Hooray for three day work weeks.

This week will be nice-a three day work week of shorter than usual days, followed by a five day weekend. Of course, just as all this wonderful relaxation is about to go down, I'm fighting off a cold. Started last night with scratchy throat things and I was up and down all night until I gave up and took some theraflu, then got five solid hours. I can always tell when I'm really getting sick because I can't stand the thought of drinking coffee. So I got up, made a pot of tea, and felt sorry for myself for most of the morning.

We're going to my older daughter's place to have dinner. She is a recently lapsed vegetarian so it should be interesting to see what she makes. She's a very good cook-takes after me in that regard. I'm bringing a container of my butternut squash soup (which is actually butternut-acorn-golden hubbard squash soup) to share.

I've been trying to post something substantive most days, but some days are just personal blathering, of which you've been promised a modicum. Please enjoy these pretty pictures in lieu of actual thought-provoking content.

Fiber Arts in the Burgh

Pittsburgh is fortunate enough to have a lot of great resources for fiber artists of all kinds. As a spinner, I've watched it go from "maybe you can find some roving at one LYS if they're stocking it right now" to at least three major yarn stores featuring a variety of spinning supplies including tools, fiber, and books. Our Knit and Crochet festival attracts vendors from all over the country, featuring all kinds of fibercrafting goods. And now we have the Indie Knit and Spin Marketplace, for the second year. The show focuses on local independent fiber artists and suppliers, and associated products. I wanted to go last year but couldn't. I was happy to get the chance this year!

The marketplace is the brainchild of Cosette Cornelius-Bates, of Cosymakes. I first met Cosy about five years ago, at my very first Handmade Arcade. She was selling hats and yarns and freezing. I loved her designs and have been following her and buying her yarns and fibers ever since. I highly recommend her products, I've never been disappointed.

Anyway. The marketplace was small but what was there was fantastic. It wasn't overwhelmingly crowded either, which was nice. All in all an event I'd encourage folks to attend, in small groups, a little bit at a time so it's nicely spread out. :)

I had a small budget and managed to stay within it. (too much upcoming holiday stuff to buy to buy stuff for myself!)

I got these fun odds and ends of Cosy's falkland. LOVE this fiber-it spins like a dream.



I thought they would play well together.

These washed locks of Debouillet from Fiddlehead Fibers were too tempting. I have never tried this fiber and I love the creamy look of the locks. Reminds me of Cheviot, which is one of my favorites.


I couldn't turn down these fun batts from Gwen Erin. She had so much great stuff in her booth I could have blown my whole budget there and then some. Her handspun yarns were also exceptionally beautiful.


There were lots more great vendors there and I encourage you to visit them via the links on the sidebar of the Indy Knit and Spin page.

More than halfway!

More than halfway through the month and I've managed to post every day, so woo! It's more sticktuitiveness than I usually have.

I'm in my new lounging caftan with a pot of tea made and I'm ready to finish up a weaving project and possibly start another one. I have knitting to do and a shorter than usual weekend to do it in. I normally work mondays but since next week is a holiday week I have to work Monday. So I'm going to post some of my favorite recent links and be done with it for today!

First up is Lesley Kinzel's brilliant piece on growing up into a highly disordered relationship with food. So much of this could have been about my life.

http://www.xojane.com/issues/hostess-twinkies-and-my-fat-childhood

...except without the jenny craig because that was more than I could afford. The emotions though.. identical.

I have always identified as a feminist and as I get older, I get more radical. This story outrages me on so many levels. This is what the "pro-life" crowd wants for America. We can't let them have it.

http://www.irishtimes.com/newspaper/frontpage/2012/1114/1224326575203.html

Another thing I am passionate about is fat acceptance and fat rights. As I recently read, I am fat, and I hold the radical position that I am allowed to exist. This tumblr is really good for those who don't realize how fully how difficult it is to live in a fat body.

http://thisisthinprivilege.tumblr.com

Advanced Style is one of my favorite sites. These fabulous mature folks are styling for sure.

http://advancedstyle.blogspot.com

And finally, Anthroparodie has hilarious interpretations of the twee hipster overpriced crap that Anthropologie makes a zillion dollars on.

http://www.anthroparodie.com

Everyone have a fantastic weekend!

And keep an eye out for that fantastic imported hot and cold water.

