A dog, a shawl, and styrofoam

Ah, yes. At last, at long, long last, it has finished.

I haven't much to say except that lo unto these what, two weeks or so that I've been working on this shawl felt like 100 years, and it has finished.

I feel very, very rewarded and I do not regret the time I spent on this. It is absolutely gorgeous. Melissa will love it. It is soft, beautiful, and full of love.

Here it is finished but unblocked, last night, taking up slightly more than half the dining room table.


I washed it in the sink with regular laundry soap, rinsed it several times until the water was clear, and gave it a little downy in the final rinse to make sure it is soft, soft, soft. Then I took it downstairs and spun it out in the washer. THEN, I rolled it up in four beach towels and sat on it for about fifteen minutes. It was still pretty wet after all that. I then wove in the ends, and proceeded to start pinning. The dogs got nervous...

...but all was well.

And here it is, pinned out on foam, glorious and at least half again the unblocked size. I was afraid it would be too small, now, if anything, I'm afraid it's too big. I'm going to have to block the very ends seperately after the rest of it dries, because I simply can't get it all on the boards.

I am amazed at how the detail pops when it's blocked. I hope she loves it.

And here's a gratuitous dog posing picture. Miss Lily, our ham.


Better update later in the week, I must now go poke and prod at the shawl until it is completely, totally, straight across the top.

Drive-Through update

A moderately quick one because, as Willy Wonka so eloquently put it, there is far too much to do. Anna is home for the weekend and has brought her roommate Erin with her. We went out to Buffalo Wild Wings last night, where it was... interesting, to say the least. When we walked in, the place was packed. It was packed because they were auctioning off girls for charity. Ironically, for St. Jude's. Our young women were curious as to what the auctioned girls would then do to/for/with the men who "won" them. I was so disgusted by the implication and the imagery, it really set the tone for me. To top it off, they were using an unimaginably loud, distorted PA system. Instant headache.

We did manage to get a booth. BWW's booths are not comfortable. In fact, they're downright agonizing. It was not helped by the large family of mom, dad, and 27.3 children in the NEXT booth. The 27.3 children were all kicking the seat, which sent lovely shock waves up my back constantly. Since it was so crowded, the service was crap, and we couldn't get playmakers that worked for trivia. I ended up asking dad in the next booth to please get his horrible little monsters to stop abusing us. I think he was kind of shocked, because frankly, it was obvious to everyone but me that his little brats shit rainbows and piss vintage wine. And the look his wife/concubine/girl-he-won-in-an-auction-ten-years-ago was giving me was one for the books. I was like, hey, bizatch, bring it on. I'm mad enough at your kids that if you decide you wanna swing on me, I'll hit you so hard they'll ALL feel it.

The worst thing about quitting smoking is having to sit where the small children are. But I'm not going to go off on a rant about modern child-rearing methods (or lack thereof) right now, I'm just going to say how glad I am that my children knew how to act in public.

So, the whole feeling emotions when they happen thing is working out.

My back feels much better. I still get pains. The pain is moving around, trying new places to torture, I get headaches, weird sensations in my legs, my hands go numb sometimes. I do as instructed by the books and examine how I'm feeling at the moment, and invariably, it makes it much better. Except the headaches, I can't make them go away yet. My mobility is improving, my stress level is MUCH better, and it's getting noticable.

And Anna was amazed by how the house looks. Lowering my expectations on myself actually resulted in a cleaner house. Who knew? Of course, flylady helped with that, quite a bit.

Fiberish things were pretty major this week. I'm not going to take a picture of the ridiculous amount of Sugar n Cream cotton I bought on sale at Michael's because it was a buck a ball. I will show you this, the first of many.

That's a ballband dishcloth, obscenely easy, and looks like I'll get about three out of two balls of yarn. You can whip one off in an evening. Will make lovely all-purpose stocking stuffers and things to give out as gifts to family and co-workers. Also makes a nice break from the neverending FNF shawl of doom that can't even be kept in its box anymore.

I do think I'm down to the last three balls of yarn on that, though, so the end is in sight.

