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(no subject) [May. 3rd, 2007|10:51 am]
weadawot
This is the sort of day where I keep checking the phone to be sure I haven't inadvertently switched it to night service or to ringing in the kitchen.

It's not a huge surprise. These are not usually our most lively months. But I do find myself starting to nod off if I don't find ways to be busy. I will work on amigurumi for the grandlings for holiday gifts [little money involved and Jess is very excited about the idea] and my Dulaan knitting. Dammit, I will make use of my time and not sit her like a semi-conscious lump.

I, apparently, perceive coffee as bitter and little else. Thus all the cream and Splenda. When SB did a tasting last night, I could get a little of the differentiation, but it is nothing like teas are for me. Fragrance! I love the fragrances. Coffee seems to have little fragrance once it is brewed.

It seems to be the fashion of about the last 8 years for coffees to be so bitter. I have bought Arabicas for about 30 years, but the popular flavors/blends were more mellow in days gone by.

Belly dancing will be my wave of the future. Starting with figure eights.

Sobeit.

-jane-
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Dulaaning away [Apr. 4th, 2007|01:35 pm]
weadawot
My apartment is in chaos as I search for oddments of yarn and pile baskets all about.

I keep starting new things and finishing some now and then. I have a sweater, three pairs of socks, and a Baby Surprise Jacket [Elizabeth Zimmermann ddesign] completed, and I have three or four adult sweaters on the verge. A little more effort and I will finish them and will have more oddments for the Very Warm and Mildly Peculiar afghan I am making mostly of scraps.

The Baby Surprise needs a hood to go with it and long johns or a blanket or something. The adult sweaters all need hats, if I have enough coordinating yarn. Mittens and socks would be nice. I tend to think in ensembles.

I am not sure why this particular charity knitting event means so much to me. There are others closer to home, but they mostly require machine washable yarn, preferably acrylic, which I don't like to knit with and do not believe keeps people warm. I will check for the Navajo reservations. If any Native Americans [I like the Canadian term, First Nations], know about wool, it is the Navajo. That would be more immediate, perhaps more satisfying, too.

Sobeit.

-jane-
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Observations while drinking iced tea at Starbux [Jan. 3rd, 2007|02:00 pm]
weadawot
There. A nice banal title.

The ebb and flow of teeny-bopper conversation is fascinating. I realize all other conversations ebb and flow, too, but not quite as violently as TB. If I were a musician, I could score it. A flow of y'know and likes followed by the refrain of {Statement, }. You would need several time signatures, I think. and every now and then that absolute flat Rest. I wonder what it would look like?

Across the aisle there were two men [late 50s, early 60s] trying to find a Lexington street on a connected computer. Fifteen minutes. Twenty minutes. They had PLENTY of info. Just to check myself, I looked this morning. About 30 keystrokes in google and I had everything they were trying to find. Could have taken it farther and gotten the address, but it didn't matter to me.

It was personally frustrating for me to sit there and hear their search, but I couldn't think of a way to offer help that didn't seem very, very rude. Possibly because they were in my age range.

We are rarely treated to whale tails any more, but muffin tops abound. It reminds me that I had better step back and be honest with myself about whether or not something should be worn in public.

I think I could learn to speak Martian more readily than I could ever get my mind around the tribal and land issues in the Middle East and Africa. I have a wall there of some sort that keeps insisting those issues just don't matter. Clan, religion. All of it. But then I try to remember that if that is all you have, it matters a great deal. I don't do well. I don't CARE about your religion/spiritual practice, unless you try to foist it on me, in which instance I get very, very vocal. Your family matters even less.

The TBs went on to speak in very low voices. Must be about sex.

Mary wants to buy a big truck. Silverado or some such thing. Not even a Toyota. Whatever can I say to her? All I see is resource waster. She sees Hauling. It must be another Country/City lack of communication, because I call someone if I need something hauled. Her pov is Real Women do their own Hauling. I maintain that Real Women stick out their dainty fingers and punch buttons.

Mary will buy from a dealer in her hometown, all but sight unseen, rather than deal with "those crooks in Lexington". That seems very parochial to me. Lexington dealers have varying reputations, as do small town dealers.

Of course, one of her favorite phrases is "they are just simple country people". To her it means they are good and should be excused for a lot of things that I won't excuse. Too much Pa Kettle in my youth?

It is quite a difference between us and provides a LOT of conversation!

