwards, we both lay there laughing and chortling. We all sat on the floor together, which was nice, too. And they were so little, so uninhibited, and so happy with all their gifts, in that little kid way, that it made Christmas very fun, just the way I like for it to be.
(I’m trying to cut things short here, since I went on so long before.)
5. Burnt Slam Up: One year I was making fudge for my far-flungs and burnt the living snot out of my right, dominant hand. I was in the hospital, shaking with adrenaline withdrawal, on serious drugs. It was horrible, and, worse yet, it was three weeks before Christmas. I was not going to be able to get all the cookies made from the four different doughs I had already made, the fudge disaster had melted not only the a significant percentage of the skin right off of my hand, but the trash can I dropped the boiling mass into melted, too. I was restricted from touching my youngest, who was still a diapered baby, due to his germy bottom, and I was helpless for everything functional. Things really seemed to stink to high heaven.
It was the only time in my adult life that I have ever been that helpless, and I was, somewhere under the Vicodin, scared to pieces about what was going to happen with my kids, if I’d ever really get full function back in my hand (I did), and what was going to happen for Christmas. I can’t say as I actually remember that Christmas. For all I know, I got a bag of pressure wrapping for my fingers.
When my husband came and got me, and took me home, somewhere in the haze of extreme painkillers, I’m pretty sure I heard him carelessly say, “Don’t worry, I’ll do all that stuff.” For a workaholic, that’s a pretty rash statement to make to a very busy full-time SAHM. I figured it was the drugs, since they were pretty tasty, so to speak.
I slept a lot and watched Monty Python marathons for the healing effects of humor, and still, to this day, don’t remember much of them, also due to the drugs.
What I do remember is lots and lots and lots of wonderful cuddles from my tiny kinder. They crawled all over me like ants on a big jelly sandwich at a picnic. I also remember that my husband baked a bazillion batches of cookies from all that stored up pre-made dough. I won’t say he did it well because there was some scraping necessary, and I was in no fit state to issue any reminders about quirky ovens and how to compensate. But, he got off his work pony and came home and baked cookies and diapered the kids and hired a maid to clean the house and did what he could to help out otherwise.
Once the drug and pain haze cleared, and I was able to hunt and peck type with my left hand, I told my email group what had happened. What a wonderful outpouring of tasteless and therefore hysterically funny jokes, puns, and commentary they offered, as well as real-space help, sympathy, compassion, and general fun.
So, between my husband being such a good helper, my kids loving me to bits, and my e-space friends sending good wishes and bad jokes, it was a pretty good Christmas. And you can’t even tell I burnt my hand that badly – just a few spots with no pigment and some unimportant numbness in the pinky finger epidermis.
and MERRY CHRISTMAS!
Oddball Word of the Day
ensconce (en-SKONS): v. to make snug and safe
(from the MMMW, edited by Laurence Urdang)
(from the MMMW, edited by Laurence Urdang)
German Idiom for Friday
vor Freude aus dem Haeuschen sein: to be beside oneself with joy
zB: Als die Mannschaft im Pokalendspiel das Siegestor schoss, waren ihre Anhaenger vor Freude aus dem Haeuschen.
auf Englisch: When the team scored the wimming goal in the cup final their supporters were beside themselves with joy.
Origin: The reference is to a state of ecstasy spoken of by mystics in which the soul leaves the body (Haeuschen).
(from the Guide to German Idioms by JP Lupson)
zB: Als die Mannschaft im Pokalendspiel das Siegestor schoss, waren ihre Anhaenger vor Freude aus dem Haeuschen.
auf Englisch: When the team scored the wimming goal in the cup final their supporters were beside themselves with joy.
Origin: The reference is to a state of ecstasy spoken of by mystics in which the soul leaves the body (Haeuschen).
(from the Guide to German Idioms by JP Lupson)
Thursday, December 21, 2006
Last Minute Hat
Right. Despite my dire warnings, or intended dire warnings, to avoid all knitting for Christmas gifts during the month of December, you’re still insistent on making something.
List of things it really shouldn’t be:
1. Anything with fancy stitches – you’ll make a mistake and wind up compromising or feeling like poo because you left a mistake in just to finish in time.
2. A sweater. It’s too late, and the Fates will make sure that it does something awkward somewhere, like have really long arms, pinch in the pits, or droop at the neck. Plus, you’ll run out of yarn somewhere vital.
