9/11

On Being Home

Things I'm wearing that I haven't worn for 16 days:

1. My favorite black tank top
2. My wedding rings
3. Underpants

The Kindness of Strangers

Most days, I think people suck. And service - customer service - does not exist.

Not today.

Today, I am tired. And when I say tired (these days) I mean tired. Really, really tired. In the British vernacular: shattered.

Today is one of the bad days. The iron pills are making no difference, the anti-flow pills are making no difference and the pain pills... well, let's just say they're the final part of the "making-no difference" trifecta . Sigh.

Dogs fed, I didn't have the energy to feed myself, so I succumbed to my baser instincts and ordered food in from the local takeaway.

My order was not complicated: wings and potato wedges.

Wings and potato wedges.

When the food arrived, the order wasn't right. I looked out my front door to see the driver still sitting in his car. I signaled and he came back. I told him that my order was wrong. I expected him to tell me to call the takeaway and let them sort it. Instead, to my great delight and surprise, he had me call the restaurant, he told them to organize a new order for my address and then told me not to mention that the original order was wrong and just keep the food he'd delivered. He drove off.

Less than 20 minutes later, the same driver reappeared with the wings I ordered and two orders of garlic bread (because he couldn't find more wedges). Awwww. He delivered it all with a smile and an apologetic shrug.

Just when I give up on people being nice to each other.

And on a day when I felt like this.

Awww...

The First Stamp in My Passport

Ok, so it's not really the first stamp in my passport, but it is the first stamp since I got my resident's visa.

Since I'll be out of commission for a while (more on that later), I wanted a quick, something-just-for-me trip. So The Husband accompanied me to Pfaffenhofen, Germany to Mecca. Er, Wollmeise.

The lovely Elemmaciltur was there to greet us. He made us delicious coffee and offered us our fill of the chocolate bowl and then, after a brief chat, he stood back and let me shop! And, oh!, the shop...

It was lovely.

This is the blanket that Ravelers made for Claudia to celebrate the opening of the brick and mortar shop.

This is the wall of the 80/20 Twin skeins. I was told that twin is warmer and better not worn directly next to the skin.

This is the wall of 100% Merino Superwash.

More superwash, baskets of Lace and skeins of Fluffy to the right. The pile on the table is my pile of "rejects".

The basket on the far left has the coveted skeins of Spice Market lace!

I think even as a non-knitter, as long as you like color, it's a beautiful place to be and just look. There are two very generous sofas on which the non-knitting partner can park their tuchus and read or frown or grouse or chat, whatever. The Husband was quite good, I have to admit.

I was frighteningly restrained and only came way with one skein of lace and, um, a few skeins of 100% and twin for myself. I didn't spend all I had and some of what I spent was for other people. I never even got to the Nobody's Perfect wall...

I was very, very pleased with myself.

With an extra day the day before the shop opened, we walked part of the city - saw the Glockenspiel, the façade of the Residenz (masked with a canvas printed to look like the façade when it isn't being renovated), ate sausages and soup and drank glühwein in the city center while watching the ice skaters and went to the Mucha exhibit at the Hypo Kunsthalle. We even went to the (in)famous Hofbräuhaus, but (on recommendation) we ate at the Weisses Brauhaus.

It was fantastic.

If you ever get the opportunity, go. Trust me. Go.

Happy New Year!

Best Wishes for a happy and prosperous 2010 !

Yeah, Socks!

Today I finished my first pair of socks. Ever.

Other people knit socks all the time. They knit them like they're going out of style or, like, they're easy or something.

I watch people knit socks while I'm at SnB on a Thursday night and they knit on these tiny little needles - making the pattern up on the fly, changing the stitch count , subbing a different heel or toe because they don't like the heel or toe that the designer used for the sock their knitting.

Some of the people in this group do it without looking.

It's crazy, but good crazy. My kind of crazy.

Not only was this my first pair of socks, but it was my first Mystery knit and my first knit-a-long, all at the same time.

And now that I've finished my first pair of socks, I'm hooked and I'm trying to decide what pattern to knit next!

This one is the Through the Loops Mystery Sock 2009, knitted in madelinetosh tosh sock in the colourway "Shell" and knitted on KnitPicks Harmony 3.00 mm DPNs.


I knitted these week-by-week, per the Mystery Knit-a-long, with no modifications other than needle size to obtain gauge.

Remember, Remember the 5th of November

It's Guy Fawkes Day here and much like The Horse Whisperer or gefilte fish, I wish it could be dis-invented.

I can't stand this night.

The fireworks. Oh, the fireworks. Bloody amateur fireworks, too. Amateur fireworks that drive my dogs crazy. Crazy.