I got the music in me

From as far back as I can remember, I wanted to be a musician. Second grade, I got piano lessons from the nuns at my school. I didn’t have a piano at home to practice on, but my grandmother had a little home organ thing with a couple of octaves and that was good enough for my needs. I loved it. I’ve had a piano in my home most of my life, up to and including our current lovely 1900’s grand that is in desperate need of repairs and tuning.



When I was in 4th grade, my mother signed me up to be in the grade school orchestra. She asked me what instrument I wanted to play, and I said French Horn. My mother was a teacher. She couldn’t afford a French Horn, obviously, and I had no idea how expensive they were. She got me a flute instead. I was mildly disappointed but got over it quickly and have continued to play for most of my life. I don’t play much now as I’m rather self-conscious plus it makes the dog howl, but it’s there for me if I want it. It’s also good I didn’t get a French Horn because I can’t play any brass instruments without having a total giggle fit from lip tickling. I’m better off in a woodwind. I played in the school orchestra but my real love for flute came when I discovered jazz. Herbie Mann, especially, but I also adored Hubert Laws and Bobbie Humphrey.



I also sang. I don’t remember a time when I didn’t sing but organized singing commenced early in grade school, probably via church. I sang in a church choir all the way up until the 90s when I walked out for good, for reasons that are best kept to another blog entry. I sang at home, sang in the shower, sang with my friend Melissa, and Bob and I go out to sing Karaoke whenever we can. Not often enough. When I was in high school, I was in a special program for musically talented kids. I had voice lessons and sang in the glee club and as a soloist. I wanted to be an opera singer. Seriously. I smoked too much, though, and ruined my voice, and also was too lazy to be committed to it like I needed to be to be for real, if that makes any sense.

I've always been lazy, though. It's probably my biggest personal flaw. If there's an easy way out, I'll find it. I've gotten better as I age, but with the health issues I've been having, now is when I need those easy outs and I can't find them. Anyway, back to the story.

Growing up, I had a lot of exposure to music. My family was very musical. We always had music on or were playing or singing, it seemed. My mother did the Folk Group thing at church, for the cool hippie mass. She played autoharp and guitar, though not at the same time. Later on, when folk group wasn't there any more, we both joined the regular choir and belonged for many years. I even played in the handbell choir and absolutely loved it. We weren't quite this cool, but I got to play the big heavy bells and while everyone else stood there demurely with 2-4 bells, I had about 12 and was flinging them around like a madwoman. Good times.


So there was always music. My mother exposed me to a lot of different types of music, but first and foremost was opera. She listened to the Met broadcast every Saturday. No snob, she also introduced me to PDQ Bach.



We listened to a lot of soul, funk, and R&B in those days. My uncles were into blues and bluegrass. My great aunt listened to big band and old standards. It was up to me to find jazz and rock and roll.

I consumed music at a very high rate. I could not get enough, still can't. Discovering Ella Fitzgerald was a life-changing event. Her voice continues to inspire and uplift me, nearly on a daily basis. When I was a bit older, my dear friend Melissa introduced me to kd lang and that was another revelation. Those are my two favorite musicians, Ella and kd.





Jazz has always been a bit of an obsession for me. When I was a teenager, I went to a lot of good concerts, including Al Jarreau twice (before he sold out), Chuck Mangione, Lee Ritenour, and many more. I saw a lot of local acts, at every opportunity. But again, not enough dedication to make it my life.

To be honest I may have been a bit distracted by recreational drugs. But that's all in the past.

Led Zeppelin was a later love, not until I was in my mid-20s. And boy did I get hooked. I was fortunate enough to see Robert Plant in concert twice. He rocked. Loved The Police and Sting as a solo act, at least at first. He started repeating himself.

So a lot of different stuff, but all of it I loved and continue to love. I try to keep an open mind because you never know what you might miss (I started to appreciate Amy Winehouse not long before she died). But no matter how hard I try, I cannot get into rap or modern country, and anything that uses auto tune is annoying to me.

One of the reasons Bob and I hit it off so well was music. His tastes (encyclopedic) and mine are similar and it has similar importance and meaning to us.

So yeah, it means a lot. It always has. Which is one reason I hope I do manage to keep most of my hearing. It would suck to lose the music.

What is better than Greens and Beans?

That was the question I asked Bob when we got in tonight. The answer of course, is Greens and Beans with Bacon!

