Enchanting Juno

Ritalin, perhaps?

So this morning I dreamed of the Jailhouse Rock production number from the eponymous movie (which I have long maintained, though with no firm factual basis, was the first music video).  Often these odd dreams are what a very clever commenter referred to as NPR dreams (this was upon the occasion that I dreamt my Thanksgiving turkey went to war) but today I had the buzzy alarm not the radio, so the imagery and soundtrack came from less obvious locations.

And while I yield to no one in my admiration for charm and beauty of the young Elvis, I fail to see what Jailhouse Rock has to do with knitting.  And yet it did.  A black and white scarf.  That I am assuming was colorwork, because it needed to be steeked at the end of the number.  Not unlike the climax of "Under the Sea", but with scissors.

It is possible I may be coming down with something. 

Sore throat.  Chill.  Sore neck for the past few days.  But I refuse to acknowledge it until I've written a check, mailed it and done the payroll. 

And now it is later and I have mailed the check and gone over the wall at the post office and been late for a forgotten meeting because I went to order eyeglasses on the way back (well sorta on the way back) and done half the payroll and had that meeting after all, very usefully and efficiently and also, ahem, created a database to keep track of my most recent obsession which I will show you if I am ever home during daylight again, and now I am eating lunch, courtesy of the fine people at Amy's.

I have been obsessed with this recipe this week:  Adzuki Bean Croquettes.  From Nourish Me.  Which I would encourage you to read for the beautiful food, beautiful pictures and beautiful words.  She's tremendous.  Braised fennel, people.  With wine glazed lentils.  My obsession with her cooking bears out one friend's belief that I am 18 months away from vegetarianism and closing fast.  On the other hand, I had a creole style pork tenderloin (in a converted church, in fact) last week that was delicious.  And murdered a pastrami Reuben on Sunday.  So perhaps not.

I hardly need glasses, but when I do need them, I need them most definitely.  A strange by product of either advancing decriptitude or LASIK (both?) is that my vision - which, five years post operatively, is about 20/30 on one side and about 20/50 on the other - can go exceptionally fuzzy on days when I am exceptionally tired.  Particularly around my period - hormones can effect ocular pressure, did you know?  - and particularly when I am dehydrated.  In Arizona, I can hardly read a street sign between the sun and the parched condition I am reduced to.  To which I am reduced.  You know.

So I need glasses whilst driving in unfamiliar places, in New York, when I have PMS and when I am so tired I probably should not be operating a motor vehicle anyway.  And also, sometimes for the computer, which is a different pair of glasses.   On average, maybe once a week.  Its stupid.    But not having them?  Also not working out so good.  And now that I have peripheral vision and stuff, I don't find them at all burdensome.  In fact, they are sorta cute when I'm not helpless without them.  Perspective is a marvelous thing.

Anyway, I think these are the ones.  This brand seems to make a frame width that fits my giant head, and they are light, and cute and flattering and I think I can live with them for 5 years of occasional use. 

Also?  I knit this week.  It was thrilling until I tried to groom the cat and she sunk her talon into the tip on my index finder, effectively limiting my enthusiasm for repeatedly shoving a wooden stick into the resulting hole.  But still.  I have - brace yourself - completed the long languishing right front of this sweater and begun the  left front.  I have learned a new button hole method.  And most shockingly of all, I have matched the gauge of the back, begun three years previously. 

Also, you have to go here and watch this guy.  I found him via Feministing twice: on the subject of the music business and the moral high ground and on MLK.  He was brilliant and I wanted to tell you and then I forgot.  Twice.  And then Flea at One Good Thing (a long time favorite read) mentioned him.  (Except it was on her other blog.  Oops.)  And I went over again and found this.  So dudes, settle in. 

And I smell like pirate.  Sort of.  Not really.  But kinda.  In a good way.

Thus concludes this edition of non-sequitorious blogging here at EnchantingJuno.

Eyes open, barely.

So I have this coffee mug I got as a promotion from the shipping people at work.  I like it.  I think the design aesthetic is pleasing and it is a good size and insulated.   But it has a round bottom.  Which I used to find pleasingly organic to contemplate and cradle.

But when it sits on the desk in front of me, and I lean forward to answer the phone, and it is only 8:30 and I am not awake yet, I shove it with my breasts and it wobbles like a Weeble - almost exactly like a Weeble in fact, dumping a mug full of tea onto my keyboard and then popping upright again.