Spinning was also very good this week, the abortive attempt at navajo plying notwithstanding. I had a breakthrough in fiber preparation and feeding. It led to a nice thin "maple sugar" single which I attempted to navajo ply. To say that did not work out would be an understatement. I did stop before I'd ruined the entire 350 yards of nice thin single. I then split it out and two-plied it.

It wasn't a total loss.

The next project was a blend of blues in a superwash merino. I just filled two bobbins as far as I thought was okay...

(probably slightly further than that) and plied them together into a ... dare I say... thin, amazingly thin, mostly sport weight two ply that looks really amazing AND is 239 yards.



Lemme repeat that. Two hundred and thirty nine yards. My biggest skein before this was about 150 yards.

Two hundred and thirty nine yards. And it is gorgeous.

That's no big deal to folks who have been spinning for a while, but it's a very big deal to me. Now I know I can do better yarn than I thought I'd ever be able to do. Happy!

The more things change...

It's been an interesting week, to say the very least, here at Chez Fritz. Bob and I went to see The US Vs John Lennon on Friday. It was a hell of a good movie.

It amazes me that things are coming back around to that place again. I don't think they'll ever quite make it there, though. Today's youth are not like the youth of the 60s. They're too medicated, too complacent, too jaded. Give peace a chance doesn't have a chance in this world. All the connection that is possible makes people more isolated, more insulated. After all, if I'm talking on this cell phone, or emailing from this laptop, or texting someone from this treo, or watching a video on this ipod, or playing a game on this PSP, then I'm not HERE, I'm not In This Room, I'm not On This Bus, and whatever is happening in the real world takes a back seat to the fantasy web I'm weaving around myself with portable electronic devices. Unifying today's youth in the face of the plugged in entertainment available as an alternative to actual social consciousness and action is an impossible task. It won't happen. The kids are too distracted.

At least until there's a draft.


On the personal side of things, I'm actually feeling a good bit better, if confused. I've been reading about something called TMS, or Tension Myositis Syndrome. Guy named Dr. John Sarno is behind it, and he says that the current epidemic of back pain and associated disorders is due to emotional repression rather than our backs suddenly devolving to weakness. Very interesting stuff and holds a lot of water for me. Research and stuff is ongoing, but hopeful.

Boring fiber week, at least until today's mail. I got a happy happy ebay package of Lorna's Laces sock yarn..... mmmm, it feels amazing.

There I go with the purply/pink again. What is with that? And I also got my pound of red superwash from the same vendor as the yellow superwash. It seems to be just as nice as the yellow. Hey, I could make Penn Hills yarn! (those are the colors of the Local High School, red and gold.)


Figment investigated and approved both purchases.


Steeler sock #3 is coming down the homestretch and with any luck I'll have two completed pairs in time for next week's game, maybe the week after. I only work on socks on the bus and at work, so it's slower going than it would be if I'd been putting as many stitches into the socks as, say, this.

Melissa's Feather and Fan Comfort Shawl out of handspun yarn. I'm about 140 rows in with maybe another 50 rows to go. The pattern is very purdy.

Very purdy indeed.

Updating just to update? Discuss...

What a surprise it was to find that a week had gone by and I hadn't updated.

The latest scandal out of Washington is no surprise to me. What does surprise me is that they continue to try to blame others, the evil alcohol, the wicked clergy, the preverted homos, instead of blaming the guy who did the deeds, or tried to do the deeds, or thought/emailed/texted about doing the deeds, in other words, the actual sick fuck afflicted with pedophilia, the only cure for which is castration, chemical or otherwise. The amount of filth being swept under the rug is so huge it's taking on the distinct shape of an elephant.

I wish I could draw, that would make one heck of a political cartoon.

In the meantime, how many deaths in Iraq last week? How many US soldiers? How many Iraqi citizens? Way too many. Way too many.

On to happier things. It has actually been a moderately productive fiber week here. I did another skein of the Maple Sugar yarn. It's hanging out to dry with its brother. My current spinning is gold superwash

that I initially thought I'd dye because I got it for a really good price. The color turned out to be a sincerely Steelers gold, though, so I might end up doing some self-striping black and gold out of it. I'm (so far) doing OK at spinning it thin, it's nice fiber and easy to control.

I did up two pair of cabled fingerless gloves. The pattern is from Knitty's summer edition, and is called Fetching.