This isn't really a recipe as such, more a general "how to do this" guideline. I'm no expert on making greens and beans but the times I've made them, they've come out delicious.

I started with good quality bacon from Penn's Corner Farmstand, one of my favorite places to get food. I had about five pieces, I cut them into chunks and cooked them until they were just starting to crisp, then added a generous spoonful of hot pickled garlic.



Mmmmm, hot pickled garlic. One of my basic food groups. I have no idea how I survived half a century without this stuff, but it is the bomb-diggity, let me tell you.




The greens are the last of our homegrown collards. Look at this magnificent leaf. The collards were far and away the most successful thing from our garden this year. I will definitely be planting them again, probably more of them, because they did way better than anything else. I wish there were more for this meal but we will enjoy them.



Wash and trim the greens as necessary and add to the pot with the bacon and garlic. Normally I would have cut up an onion or shallot and put it in but I forgot. So I added about a tablespoon of dry minced onion. I will report to the foodie police after we eat.

Another essential in my kitchen is unsalted vegetable broth. It is just so useful. I use the boxed kind from Kitchen Essentials and it's delicious. I use a fair amount of soup bases and stocks in my cooking because I do work a full time job and a good quality stock or base can really punch up a meal. Anyway, this stuff is a staple.



I covered the greens and cooked them until they started to wilt, then added a can of Cannellini beans.



Had to add some more stock at this point because for some reason, collard greens drink stock. I don't know why. Chard, mustard greens, turnip greens, most kale (lacinto kale excepted) all give off stock. Collards and Lacinto Kale drink it. Anyway. Cook it until the greens are tender enough to eat then add a splash of balsamic vinegar and a little red pepper flake IF you want it. I left out the red pepper flake this time.



Then eat it! I like a nice crusty bread with it to sop up all that yummy juice.

The answer to WHAT TO BLOG?

I'm too tired and scattered to come up with a reasonable blog entry, so I'm just going to share some body positive/affirming/fun music videos.

Leslie Hall starts us off.




Leslie really can dance, and I love how comfortable she is with her body.




This woman is incredible. I love to belly dance and would give a fat roll to be able to shake it like she does.



Absolutely love that the kick ass drummer is also a woman.


The amazing Beth Ditto smashes every preconceived notion about beauty and what a fat girl can do.



Janelle Monae is pure joy and exuberance. You have to love her, for so many reasons.



Hopefully I'll have something more substantive tomorrow. I knew there'd be days like this, I just hope there aren't many of them, because if there are, it's going to be a long November.

Get your kicks

I was treated to dinner tonight in honor of our ten year anniversary. Bob asked me where I wanted to go but he must have asked me after a meal or something because I came up blank. When he suggested Paris 66 Bistro, I could not refuse. We had been there once before and it was one of the best meals I'd ever had.



Our reservation was at 5, both to beat any crowds, and to get home in time for the Steeler game on Monday Night Football. (This is Pittsburgh, after all.) There weren't many people there so it was quiet and comfortable, if a bit too warm. The service was very good, accommodating without being overbearing.

One thing I love so much about this place is the bread. This is no ersatz french bread made at the bakery down in the strip district, this is a real french baguette. The taste and texture are incredible and it's really hard to avoid filling up on the bread before your food arrives. It's served with a very high quality unsalted butter.

You can't taste it through the screen but take my word, this stuff is amazing.



We both got the onion soup gratinee, utterly delicious though quite a bit more sweet in taste than last time. I don't know why-maybe they were using a sweeter onion? It didn't taste like an added sweetness, which is what led me to suspect the onion. It might have been a slightly sweeter wine for the broth, too. It was still delicious and unlike any other onion soup, just a bit too sweet for me.





I'm not sure if Bob felt I was threatening his soup but trust me, he enjoyed it.

It took me forever to decide on an entree, there were so many wonderful choices. It's a provincial style restaurant, but I still found it disappointing that there is no classic french fish/beurre blanc dish on the menu. I opted for the Basque Chicken and Bob had the Filet Mignon. I started with a salad.



The dressing was a house creamy dijon sort of thing that was really delicious. I stopped just short of asking for the recipe.

The decor is charming and very french kitsch. Lots of art nouveau posters and the obligatory subway sign.





The walls are a warm buttery yellow and the seating and tables are dark wood, making it super cozy.