It is just going to be that kind of morning, I can tell.

Unexpectedly the keyboard, which is wireless, has failed to short out.  That's a good sign.   

I have been on a cleaning jag recently - my house had passed the point of being untidy and gone over into a little too dusty for mental health, so I cleaned and cleaned and cleaned and cleaned.  And I must say, I like it this way.   Which isn't even that immaculate except as a less seedy contrast to what came before.  I am now at the point that I could start over again and do a really fantastic job in a comparatively short time frame.  Which I will think about but almost certainly not do.  I wonder how long I can maintain this - the signs are poor, as yesterday's dishes are all over the kitchen.  Note to self, go to whole foods for the green dish powder, the box is empty. 

I had really a very nice weekend though, I just sound crabby because I had a 10 pm dinner of ...OK, I had to Google "goat, California, cheese, ash" to come up with the name, I am a definitely a little blurry on my outlines this day - Humbolt Fog and Cahill's Irish Porter Cheese and crackers.   And I'm feeling a bit unsound because of it.
Come to think of it, I do not recall any vegetables yesterday, which may explain many things. 
The cheese was very good, but I am not sure I can recommend that particular pairing.  Most certainly not at that particular hour.

While I mull my next major project I have been trying to continue the theme of finishing and dragged this thing out into the light:

You can't tell what it is?  Blizzard Wrap from Scarf Style, which I cast on solely to have an excuse to use Blizzard - which is far to bulky for me to wear, but seriously cozy.  This was three years ago, or something. 

I only know three crochet stitches, which I learned for the purpose of making this wrap and had subsequently forgotten.   I have retaught them to myself, using a crochet book I bought, also three years ago, Crochet Basics.  I find it to be excellent.  (Also, I lied, I learned crochet for another project.  Had forgotten until I checked the archives.)

I find it slow going really - the yarn is very heavy and the hook is like, a size one million.  Also, and this is the real problem, every time I pick it up I have to pry the cat off it.  She LOVES this thing.  Apparently, she's an alpaca kind of girl.  Also, a pain in my ass. 

Variations on this theme have played out over the past week or so.  Every 56 stitches I have to relocate the beast from where she has settled and really, sometimes it isn't worth the dirty look.  I'm making about a row and a half a night, max. 

If I have a skein left I'll make her a little mat or something, which she will of course ignore completely.

More tea.  Must. Make. More. Tea.  And not spill it.

 

More about food.

This is from Jamie Oliver, an old Naked Chef episode (found it on FoodTV Website, from whom I also nicked the photo. Mine is not generally quite so pretty, but it doesn't last long, so it hardly matters.) (The food channel used to be so much fun.  What happened?)

Parsnip and Rosemary Tagliatelle

• 12  slices pancetta, or dry-cured streaky bacon
• 1 handful fresh rosemary, leaves picked or 1 handful fresh thyme, leaves picked or 1 handful fresh summer savory, leaves picked
• 4 good knobs of butter
• 2 cloves garlic, peeled, finely, sliced
• 2 parsnip, peeled, halved, finely, sliced, lengthwise
• 1 lb. dried tagliatelle
• 3  good handfuls grated parmesan cheese
• sea salt, and freshly cracked black pepper

1. In a large, non-stick frying pan fry your pancetta and herbs in half the butter for 2 minutes on medium heat.
2. Add the garlic and parsnips.
3. Cook for a further 3 minutes, until the pancetta is slightly golden and the parsnips have softened nicely.
4. Cook your tagliatelle in salted boiling water (check the packet for cooking time), then drain, reserving a little of the cooking water.
5. Mix the pasta with the parsnips and pancetta and stir in the rest of your butter and the Parmesan, adding a little of the cooking water to loosen the mixture and make it creamy and shiny.
6. Season to taste.

I would then add, serve in a bowl.  Of course.  I don't do anything formal with slicing the parsnips though.  I do what Jamie Oliver did on the episode of the Naked Chef I lifted this dinner from: use a carrot peeler to make little pasta-like strips of parsnip, that way they disappear into the pasta and make this unexpected sweet bite in the dish. And I would probably add more than two, if they're little ones.  Also, I would start the pasta first, way before I start doing anything with my pancetta.  Oh, and when I misremembered procuitto for pancetta once I discovered that procuitto goes gloriously crispy in the pan, which can be fun.  But it doesn't make much fat, so keep an eye on it.
Fantastical good.

