Oooh, Shiny!

I gots new toys. Well one is new but it works with the other toy so nicely it's practically like having two. And they're interactive, and I get to channel my inner child and say "whee!" while I crank it. Wanna see?


This is my yarn ball winder, which is not my newest toy, but still pretty neat. It allows me to wind up loose yarn into center pull skeins ... no more tangles! Now when I have a half-used skein, I can wind it up, nice and neat, and save for future use.


And here is a picture of my brand new yarn swift. Isn't it cool? Oh, come on, you know it is. And what, you might ask, does a yarn swift do? Well, I can take a long hank of yarn - which is yarn that is not wound into a ball or skein - and fit it around the extensions,
attach a loose end to the yarn baller, and then start cranking on the baller. With each wobbly revolution it pulls yarn from the swift, which in turn spins as the yarn hank unwinds. That's where the "whee!" factor comes into it: I can make this baby hum!


And thus another nice, neat skein of yarn is wound, ready for use or for storage in a compact, tangle free little package.

Admit it; it's really cool, isn't it? Feel free to come by any time and I'll let you play with it too. But you'll have to bring your own yarn because I used up all my loose stuff playing last night.

The Revolution That Isn't

There was an article today in the Washington Post about an invention called the Book Ripper. Apparently if you have lots of money and nothing else to do with your time, you can buy this device and use it to copy your home library into a digital format. Pointing to the Napster hullaballoo of a few years ago, the author of the article questioned whether the publishing industry was worried about wide-spread pirating. The answer from the publishing industry is: not so much.

And really, why should they? There is a market for digital book readers, but that market is fairly small. Although publishing has been offering books in digital format for years, readers have been fairly slow to jump on the bandwagon. The reasons are many. In the past reading a book digitally has meant dealing with eletronic scrolling, awkward font sizes, screen glare and so on. But the electronics industry keeps trying. Amazon.com recently joined in with its much ballyhooed Kindle which it markets as (and I kid you not) a "New Wireless Reading Device." Um, not exactly a new idea. I think they call those things BOOKS.

And therein lies the reason that the publishing industry is not worried about pirating. Books might not have whiz-bang gimicry to entice techno-geeks, but that's about all they lack. Think about it. The Kindle measures 7.5" x 5.3", or roughly the size of a paperback novel. So it's not going to win over readers based on size. It's supposed to weigh only 10.3 ounces. I don't have a scale handy for my latest read, but I feel fairly confident that the weight of the average paperback is comparable. Unlike an electronic reader of any kind, a book doesn't require batteries or a power adapter. You don't need to tinker with a scroll setting because you turn the pages when you're ready. And most books are remarkably sturdy, even the paperback versions. I have quite a collection of my own and they've held up through several rereads over more than 20 years ... heck some are probably twice that old. How long, you have to wonder, will that nifty $400 electronic thingie last you?

When you really think about it, the only upside of digital readers is that they can hold the contents of several books. Perhaps helpful for academics and researchers; but personally I'm usually only reading one book at any given moment. I may be in the middle of several books, but I usually keep them where I am mostly likely to reading them: the paperback in my totebag for reading on the subway, a hardback next to the livingroom chair, and something of a nonfiction nature at my bedside. The nice thing is, they stay right where I need them. That's another downside to e-readers that I can see: you would have to cart the thing around with you from room to room; you can't leave it at the bedside when you leave for work in the morning or you won't have anything to read on the subway.

And just try to use that button covered plastic thingie to even up table legs, or press flowers. I bet you can't tuck a photo or recipe inside for safekeeping, either.

And the answer is ...

You aren't cheating, are you? I hope you at least tried to answer the questions before heading over here.

1. Scope, CMS, and Jen-T (although I don't know if Jen says "aboot." CMS does, although she denies it.)



2. Pittsburgh (And she left it in favor of Men In Kilts, can you imagine?)



3. Carpeting (which has never been satisfactorily explained)



4. Mary (it sounds just like her, doesn't it?)



5. Canada (they were supposed to have dinner with Scope and CMS)



6. Elizabeth Bishop (I've got nothing on this one)



7. A hole in the wall (Actually, the advice wasn't so much re the hole as what she should hide behind it. And I don't think she's ever said.)



8. University of California, Santa Cruz (and the mascot is a banana slug ... you have to wonder about the message that sends)



9. CMS (there should be some kind of medal for that, don't you think?)



10. Twinkle Toes (now that I think about, I believe the nickname was thrust upon her rather than chosen.



11. Lee Child (That was CC's doing. By all accounts he was a good sport about it. Could be he's fan experiences even more bizarre than that.)



12. The Moles (Tal, Tal, come back Tal!)



13. the dip (Probably she didn't mean BCB. Probably.)



14. Regis (nobody ever explained that one to me, either)



15. Speen (it even sounds evil, doesn't it?)

So how did you do?

It's That Time Again

Yesterday was Super Tuesday *shudder*. From now until November rational conversation with rational people will be impossible. I work in the Nation's Capital and the entire region is caught up in a political fever and this town is insanely political at the best of times. At least this election, for the first time in my own voting memory, is a true contest. It will still be nuts around here, but at least interesting.