Sobeit.

-jane-
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Efficiency [Sep. 29th, 2006|12:33 pm]
weadawot
I seem to be super efficient this year.

We have barely passed International Talk Like a Pirate Day [thus cleansing the souls of all true Pastafarians], and I am already entering into Annual American Holiday Depression.

Note the lack of time wasted getting depressed. Note the efficiency in getting depressed despite significant medication to the contrary.

Halloween is still a month a way and Michael's has been noisy and scary for almost a month. Christmas stuff is piling up in the aisles all over the place. Turkey dinnerware litters TARGET, DAMMIT, not to mention BB&B, the temple of The Household DONE To Death.

I grump. I whine. I complain.

However, I am taking action. I have begun earnest knitting for the Dulaan Project and I am ignoring everything else, except maybe a trinket for the Bean and the Crumbcake. I have socks for the generation between. Maybe I will be hit with a frenzy at the last minute, but I am doubting it.

I got some CDs of chant. Perhaps they will be comforting. There is always Mozart.

Forced Joy makes the last quarter of the year HIDEOUS.

Sobeit.

-jane-
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Travelling [Sep. 11th, 2006|10:37 am]
weadawot
It's that way because I like to spell it with two "l"s. In this case, in this place, personal preference rules.

The Patrick drives nicely without scaring me at all. That is a pleasant ability. The Patrick also did all the driving in both directions. I could attribute this to gallantry, to chivalry, but I think it had more to do with the possibility of going bonkers if her has to just sit and be transported.

We travelled [the Patrick, Zabet, Renee and I] to Jefferson, Wisconsin, for the Wisconsin Sheep breeders Sheep and Wool Festival or something like that.

On Saturday, I took yet anther class with Beth Brown-Reinsel; Renee took a class in intro to tapestry weaving; and our travelling companions discovered some of the reasons I still miss living in Madsion. Other little cities do try, I will admit, but Madison is still my favorite alternative to reality.

I acquired two tri-looms on Saturday. Self warping and intriguing.

http://www.woolery.com/Pages/triloom.html


It has a matching square. This should clear out some of my ungodly stash.

Sobeit.

-jane-
-who forgot her CAMERA
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Random comments [Aug. 30th, 2006|10:31 am]
weadawot
This one needs a photo. Sitting waiting in a doctor's office yesterday, a med rep came in. She was in uniform: Tight skirt, high heeled shoes with pizza toes, etc.

Her tight skirt was slit in back almost to her privy parts. She should have looked in a a three-way mirror. Very few women are all that lovely from the back of the knee to the middle back of their thighs. She certainly was not one of them. Muffin top knees and a muffin top waist. All compounded by ankle straps.

Makes me wonder what horrors I perpetrate. Of course, I unconcerned with the entire bait issue.

I didn't want to be at that doctor's office yesterday, so perhaps I viewed this young woman [eh,she was mutton dressed as lamb] with an excessively cynical air. Still, if that is your line of work, how you look is key.

I didn't want to be there because I know what is troubling me and there is nothing much to do about it. I want Rick back. I want to play together.

As expected, the doctor told me I am coping well, putting sincere effort into not sitting in the back of my closet with a pillow and a blanket whimpering. That is true. I am trying to get better and to feel my feelings. I just don't like the process, and it would be more pleasant with an inordinate amount of bourbon.

I could also do without the spontaneous crying. My eyes have been red and puffy and irritated recently.

Entertainment value [revealing even more of the negative side of my nature]: I sat in a turn lane behind the biggest Chevy Tahoe in the known world. It proudly displayed tags that read: Ducks Unlimited; Conserve Wetlands.

Of course, a foolish consistency is the hobble of little minds. [Was that Thoreau?] Still, I will cry when the wetlands are dry.
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Stitches MidWest [$MW] [Aug. 17th, 2006|11:51 am]
weadawot
Stitches MidWest is an event sponsored by the publishers of Knitter's. It happens every year in the chicago area, most recently at the Rosemont Convention Complex near O'Hare. There are teachers, there are vendors, there are Events sponsored by XRX Enterprises. These units have been listed in order of general quality.

The classes are generally superb. The teachers clearly put a ton of thought and preparation into their classes, and many of them are professionals who do this regularly at conventions, sheep and wool events and shops around the country. i don't know when they find the time to develop new classes for next year!