The Basque Chicken is a french country classic and very similar in idea and composition to Chicken Cacciatore but with more delicate seasoning, less garlic, and potatoes included. It was a generous portion, deliciously prepared. The chicken had a lot of character; it was no bland, wimpy Giant Eagle fryer but a proper roasting chicken with lots of body.



This is another time you need smell o vision. Yum.

Bob's filet was perfectly cooked, and the sauce, vegetables, and potatoes were all delicious.



He said it was one of those meals when you're finishing it, you feel a little sad that it will be gone soon.



We had a carafe of a perfectly fine merlot with dinner. It was a great accompaniment to the meal. We almost never have wine with dinner out because it's usually prohibitively expensive but Paris 66 has a great wine list and their house wines are pretty reasonably priced.

You can't go there without having a few macarons after your meal. Paris 66's pastry chef apparently learned to make them in the place where the modern macaron was born in Paris, so they're extra authentic and incredibly good. You just have to try a variety.

Mine


Bob's


All in all, as close to a perfect meal as I've ever had.

Ten years, thirty five years.

November 10, 2002 was the day Bob moved in with us. It doesn't seem like it's been that long but it certainly explains why I feel so much older-I AM older.

My history with relationships has not been good. I had my first "real" relationship at 16, with a guy who turned out to be very abusive in physical, emotional, and mental ways. He treated me like garbage. I guess I believed I was garbage because I let him. When I got out of that, probably after a year or so, I bounced around from horrible abusive guy to horrible abusive guy, hoping to find someone I guess who would rescue me, or at least find me worth more than I found myself. I was 18 when I met my first husband, who led the abuser's hit parade for about three years. We ended up married. Big mistake, but fortunately we did not bring any children into the world so when I dropped him off by the side of the road in Snyder, Texas and told him to keep going and never turn around, all I had to take care of was myself. And I did.

Out of the crucible of that horrible relationship (and it was horrible, I was physically abused over and over, and the emotional manipulation was even worse) came my sense of self worth. I found it. During that last fateful fight when I finally hit back, when I finally snapped, when I finally found my strength, my worth as a person was born. It was imperfect and it still had a lot of questions but there it was.


Unfortunately, I met Bob #1, my second husband, not long after that, and all that no baby mojo was worn off apparently because I got pregnant with my older daughter almost immediately. We got married less than a week after she was born. It wasn't a horrible relationship. He was nice, not abusive, funny, protective, we shared musical interests and both loved cats and dogs. He tried to be a good provider. We bought a house. Reagan destroyed the oil industry and our relationship wasn't strong enough to withstand a prolonged stretch of difficult times. We moved, two small children in hand, from West Texas to Forks, (yes, that one) Washington where his family lived. Big mistake. He never did find gainful employment. Picked ferns some, did the odd work at the shake mill some, talked a lot about getting a pressure washer and starting a business. Talked a LOT about that. Smoked a lot of bud. Started keeping odd hours and acting strange, then things started getting shouty, and back to Pittsburgh I went. I was not about to bring up my children in abuse and fighting. I didn't mind bringing them up in poverty. I didn't mind bringing them up beholden to my inlaws for housing and food. But I was not going to have abuse, I was not going to have fighting. He didn't seem to care. It turned out later he was getting involved in dealing some drugs, so it was a good decision on my part to get out when I did.

So, 1986, a toddler and a babe in arms, I was on my own. I had a lot of help from my family but I was not going to depend on a man to take care of me and I wasn't going to seek one out. It would be nice to date, to have someone physically now and then, but my priority was not that, my priority was my kids and making sure they grew up safe and ok. I guess they mostly did.

I didn't have another serious relationship for years. It was the early 90s when I got involved with a co-worker. I was a bus driver and I hit it off with this guy, older, funny, weird sense of humor like I liked it. Bob #2. He was also decent but really broke, paying a lot of child support and credit card bills. I was making decent money by then so the money angle wasn't that important. It was not long after that I met someone else, a guy who I had everything in common with. We played chess together, listened to the same music, had similar senses of humor, he was incredibly handsome and I was totally smitten, head over ass in love. We shared similar work schedules which led to us having a lot of long, languid afternoons together between shifts, while the kids were in school. One of the things we did not share was a desire for him to leave his wife, though. All that self control I had exercised was out the window. I broke up with Bob2 a couple of times, went back a couple of times, got engaged, finally broke it off for good after an epic fight where he tried to choke me. Given history that was very definitely the end.