As soon as the sun sets, the fireworks start with the popping and the banging and the whistling and the high-pitched whining and then - worse - the barking.

Oh, the barking.

I've tried everything - shushing the dogs; pretending the fireworks aren't happening; feeding them so that they associate the fireworks with good things; I even took Campulance's advice and took them out into the back garden and oohed and aahed at the pretty lights bursting in air, lying for their sakes, so that they could see that I wasn't afraid and that they needn't be afraid. Pshaw! Nothing worked.

I've given up now and am letting them run in and out of the back door, bark alternately at the sky and the skylight and shiver and quiver in fear, as they like. It's nearly midnight now and the fireworks will ease and, hopefully, end soon. They'll forget about the noises and the bad exploding lights, but I'll know it's coming next year.

It's coming.

I'm no fool, I have a plan. Next year, they'll have these to cover their ears.

Next year I'll remember the 5th of November and the three of us will Keep Calm and Carry On.

Look Who's 1!

Today is Roxzilla's first birthday. It's hard to believe that we've only had her seven and a half months. I can hardly remember a time when she wasn't here.

Since it's her birthday, I'm letting her roughhouse with her brother, bark at the neighbor she hates and I let them both have roast beef and roast ham with their biscuits for dinner.

What did we get her for her birthday?

We got her spayed.



Happy Birthday, Rox!

Yep.

It's fibroids. Again.

As If I Wasn't Jealous Enough Already

It's not enough that some people get to live in New York, oh no, they get extraordinarily lovely events, too!

I logged onto the Purl Bee blog to see their post about the upcoming NYC Yarn Crawl happening in October!

Sooooooooooooooooo jealous.

Sigh. There are definitely some things I miss about living in the States.

And before you ask, yes, I would have gotten off my keister and gotten on a plane and gone to the East Coast for this.

Maybe I could convince to some of the wool shops in London...

(Note: Original artwork copyright of Melissa Soong)

I'm Not Martha

I live every day of my life under the cloud of a conundrum: I don't like to clean, but I loathe clutter and dirt.

Though I like our house, it has been making me insane for the past three-plus years. We moved into a lovely, late-1920's semi-detached from a very modern townhouse. You know, one of those apartments with open-plan kitchen/dining/living areas with storage in every conceivable place including a kitchen pantry and a coat closet at the front door, an alcove specially meant for the flat screen tv (whether you had one or not), walk-in closets in both bedrooms, built-in storage along the upstairs hall (wall and base cabinets), laundry room, fitted furniture in the bathrooms... Let's just say that we don't have that kind of storage here.

We had some rather large pieces of art on the walls and a huge mirror that stood in our hall. One of the pieces of art is being partially hidden by the tv and the mirror is still crated in the garage. I have boxes of things that travelled via container ship from the States over three years ago that remain unpacked. Mind you, there are only a few, but a few is a few too many!

Yesterday I woke up and had had enough, er, I mean, I woke up inspired and made a start.

In two days I emptied all the crap out of two 75 litre plastic boxes that have been stored in the garage for at least a year and either rehomed (in our home), recycled or binned the items. I sent the husband off to the charity shop with several bags to donate while I went to the tip and dumped all of the larger items that could be recycled and bags of trash that couldn't. I donated bags of dog treats, toys, leads and bedding to the Dog's Trust and packed and posted a package that I've been meaning to post for three weeks. I even took 23 books to the secondhand book stall at the weekly market and sold them to the proprietor. And if you knew how I feel about books, you'd know what a big deal this is!

The sad thing? I don't think I can see a difference.

It's time to get ruthless.

Why Didn't Anybody Tell Me Sooner?

Anyone who knows me, strike that, anyone who's met me (even ever-so-briefly probably) knows that I am arachnophobic.

And I mean arachnophobic. Not a little. A lot.

The tiniest of spiders, tarantulas... all the same in my book. I will throw away goods if I find an old web in them. I cannot sleep in a room that has a spider in it - especially if it's crawled under or behind something and I can't see it. Every September I consider moving out of our house.

I have been carjacked by a spider. I kid you not.

Last night, on my way up the stairs to go to bed, I froze, one foot in the air, after catching sight of one of the eight-legged evil little freaks, casually hanging out on the wall.

I called the husband.

He came to the top of the stairs and said, "What?!" I could only point. His response?

"It's not doing any harm."

Ohhhhhhhh! How silly of me? Has that been the secret all along?! Well, now that I know it's not doing any harm, I'm completely cured! Thank you, husband, for your wise words have opened my eyes to the truth of the world and I am now unfettered of my fear and can go through life blithely picking up and tongue-kissing spiders!

