Childhood on TV

So yesterday I survived driving an import. Lightning did not strike me down, nor did union members appear out of nowhere and start beating me with pickets. My dad would be horrified, though.

I actually enjoyed driving a little, older car. It brought me back to when I drove the old boats I had in high school - just the feel of the narrow plastic steering wheel, well worn and slightly begrimed, the feel of the effort involved whenever I tried to coax a little pick up out of the engine.

This all came about because of another painful visit to the dealership that involved sudden, surprise services that needed to be done (again) and a part that did not come in when it was supposed to because of a computer error (again). But I've bored enough people with the story so I won't repeat it all again. Suffice it to say that I have a wonderful, wonderful coworker and friend in Jen, who thought nothing of loaning me her car for the duration of the car-related agonies.

In other, more enjoyable news, I had another fun day with Rachel on Saturday. A day that involved childhood memories, random celebrity sightings, a dead room, learning that Mississauga is much bigger than we thought, CSI, and caffeinated poutine. Good times.

The highlight really had to be the childhood memories portion of the program, though. When I thought about the CBC museum, I thought I would see things like old radio microphones, tapes, maybe some hockey memorabilia. And there was all of that. But, there was also this:



Oh, the excitement! Here, in front of me, were dozens of childhood memories. Memories of learning how to make little horses out of pipe cleaners and toilet paper tubes, how to draw on big sheets of paper. And nothing turning out nearly as good as the stuff Mr Dressup made, even though it looked so easy when he did it. And, of course, memories of the Tickle Trunk.


The magic of the Tickle Trunk was that no matter what Mr Dressup wanted, no matter how impromptu the game or the play, the perfect costume and props would be in the Tickle Trunk. And always located right at the top. Nothing like my own toy box, where whatever I wanted had always snaked its way to the bottom, and to get it out meant emptying all of the contents of the box.



I loved Mr Dressup growing up. He had everything - crafts, puppets, drawing, jokes, play acting, a treehouse, and guests coming to visit and change things up whenever they got a little dull. I had my love for Sesame Street, too, but found the little snippets in between muppet segments a little too repetitive sometimes - after the Muppet Report with Kermit Thee Frog (here) on Rapunzel in her tower, I'd often pull out the colouring books while the pinball counted to twelve. And Mr Rogers I always hated. My mother confirms that the only part of Mr Rogers I watched was the part where he fed his goldfish, right at the beginning. Why I found that part interesting, though, I have no idea. The trolley was okay, too, but the weird little puppets through the door were just creepy.


Nope, Mr Dressup was my guy. When he died a few years ago, CBC radio had people calling in with their memories of him, and I cried in my car as I listened. I never really watched him after Casey and Finnegan left the show - I think that was when I was starting to get a little too old for it (or thought I was, anyway) and maybe transitioning to the Sweet Valley portion of my adolescence. I never liked the new puppets, so my one disappointment on Saturday was the absence of Casey and Finnegan themselves. I was happy enough to not see the strange alligator and stringy, old bird woman, though. Or that scary looking owl with the shifty eyes.


The other surprise memory was the Friendly Giant. Complete with the castle with its drawbridge, and the high-tech animation of the cow jumping over the moon. When I was little, this was another of my favourite shows.











I loved the opening, with the little seating arrangement being moved around - the big armchair for the two people to curl up in, and the rocking chair, for somebody who likes to rock. I liked Geoffrey the Giraffe, but I was always a little suspicious of him, too - he looks like he's always thinking about something shifty. And Rusty the rooster kind of freaked me out, in his little sack hanging on the wall. What else was in that sack? Why did he have to stay in there? Was he being punished for something?



And finally, a geek memory. But maybe I'll leave that for another day and a shorter post.

Social-whatting?

Tonight was nice. Jen invited me to her house for dinner after work. Car pooling has so many advantages! So she showed me how she makes her yummy curry shrimp, Eddy made rice and bok choi and I got to play with the dog. How's that for a night out?

But the dessert was the best part. Jen and I went to Dairy Cream on Lakeshore, and had some really, really good ice cream (mine had coconut and pineapple on top) and then people watched for well over an hour. We mocked the women tottering along in cheap three inch heels and sleeveless shirts, trying hard not to look cold. We discussed our mutual dislike of the shoes with wheels in them and how they make grocery stores hazardous. We criticized the girls wearing inappropriately coloured bra straps and dresses tucked into their jeans. (what?)