One of things that makes me craziest about politics is the whole notion of party politics. One guy is supposed to be better than the other because of the color campaign button he wears? Oh puleeze. The whole idea of voting a straight party ticket, or of backing a candidate solely because of the party he represents makes no sense at all. In the first place, no one political party can hold all the answers to every issue. There are things that need dealt with conservatively, and things which would benefit from a more open minded (dare I say liberal?) approach. Sometimes we need to lean a little more to the left, and sometimes a little more to the right. In truth, most things need dealt with from somewhere in the middle.

In the second place, how can you judge a leader by nothing more than his party affiliation? Isn't the individual more important? What does it matter what his party stands for if he's incapable of standing up for anything, abuses the power of the office, can't think for himself? Doesn't the ability to govern conscientiously matter more than whether someone's tie is blue, red, or polka dot?

And last on my list, but certainly not least, are the voters suffering from tunnel vision regarding one issue or another. It's great to believe in something and to be involved, but to focus on one thing to the exclusion of all others is just ignorant. The candidate with a history favorable to your pet cause can still be a lousy leader; and the candidate opposing your particular issue might still govern more wisely than the other guy. People need to get their heads out of their posterior regions and look at the whole picture. Saving a tree is good. Saving it only to have the entire forest around it burn down is pretty damn pointless.

Inspiration

I'm still crocheting. What with the holidays and just trying to keep on top of day to day stuff I was having trouble finding blocks of time, but the need and desire were there. I did work on some pillows, just simple 14inch throw pillows. Picked up the pillow forms a while back, and bought tons of yarn. But even though this was a fairly small project it was a while before I could block out time for working on it. I made some mistakes with the first one because I tried to be creative instead of just following the pattern. Bad McB. The second turned out much better. I'll try to remember to post pics later.

Another project that I started, but had to take a break from, is a scarf to go with Mare's hat which Jenny Crusie made and which I won in a contest she, Eileen Dreyer and Anne Stuart were running to promote their collaborative novel The Unfortunate Miss Fortunes. Here's the hat ... Isn't it gorgeous? So of course I decided that I needed a scarf to go with it. I emailed Jenny Crusie, asking what yarns she had used and she very graciously replied with brands and weights and colors which I was able to order. Got the yarns and started on the scarf and it was coming along quite nicely until I goofed. I thought I could just unravel my goof but it got tricky because of the kind of yarn. It's beautiful stuff, incredibly soft and perfect for a warm winter scarf; but it's a two-ply yarn, partly ribbon-like and partly similar to fun fur. Anyway it became very tangled up and I decided I neeeded to put it aside before I ruined the whole thing with my frustrated attempts. I'll come back to it when I'm in a better frame of mind for it.

Along the way I've been reading this great book I picked up at a local yarn store. The book, Couture Crochet Workshop by Lily Chen, has some wonderful tips and tricks for making homemade fit and look like made-to-order designer fashions. It also includes some wonderful patterns and charts that are very inspiring. I'm not sure I'm quite ready to tackle them but I want to, very much. So I've got some incentive to keep practicing, keep improving.

And in the meantime I've switched over to working on this cropped jacket in hopes of having it ready for spring. Don't tell the Moda Dea people, but I'm using their pattern with somebody else's yarn. Specifically a fabulous pima cotton/merino wool blend called Cascade Sierra in a gorgeous fusia. I did a swatch (something I learned in the above mentioned book) to check the yarn's fingering (how smoothly it works up) and drape. The book advised putting the swatch to the test so I balled it up and stuck it in my jeans pocket for an afternoon, steamed it, let it dry, soaked it and let it dry again. The idea being to find out how well the yarn will hold up in an actual garment. If it stretches too easy, pills up (you know how some sweaters will do?) or develops other problems, better to know before you've spent all those hours on a project. It seems to have passed the test so I dived right in.

This pattern is rated at intermediate skill level. Intermediate means that they give you some of the instructions, but not all of them; they leave out bits here and there for you to figure out on your own. It's a lot like working a sudoku puzzle in that respect. And like a sudoku puzzle, you don't know if you are doing it right until you get a ways in and it all starts going wrong. Huh. But I think I've got that part figured out now.

Only You Can Save Mankind

The title of this post is also the title of a YA book by Terry Pratchett. It's been on my mind this week because it's been an especially busy week at work.

It's a matter of pride for me to do the best I can in return for a regular paycheck. I sometimes grouse because I know there are people who do decidedly less and get away with it. But I guess it's just how I'm wired ... I know what I'm capable of and I can't lie to myself and justify doing less than that. My boss has gotten used to the idea that I am capable and efficient and she can safely put matters in my hands, knowing it will get done. She's gotten a little too used to it. Her immediate response whenever there is a project that needs doing is "McB can do that." I don't think she even considers whether I have the background or training for whatever, the words just come out. I can see it now: aliens invading, nuclear holocaust imminent, volcanic activity under our office building. And what will her reaction be? "McB can handle it." Next job I'm going to start screwing up right from the beginning and save myself some stress and anxiety.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go save the universe. And then do my filing.