If only I'd known...

Suffice it to say, I made him come downstairs and get the damn spider.

He's Here!!

In the wee, small hours of the English summer morning, a baby boy was born.

Actually, he was born in the not-so-wee, small hours of a Midwestern summer evening, but he's here and that's all that matters.

The Husband is a grandfather and I'm a granny-by-proxy. I'm so frickin' excited!

He was born at 8:13 p.m. on August 13th (very cool) and I'm dying to see a picture of him. His mother and his grandfather were both beautiful babies, so I can't imagine that he'll be any different!

I say it's time for a plane ticket and a visit, so we can get to the cuddling!

Oh the knitting I see in my future...

Welcome, little one!

Best Weekend Ever

While my weekend was quite good, the pups had a great weekend.

On Friday, Himmelbjerget brought the heiland coo and the Polar-Dog to Bridge House Marina. Roxzilla and Retardo Montalban thought they'd quite fancy a walk, so they convinced us set off in the direction of Garstang and brave the wilds of the Lancaster Canal tow path.

The dogs ran and sniffed and snuffled and tried to steal everything they could think of - from cups of tea and sandwiches to moving worms in tackle boxes. Roxie and Tally strayed waaaaaaaay too close to the edge of the canal, but we discovered it was just a ruse to get into the narrow boats and see what they could steal from the people onboard, be it food or cuddles, I don't think they were bothered which!

They all got to trip over the aqueduct and taunt the golfers. They scared little kids and even aggravated two really sour people because (admittedly) they were taking up the entire width of the tow path. It took 20 seconds away from the lives of those people, but they were really bothered about it. The dogs weren't. They were busy and not paying a blind bit of attention. There were ducks, swans, other dogs, non-sour people and piles of horse poop to sniff. They seemed to say, "Time is too short to be bothered with people who didn't see the joy in it all" and off they went, never even noticing those silly, silly people.

After a short break in Garstang and a (relatively) quick walk back to the marina, Nino and Tally went home to watch Himmelbjerget eat some lunch (and possibly sneak a bit, as well). Milo and Roxie climbed on board our canal cruiser and headed out for a weekend of sailing. They ate snacks canal-side at the Water Witch in Lancaster, ate biscuits bay-side in Hest Bank and then acted like fools all along the coast (chasing other dogs, teasing a doberman pinscher who was afraid of small dogs, leaping in and out of puddles - turning Milo's coat green - and pretending to be springboks when the grass or sand dunes were too high). They had roast beef for breakfast, instead of the dry biscuits and holistic dog food they normally get, tried to eat their weight in schmackos and napped on the bed anytime they thought we weren't looking. They barked at everyone and everything on the tow path, cows and sheep in a few fields and some plastic-covererd hay bails (I never said they were smart).

By Sunday, ready for home and expecting rain, we turned the boat back towards Nateby and the marina. Back at the house, they jumped out of the car, had a quick lap of water, wee'd in the garden to ensure that the cat knew they were back and then sacked out on the carpet in the lounge, dead to the world, little legs and noses twitching.

Dear Diary, this weekend was the best weekend ever...

5

Today is my 5th wedding anniversary.

When choosing anniversary presents, the husband and I use the traditional gift table as our inspiration. Usually, we try to be fairly inventive, interpreting the medium if necessary to make the gift fit. For year one, I bought him the newly published Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince and he got me plane tickets (paper); for our second I bought him designer denim that he wanted (cotton and remember, he's schmancy!) and so on and so on.

For the fifth wedding anniversary, the traditional gift is something made of wood. This year, I bought him a walnut and sycamore clock to put on the boat. Traditional, applicable, admittedly not very imaginative.

Here's where the interpretation bit kicks in. We went to Derek Woodman and he bought me this:

My very own little whizzer.

Thanks, hon!

Happy Anniversary! xx

The Bad Service Cafe

One of the (many) differences between living in the hub of Silicon Valley and a tiny little town in the Northwest of England is the food. One of the differences between living in the U.S. and England period is service. Customer Service. Or, rather, the lack thereof.

Today, the husband and I needed lunch and we wanted food without the consequences (i.e., washing up, not calories) and we headed to the Mill on the road behind our house to the Bad Service Cafe.

The weather, though overcast, was nice enough for us to sit outside. The only table available was covered in cups and lettuce and other vestiges of the previous patrons' lunch. A "waitress" (and I use the term loosely) came to our table in a tank top with bra straps and her midriff showing, along with the top of her underpants above the band of a pair of calf-length, sloppily-worn black leggings. Oh, did I mention that her leggings were dirty?! Dirty. She took our order and shuffled away... without clearing the table.