While I was hunting around for this on line - as an alternative to finding my cooking notes - I found another of his recipes, this one for beef and parsnip stew, which I think I might make this weekend.  Along with this, which I have longed for since Ysolda uttered (well, typed) the compelling phrase Gingerbread Cupcakes with Lemon Yogurt Icing.  And me with a bag of Meyer lemons in the fridge.  How that happened I will never know.

Instead of making this one - the mahogany stew I mentioned - which is also good.  Though I used less hoisin and added about an hour to the cooking time - first two times I had it it was really good, but rather heavy - the third time I cooked it way longer and the meat broke down a bit more - much more delicious AND digestible.  I've had this with mashed potatoes under it - good.  But I like egg noodles better.  Nice wide ones.

Any other recipe questions....honestly, read Bakerina.  She got me cooking again after a long hiatus (read this and I dare you not to cook) and the lentil thing is all her fault.  Though I can't find the post with the balsamic dressed ones. (ETA: Aha!)

French lentils (the black ones are gorgeous, but they make the carrots brown looking and sad), cubed carrots, cooked until tender, toss with butter and balsamic, salt and pepper to taste, Israeli feta and slivered almonds on top is what I end up doing.
It might, or might not, be what she described.  Things get blurry in the middle of a love affair.

The end of Autumn.

This fall I have been absolutely unable to look away from the trees.  My expectations for tree color were not high, given the bizarre, nearly tropical, warmth of September and October.  But somewhere before Thanksgiving we must have had a hard frost and suddenly there they were, the reason my mother sent me a box of wax ironed leaves when I lived in California. 

There are 5 young maples in a row in the park by my house who have gone such a magnificent pinkish scarlet that I nearly drive over the curb whenever the car rounds that corner.  They are hanging on to every last leaf and I salute them...though I have not photographed them. Some things can not be captured.

The three dimensionality of the fallen leaves beautiful this year, the way they drift and pile so lightly.  The shades. The shadows.  Perhaps this year I am just more noticing. 

Every year the leaves fall from the maple in my neighbor's yard onto my deck and I am so busy and lazy and not aware that they stay there until there has been rain or snow and they are rotting and sodden and frozen and in the spring they are a stinking beast to clean up.  Saturday I was home after the gym and looked out and thought - that tree is finally bare and today that is a 30 minute job.  Sad as I am to see them go.....

Sunday found me glad I acted. 

Other signs of winter.....Kilkenny Irish Soda Bread.  I used to be a fair hand with baking - when I was a little girl I would come home from school and make a cake a few times a week - but I never do it any more as I live alone and can't say no to fresh baked anything.  But the things you can buy are awful, even in good shops. 

Subbed craisins for raisins as that was what I have (I hate raisins), and used half organic whole wheat flour/half organic a/p white flour, and unprocessed cane sugar. I grew up thinking that healthier choices meant less flavor and I'm investigating the truth of that a bit these days.  So far it seems to be bollocks - I would say on the whole more delicate flavor, but not less. 

Verdict?  Not sure it was soda bread, but it was really good.  Managed a decent delicacy of crust and the flavor was excellent.  Needed a hair more mixing for cohesion - maybe a tad more buttermilk? And a tiny bit more salt. 

I ate half the loaf while it was warm - must work on that - I'll check the leftovers tonight to see if the texture in fact came out right in the end. 

 

Pssst.

I've met some pretty amazing people on the knit-o-sphere - found friends, mentors, both together in some cases and one of the most remarkable of these is MamaCate.  Talking to her for 10 minutes at a fiber festival is finding the still place, where things slow down and become real and solid and thoughtful instead of wild and chaotic and overwhelming.
She is a knockout - generous, thoughtful and really lovely and provided the opportunity for me to buy my second wheel and my first fleece and sent me the kindest and most appreciated box of chocolates ever in the history of friends.  She is Good.  And today is her birthday.

So, pretty please, help me crash her server with good wishes, OK?

talking about a revolution

That Canadian woman, I tell you, she has warped me.  By the time she gets done with me I'll be a near-socialist in sensible shoes.

Oh, wait.

After running through several pairs of rather over priced winter boots that lasted about 2 minutes out here in the real world, I succumbed to the classic 500.  I haven't taken them off except to sleep in three days, if that tells you anything.  I love the way I walk in them - in boots generally, actually.  My spine feels great - something about the foot and ankle support, I think.   And they look fantastic.    I may never buy another pair of shoes.