I'll be making more of these because they only take a couple of hours to make and will make great stocking stuffers and showcases for my handspun. I will not, however, be using this particular pink yarn again, because it was far too thick for the size needles I had to use and it caused me a lot of pain to finish them off. But the effect... wow. The cables really popped.


So last night I cast on for a feather and fan comfort shawl for my friend Melissa, for which I'll be using the last of my pink Flynx yarn.

It's a much happier process than the gloves were with this yarn.

There is one pair of steeler socks, and I'm into the leg of sock one of the second pair.

Maybe when they're finished, it'll turn the team's fortunes around. I have to say I was not encouraged by last night's game. One team played the first half, a different, suckier team played the second half. Ugh. I hate to kiss off the season already, but I don't see much choice here. They were bad.

And finally, last night we had a wonderful dinner. We went to Frick Park with the dogs. It was a beautiful day. I was in a lot of pain when we got back from the trail, though, so we drove through Wendy's and got salads and baked potatoes to go with the steaks that were waiting to be grilled. While they were cooking, I got some stuff from the yard and put a vase of flowers on the table. White sage, russian sage, cosmos, and daisy fleabane. I think it's pretty, and it's in the vase our friend De gave us as a wedding gift.

Things that go Bump in the night

What sort of things scare you?

A lot of things scare me. More than I realize. As my healing process continues, I find that I am more fearful than I expected I was, ever. Last night, coming home from Nanty Glo along Route 22, I was terrified. It was raining, hard. It was dark. I was on an unfamiliar road, full of construction cones and signs and lane shifts and sheer dropoffs. I was frightened.

It was a revelation to allow myself to fear that.

I need to start examining what else I fear. My dear friends in Nanty Glo tell me that my need to appear tougher and stronger and smarter than everyone else is something that I need to examine. Why is it so important to me? What is driving it? I know the answer, and the answer is fear. The weak are taken advantage of. The weak are trodden upon. I was once weak. I am no more, because now I am tougher, stronger, meaner, more inaccessible than anyone. And that way is making me ill.

Far from being proud of my driving skill last night, making the drive home in very bad conditions with no accident or incident or meltdown left me shaken in the depth of my fear and insecurity. You see, I'm a very skilled driver. I pride myself on my driving skill. Nine years driving a city bus did that to me. It made me a damn good driver. But last night I felt like a neophyte and the answer came blazing to me in the midst of it all, in the raindrops and the orange barrels and the onrushing headlights.

I cannot control this.

And that thought terrified me.

On to more pleasant things.

We had a good weekend. We went yesterday to see the Nanty Glo friends and had a very nice visit. I made chili like I haven't made in years, along with cheese biscuits and honey cornbread. It was well received. We soaked in the hot tub, watched Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (I may never tire of watching that movie), then sat and talked and worked on some healing strategies for me. The upshot being that nicotine addiction was disguising a lot of things, treating a lot of things, filtering a lot of things. Hiding a lot of things. I need to start dealing with those things, now, before it kills me dead. So I've been given some easy things to start with, simple meditation and triggering exercises. Here's hoping.
The drive up there was glorious with Bob impressed by the mountain crossing at Chestnut Ridge and the vistas coming over the hills. I was pretty impressed myself. It was beautiful. I think we'll have to go back in a couple of weeks when the leaves are at peak color, it will be spectacular.
Today we went out to Trax Farms near Finleyville. A lot of my friends rave about it so I wanted to see it. It was a beautiful day for pointlessly driving around the city. The place itself was way too crowded but it might be nice to go back when the fall festival thingy isn't going on.


Bob holds some kettle corn to prove he was there.


Random potted flower with bee at no charge


We went to Point Brugges Cafe for dinner on the way home. Spectacular food. We started off with a cheese board that I forgot to photograph. It was divine and presented impeccably. Our entrees

(Bob's pound and a half of mussels)


(and my carbonnade flammade)

were both accompanied by authentic Belgian Pommes Frites.


Divine. Absolutely divine food. I could spend 20 years trying to replicate the gravy from my entree and would fail, happy in the attempt but not coming close. We finished with a simple ice cream shared by both of us, with melted belgian dark chocolate to pour over.