Listening to the voices in my head

I have a good life. I have good people in my life and I've made some good decisions in the past. From the outside I think it sometimes appears to other people as if I've just been lucky. I think we make our own luck. And I think most people could be 'lucky' if they listened less to their ego and more to their inner voice.

So much of life is timing. Too many people are in a hurry, as if having everything now will bring them happiness. Nuts. Happiness has little to do with what you have or don't have, it's all about appreciating the now. Having a new car is fun; it has nothing to do with happiness. And if you rush out and buy that new car with no patience or planning, you could come to regret that rash purchase down the road. Where would that leave you? Decidedly less happy.

I've been there. I've jumped on bandwagons and rushed into decisions that ultimately were not in my best interests. Chalk that up to life experience. And from those bad decisions I've learned a few things. I've learned that it's okay to want those nice new things as long as I'm willing to be patient. If I listen when that inner voice says "not yet" instead of listening to my ego say "oooh, shiny" I might wait longer for what I want, but I'll be happier with it in the long run. Because eventually that inner voice will reward me by saying "now." The ego might get me into trouble, but the inner voice hasn't steered me wrong yet.

The ego is tricky and tempting. It will always be pushing you towards the quick fix, the easy way out, the immediate gratification. Ego is the serpent in the garden, seductively waving that apple in front of Eve's nose and hissing "why not?" It's been a few, what, millenia? And you'd think we would have learned something from that, and all the other snakes and apples that have come along. I've always wondered about that story. I've wondered what would have happened if Eve hadn't listened to the serpent and in turn tempted Adam. I think it's possible that, if they had resisted, God would have let them have the apples eventually without punishment. Maybe, if they had just been willing to wait, they could have had the apples and been able to stay in the garden too. We'll never know, but you have to wonder.

Or maybe I'm the only who hears that voice. I hope not.

She's Gonna Blow!

I have PMS today. Oh shut up.

It's been coming on for a few days, but I realized in the grocery store today that it was here, big time and in living color. There was this little kid behaving the way little kids to when forced to endure really boring grown up stuff like grocery shopping. He was a normal kid behaving normally. So why was part of my brain convinced he was the spawn of satan? PMS.

I'm the only one who is allowed to say it. That's the rule. If it is "that time of the month" and anyone other than the woman affected dares to mention it, they get their faced ripped off and fed to the neighbor's schnauzer. I think it's a schnauzer, anyway. It's some kind of annoying little .... deep breath .... better.

PMS makes me feel schizo. Even while I'm envisioning grabbing the neighbor's yipping little fur ball and doing my version of an Olymic discus throw right over the rooftops, I know that what I'm feeling isn't logical. I like dogs, really. And the little &&^% was just expressing his perky little personality. I know this. And next week I will be at peace with the little *&^). But that's next week. Next week I might run into that same kid in the grocery store and realize that his eyes aren't actually glowing red and, no, those aren't horns he's sprouting.

But this week it's best if you don't look at me the wrong way. In fact, just don't look at me. No matter what expression you are wearing, I'm going to take offense. No matter what you say it will be the wrong thing. And even while I'm envisioning just how to go about feeding you to Fifi, or Fido or Frank or whatever the little &^%#'s name is, I'll know that you don't really deserve that. And I'll feel guilty as all heck about it. Next week. This week, not so much.

The Laugh Line Revolution

I'm supposed to be working right now. I've even got a list of Things To Do. I'll get to, really. I just need to work up a little enthusiasm first, get my head together and aimed in the right direction. So I don't really consider this procrastinating so much as a kind of stretching exercise before getting serious about my list.

I'm in my 40s. Like anyone else my age when I look in the mirror I notice that there are things about me that just aren't quite the same as they used to be. Overall I have been very lucky in the genetics department. I have no grey yet. As my mother, at 67, has very little grey herself, so little in fact that's it's barely noticeable, I feel fairly confident that I won't need to worry about covering my roots for a while yet. My jaw line is ever so slightly softer than it used to be, the skin on my face, in general, not as tight as it was perhaps 10 or 15 years ago. But I comfort myself with the thought that these things might not be so apparent to other people.

I do have a few faint lines. The ones that bother me are by my upper lip and make me look like I've spent my life with my lips puckered around a cigarette. I don't smoke and never have. In my case it's the result of 40-some years of scrunching my face up in my sleep. They used to disappear when I'd been awake for a bit. Then it was okay because a little face powder covered them. Now, well now they're just there. But like the softening of the jaw line, I tell myself that nobody else notices. Really it wouldn't bother me at all if they didn't look like the result of a 20 year, 2 pack a day habit. I hate it that, to someone who doesn't know me, they might give that impression. Otherwise I really would be okay about it.