OK, we all know that's a lie.  But for a minute I felt that way, which is my highest footwear accolade.

And don't get all excited - the handknit socks were stolen.*  This is the first footwear in my possession with enough room for hand knit socks though.

*this is true, actually.  Someone had a sizing error and once I realized they would fit my size 12 instead of her size - 6.5? - I just took 'em.**   There's morally wrong and then there's morally wrong, you know?  There were SOCKS at stake.  What would you have done?

**She claims she gave them to me.  But is it really a gift if you're in the process of being robbed?

 

Interlude

There are few things more lowering that to be in bed in the morning, awaken to the sound of the garbage truck crunching outside the window and the certain realization that the trash is still in the kitchen.

Dammit.

N is for Neville

It seems to me that there is a kind of galloping ennui pervading this little community.  Posting - not just mine - has been slow for a month or so, and everyone seems a bit limp.  Depleted.  I have been blaming the weather, except for the fact that while it is brutally hot, I don't believe it is really any hotter than any other mid-Atlantic summer I have lived.  And considerably less humid than memory tells me it was in the old days.

Someone told me a few days ago that it was because mercury was out of retrograde.  I was like, wait...isn't it supposed to be the other way around?  Uh huh.  It seems that the increased potential energy of a world out of retrograde is upsetting people - they're scared of possibility.  I would make fun of this except that possibility is a very normal thing to be scared of.  Very human.  Stupid, chickenshit...but human.

This same friend confessed that she has been suffering a sense of impending doom herself, and finds herself checking her email all the time waiting for...something.

I laughed and laughed and laughed....because I have been doing the same thing for several months.  I open my email box and no matter what is in there - 50 messages or none - I am disappointed.  Because I am expecting something and it isn't there and I have not the smallest idea what it is that I am waiting for.  And I really would like to know when I decided my email box was the oracle that would provide me with an Answer?  It is, if I understand correctly, a means of communication not the I-Ching.  (Though it would be pretty amusing if it turned out there was a secret subtext to the penis enhancement ads).

Dr. Who is back, which is very nice.  I can - and have - watch David Tennant be the doctor for an infinite number of hours.  I'm a very tiny bit embarrassed by how closely BBC Wales has captured my sexual ideal (I do so hate to be a cliche). Though, as my friend P pointed out when I asked him to please pack Mr. Tennant in a to go bag for me, should he happen upon him, he's pretty sure there's a waiting list for that.  So I am not alone.  I can't decide if that makes the mortification sting more or less.

I hadn't turned the a/c on until the night before last - fear of the power bill had me claiming comfort well past the point of believability - but I haven't been sleeping well and the change since I dropped the indoor temperature forces me to admit that it may have been heat related.  Oddly, I was knitting more before I cooled things off.   The blue pullover is done but for the neckband - it took me abut 4 hours to pick up and knit three rounds last night.

I did do some spinning. 

I've been working on these for WEEKS.  Camel Tussah in Fiddlehead from Foxfire.  This is a deliberate attempt on my part to spin with less twist in order to have a three-ply that is a leeeetle less firm.  The third bobbin represents a real failure of will.  It is significantly less good than the other two; as gorgeous as this stuff is, it would not be my recommended fiber for spinning in an 80 degree room in July.  Too fluffy and sticky and fine.   I kind of gave up on consistency a bit to just finish it already.  When I switched to some Shetland I carded up from fleece last spring I enjoyed myself much more and my spinning sucked way less.  Will ply when the third bobbin had a chance to go as limp as the first two.  Despite it all, I expect the resulting yarn to be rather nice.  I'm thinking a slouchy beret hat thing.

I found this in my change the other day.  1915 dime.  Pleasantly worn from nearly 100 years of handling.  It has given me rather a lot of pleasure these past few days to contemplate its adventures and the wonderful tactile smoothness of the old worn silver.

 

 

 

The things we carry.

Did I ever tell you about this one?  I bought the yarn using a birthday 10% off coupon at a local store.  In 2004.  It's South West Trading Company Phoenix, and it looks and feels like a soy shoelace.  Which sounds bad, but really isn't. 