Didn't leave any. At all.


I think we actually drank the last of the melted chocolate.


A lovely day. Tomorrow, I hope to get some spinning in. I'm finishing off the second Steeler sock and working on a drop stitch scarf. I'm thinking of starting a pair of fingerless gloves. If I can make them, they may become gifts. One of my problems is trouble focussing on a project for any length of time. I need short, quick rewards. And for now, that is just fine. Healing first, then the rest.

It's my monday, and I'll cry if I want to.

I don't have much of import to say today. Many pretty pictures of many pretty yarns and some pretty animals.

I will say that I am very proud of, and very nostalgic for, Bill Clinton. If only the Democrats will learn from his example and get up in people's faces, and stop rolling over and taking this from the media, from the Rethugs, from the administration. Learn from your wise elders, children. And while you're at it, learn from Keith Olbermann, too. He had yet another amazing "special comment" last night, which is widely available both on you tube and crooks and liars.

In my determination to learn, again, to relax, I spent time yesterday spinning the remainder of the "black cherry" silk/merino blend top that I started a couple of weeks ago. A pound of this fiber netted me six skeins, or about 700 yards of heavy worsted two ply. It's unspeakably soft.



When I got home from work today, the three final skeins were dry out on the porch, so I brought them in then decided to take the wheel and the dogs outside and watch the sun go down while spinning "maple sugar". I do love Copper Moose fiber.



This is one "Maple Sugar" skein with three "black cherries". The maple sugar color is not merino, I think it's coopworth or a blend, but it's still very soft and as all Bill's fibers, a joy to spin. The play of colors in the top...





...comes out beautifully in the finished yarn. I'm trying to make this DK but I'm really having a hard time regulating the feed .... I think it's time I admitted that the Babe wheel, as wonderful as it is, is not the precise tool I'd like to have. But it's ok for my needs, especially for the fibers I've collected in my stash. If I still have as much interest in spinning in a year, maybe I'll start looking at something more refined. For now, it'll do.



We had a nice sunset.



If only we didn't have that light pole. Still pretty.

And here are cute animal pictures. Dylan and Lily, our corgis, have been playing with each other more than usual lately. It's cuter than words.





I'm getting better at taking pictures of Figment. He's an amazing cat.


I really can't express the energy that pours off of him. When he stands on your lap to be petted, he seems to weigh 30 pounds. His feet are so heavy. He purrs so loudly that it echoes. He's very ... substantial. In many ways. When he curls up in my lap and gets loved, you can feel the love pouring off of him. Amazing cat. Never knew a cat quite like this.

Bob brought home cat food and stuff today. The cats were waiting for him. Impatiently waiting. Or just appreciating him.


That's about it for now. I'm tired, and crabby, and about to behave in a way that I will regret later, so I'm just going to grab something fast to eat and go to bed.

... and the buffalo jumped over the moon

Fiber, then seriousness.
Steeler Sock one of four has turned the heel and is coming down the homestretch. I just completed the gusset-i've been working on this less than four days. Mostly on the bus and breaks at work. Buddha approves.


Yes, this is a different ball of baby alpaca. I don't want to talk about what happened to the other one. Suffice it to say, it's waiting until I'm ready to work with it. In the meantime, this one is on larger needles, with the same lace pattern. I am hoping it will make a nice gift for my mother.


In other news, my Local Yarn Store is now carrying Koigu. Koigu is the caviar of sock yarn, for those who do not know. Pictures do not do it justice, only touching it will, but here is a lovely portrait of hand dyed merino goodness.



Serious Ranting Ahead-be warned.
An ad for Highmark Blue Cross/Blue Shield runs here pretty regularly.

"I was getting pretty big. My coach was worried, my parents were worried... I was ... pretty big. I didn't like getting my picture taken."
A red-haired moppet, about ten, eleven years old, runs across a soccer field.
"Then I got help. My doctor is helping, the school is helping... "
Said moppet runs into the loving, accepting embrace of her teammates, crunching an apple joyfully.
"I love my team picture now! I'm not big in it!"
Congratulations, you've just given this child a lifelong eating disorder. You've just condemned her to judging herself first by her size, and by everything else next.