A different "waitress" came - chewing something - and cleared the table... partially. She went away, but didn't come back.

A third girl came to tell us that the drink I requested wasn't available. I changed my order. To our surprise, before she walked away, she cleared the rest of the table... but she didn't clean it.

No. 2 came back to the table and delivered the husband's tea and was about to walk away when I asked her to clean the table. She said, "Sure," but the look she gave me said,"You're getting a sneezer instead of an iced coffee." She went away, got a cloth and came back to clean. She seemed stumped by the act of cleaning a table. I kept quiet. I was trying to limit the damage to the sneezer.

Once our food arrived, we were forgotten. We suddenly ceased to exist. We became ghosts, phantom visions, noises that requested extra napkins or more water, but insubstantial, unreal. Worse, we were outside and all of the outdoor tables at the Bad Service Cafe are conveniently located behind brick pillars. I truly believe that this is so that they can ignore us with impunity.

And today they were fairly on top of things. Normally, we're inside and the staff are all sitting at a table chatting while the customers sit, starving, watching them chat and dreaming about delicious sandwiches or puddings. They forget who ordered what (even asking when the there are only two people and they've ordered the same thing), they never know what drinks are available on any given day, and when you order Cheese and Onion Pie, you get Cheese and Onion Lake. I am not kidding. Ask Himmelbjerget or Pendle Stitches, if you don't believe me.

The problem? The food is good, really good. It's just that the service is bad - really, really bad.

Sigh.

We'll go back the next time we're in need of a quick fix. We always do.

Roxzilla

What do you do after destroying Tokyo with your big pink bandage?


You take a nap, of course.

Swoon

Brooklyn Tweed taught me cabling without a cable needle.

That's right, I said b r o o k l y n t w e e d taught me to cable without a cable needle!

Let me explain: Yesterday Himmelbjerget and I travelled to Coventry for the very first Ravelry Day UK.

We got up at oh-god-thirty in the morning and drove to the Midlands (into the most confusing City Centre ever; even the sat-nav couldn't figure out where we were supposed to be!) to the Coventry Central Hall and workshops and market stalls for the day.

Our first workshop was a complete and total dud. We went to the Liz Lovick "Introduction to Fair Isle" workshop. I paid actual money to sit in a room (in which two other workshops were being conducted simultaneously) for someone to tell me to "wing it," "fudge it" and "tug it." Seriously. I wish I could say it was dirtier than it sounds. It wasn't. Then she told us to go ahead and add in the second color. Uh, if I knew how to add in a second color, I wouldn't have taken the frickin' workshop. It was a ridiculous waste of my time.

In lieu of eating, the two of us hit the stalls. Oh, how I loved the Old Maiden Aunt booth! It was wonderful to see the colors of her homecoming collection in person. They were absolutely gorgeous. I limited myself to three skeins, but I did buy a project bag and a needle book from her that was made by an artist who has a studio near her. We also got to see a friend who was selling there, to stroke the cashmere and alpaca at the Knitting Goddess stall and I shelled out an absurd amount of money for one of the Toft Alpaca bag kits, but I simply couldn't resist. Sigh. I've already wound the skeins from the kit into center-pull cakes.

Back in the hall, we took seats in the back row of the auditorium for the Meg Swansen talk (it was billed as a talk with her and her sister Lloie, but I never saw or heard the sister during the talk). Meg read a passage from The Opinionated Knitter by her mother, Elizabeth Zimmerman, and then asked if there were any questions. About what, precisely? I scored well in verbal comprehension on the SATs, so I was good. She read a another passage that was equally self-explanatory and then opened the floor to questions for the second time. Himmelbjerget had made us lunches and at first I was conscious of the noise I was making munching on the deliciously crunchy gem lettuce in my sandwich. As soon as I realized what the "talk" was going to consist of, I thought, "screw that" and ate at my leisure. The girl next to me knitted and took notes on her knitting and the girl next to her surfed the web and her email on her iPhone. Apparently, it wasn't just us. Meg Swansen also kept referring to Elizabeth Zimmerman as Elizabeth and not 'mom' or 'mum' and I found it weirdly disturbing. Apparently it's done for professional reasons, but why bill yourself as Elizabeth Zimmerman's Daughter and then call her by her first name the entire time you're talking? It was just so odd.

To break the uncomfortable silence, audience members started asking questions - inane, desperate questions: "in a fire, what knitting would you take with you?" and "you told us about the sweater room, where do you keep your stash?" I wanted to channel that moment in National Treasure and shout, "Snorkel! See I can do it, too."