We were also doing our best to unobtrusively (read: totally obviously and pathetically like 12 year old girls) watch the group of very tall, very well armed policemen who came in shortly after us and lounged within our sights for quite some time. With guns strapped to their right thigh and stun guns strapped to their left, and vests strapped to their chests above the Batman-like belts full of handcuffs and whatnot. Fun. We only left when they finally packed themselves back into their shiny black van and left for whereabouts unknown. Then we went to Dollarama and I bought all kinds of goofy pens and pencils for no really good reason. (I'll get some pictures soon, probably)

It's such a different night from what I'm used to that I'm not sure that I know what to do with myself. I am used to going home and being alone until I'm back at work the next day. I think I like some socializing.

Even if it does mean no knitting gets done tonight.

But it does make me think about part of the reason that I would hesitate to stay with the family that I lived with last summer. It was a lot of fun, but I got used to coming 'home' and eating with and being with other people. Having someone to talk to, or even just hearing someone else in the house. The crash that comes when it's time for me to leave for the last time and go back to my own place is a bit hard to take. It happened after my summer in Calgary and when I moved to Dunnville, and hit me really hard when it came time to leave Caledonia last fall.

Yes, I need my alone time, and maybe even more of it than other people do. But (and it pains me to admit it) I do need other people, too. Sometimes. But I have to wonder if having that for a short time is worth the pain of losing it again.

I should go to bed before I become any less coherent.

Chicken

Here’s the current status of the baby jacket.



Look familiar? Yeah. It’s been a couple of weeks and it’s gone nowhere. In that time, I’ve ripped out the blanket made of dog fur yarn, made considerable progress on the baby blanket and the second clapotis, and then yesterday I started to make a log cabin bathmat, from Mason Dixon Knitting. This morning I ripped it out and started over and now I have this, which I’m quite pleased with.



I made it using acrylic I had lying around. I’ve decided that I must embrace acrylic, instead of shunning it. Because I will only be able to afford wool and other more luxurious fibres occasionally. And I plan on knitting a lot more than occasionally.

But the lack of progress on the baby jacket is what’s really the point here. The reason for the lack of progress is fear. Poorly based fear, at that. The pattern leaves a lot of the figuring up to me, basically telling me to mirror what I did on the left front. I like a little more direction at this point in my knitting education. But this fear and refusal to deal with the problem in order to move forward are pretty much the main themes of my life right now.

I’m confronted with another possible change. And even though this could be a really good, very welcome change, it also means, well, change. And a lot of it. And that tends to make me freeze in my tracks. To the point where for the past three days I haven’t left the house. Which may or may not be related to this looming possible change, but I’m really just looking for some explanation of my hermitage.

And now I’ve come to this place where I kind of feel like in order to move forward with my life, I have to move forward with this jacket. And as long as it sits bundled up in a flour sack, out of sight and only half-finished, nothing else in my life will change. Is that insane? It might be insane. At the very least, it’s not quite right.

I Don't Take Enough Pictures

Last weekend, my parents and their friend, Sonya came to visit, and we had a TO weekend. This might seem like not such a great picture, but with this bunch, I was lucky to get them all looking at the camera at the same time, never mind trying to find a moment when one of them isn't talking. It was noisy weekend. (Love you!) Saturday morning we were took the GO to Union Station and walked down to St. Lawrence Market. We had wonderful weather for our day, and I didn’t take nearly enough pictures. For example, as we approached the market, the first thing we saw was a bunch of women all dressed in wedding gowns, handing out flyers. Now, really – wouldn’t a picture of that be great?


Clearly, I need to take more pictures.

Aside from my houseguests and all the shopping that happens when you’re entertaining people who like to shop, I’ve been doing lots and lots of knitting lately. And I realise that I haven’t really been keeping my little progress bars updated, or sharing what I’m working on. So, here you go:

Here are my three big projects. First, on the left is an afghan that I started a while back. I haven’t done much work on it recently. I’m finding that creating a warm, squishy blanket is great in the winter, but not really what I want to be doing when it’s warm and sunny out. Plus, I’m hating the yarn. What looked like a nice, neutral beige-ish boucle has turned out to make a blanket that looks like it’s being knit from dog fur yarn.