I object enough to the use of the word "big" in this ad. When a boy is "big", that's a good thing. A boy is supposed to be Big. Big is manly. Big is good! A girl, however, is not allowed to be Big. Being Big equals instant ostracism for a little girl, according to this ad, by implication, she would not have the love of her teammates had she remained Big. Now that she is Small, delicate and girl-like, everyone loves her.

Just say she was getting fat, for crying out loud. And be done with it. It's not the end of the world.

Highmark, you have perpetuated evil by two things. The first thing is that this child who was probably (in her ficticious life) perfectly happy, active, and healthy, will now have an obsession with being small. A girl subject to this perception will almost certainly have lifelong self-esteem issues, which may include eating disorders, cutting behaviors, depression, acting out. The second evil that you have perpetuated is the "gender sizing" myth. Only Men can be Big. Men can be Huge. Men can be Gigantic. That's Manly, right? Women, however, cannot be Big, or they are not women. Women must be small, frail, delicate, childlike. Strength, Bigness, are not allowed.

Fuck you very much, Highmark.

Being a slightly overweight child is difficult. I remember. When I was little, I was a "big" for my size. I remember what they said to me.

"you're getting as big as the side of a barn!"

"Slow down, nobody's going to take it away from you!"

"Oh, what a fat, jolly child!"

Being a fat adult woman is hell. It is a worse hell than it needed to be because I was told these things as a small child. I was not grossly fat. I was chubby. My family is all slightly chubby. If they'd left me alone, let me grow up and be active and not allowed me to think I was this enormous, elephantine thing, perhaps I wouldn't be like this now.

Or perhaps I would.

It's easy to look for something external to blame for your problems. But it probably didn't help. I look at old pictures, from grade school and into high school, and I was overweight, yes, but an overweight I'd be overjoyed to be, now. I wasn't sideshow freak fat like I am now. I wasn't immobilized fat like I am now. I wasn't edema, arthritis, joint pain, high blood pressure, varicose veins fat like I am now. I wasn't every waking moment in pain, physically, and usually mentally and emotionally. I was then, as now, consumed with self-loathing and I did some very stupid things, then, to be thin and waiflike, and girlish. I am old enough now to know that the stupid things are stupid and I will not do them. But what am I to do? I am sick, now, with this fat. I'm sick, inside and out. I loathe looking at myself in the mirror. I don't like going out in public. I am angry that a wonderful companion and friend like my husband is stuck with a carnival fat lady as a spouse.

Note that I am not placing responsibility on my family or my upbringing or any external thing for my weight. I am responsible for it. I did this to myself. The motivation doesn't matter. The fact is that it was, maybe for a while anyway, something I could have controlled. I chose to lose control.

One of the things I'm being screened for is Cushing's Syndrome. Two of the symptoms are "buffalo hump" and "moon face". Could they possibly make it sound any more appealing? Appalling. Cushing's is caused by consistent elevated levels of the stress hormone cortisol. It makes you gain weight in your belly, and on your upper back in a hump. It's no less disgusting to think that maybe a disease did this to me than just a case of sloth and greediness. Either way, there it is. Either way, I'm grotesque.

No, wait.

Make that Big.

If I find out that I am well, I will lose just enough weight to make myself happy, and the hell with what anyone else thinks. And if I ever see that red-haired moppet, I'm going to show her that it's ok to be Big.

Endings and Beginnings

Sometimes, it's really difficult to know when something has ended. Sometimes, it's really difficult to express why something has ended.

In romantic relationships, it's pretty simple to define. But what about when a platonic relationship ends? What about when you're just not friends any more?

And how do you know if you've ever really been friends?

And does that matter?

I've known this woman for at least six years. We helped each other move a couple of times. We spent a lot of time on the phone, visiting with mutual friends, at gatherings together. The last couple of years we've drifted apart pretty seriously. I've tried to tell her that a friendship is just like any other relationship in that it needs at least a little nurturing to survive, but she doesn't seem to understand that, or doesn't seem to care. It makes me very sad.

So I think that at this point, the friendship is over. I've tried to reach out to her several times in the last couple of months, and while she hasn't rebuffed me or outright said anything, she's avoided responding. It makes me very sad. At some point, the drift became irreparable. She made an offhand comment that hurt me very deeply and she didn't understand why it hurt me. Sometimes if you have to explain, you shouldn't.