My last workshop of the day was the Jared Flood, aka BrooklynTweed, "Plan Your Own Aran" workshop. It was fantastic! He taught the group to cable without a cable needle and explained it in a clear and concise way - so much so that my brain made a click sound when it happened. He even crawled along the floor on his knees to be at our eye level to demo the technique. Awesome! Mind you, I'm surprised any of us learned a thing; we all sat there crushing on him a little bit. He's soooo sweet and genuine, you just can't seem to help it.

His was one of the very few workshops I've attended in which the instructor gave an assignment that could actually be completed during the workshop. He made sure that we could all see what was happening when he demo'd and he ensured that all of our questions were answered - no matter how many times he had to repeat himself. He was patient, articulate and a talented teacher. I geeked out and asked for his autograph. I left with both the feeling that I had the tools and information I needed to create my own Aran pattern and a big, fat, stupid grin on my face!

Despite the fact that my first workshop and the Meg Swansen talk were disappointing - and the fact that minister of the church was skulking about and reminded me of a creepy, serial killer-esque version of Where's Waldo - the day was an overall, overwhelming success for me.

It was great to see the wares from all of the wonderful vendors. Best of all, it it was fantastic to buy and to see people buying yarn from small, independent, British artists.

Good times.

Impressive

For the second time in a little over four years, someone in the medical profession has described something about my current condition as "impressive."

Neither time has this been meant in a positive way.

After months of being exhausted by the slightest bit of physical effort, intermittently falling asleep for hours on the sofa in the middle of the afternoon and compulsively chewing crushed ice (I can go through three bags in a week), I was diagnosed with severe anemia.

Yippee.

At least I know what's wrong and can now put a treatment course into place. I was given a prescription for iron pills today (and warned about the lovely side effect) and was told that my particular kind of anemia was from blood loss and, thus, can't be fixed by more B12 or folic acid. Rats. I was hoping for a homeopathic remedy.

The upside of getting more iron is that I'll be able to walk up flights of stairs without becoming short of breath. Woo-hoo!

The downside is that I'll no longer have an excuse for my afternoon nap. Bummer.

Pieces of Eight

KraftyKoala tagged me with possibly the hardest meme I've ever done. I actually had to consider the topics and think about my answers. I think I took less time writing the exam essay that determined whether I would skip remedial English at University.

So here they are, my pieces of eight:

8 things I am looking forward to…..

1. My step-daughter having her son in August!!!
2. Ravelry Day UK!
3. Having a clean boat - the mess keeps me up at night.
4. Terminator Salvation. 'Nuff said.
5. Roxie learning to sit and stay.
6. Reading 50 books in one year.
   
7. More arts trails in Scotland.
8. Warm weather.

8 things I did yesterday…….

1. Got a bruise from having my blood drawn.
2. Took two naps.
   
3. Talked to my sister in California.
4. Soaked in the bath while reading "Knots and Crosses".
   
5. Bought £20 worth of treats. Nooooo, they're not spoiled...
   
6. Noticed that Roxie's "bits" are swollen. My puppy's first season.
   
7. Picked up my new toaster. I got the red one!
8. Made Milo stop humping Roxie's head... and the cat.

8 things I wish I could do…….

1. Sew! Like KraftyKoala, I have a machine, but lack the skills.
2. Play my cello well.
3. Have a Monica Geller-clean house. Oh, if only...
   
4. Keep chickens and bees.
5. Rid myself of my arachnophobia.
   
6. Take great photos. Minder has been a fabulous mentor.
7. Bake! I'd love to be able to make pie crust from scratch.
8. Still hit a High C. I was able to do it in my youth.

8 shows I watch……

1. The Big Bang Theory - I laugh so loudly that I frighten the dogs.
2. Grey's Anatomy - Especially worth it if you need a good cry.
3. Next Top Model - America's, Britain's, Canada's, whoever's!
4. Nothing to Declare - I'm hopelessly addicted to the stupidity.
5. Two and a Half Men - Best Ever? "Old Flame with a New Wick"
   
6. As Time Goes By - I know it's old, but I love it.
7. CSI - I only like the one in Vegas, the original and the best!
8. Ideal - Graham Duff is my hero.

I don't actually have eight bloggers to tag, so I tagged these six:
Pendle Stitches
Minder
Snake Surly
Brown Berry
MonkeyFeet
Meir Cats

And here are the rules in case you need them!

1. Mention the name of the person who tagged you.
2. Do the lists of 8.
3. Tag 8 bloggers of your choice.
4. Let them know that they have been tagged!

Play along if you like, even if you weren't tagged.

Have fun, kids!