Life Lesson #1: Don’t buy “Mill Ends” of “100% Unknown Material” from Walmart. (You’d think I wouldn’t have to learn that, but there you go.)

So I think what I’m going to do now is rip all that mangy dog coloured section back and get either more of that nice blue, or find a contrasting colour in a real boucle, and not something made from what was probably left in someone's dog brush.

The second item there might look familiar. It’s another of the baby shawls. I have a particular baby in mind, I think, but I’m also making it because it’s a fun pattern, right up to the end, where I would rather rip out my hair than do another repeat of the border section. Fun!

And the third is really what I’m spending most of my time on. It’s a little baby jacket that I’m making for my cousin’s baby. I think I like making little baby clothes. It’s very rewarding to sit down for a couple of hours, and see actual progress. And it’s a good first real ‘clothing item’.

The one thing I forgot to put in the picture is my second clapotis. I’m doing a new one in a turquoise colour that should be able to ‘go’ with more of what I wear, unlike the bright pink and green one that has limited wearability.

The only one with a real deadline is the baby sweater – due date is in five weeks. As for the baby shawl/blanket, I think I’ve already missed the birth, since I’m kind of out of touch with those particular friends, beyond Christmas cards.

But now that I’m a knitter, I’m jumping on any and every opportunity to knit teeny tiny little things. So let me know if you’re making any plans. Really.

Questions You Never Wanted to Ask

I’m not the first to notice that when a group of people comes together to eat and chat, more often than not, the topic of conversation almost inevitably turns to bodily functions such as vomiting, peeing, or pooping. For some reason, I’ve found this to be especially true when the meal is a little more formal – any time when the subject of puke would be just plain inappropriate.

Yesterday at lunch, we had quite the toilet conversation. It all started with one person talking about a really fun bathroom store she’d visited the day before. This store has a line up of functioning toilets, and squishy little colourful samples that you can flush down to see how well they work, and then watch them travel through a clear pipe.

It was all downhill from there. I felt especially bad for the one guy in the room, since he was also the only one of us with significant bidet experience as well.

First, the bidet: What is it really for? (Yes, for cleaning) No, you don’t use it after number one, just number two. Yes, the temperature is usually adjustable, and so is the height of the water flow, like a drinking fountain.

So, what – you finish up, wipe, shuffle across the room with your pants still down, and then plonk down on the bidet? (pretty much) We debated the benefits and downfalls and decided that in general, we do not like the bidet, for several reasons, including the need for ass towels and the potential for side to side wetting when getting on or off. Plus, they’re just weird.

Next up was Boys and the Bathroom. Do you feel self-conscious at a urinal? (not really) Would you use a urinal in a co-ed bathroom? (sure) Do boys use toilet paper if they just pee? (no) Isn’t that kind of icky? (not really) Do boys who are maybe more - well-endowed - than most have to worry about dipping in the toilet when they’re sitting down? (Um. No.)

Lunch is fun.

The Gift of The Gift of Life

Finally.

After almost five years, I have once again been permitted to donate my blood. Yesterday, my friend Jennifer from work and I went to the blood donor clinic at Sherway Gardens mall and bled for the cause. It was all familiar and almost comforting. Except that we were, you know, in a mall. I’m not quite used to people strolling past me with Sears and Sony store bags while I lay on the cot with a big needle in my arm.

But everything went well, and I filled my bag with no fuss and in close to (personal) record time. I lay there, feeling the heat of my blood as it passed through the tube lying across my wrist, looking up at the water damaged ceiling and out at the blue, blue sky through the skylights above me and just felt better. Giving blood is to me an opportunity for me to give of myself in a very real (and literal) way. I know that what I’m doing is going to help people who desperately need help. It seems to me so much more meaningful than giving money. And there is no anguish over whether I am giving to someone worthy, or whether my donation will be used wisely, as is so often the question with monetary donations. I am sharing my blessing of health and giving of my time, and that makes me feel good – and more, it makes me feel like a good person. I expect no reward, and I thank the volunteers and workers almost as profusely as they thank me.