I loved the color.  Love the color.  I was a brand spanking new knitter and I bought the Rowan Summer Tweed book and fell in love with the tank pattern called Rosemary.  (At this time in my life I did not go sleeveless in public, so I am not sure how this love came to be.  Perhaps I was beginning to be tired of self consciousness?)   But Summer Tweed I did not like the look of.  And Rowan stops their sizing at about 40 inches anyway, so I knew I would be re figuring and why not redo the gauge as long as I was tinkering?  Just look at the pretty blue and brown.

I was new.  New enough that I was unclear on ease.  Somewhere I read that you should allow 2-4 inches of ease.  I chose 4, as I am a big girl and I thought it was better for something to skim, rather than hug, the curves.  I made a swatch, even.  I did not notice the way the swatch relaxed into this lovely, thin, heavy thing.  I knit.  And knit, and knit.  Each skein has 175 yards.  I used every bit of the six I had and went back for the other four on the shelf.  I knit some more.

(While I still don't like Summer Tweed, this is actually a pattern with some thoughtful detail - a clever slipped stitch edge and well thought out shaping.  I might curse the name of Rowan, but I must do so fairly.)

It went on forever.  I bought my first addi turbos to move things along.  And one weekend I sat down - this was just before the blog, and I wanted to wear it that summer - and made myself finish.  This was clearly before wrist surgery.  The thought of knitting this yarn at this gauge on that needle now makes my wrist throb a little.

I washed.  I blocked.  I sewed up the sides and one shoulder - harvesting from the swatch to do so, because I had used every last scrap of my 1750 yards of worsted yarn.  I tried it on before I finished seaming, just to see.  Then I took it off.  I folded it up.  I put it in the closet.

And there it stayed.  Like this.

There's a lot of sweater in that pile, considering it is a tank, don't you think?  The v-neck stretched to below my bra, the hem to mid thigh.  It was vast.  Like a sail.  Like a Christo installation.  A trapezoidal Christo Installation.

When a friend visited for the first time - you know how you tour the stash with wool friends, right?  - she picked up the front (I had unpicked the side seams at some point).  Looked at me.  Looked at it.  Looked at me.  What is this?

Fuckin' Rowan, I replied with some bitterness.

And we howled.  It was Rowan's fault.  Right.  When we could breathe again she asked me - not for the last time - exactly how big I thought I was anyway?

For three years it sat, mocking me silently.  This weekend I struck back.

I still love the yarn though.  Maybe a shawl?

This, by the way, is how a sweater is supposed to fit:

At long last, a picture of Matilda Jane. The auto focus and I were having a disagreement.  But I think you can see well enough.

There was some construction to balance the destruction too.  A yin/yang of creation, if you will.

I'm not binding off the sleeve until I finish the neckline, get the length just right.  It looks good.  It fits like Matilda Jane.  There may be a connection here.

This is a bulky yarn knit to a worsted gauge (not something I would ordinarily recommend, but this is an odd yarn).  I bought either 14 or 15 balls and I will have one left over.  Maybe a bit more.  This is a hip length sweater with sleeves to the middle of my hand.   Using 1200 yards +/-.  MJ used about 1350 yards of DK.
The answer to the question is "a lot bigger than I really am."  Seriously.

This made me laugh.  I groomed the stuffing out of her this weekend.  I think I went one comb too far.  Either that or I just finally took the damn yarn out of her basket. 

 

 

 

 

 

apathy smapathy

I have had ennui.  It maybe showed?

But I have been to the gymnasium, which always helps, and I have eaten spinach, ditto. 

And though I have not done a little dance, nor in fact, made a little love, I did indeed get down last night.

The sweater A l'Orange is no more.  But I still love the yarn.  So it is enjoying a refreshing swim.  We will see if it recovers.

The Jo Sharp Desert Garden Sarong that has been on hiatus since July of of 2004?
Gone, gone, gone.

This one I never liked - the color, while pretty, was not what I wanted.  I wanted dandelion, or parakeet, not garnet.  Anyone want it?  8 untouched balls, plus at least 8 in this giant recovered skein.  There's also a little handful of 12 or 14 inch bits that were going to be the fringe - since this was loosely knit I changed balls at the edge and trimmed the fringe-useful lengths as I went.  If you're interested, I'll weigh the lot and guesstimate the yardage.  First comment to claim it gets it.  I'll even pay the shipping, that's how happy I am to have this out of my house. (It was about a month from becoming a great and terrible new god of retribution.) (Reference?  Anyone?)

I feel better already.  (I still need to finish something before beginning something else, but that final sleeve is looking totally manageable right now. And then?  Cables.  I'm thinking cables.)