If that sounds like I'm protesting too much, please take note that I also have those little crinkles at the corner of each eye. Slight yet and perhaps not obvious to anyone else, I know that over the next few years they'll slowly become as much a part of my face as the shape of my nose.

Those little crinkles are laugh lines. When you laugh, if you really put your whole heart into it, your face sort of spreads out and causes the skin to crease, usually up by your eyes where there's less 'give' in your face. Don't believe me? Go head, take a piece of cloth, pinch on either side and then pull apart. See how the fabric between your fingers creases up? That's what happens to your face when you smile really big. If you smile a lot, especially as an adult, they become more obvious and even take up permanent residence.

I know some women are bothered by this, although I've never understood that. Our faces, over time, reveal to others who we really are inside. And even with botox and plastic surgery, you can't escape reality completely. Something about you, the look in your eyes or the set of your shoulders, will give you away. Personally, if I have to carry some symbol of my life around for all to see, I don't want the first impression I give to be one of bitterness and fear of aging or, almost worse, a complete lack of emotion. This is why those little creases by the corners of my eyes don't bother me at all. In order to achieve those, in order to have them be a permanent part of my features, I have had to laugh and smile a lot in my lifetime. Hell, those lines are a badge of honor ... I've earned them. I only hope that, as I put another decade behind me, people will see them for what they are. Signs that I've laughed a lot my life.

As I said, I know that some women fear those first tell-tale lines. This is just so wrong. We should celebrate those little clues that ours has been a life well lived and filled with joy and humor. Rather than pouring money into magic potions and creams to delay or hide that evidence, we should be emphasizing it. If the world was more logical, young women in their 20s would be devouring magazine articles on the art of creating laugh lines. They would be penciling in fake crinkles in an effort to convince the world that they, too, have laughed and enjoyed life. And then the rest of us could sit back, smugly superior, because we have the real thing.

The Big Brouhaha

You've heard, I'm sure of the big storm over the books of Cassie Edwards who allegedly - although there doesn't seem to be much doubt - committed plagiarism. If you haven't heard about it you are probably a member of an obscure tribe on an obscure island in an obscure ocean ... and possibly living in an obscure cave. As I said, there doesn't seem to be too much doubt about it, but I'm not going into all that because, to paraphrase Honest Abe and the Gettysburg Address, it's been discussed far beyond my poor powers to add or detract. Plagiarism is bad. It is theft of someone else's work, their words and their research, their efforts. So it's just wrong. But I think there is a larger issue here that everyone seems to be missing.

Although Ms. Edwards sin seems to include several of her books, it first came to light when someone read a passage in her book Shadow Bear and noticed a discrepancy in the narrative tone. A little sleuthing was done and it turns out that she took whole passages from a story (nonfiction) by nature writer Paul Tolme on the plight of ferrets. Yeah, you read that correctly. Now, Mr. Tolme had every right to be angry over this issue. It was his words, the results of his research, that she took and used as her own. That's bad. But as I said, there is a larger issue here that has yet to be addressed.

As Mr. Tolme himself said, "Wow, that is some bad dialogue. It stands out as clunky and awkward even by the standards of romance novels. " And that, my friends, is the problem. As a result of this tempest millions of people who have never read a romance novel before ... well, okay hundreds ... a lot? Somebody, anyway, somebody who has never read a romance novel before, is going to take a look at Ms. Edwards' book to see what all the noise is about and will assume her work to be an example of the entire genre. In other words, they'll skim a few pages and decide that they were right all along to avoid them.

*Sigh* The genre has come such a very long way towards legitimacy that this kind of bad publicity is almost physically painful. However will we get serious readers of serious books to take it seriously now? We shall have to choose, oh so carefully, a few authors whose books truly do shine as an example of the progress the genre has made and do our utmost to move their names and their books to the forefront. How to accomplish this? Fight fire with fire. We should launch a counter-scandal that will have academia scrambling to research the issue, thus forcing them to read and, hopefully, become fans of romance fiction. It will have to be something big though, something that can top the ferret story and steal the limelight from it.

I can only appeal to big names in romance fiction to put aside their personal concerns and do their duty to their genre. Go forth and sin. And make it a big one, huh? Time's a-wastin' and we need to catch this wave before it moves on.

Something To Look Forward To

The year is only a week old. This means the 51 weeks to come are still a clean slate. That's the thing with beginnings; the possibilities are still out there. I'm not one for resolutions, but I like the idea of a fresh start. I don't have a list of things to attempt, I have no specific goals. Instead I'm going to focus on simplifying, decluttering, streamlining. Life got overwhelming and I am so ready to ditch all that stress. This, I hope, will be the year of finding some peace of mind, some inner peach.

I'm going to put some of what I've learned from Fly Lady to good use. I'm going to try to declutter my life, get rid of stuff that's just taking up space and making my life more complicated. I'll hopefully get some drawers and closets cleared out, and maybe do something more useful with the finished basement. Um, that last one might be overly ambitious.