I kind of lost my mind after that, because the other guy ditched me and got together with another woman, that he DID leave his wife for, and I went on a downward spiral like no other. Met a guy on the internet and got super interested, to the point that I quit the bus driver job, made plans to move in with him, then found out he was a child molester. Too late to get my job back, I got evicted, lost almost everything, declared bankruptcy, and with the help of family was able to once again make a fresh start.

By this time, I was done with men. I didn't expect to ever have another serious relationship. My history was too bad. I obviously sucked at it. Then I got involved with friends who were in Mensa, and I met Bob #3 (who was living in Columbus at the time) and I made the completely irrational decision to give it one more try.

We met face to face for the first time Labor Day weekend of 2002. To say we hit it off well would be a huge understatement. He moved to Pittsburgh the day before Veterans Day 2002 (to the horror and trepidation of my kids), the day the Steelers tied with the Falcons. It was tough at first, but things improved fast. We bought a house, then he proposed. I started having health problems, but he stood by me through all of it and to this day says he's happy he moved here. In some ways it feels like I've always known him and had him in my life, and in other ways it seems like only a couple of weeks ago he moved in. It amazes me.

So with Bobs at least, perhaps the third time is the charm.

Pittsburgh's eating local!

Pittsburgh has a vibrant and growing food scene. We've always been known for great ethnic foods, interesting sandwiches, french fries on salad, and amazing pizza. But the last few years, the local, organic, foodie scene has been growing by leaps and bounds.

On the front lines of all this is Farm to Table. I love stuff like this so I got tickets to the Farm to Table harvest tasting.

It was a nice event and very well attended. For me (and for my mother who came with) it was actually uncomfortably crowded.



I did enjoy it for the most part but I don't do well in crowds any more. And there was way too much standing around.

But we tasted a lot of really amazing delicious food, wine, beer, and beverages. Some favorites were Turners Dairy (a life-long favorite of mine), Vecinie Beverage (who had a great selection of locally brewed beer and cider) Wild Purveyors, and Robert Mazza Winery. Sonoma Grille had an amazing wee turkey dinner on the cutest little square plate. Old Linn Run Coffee had yummy samples. And Wigle Whiskey had the most incredible gin I've ever tasted. I will most definitely be visiting them in the not too distant future.

I think it was a good event and a great opportunity to see more of what Pittsburgh has to offer food lovers. I do think there were way more people there than they anticipated, and I hope they either have a larger venue next time, or maybe have it over two days so the crowds can be thinned out a little.

Hear, hear.

I’ve been falling apart since about 2006 when I quit smoking. I’m not sure if I’m falling apart because I quit smoking or just as part of the normal process of aging but it’s annoying as hell.

Today, I want to talk about hearing loss and how it’s changed my life. Pretty profoundly, to tell the truth, and more profoundly than I care to admit. I have chronic Meniere’s disease, and it’s robbing me of my hearing. Mostly lower frequency sounds on the left, but overall hearing is affected. (It also causes vertigo, general disequilibrium, tinnitus, and migraines. But I digress.) As a person who has always depended on aural cues before visual ones, this sucks. As a person who has always had a deep and meaningful relationship with music, it sucks even more.

When you can’t hear properly, there are a lot of microfrustrations in your life. (copying after Microagressions, it’s not anything huge, but it’s death from 10000 paper cuts)

You can’t hear people talking to you clearly. You ask them to repeat themselves. They do. Maybe you hear it that time, maybe you don’t. But you usually don’t ask again, because it’s annoying to have someone going “WHAT??? WHAT????” to you. Nobody wants to be that person. So you miss stuff. Eventually, you start trying to decide if the conversation you are missing is one you can just get by without hearing, because you are so tired of asking people to repeat themselves or talk louder or more distinctly. So you miss things. People talk to you and you nod and smile and hope you didn’t miss anything important. The aural world parts in front of you and sweeps past. You’re a human median strip with traffic diverting around you while you stand there, clueless.

You can’t hear the TV. (movies are not an issue yet, thankfully. They’re usually TOO loud, in ways I’ll get to later) You can’t hear people talking on the radio. You don’t want to turn it up loud enough so that you can actually hear it, because it would be blaring too loudly for the people who share your space.