I'm sucking at explaining this. I can't put it into adequate words. I've lost someone in my life who was important to me, and it feels like I just wasn't important enough to her to make any sort of effort. Looking back, it seemed like every time we talked, if it wasn't about her, it became about her. I'd call her with a problem or a sadness or an issue and soon, we'd be talking about her problems or issues or sadnesses. I always felt like I was never quite "cool" enough for her, like I was marginal. I guess I built up some resentment behind that. So, there it is. I'll survive. And I have no doubt she'll survive, too.

On a happier note, Bob and I went to see Hollywoodland last night. Very deep movie. Very good. Very sad, and thought provoking. Some of the acting was downright amazing, especially Diane Lane and Adrien Brody. What is it about Adrien Brody that I find so fascinating? He looks like a male k.d. lang with a really big nose. But damn, that boy can act. His face is incredibly expressive. Incredibly sad. I recommend seeing it, but only if you don't like your movies wrapped up in neat little packages.

On to the fibrous things.
This is a big ball of "Ecological Wool" by Cascade in Silver.

It's destined to be, I hope, two "Irish Hiking Scarves", one for an uncle and one for my former cubemate from my old office location. It looks like a simple cable project and I think I can do it. This is a lot more yarn than I thought it was when I bought it!

The baby alpaca that I posted a couple of weeks ago has begun transformation into a lace shawl. Well, lacy, at least. I hestiate to call it actual lace because the pattern is so easy, only a four row repeat.

It's about 20 rows now. Maybe a little more. We nearly had a disaster last night when we returned from the movies. Miss Lily, our innocent one, grabbed it out of the project box (where I had irresponsibly left it on the floor) and ran off with it. I didn't even notice, Bob found it on the bed. Fortunately, no real damage was done. It was slightly damp, a little misshapen, and had a big loop of yarn pulled out, but it all went back into shape with minimal effort.

The second sock of my third trial pair is coming down the homestretch....

These are very loosely stitched-I think a size 2 needle would have been better. Ones were too small, threes are too large. Duh. But at any rate, in honor of that and also to have something else small started, I cast on the first steeler sock.

Someday, I'm going to try toe-up socks. Maybe next. I got the Schurch book that my friend M recommended and it seems very good... in another language. I can't quite interpret it yet. I am but an egg.

Monday is my cardiac stress test. I am not looking forward to this. In fact, I may cancel out of it. The more I think about it, the less I want a radioactive element injected into my body. And I am 98% sure there is nothing wrong with my heart. The more I read up on Cushing's Syndrome and excess cortisol, the more convinced I am that it's the real problem. On that note, I am going to get a list of things written up to take to the doctor on Monday, because I will NOT allow him to steamroll me. And I'm still damn mad about that MRI incident.

In memory of a lot of things.

The Constitution only applies when the going gets easy.
War is the answer, even when you forget the question.
The truth is for sissies.
America has never faced an enemy as dangerous and as intent on killing us as King George, the Civil War, World War I, the Germans, the Japanese, a nuclear Soviet Union Al Qaeda.
The real September 11 story was badly in need of editing.
Just because they say it makes it so.
We have always been at war with Oceania.
A fool is born every election day.

Due process is for the innocent.
Patriotism means never having to say you're sorry.
It's all Sandy Berger's fault.

(courtesy of The Daily Kos)

What follows are my distinctly unpatriotic feelings-my opinions only to which I am entitled.

This shit has gotten out of hand.

I grieved for the dead. I did. The number of dead US soldiers in Iraq is close to, if not past, the number of 9/11 dead. And those are just US SOLDIERS, not Iraqi citizens, contractors, journalists, or other non-combatants. This country is in such an economic shambles that we rejoice when gas goes below 2.49 a gallon, and we reminisce that maybe Nixon wasn't such a bad preznit, after all. We are ruled by reactionary fundamentalists who squander our resources and the blood of our soldiers to fight other reactionary fundamentalists and use our national sentiment as lubricant to slide away our freedom, our constitution, our rights. They play fast and loose with the truth, just as they have since that sad, sad day, five years ago, when I came home from work, weeping, to hug my dog and await my kids' return from school. These reactionary fundamentalists have divided us, have fomented hatred and strife, have drawn lines across this nation that no terrorist ever could, and while the lines get broader and broader, they laugh at us.