I'm going to bring more color and texture into my life and I started this past weekend with a visit to a local yarn shop, WoolWinders. I was very wary of visiting this store because I know how dangerous it can be. This is not yarn you find at your local craft store or Walmart. To be fair, it wasn't all exotic stuff either. But there was a wealth of color and texture that just made my fingers itch for my hook. Imagine for a moment that you have just come upon a conference table covered in one long sheet of pristine white paper. And in the center of that table is a brand, spanking new box Crayolas, the big 64 colors box. You can't resist, you just have to draw something. That's what it felt like when I walked into this store. Overall I behaved, indulging in just one skein of a lovely cotton/wool blend in eye-popping magenta. Gorgeous. It's just one skein because I have two more projects lined up before I get to this stuff, and I figure in the meantime I can play with it a little and figure out what the possibilities might be. It's nearly 200 yards, so I can have a lot of fun with it before I get down to a serious project.

I'm taking my youngest nephew to Disney World. His older sister and brother have already been, and now it's his turn. It will be just me and him and the exciting thing about this is that for a few days I'll be living in his 10yo world. Hey you, over there, sitting in your corner and scoffing at the idea. You don't know what you are missing. I've been to Disney World numerous times, but not for a few years now, and I can tell you that it doesn't matter what your age is, there truly is something there for everyone; and if you come away from a visit still jaded, there's clearly no hope for you. And maybe I'm alone in this, but I rather enjoy an excuse for acting like a kid again.

There's been talk of a biggish CB meet this summer. There's also been some debate over exotic locales to hold it in. The issue is Moot, really because we tend to spend so much time talking we probably wouldn't get around to seeing or doing anything other than eating, drinking, talking and buying books. My people. :sniff: I love my people. :~) Wherever we end up, I really hope we can make this work. Where there are CBs there is love and laughter.

So, no goals or lists. But maybe some good times, some small pleasures, some fun. Something to look forward to.

10? I dunno.

Happy New Year.

This is a time for reflection and for looking ahead, for making lists. Lists of things accomplished or goals to achieve. I got through the year; that's what I accomplished, and it was such a big accomplishment that it's the whole list as far as I'm concerned.

For some reason 10 seems to be the default number for lists. Why is that? Why do we have to struggle to come up with ten of anything? If you can't think of ten does it make you a loser? If you've got more than that, should you be embarrassed? This doesn't seem right to me. It's like setting the bar too high, you're pretty much planning to fall short. So I'm not going to set a number, I'm just going list a few of last year's highpoints (no need to list the low ones, is there?):

• I met a lot of CBs. Not all, but a good chunk. And I adored each of them just as much in person as I have online. I'd like to say here that CherryBombs are strong, intelligent, responsible people ... I'd like to say that, but it would ruin a hard earned reputation so I won't. What I will say is that behind the zaniness, the snarky humor, and the bad puns is an incredible group of people who probably could TOTW if they put their minds to it, and the world would be better off for it.


• I got hooked again on crocheting and accomplished a number of projects, most of which I've shared with you here. I need to continue doing this, continue putting aside the time to just quietly sit and ply my hook, perhaps listening to some music or an audio book, but nothing more stressful to the mind than that. It would be easy, in the bustle of things needing to be done, to let it slide. But I know that I need that quiet time and I need the soothing methodicalness of handwork. So I'm going to let other things slide here and there, and make sure I do this for myself.


• I tackled a few small chores around the house and confirmed to myself that I am capable, and can still learn a few new things. Anything needing strength and size might require assistance; but for the most part I know I can do pretty much anything I put my mind to.


• I did read a few good books this year. Mostly I did a lot of rereading, needing the comfort of old friends. But here and there were a few new ones that proved up to the task. Books and friends - new or old you can never have too many good ones.

As lists go this one may not seem very long, but sometimes it really is more about the quality than the quantity. And as to goals for the coming year, that's another list for another blog. Stay tuned.

Fa la la la, what?

What is the point of putting waterless hand santizing gel in a bathroom with hot and cold running water and all the hand soap you could ask for?

Actual quote from actual e-mail to my boss recieved from another assistant re her boss: "X gave me his list of gifts for the clients; please let me know if you would like for me to take care of ordering them for him." WTF? What does she think she's supposed to do with it?

I don't eat shellfish so maybe I'm just missing something here. But I saw a sign on a salad bar recently that said "fake crabmeat." If it's not crab, then what is it? And if it's something else why don't they just say so? Although I'll give them points for flat out honesty.

I got this great gift from my bosses this year; an iHome clock radio with tons of bells and whistles. I'm still getting it all figured out, and had a few adventures, but I love it. One thing, though. It's got the possibility for 12 radio station presets if you include a.m. Twelve radio stations? Does anyone really have twelve radio stations that they like enough to have preset on their bedside clock radio? I don't think I can name twelve different music genres, even throwing in talk radio, to use them all. Now I can see it for car radios because you can easily drive in and out of station range so lots of presets is handy. But my clock radio, being attached as it is to the power cord, pretty much stays next to the bed. And my house, unlike Dorothy's, also stays where it's put. So ... twelve?