You miss things in music. You can’t really hear the intricacies like you used to. I’m fortunate enough to have recently gotten a really great pair of headphones (Bass Buds, highly recommended) but the balance is off because the left ear is mainly the problem. You wonder when you’re singing if you’re actually singing on key. Fortunately I don’t sing publicly enough for that to be an issue. You don’t bother trying to play piano any more. Your scheme to start an independent business tuning pianos dies. (for more reasons than the Meniere’s but if you can’t hear, you can’t tune, end of story.) Sometimes you just cry because you know you’re eventually going to lose it all and you remember Beethoven in Immortal Beloved, laying his head on the case of the grand piano to hear what little of the sound he could experience. It’s fucking depressing.




Having most of the hearing loss in one ear and mostly lower register is also interesting. I think my brain has learned to some degree how to filter things somewhat, but being in a crowd or being somewhere there’s a lot of competing noise is absolutely excruciating for me. Everything comes in through the right ear and it’s jumbled and difficult and headache-inducing. High pitched sounds are awful. Low pitched ones are indistinguishable. Movies can be very difficult. It sucks.

I also get a sore neck from tilting my head so I can point the right ear towards the sound.

I’m dealing with it, and I’ll continue to deal with it. I never realized, though, how isolating hearing loss is. It makes me have a lot more understanding. Sometimes I feel like I’m becoming a desert island, but without the comforting sound of the surf. The seagulls, I can hear. At least for now.

Quick hit-One drop at a time

Ever wonder if you could really make a difference? Donating a few dollars here and there, wondering if it ever adds up? Well, this story about a special child and her promise to help bring water to thirsty people will bring water to your eyes. Get your tissues ready and click here. Then give if you can.

Rachel's Gift

Here are some songs about water to help with the soundtrack.

United States of Diversity

Yesterday's election was a turning point for this country. The president was reelected by women, people of color, GLBT people, disabled people, poor people. For the first time, on a national scale, the old white guys were not in power.

This is amazing. The discourse on the right (and even in some of the mainstream, sadly) is that minorities ruled the election. I got news for them. The people who reelected the president are not the minority. They're America.

New Hampshire is sending all women to Washington. The first openly gay woman was elected to senate for Wisconsin. A disabled woman veteran was elected to congress for Illinois. Two women from Hawaii, one the first Hindu congresswoman. Unprecedented gains for women, huge turnout, lines around the block and in the end, the so called minorities were the majority.

It's kind of mind blowing. The reins of power are passing from the old establishment. I'd bet a lot of the old white guys are pretty worried right now. Considering how they've treated us, it must be a scary prospect to think they might get the same treatment. I don't think they will. They'll have a voice. They just won't be in charge. Participate in, not dominate, the national discourse. As it should be.

We are all Americans and this nation belongs to all of us. It's about time we all had a voice in it.

November 6

I’m having a hard time coming up with a topic. I’m nervous about the election and didn’t get a lot of sleep last night. I keep thinking Romney couldn’t be worse than Bush, could he? He couldn’t. Then I think about Ryan and basic precepts of Mormonism and how they’ve come down on women through this whole campaign and I think about my daughters and I think he could be a lot worse. For women, he could be a whole lot worse.

Obama is not perfect. He’s way too conservative for my tastes, for one thing. Far too business-friendly. But overall, we have gone in the right direction under his leadership. We could have gone further with a cooperative congress but still, progress is better than none.

So I’ll be glued to the couch knitting or weaving or spinning nervously, hoping the news is good and that it comes early enough. My current weaving is dish towels for family gifts, and my current couch knitting (as opposed to travel knitting) is a scarf for my former supervisor.

Here’s my blog entry after 2008’s impossibly emotional election. It was a night that changed the country. History. We need to keep going forward, not back. Especially not back to the 1920s, which is where R/R want to take us.

When I voted tonight, I was number 378 in my district. By way of comparison, for the primaries at around the same time of day, I was 91st.

Links of interest-Have you ever wondered how Ronald Reagan went from being the head of a union to being the patron saint of the ultraconservative? The Hairpin explains that there are good union heads, and there are ones that turn into Ronald Reagan. Fascinating and apt reading tonight.


In woolier directions, this is Wovember. Excellent reading to be found on the subject, here.

UPDATE: We got it right! Thank you sensible citizens of the US.