And then I have cookies and peach juice and Bits and Bites.

And, in an unexpected bonus, I won an mp3 player from a promotion on the Canadian Blood Services website. They may be forgiven now. Bribes definitely help.

I am sheep. Baa.

I AM: procrastinating.
I WANT: too many things.
I WISH: often.
I HATE: feeling foolish.
I MISS: my family often.
I HEAR: typing, music, 'good morning's flung at me from the hallway.
I WONDER: what prank my coworker is planning.
I REGRET: more than I want to.
I AM NOT: going to finish this coffee, because it tastes funny.
I DANCE: rarely and only when alone or drunk.
I SING: a lot and loudly - and often off-key.
I CRY: so much more than I used to.
I AM NOT ALWAYS: timid.
I MAKE WITH MY HANDS: knitting that is hopefully beautiful and loved.
I WRITE: haphazardly.
I CONFUSE: people sometimes.
I NEED: cereal.
I SHOULD: walk more.
I START: my day not quite early enough to do things before work.
I FINISH: projects not every time.
I TAG: anyone else looking for a reason to put off working.

Crazy Dog, Baby Stash, and Funky Scooters

My life has been taken over by some crazed shopping person who spends what little money I have willy-nilly in yarn shops and warehouse sales. In the past week, I've spent so much money my wallet is sore. Or at least it feels that way. It may just be that I haven't been stocking up on essentials (and yarn) and it all came due this week. Plus, you know - sales. And yarn. On the plus side, I am stocked with mouthwash and various Swiffer products for the foreseeable future, thanks to the Proctor and Gamble warehouse sale. (Radically overaged toothpaste is still safe, right?)

Last weekend, for Easter, I was back in Windsor. And I finally managed to visit Knit One, Purl One while it was actually open - third time's the charm, I guess. I picked up some lovely Silky Wool in a dark turquoise that is destined to become my second Clappy. And I got to tag along on one of my dad and his dog's morning walks. This might not sound all that exciting, but I love these walks, just for the amusement of watching the craziest dog around. Shona is a border collie with issues. She is stick-addicted. As soon as she's out of the car, she must find a stick. And it must be the biggest stick she can find. I have seen her uproot small, (hopefully) dead trees, because they were to her just big sticks.

She's a walking hazard in the park. She wants the stick to be thrown over and over, and will run ahead on the path, dropping the stick where we will be walking, then lying down in the classic border collie posture, waiting for the stick to become airborne. And after a kilometer or so of this, we don't want to pick up the stick every thirty feet or so, so occasionally we'll just walk past it. When this happens, Shona will grab the stick and run past us to drop it once again in our path. The thing is, the stick she's carrying is basically a tree branch, so we're often whacked in the back of the knees when she carries it past us.

But maybe the best part of the stick addiction is her drive to always find a bigger and better stick. And when she does, she simply must have it. But she is unwilling to leave the old stick, so she runs back and forth, carrying each to the other, and trying to find a way to hold them both in her mouth at the same time.

On Tuesday, I was in St. Mary's, Ontario. While driving through town before my meeting, in an effort to find the Timmy's (I had no doubt that I would find one on the main drag, and I was not disappointed) I spotted a craft store calling my name via a large, hand-lettered bristol board sign yelling, "YARN SALE - Up to half off!" So you know that as soon as I was finished with work and before making the long trek to Hamilton, I headed in. I was fairly restrained - just picked up some Patons classic wool yarn, some wonderfully soft Kroy sock yarn, and some Bernat baby stuff for another blanket. Finally I think I can call my stock of yarn a stash.

And one random picture, from the Ikea parking lot. Happy Friday!

Point Pelee Part 2

I did it again. I get in my mind an entry I want to write, but it will take me some time to do, so I keep putting it off. But because I do still want to write that entry, I don’t update with anything else. But here, finally is the Point Pelee entry that I meant to write initially.

I won’t bore you outright with the whole story of the geography and weather patterns of southwestern Ontario in general and of Point Pelee in particular. Mainly because I don’t know enough about it. But here’s a general outline.