I was a good girl this year and Santa paid attention. Two favorite gifts received: (1) down-filled pillow top mattress cover. I could roll myself up in this and sleep on the floor if necessary, it's just that comfortable. (2) "Thrones, Dominations" by Dorothy L. Sayers & Jill Paton Walsh, complete and unabridged in CD audiobook. I love love love Lord Peter Wimsey and my excitement at discovering that Ms. Walsh had not only brought him back via story notes left by Ms. Sayers, but she had done such an excellent job of it that, really, I can't tell where Sayers ends and Walsh picks up. I own the hardcopy and it's been reread several times. The audiobook has been much harder to get ahold of. Pretty much a special order from Amazon.com. My sister must have been feeling guilty for something when I mentioned how much I wanted it. Did I mention that it's read by the incomparable Ian Carmichael? It doesn't get much better. I am, as I type this, ripping the CDs so that I can listen to the story at my leisure on my iPod.

Oh look! Company!

Hope you didn't have any trouble finding the place.

Are ya'll hungry? Thirsty? You have to try this great recipe I found for hot buttered rum. This will warm you right up.
Oh yes, this one's for you. Gosh I hope you don't already have one.

And there's some more over this this other pile ... if you wouldn't mind passing them around? Thanks.

Itchy Fingers

I've been keeping my crochet hook busy. My latest finished project has taken me several months, and is my most ambitious project by far. I've never made a garment before, other than the odd baby sweater. And they don't count because babies don't really care if a sleeve isn't perfect or a seam is a bit off. But I had run out of people to make afghans for and my fingers were itching to start something new so I poked around on-line at various websites devoted to yarns and patterns. Most of the best patterns are for knitters, and someday I'll have to brush up on my needlework and try a few. It's been a lot of years and I never did feel as comfortable with knitting needles as I do a crochet hook. That was then and this is now, as the saying goes, and maybe I'll feel differently now.

I did find this one pattern for a bolero which looked simple enough. Ha. The stitches themselves were simple, just a lot of double crochets. My problem was two-fold: first, with a garment you must pay attention to gauge (stitches/rows per inch) and you must get it right otherwise the pieces won't match up when it comes time to stitch them together. Second, I used a different kind of yarn for the very first time and until I adjusted it was very tricky to work with.

I know, this isn't what you think of when you hear the word "yarn." It's really more of a ribbon, and more specifically what they call a "ladder" or "trellis" ribbon. It's a bit like stitching together cobwebs, but is also amazingly strong and has a beautiful drape. I really shouldn't have done my first major project with this, but how could I pass up those colors? And I'm really pleased with how it turned out. Well worth all the tearing out and restitching.

My next project should be much simpler, but I'm still pretty excited about it. I have new furniture in solid colors and it needs some jazzing up with pillows. So I found this pattern:

I liked the way the stripes reverse, and I liked that the pattern calls for different textures of yarn. To me texture is even more important than color in the things I crochet because they are meant to be felt, whether it's an afghan or anything else. It's all about how it feels. In this case it's all done in Homespun (a nubby yarn) and chenille. I'm planning to use a combo of the chenille in a few different jewel tones and some faux suede yarn with just a little Homespun for accent. It should result in a nice, soft pillow. We'll see.

Wordsmith

From Dictionary.com
word·smith –noun
1. an expert in the use of words.
2. a person, as a journalist or novelist, whose vocation is writing.
[Origin: 1895–1900]

Actually I think the above definition might be too simple. In my opinion a wordsmith is a craftsman in the same way that a potter or cabinetmaker is. Much of the craft might be learned, but they have an innate talent that puts them several levels above the mere dabbler. Anyone can use words; but putting them together in such a way that the product inspires, amuses or intriques others is an artform.

I was thinking about this last night as I lay in bed unable to sleep. Usually if I can't sleep it is because I can't turn my mind off and a sometimes effective aid is to plug in my iPod and listen to an audiobook. If I can become lost in a story my mind will be sufficiently distracted to let go. It has to be something engaging, though, a story that pulls me into the author's make believe world. In this case it was Terry Pratchett's Going Postal that I turned to. I'm telling you, the man is an artist with words. I've read the hardcopy twice and am on my third listen and it never gets stale. He weaves elements together, puns and wordplays, cultural phenomena and current events, in such a way as to keep the reader in a constant state of anticipation. You just know there's something wonderful waiting around the turn of the page.

Take this line from Going Postal. In the story our reluctant hero needs help and turns to Miss Dearheart, his romantic interest and the only person who sees him for what he really is. She's a no-nonsense dame and exactly what Moist (yeah, that's the hero's name) needs. Her advice?

Get yourself a little bit closer to heaven. And then get down on your knees and pray. You know how to pray, don't you? You just put your hands together -- and hope.