3. An afghan. No. You weren’t really thinking of this, were you?
4. A real scarf, “real” being defined as “something long enough to go around the neck and stay there, plus it looks OK.” There just isn’t time to knit that fast unless you’re using bulky or super bulky yarn, and I have news from the consumer front that pretty much everyone is sick to death of bulky and super bulky knitwear, so it won’t be appreciated anyway. Use it to make a bathmat for the New Year.
5. Gloves. Too many fingers, hence, too many potential gaps and ends to weave in.
List of possibilities:
1. A pair of ankle socks or slippers in an average (defined as “standard on the printed pattern you already have”) size. You’ll need to be speedy to get both of them done in time. HINT: Work down past the first five heel gusset decreases on each sock first, then finish them one at a time. That way, you get the tricky part out of the way sooner and have only mindless knitting left for the stress-monkey days.
2. Wrist warmers: generally mindless knitting, which makes it possible to put them down and pick them up again without freaking out over where you were.
3. Mittens: fast and easy
4. My favorite: a hat, a simple watch cap style hat. It’s almost completely mindless knitting except for the casting on and the final decreasing, and neither of those parts takes very long. You can use virtually any weight yarn you have on hand, and one skein is almost always enough for a head-fitting cap. And, for so very little effort, it could very well wind up being the most used, lovingly worn item you make all year. And, hats, like socks, need negative ease (about 10% smaller than the projected head size) because they need to stretch to fit, and unless your knitting is rock hard, if you knit to size, the hat will be too large – which means fewer stitches and less time required.
So, the Last Minute Hat pattern:
Fits teen through adult (stretches to about 22”, but will fit down to a 16” head)
1 50 g ball of heavy sock yarn or DK
1 set size 4 dpns (or 16” circ)
1 set size 2 or 3 (depending on whether or not you are a loose or tight knitter) dpns or circ
Using larger needles, CAST ON 90 stitches. Rib (your choice, I like k2p2 or k3p3 for hats) for 3 inches. Change to smaller needles and in stockinette stitch, knit straight for 5 inches.
DECREASE for top as follows:
Row 1: (Insert marker to identify beginning) K2tog, k13 6 times (84 stitches)
Row 2 and all even rows: K even around
Row 3: K2tog, k12 6 times (78 sts)
Row 5: K2tog, k11 6 times (72 sts)
Row 6: K2tog, k10 6 times (66 sts)
You get the idea. Continue decreasing 6 sts every other row until you have 12 stitches left. You can even stop at 18 stitches, if you want. Pull yarn through, pull tight, knot. Pull knot to inside, weave in two ends. Done.
I can make one in a day, if I’ve got the time. Otherwise, it takes me a couple of days of early morning knitting (about ½ hour) and maybe an hour after dinner one night to finish it off. Could be a little more, but it’s mindless, so I don’t really monitor the time that closely.
For changes in size – to go to a larger head, add 12 stitches to the cast on and the first decrease row will be k2tog, k15, etc. For a small, early teen or late kid years hat, cast on 78, and the first decrease row will be k2tog, k11.
As I said, you can do this with any weight yarn. You will need to adjust the number of stitches to fit your gauge. The most important factor is to keep it divisible by 6, for a smoothly rounded top. And, if you gauge comes out not quite on the 6, round up, rather than down.
I’d post a picture of the latest one I made, but my daughter took my camera to school to take a picture of a cute exchange student today!
Happy knitting!
List of things it really shouldn’t be:
1. Anything with fancy stitches – you’ll make a mistake and wind up compromising or feeling like poo because you left a mistake in just to finish in time.
2. A sweater. It’s too late, and the Fates will make sure that it does something awkward somewhere, like have really long arms, pinch in the pits, or droop at the neck. Plus, you’ll run out of yarn somewhere vital.
3. An afghan. No. You weren’t really thinking of this, were you?
4. A real scarf, “real” being defined as “something long enough to go around the neck and stay there, plus it looks OK.” There just isn’t time to knit that fast unless you’re using bulky or super bulky yarn, and I have news from the consumer front that pretty much everyone is sick to death of bulky and super bulky knitwear, so it won’t be appreciated anyway. Use it to make a bathmat for the New Year.