Electile Dysfunction

I will be so glad when all this is over. Only one more day until the phone calls, the horrible, horrible television ads, the flyers in the mail, one more day until all that stops. One more day until I can stop being anxious about my rights and the rights of my daughters. One more day until I can stop worrying about all the progress we've made in the past four years being rolled back. One more day.

Do me a favor. If you're an undecided voter, today? Stay away from the polls tomorrow. If you haven't made your mind up by now, you're either an idiot, or willfully ignorant.

One thing I kind of like about this process. I like finding out who the assholes are. Lots of people are good at concealing their asshole tendencies. It's much easier now for them to slip up and say something or post something on Facebook that reveals the truth about them. I like knowing the truth.

But the whole thing is stressing me out and giving me a headache. I'm over it. Get it over with and lets continue making this country a better place for EVERYONE in it, the women, the poor folk, the religious minorities, the atheists, the gays, the trans people, the immigrants, the marginalized and mainstream alike. The kitten demands it.

Not Remotely Romantic

My mother is out of town on a cruise so we got her opera tickets last night. Pittsburgh has a pretty good opera company and her seats are excellent so my daughter and I dressed up as fancy ladies and had a night out.

The opera was Don Giovanni, Mozart's take on the Don Juan story. Often, the story is done with a nod and a wink, an elbow to the ribs, a nudge nudge wink wink air, at least in the first act of the opera. Because a rake will be a rake, ok? A dude with a lot of hormones can't help himself, amirite?

I give the Pittsburgh Opera a lot of credit in this, though. Right out of the gate, there was no ambiguity to this character. He was not lovable. He was a straight up rapist.

You can't really see the words in this picture. In bullfighting arenas, there are doors marked Sol and Sombra. One door leads to seats in the sun, the other leads to seats in shade. This was the main curtain for the production.

The idea of light and dark is what the story is all about. We start off with Don G escaping a room after either the rape or attempted rape of Donna Anna. It's a violent scene. Pittsburgh Opera had them nearly fall from the balcony. The struggle was frightening. Don G then duels with and kills Donna A's father, the Commendatore.

Through the story, the manservant Leporello tries to convince Don G to change his ways. He refuses. The servant is comic relief and also tries to bring his master to light. To no avail, of course. Don G is completely unrepentant. When they come upon the happy wedding party, Leporello is horrified when he realizes his master's intentions regarding the bride. He has no choice but to comply due to his station, the implication being the bride Zerlina also has no choice but to comply.

Bearing in mind the company did not deviate from the story as written. They simply presented it with staging, lighting, and acting that made it very clear who and what Don G was. And it was not cute. It was utterly gripping and so well done.

In the final scene, Don G has one last confrontation with Donna Elvira, a woman he either assaulted or deserted or both. It was really uncomfortable to watch. He was ripping her clothes off and violently forcing her legs apart in an overt attempt at rape while Leporello looks on helplessly. She is saved of course by the ghost of the Commendatore, who comes to avenge his death and Don G's whole life and reason for being.



(The acting and staging were nothing like this in the Pittsburgh production but it gets the point across)

Don G is completely unrepentant. He regrets nothing. He is a sociopathic serial rapist and his only sentence could be death. Though the opera house was uncomfortably warm, I got cold chills when he was at last dragged off to hell.

Being who I am and being who my mother is, I had to find and play "the stoned guest" by PDQ Bach this morning. Light to the darkness.

Hearts and Flowers and other stuff

I did a knitalong recently from a favorite designer, Tiziana Sammuri. Her designs are always challenging and always visually stunning.

The project started in 2011 with this skein of yarn from the Tour de Fleece.

At the time I thought it was my best spinning to date. It may still be true, I can't think offhand of anything I've done that's objectively better. But by golly is it ever pink. And I'm not really a pink person, though I find myself spinning pink more than I thought I ever would.

Anyway, the yarn needed a very particular project. I thought of doing In the Pink with it but since it was a one way gradient, I had concerns about the wings matching or at least making sense. I finally just decided to wait for the right project to show up and sure enough it did with Flowery Hearts.

Starting with a long long long cast on, right directly into a tough pattern, then into lace mesh, beads (nupps are called for in the pattern but I don't like doing nupps) and flowers, the project was very difficult. It took me about a month and a half to knit, using all my home-knitting time to do it.

I think the results are pretty good.