Oh yes, they laugh.

They laugh at the gullible populace. They laugh while they hand us Soma in the form of sensationalized news, more JonBenet and more Human Interest and less substance, less outrage. They whisper campaigns and push with polls and tell us what to think, and the vast, vast medicated, attention-deficited, material-addicted unwashed overworked masses capitulate and think what they tell us to think because it's just easier, because then we can feel part of something, because then we can be part of the RIGHT side, the side that WINS, whether it's just or not.

They continue to erect straw men and strap them to windmills, at which they then tilt, knowing that knocking Roe V Wade or Gay Marriage or Freedom of Religion asunder would leave them no rallying cries. They throw money at the richest and keep the poorest entertained, more bread and circuses, more reality television, more spectacle, more monkey shows at gaping wounds in the ground. More uncompleted memorials and more undiscovered dead. Will there be a five-year memorial for the victims of Hurricane Katrina? Did you know that they are still finding bodies in New Orleans? Did you care? They milk the religious and the self-righteous, and laugh while they mock their beliefs, because all they believe in is money, power, and control.

I am angry. All the hard work done in my lifetime, all the international goodwill, all the progress in equality and justice and REASON, dammit, pure, sweet REASON and science and love of our Mother, this planet, has been destroyed in the past five years, all in the name of Security, of Liberty.

There are more deaths than the 9/11/01 deaths to mourn today. There is the death of reason. The death of justice. The death of tolerance. The death of equality. The death of so many of the ideals that this country was founded upon, that I believe in, that I fought for and watched others fight and die for. And so many of them under the rallying cry of "never forget!"

You're damn right I'll never forget.

We love the moon, simply because it is close to us.

This has been quite a week.
Pittsburgh lost a mayor. Bob O'Connor, who was a force in local politics as long as anyone can remember, died of central nervous system lyphoma last weekend. By all accounts, the cancer was vicious and relentless. He didn't have a chance once it set in. Bob was a good guy who was determined to make a difference in Pittsburgh and in the whole region. I think he would have done it, too.
Bob was also a big-time Steelers fan. At the home (and season) opener on Thursday, which was also the day of his funeral, fans did this.

(picture copyright pittsburgh post-gazette)
Maybe some people think it was tasteless. Bob O'Connor would have loved it, and he would have loved his son on the field leading the fans in the Terrible Towel wave, too.
Bob O'Connor's death makes me sad. I hope that the many, many years he served Pittsburgh on council and behind the scenes inspire those who succeed him to keep his dream alive. He only got six months, but maybe, just maybe it was enough to kickstart this beautiful town into a new era.

And on to the fiber goodness.
Knit One had a wonderful birthday party, where I ran into an old friend of my mom's who was quite shocked and pleasantly surprised to see me. We spent some time talking and catching up-I look forward to seeing her there another time when it is less chaotic. I got a pattern for my very first lace project, a very simple shawl designed by Lily Chin. I normally don't like her designs, but lace seriously scares me and I need to break the ice somehow, and this is seriously easy. In fact, it might actually be more boring than the Clapotis, by the time it's done. A four row repeat, no lie, with yarnover increases and that's it. But it ought to show off that beautiful baby alpaca just fine.
Also got a hank of cascade worsted in silver to make my former cube-mate a cable scarf... wow, taking on lace and cables at the same time, I AM adventurous! Two BIG balls of sock yarn (the one-pair kind) because sock yarn doesn't really count, you know. I got my mom five balls of some sort of higher end furry fluffy yarn that she loved. She loves that novelty crap. If I got her into that store, she'd be in trouble, but it would maybe, maybe break her of red heart for good. Elizabeth Zimmerman's "knitting without tears" and a set of size two DPNs for our steeler socks completed the excursion. Good stuff! The sales were pretty nice, and as always, the people there were delightful.

Here's a picture of my socks finished and languishing in a juniper.

Less than a week on the bus and breaks at work, those went fast.

The Clapotis is done...


As my lovely and weird daughter models it.