The vendors are generally very good, with a cream of excellence and a dash of great fun. I am a little spoiled by attending events like Maryland $heep and Wool and by interests that extend pretty far out into the fiber world. I love to knit, but it is not the end for me. Still, this is a KNITTER's convention, so knitting should rule.

For an superior overview, I refer you to Franklin's excellent blog [http://the-panopticon.blogspot.com/]. {Note: I haven't learned to insert addresses properly, yet; I will do it later, if I ever edit this.] I particularly appreciated his comments on the paucity of men's loos. I saw the issue from the other point of view. The gents was right across the hall, and I have been to too many functions where I had terminally crossed legs from the scarcity of female facilities.

Delores [cf. Franklin's blog] somehow missed the event. I believe Franklin conned her into a road trip with a crony just so he could have a pleasant and relatively uneventful $MW. I was a little relieved to be sparred Delores's antics and blatant sexuality, not to mention the smoke from her eternal Gauloise dangling from her lip, still she might have brightened some of the moments up a trifle. And there were moments that needed brightening.

Like the Student Mixer.

I did attend the Mixer. Harrumph. "Mixer", indeed. It was unlike any "Mixer" I have ever attended. Anticipating something like a cocktail party where we all sipped glasses of icewater [Stitches Events are notoriously chintzy] and schmoozed about with garlands of women hanging on Mondragon's every word and twitch, we were instead treated to a seated, staged event.

The teachers for the event were presented and applauded. They then exited in a crocodile straight from the Madeleine books. Huh? Don't we get to TALK to them? Beg for autographs?

Nope. Straight to student show and tell with Mondragon prancing around on the stage. Lithping.

I shoulda tooken pitchers.

The range was a perfect bell curve.

I spoke of chintzy. This is an example:

Photo to be inserted.
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Found Some Words [Aug. 16th, 2006|11:22 am]
weadawot
Well, I never felt more like singin' the blues,
'cause I never thought that I'd ever lose
Your love, dear. Why'd you do me this way?

Well, I never felt more like cryin' all night,
'cause everythin's wrong, and nothin' ain't right
Without you. You got me singin' the blues.

The moon and stars no longer shine;
The dream is gone I thought was mine.
There's nothin' left for me to do,
But cry-y-y-y over you (cry over you).

Well, I never felt more like runnin' away,
But why should I go 'cause I couldn't stay
Without you. You got me singin' the blues.

[Singing the Blues, Guy Mitchell, slightly edited]

So, I run away, but I come back, because it doesn't make any difference. It just makes time pass a little better.

Sobeit.

-jane-
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For the first time in my life... [Aug. 2nd, 2006|03:45 pm]
weadawot
I am a Camper!

And I bear the title proudly.

I spent Thursday afternoon through Monday noon at Meg Swansen's Knitting Camp, Session 3.0 [Oft Timers]. This blessing befell me, because even though I am a camping newbie, I scheduled myself for the weekend of Crumbcake's birthday, an event NOT to be missed by any conscientious Nana, or even by me.

I phoned and was graciously rearranged from 2.75 to 3.0. So, as a newbie, I walked into a camp peopled by the likes of Amy Detjen, Emily Ocker, Medrith Glover, Cheryl Oberle, Joan Deneen, Joy Slayton, Carol [Cottage Crafts] and her sister. At this point I was close to hyperventilation. Basically, this camp has a number of Meg's personal friends in it. Several of the campers have been attending for the entire 33 years the Camps have been in existence, from when they were first begun my Meg's mother, Elizabeth Zimmermann.

Just consider: Arrayed at the side of the room were selection of sweaters that were knitted by Meg and EZ. It was like sitting in the midst of an element of the knitter's heritage.

Meg related something we had not considered. EZ left behind several bales of things that didn't work out. We forget how much of what she developed happened with needles and yarn and a notion.

Sobeit.

-jane-
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Writers and their pain [Jul. 21st, 2006|01:55 pm]
weadawot
Today I have read postings and email from friends and Yarn Harlot's blog, both about the pain of writing. An emphasis, too, on how antisocial it makes a body.

It sounds like such a wonderful way to work and about as horrid as it can be. I have read that the only thing worse for a writer than writing is not writing. So they write, because the misery is mildly less than the agony of not writing.

It almost makes me relieved that I do not have the overwhelming need to write. I compose a lot, but once done, I have little need to actually write it down. Perhaps that is why I have so few entries here.

Sobeit.

-jane-
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