(obligatory thrown up in a tree photo)




It was a very fussy knit but I'm glad I did it. Not sure how much I'll wear it, but I'm wearing it tonight to the opera. I don't care how cold it is outside.

I went to Rhinebeck again this year, and like a sensible person, stayed the entire weekend. I had a lot of fun for the most part (that's another post). One of the things I got was an Ashford Knitters Loom. I've been wanting to get more into weaving without spending $2k on a loom and this one was very reasonably priced. It's more versatile than the frame loom I have and I am really enjoying the process of getting to know it.

Here's my first real finished object from it. A scarf, warped with Dalegarn Baby Ull and Patons SwS as the weft. The edges are a tragic mess but I don't care. I think that happened because the weft yarn was so much thicker than the warp yarn but I'm not sure. It was fun to make (about an hour to warp and one movie to weave!) and warm and snuggly to wear. Next up, probably dishtowels for holiday gifts.





I also made a couple of hats for my daughter and her boyfriend. The hats are kind of boring but very very warm and soft.



And finally, what will probably be my last spinning before the end of the holiday season, sock yarn from Black Bunny fibers cheviot wool. 350ish yards in great fall colors.

The Cat's Meow

You may have noticed the adorable kitten at the end of yesterday’s post. For those who have not been inundated with pictures of his cuteness on my facebook feed, this is Higgs-Boson, our newest family member.



Higgs started his life as a semi-feral stray near our swim club. Mary, the woman who runs the place, feeds a crapload of feral cats that live in the surrounding woods, and she catches/vets them as possible. She makes particular efforts to capture new litters of kittens so they can go to good homes with people who will fuss over them and get them shots and special operations.



Just after my last blog entry before November’s blitz-to-be, Mary had caught two of the three kittens in a litter. One was a sweet little calico female and one a tan and white tabby. The cats are mixed DSH and Maine Coon Cat, unknown percentages, a lot of calico females and the males generally invisible, other than one friendly fellow named Prince, who deigns to be petted by anyone who will get close enough. The tan and white boy kitten looked a lot like Prince, and is a similar color to my personal Cat Hall Of Fame leader, Rameses, the tabby I had from age 17 to age 34, transcontinental relocations and all. Adding to his already almost irresistible appeal, he was ultra cuddly and ultra sweet. All he wanted to do was snuggle and purr. So we brought him home.



I decided to name him Higgs-Boson because we already have a Figment, and he’s bigger than a particle, but smaller than a Biscuit. He has a luxurious coat, incredibly soft. (He also brought fleas, which we are still working on vanquishing. You can apparently hide a lot of fleas in a coat like that.) He has a smaller version of the gorgeous Maine Coon ruff, the ear tufts, and tufts of hair between the toes of his incredibly big and adorable feet.



As an adolescent kitty, he is less inclined to cuddle unless it suits him but it suits him often enough, and he can often be persuaded. He has a huge personality, and a ton of confidence. He’s got the most beautiful tail, and he carries it high and proud. His purr is loud enough to be heard across the room. He’s almost done trying to climb me without warning, and has successfully negotiated the “all claws and teeth” phase of kittenhood. Figment is pretty much over him, but they get along well enough that Figment came into the bathroom for a concerned investigation last time we had kitten-bathing time. Biscuit tolerates him, and I think Biddy is terrified of him. He was terrified of Lily initially, but I think he’s decided she’s just a big, funny looking, odd smelling cat with no tail.




I told Bob I should have named him Derek Zoolander, because he really is really, really, ridiculously good-looking.

November Blogging Challenge

I’m going to try to have a blog entry a day during November. I’m not usually one for self imposed pressure as I am a firm believer that external pressure is quite enough thank you, but I’ve been very neglectful of this blog and that needs to change one way or another.

Posts might be long or short. They might be a photo and a quick line or two about it. They might be a series of links, or a series of tubes. They might be deep or supremely shallow. We’ll just have to see how it goes.

One of the things that keeps me from it is the inescapable reality of my hands. It’s getting more difficult to type. My accuracy is way down and the nerve pain makes typing very frustrating at times. I hate this almost more than anything else because I’m used to being strong. I’ve long prided myself on my strength. I can’t even open a bottle of vitamin water without a knife and a grippy thing now.

So anyway. Knitting, photographs, my brain being overtaken by Apple products, feminism, kittens, body image, a modicum of personal blathering as advertised, who knows. Stay tuned.