Maybe it's just because I'm an old movie buff - that is, a fan of old movies, not an old fan of movies - but that line just tickles me every time I read it, or hear the narrator read it. Even without backstory and character description, you get an instant picture of Miss Dearheart. You know she's standing there arching an eyebrow and looking the hero straight in the eye as she delivers that line. You know it because the line is iconic. Lauren Bacall said it to Bogey in the 1944 movie To Have and Have Not. Actually what she said was, "You know how to whistle, don’t you, Steve? You just put your lips together and...blow." So Pratchett didn't invent the line, but he used it deftly, tailoring it to his character while preserving the flavor. It's just that bit different and yet that much more amusing for its famliarity.

I have favorite Pratchett books, and this is one of them. But every one that I have read has included a few gems in the way of word pictures and great dialogue. The man's a genius.

The Commute That Wasn't

We've got elephants. White elephants to be exact. Frankly, these elephants are pretty small potatoes, if you don't mind me mixing my metaphors. The roads are wet and there's some accumulation on grass and so forth, but otherwise the weather is not all that noteworthy. Except that this is our first snowfall of the season and the mildness of it lured a lot of people into a false sense of security driving safety wise. When I left my community this morning I could see that the road to get on the main route I take to the subway station was ridiculously backed up so I went with my alternate route. It is normally much longer as it includes going through a main commercial area, lots of stop lights, etc. But it is an option.

Well this morning my second choice wasn't moving any better. I was slugging along, slow but at least moving, when suddenly my radio died and my windshield wiper went into slow motion. A quick look at the dash indicated a battery problem. Everything came right back on again, but dare I trust it? I don't think so. I start to moan and then I realize that the traffic snafu might have been a blessing in disguise because this route will take me right past the dealership. So I make my way there eventually and I'm actually in and out, complete with loaner car, in about 10 minutes. Just to get back into traffic again. I eventually make my way to some side streets which will eventually wind around to the vicinity of the subway station, so at least I'm moving but it goes a little out of the way first so quite a bit more time passes before I get to the station. And find NO PARKING PLACES!

This is bad. We have 2 parking garages and 3 lots. Normally plenty of parking even if latecomers might have to hike a ways. I check two of the lots, driving past a garage marked "full" and can find no place to park! So I pulled into an illegal space to think about this. Okay, I could work my way around to the other remaining parking lot, but that's on the other side of the station and would add easily 20 minutes (there's no direct way to get there). And no guarantee of a space there either. I could go back to the dealership and get a ride back to the subway, but that's 20 minutes to get there if I'm lucky, a wait for someone to drive me and then we go through the whole traffic thing again, so I don't see that option taking less than 45 minutes. And then I still have a 40 minute subway ride.

At this point it's after 10:30 and just trying to get to work is going to cost me a half day leave. I didn't have to ponder problem too long. If I'm going to lose 1/2 day's leave, I might as well take a full day and relax at home. So that's where I am. At home, waiting for the dealership to call and say my car is ready. Oh yeah, there is a battery problem and the guy confirmed that there was a good chance my car wouldn't have started tonight, or tomorrow morning, or sometime soon, potentially stranding me somewhere without transp. So God really does work in mysterious ways.

Now you'll have to excuse me, because my cat is waiting for a cuddle.

In Them Thar Hills

Every so often the subject of my parents' home town in Pennsylvania comes up. People ask me what it's near, because naturally they are trying to get their bearings and place it. It is at this point that it gets complicated because, you see, it isn't near anything. It's not even on the way to someplace. It's up IN the mountains ... not along side, or at the base of, or with a mountain in the distance. God spread some of the Alleghenies apart and plopped the town down right there. Well it's old enough that it could have been done that way. It is a wide spot between mountains, with only 2-lane mountain roads to access it.

Exhibit 1 ... a 2-lane mountain road. The mountain has actually been carved away some in this spot, otherwise it would likely be a 1-line mountain road. And that would be fine until some fool came around the curve in said mountain road going the wrong way.

And to your right ... we'll call this Exhibit 2, alongside a 2-lane mountain road. Please forgive me the power lines. Would that I had the PhotoShop skills to get rid of them. It's a picture, isn't it? This is a small slice of the West Branch of the Susquehanna River which eons and millenia ago forged its way between the mountains and likely helped create the wide spot that became the town.



These two, above, were taken from my aunt's house. Now, this is not the town proper. This is what in more urban areas would be referred to as the 'burbs. See the stone bridge in the left hand picture? It crosses one of many cricks (we don't call them creeks in these parts, that's flatlander talk) that trickle down from the mountains. Up in the hills these little communities are referred to as "runs." This one is known as Brewery Run, and my mother assures me that way back in history there was in fact a brewery somewhere up the road. Back in those same eons and millenia that created the river these various cricks were likely much deeper and wider. Deep and wide enough to carve out enough flat land for a few houses and a road.

My father grew up in a neighboring community, in fact just up the main road, one creek over from this one, called Drury's Run. I have no idea who Drury was. Dad's community was slightly larger (read wider) and boasted a small general store when I was a kid. It was complete with a front porch and glass fronted counter for storing penny candy. Considering how many kids pressed their hands and noses up against that glass, it amazes me that they were able to keep it clean. It's gone now. Some years back, when I was still a kid, Hurricane Agnes hit these mountains pretty hard, flooding the river and the creekbeds. Some of the houses were high enough or far enough back from the flow to survive. The store - and the owners lived above it - was I think too close to the mountain and, already really old and run down, suffered too much damage to remain livable. But I've still got the memory of creaky old floor boards and lighting just not quite bright enough. And penny candy.