5. Gloves. Too many fingers, hence, too many potential gaps and ends to weave in.
List of possibilities:
1. A pair of ankle socks or slippers in an average (defined as “standard on the printed pattern you already have”) size. You’ll need to be speedy to get both of them done in time. HINT: Work down past the first five heel gusset decreases on each sock first, then finish them one at a time. That way, you get the tricky part out of the way sooner and have only mindless knitting left for the stress-monkey days.
2. Wrist warmers: generally mindless knitting, which makes it possible to put them down and pick them up again without freaking out over where you were.
3. Mittens: fast and easy
4. My favorite: a hat, a simple watch cap style hat. It’s almost completely mindless knitting except for the casting on and the final decreasing, and neither of those parts takes very long. You can use virtually any weight yarn you have on hand, and one skein is almost always enough for a head-fitting cap. And, for so very little effort, it could very well wind up being the most used, lovingly worn item you make all year. And, hats, like socks, need negative ease (about 10% smaller than the projected head size) because they need to stretch to fit, and unless your knitting is rock hard, if you knit to size, the hat will be too large – which means fewer stitches and less time required.
So, the Last Minute Hat pattern:
Fits teen through adult (stretches to about 22”, but will fit down to a 16” head)
1 50 g ball of heavy sock yarn or DK
1 set size 4 dpns (or 16” circ)
1 set size 2 or 3 (depending on whether or not you are a loose or tight knitter) dpns or circ
Using larger needles, CAST ON 90 stitches. Rib (your choice, I like k2p2 or k3p3 for hats) for 3 inches. Change to smaller needles and in stockinette stitch, knit straight for 5 inches.
DECREASE for top as follows:
Row 1: (Insert marker to identify beginning) K2tog, k13 6 times (84 stitches)
Row 2 and all even rows: K even around
Row 3: K2tog, k12 6 times (78 sts)
Row 5: K2tog, k11 6 times (72 sts)
Row 6: K2tog, k10 6 times (66 sts)
You get the idea. Continue decreasing 6 sts every other row until you have 12 stitches left. You can even stop at 18 stitches, if you want. Pull yarn through, pull tight, knot. Pull knot to inside, weave in two ends. Done.
I can make one in a day, if I’ve got the time. Otherwise, it takes me a couple of days of early morning knitting (about ½ hour) and maybe an hour after dinner one night to finish it off. Could be a little more, but it’s mindless, so I don’t really monitor the time that closely.
For changes in size – to go to a larger head, add 12 stitches to the cast on and the first decrease row will be k2tog, k15, etc. For a small, early teen or late kid years hat, cast on 78, and the first decrease row will be k2tog, k11.
As I said, you can do this with any weight yarn. You will need to adjust the number of stitches to fit your gauge. The most important factor is to keep it divisible by 6, for a smoothly rounded top. And, if you gauge comes out not quite on the 6, round up, rather than down.
I’d post a picture of the latest one I made, but my daughter took my camera to school to take a picture of a cute exchange student today!
Happy knitting!
Oddball Word of the Day
vatic (VAT-ihk) adj. of, relating to, or of the nature of a prophet
(from MMMW, edited by Laurence Urdang)
(from MMMW, edited by Laurence Urdang)
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Physical Therapy is Not for the Weak
My apologies for the lack of daily posts to anyone who's been checking in regularly. I have been having some back trouble and asked my GP to give me a recommendation for PT. Well, PT is grueling, and will hopefully be showing some good effects soon, but in the meantime, it lays me out as flat and useless as a jellyfish on the beach for a while afterwards, and then there's the rest of holiday life to deal with!
On the Good News front, I'm basically in excellent shape, in terms of muscles and strength in all the areas I've been able to work on -- legs, upper and lower arms, good hamstring stretching, and my upper back and upper abs are just fine. It's the lower abs and reciprocal muscles in the back that are sound asleep and causing me to have trouble, and that's what we're working on.
Hope to have a knit post ready for tomorrow and I have one already written for Friday. Hang in there!
On the Good News front, I'm basically in excellent shape, in terms of muscles and strength in all the areas I've been able to work on -- legs, upper and lower arms, good hamstring stretching, and my upper back and upper abs are just fine. It's the lower abs and reciprocal muscles in the back that are sound asleep and causing me to have trouble, and that's what we're working on.
Hope to have a knit post ready for tomorrow and I have one already written for Friday. Hang in there!
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