I took all these pictures on a recent weekend trip when mom and I went up to "visit" family. And it feels, oddly, much like a visit. My uncle, my mom's older brother (that's both of them to your left) kept referring to the lanes between as roads and alleys. As in, "Now so and so is just up this road. Go past here and make a left at this alley."

Now the whole idea of visiting cemeteries can sound a bit morbid, I admit. But you have to admit that if you have to have a final resting place, you can't beat these views.

Comfort Reads

I've felt a bit out of it just lately. It started about a month ago when I had this really nasty cold. I got over it, mostly, pretty quickly; but what followed was a bad cough and some sinus issues which left me feeling tired. Coughing is exhausting, plus it's hard to get a good night's sleep. And the sinus thing had me feeling dizzy which wasn't pleasant. I got my butt over to the doctor and got some prescription grade decongestant which helped a lot. No infection or anything so that was good news. I'm on the mend finally, but for a while I had trouble concentrating. This meant I was falling behind on my reading "GASP!"

When this happens, if you are a reader, the only thing to do is to turn to your comfort reads. Whether they are old favorites or new books by dependable authors, they are books that you turn to time and again because they give you exactly what you need. You know the plot will hold your attention. The fact that you have probably read it before just means that you know what to look forward to: that scene that had you laughing out loud, the character that lived in your head long after you closed the cover on the book, that moment when the hero triumphs and you just want to shout "Yes!" because you've lived through it with him/her and now you feel vicariously triumphant.

Not everyone understands the allure of a re-read. To some, once they've read that story it's done. They already know what's going to happen and so they have no interest in returning to the story. That's a good point and I can understand where they are coming from. But for me, a re-read is a comfort read. There are times when I don't want to try something new; I don't want to use my brain that much. I want something that I know will satisfy me, a bowl of favorite soup on a bad weather day. I want characters that I'll enjoy spending time with because they feel like old friends. My collection of comfort reads includes several authors and various genres, because what I want will depend on my mood. Like that bowl of soup, I might want something cozy and comfortable. Or maybe I'll be in the mood for spicy.

Of course there is a danger inherent in this practice. It's very easy to become complacent in your reading, to stick with what's safe rather than risk disappointment. That would a shame because you never know when a great new book may cross your path. So I indulge for a while, feeding my face with humor and mystery and closing myself away with characters that I know will be there for me. But not for long. Because the only thing better than an old comfortable read is discovering a new comfortable read. And you can't have too many good books, or good friends.

You Asked For It

Okay, not all of you, but some of you did. Ask for photos of my new furniture, that is. And if you aren't one of them, well don't look if it bothers you.

Here is one of the new rocker/reliner chairs. No, they didn't charge us extra for the cat. I'm just thankful that she likes laying on the towel which should keep the cat hair on the furniture to a minimum. Please ignore the junk laying around. Oh, what am I talking about? That's not junk, that's BOOKS! The ones on the table to the left are from my J.P. Hailey collection. Sadly he only wrote about 5 under that pen name; you may or may not know him as Parnell Hall who writes one of my favorite mystery series. No, not the Puzzle Lady books. He writes others and IMO they are better. The Hailey's are hard to find and out of print for a long time but if you run across one in the library or your local used book store (under mysteries) grab it. The blue bag on the floor is the stash I scored at RWA NJ last month. Mom and I are still working our way through it. The green bag which you can just barely see contains library books. Since they have due dates, we are naturally working our way through them first. Which explains why we aren't done with the NJ books yet.

This one is the reclining loveseat. Now, I have to mention that the colors in this picture are not true. It's actually a deep wine color but not nearly as dark as it look in the photo. It was night time when I took the pictures, that's why. I relied on the flash which did okay, but the loveseat and the floors both look darker than they really are. The floors are actually a sort of medium tone in slightly varying shades and not red. Yes that's the same cat on the chair. No, I didn't crochet the afghan you see over the back of the loveseat. Mom did that one. No, you can't have it, it's mine. She made it just for me. Because she likes me best, that's why. We just got the last piece of furniture yesterday so there will be some shifting of furniture and wall decorations, i.e. the mirror, to center things better. Eventually.

So, the new dining table. See through the door all that dark? Told you it was night time. We got this table to replace the longer retangular one, even though there was nothing wrong with the old one, really, because it's slightly smaller and oval and works much better in the very small dining room. The plants are my mom's babies. If you are nice I might include a photo of the flowering Christmas cactus in the right hand corner one of these days. It's huge and has gorgeous peach-colored flowers just now. Ignore that junk in the lower right corner. It's a recently bought stash of yarn with which I plan to crochet pillows as soon as I finish the other project I'm currently working on. More on that later.