Point Pelee is the southernmost part of mainland Canada. It is a triangle of land, protruding out into Lake Erie from Leamington, Ontario. At the south end of this triangle, another triangle of sand pokes way out (usually kilometres) into the water. It is here that two lake currents meet and clash, depositing sand and taking it away continuously. You can kind of see the two different currents coming together in these pictures, if you look closely. The two different colours swirling, and the waves meeting there behind Jodi.





The point changes shape all the time, and even becomes longer and shorter, based on the wind and the currents. These little model pictures in the visitor centre show the ways it has changed over the years.







A few weeks ago, in the middle of March, there was a big storm, full of wind and fury. And the point disappeared. The sign warning people of the dangerous currents at the tip was found over 80 km away washed up on the shores of Lake Erie, somewhere in Ohio.



We just had to see this for ourselves. And, you know, any excuse to go to Point Pelee. Luckily, I was in Windsor the weekend after this happened, so I headed out to see Ken and Jodi, who are close neighbours of the Point. We loaded the dogs up in the car and headed south.













Just after the storm, the water was right up to the last bit of solid ground, by the park bench you can see here, according to the park wardens. We visited only a few days after the storm, and already the point was well on its way to wholeness and pointiness again. You can see an aerial picture from shortly after it started re-forming here.





It was a lovely, if chilly day. Lance is still enough of a water lover to plunge into the very, very cold water, though. We took advantage of the opportunity to take pictures of each other standing on the southernmost point of Canada, while it wasn’t quite as southern as usual. I have lots and lots of pictures like this, from over the years, of all kinds of friends and relatives who’ve been dragged out to the point.

One more interesting note – this part of Canada is roughly at the 42nd parallel. I’ll let the panel close-up explain, but really, any day that presents a chance to pose for a picture with a giant number 42 is a good day.

Little Steps, Big Sock

My first real sock, that actually fits an adult foot.



It's kind of ugly, and kind of funny shaped and really too big, but it's mine and I made it and I have one warm foot.

Memories of Point Pelee

When I was little, Point Pelee was a park that was a long drive from home. We would go there once or twice every summer for the afternoon, cooking hotdogs on the little grills scattered through the picnic areas, sitting on sandy towels on the narrow beaches, playing in the dune grasses.

When I was in grade school, Point Pelee was a popular field trip site. We’d go on nature walks through the forests and along the boardwalks, peering down into the murky water, delighted when we spotted fish or frogs, proud when we could identify a red-winged blackbird or a blue heron. We’d travel to the Nature Centre on the little trolley and make the long trek out to the point, dodging the dead fish scattered on the sand. And we would daringly dart out past the ‘DANGEROUS CURRENTS’ sign, to impress one another, while still only in the water up to our calves. We’d talk about the “friend’s brother’s friend” who tried to make it out to the sandbar a couple of summers ago, and was sucked into the deadly cross-currents and never seen again.

When I was in high school, Point Pelee was our Sunday afternoon destination. We’d all pile into my boat of a car (how I loved that ’78 Fairmont) and toss swimsuits and towels into the massive trunk. Now the drive seemed shorter, and was half of the fun of the day, always trying to find a different route, stopping for slushees and ice cream in the heat of the July summer. Our favourite thing to do was rent canoes, and paddle out past the marsh and into the “big” lake. It was a ride filled with so many different sensations and experiences that it was almost overwhelming. First it was time to giggle and mock one another as we all tried to find one of bright orange life jackets that would fit and wasn’t too crusty, and to find a paddle that wasn’t taller than we were and would hopefully give us the fewest number of splinters. Next it was time to clamber carefully into the canoe, decide who was least likely to direct us into a reed island (that happened a lot) or into an oncoming canoe (that only happened once) and have that person sit in the back, poised to steer. Another person in the front, and then finally, if we were an odd number that day, the sad sack in the middle, sitting on a spare lifejacket in the bottom of the canoe, amongst the rolling water bottles and in the cold, little puddle of water that never dried up.

First, through the marsh by the boardwalk, gawked at by the children clomping along the boards, then through the tall reeds, where we could see only as far as the length of our paddles, and then later, the lilies were under our paddles, and the reeds brushed the sides of the canoe. The best moment was always when the reeds suddenly and almost startlingly would part, and we were outside again, with the lake spread out before us, ripples showing where the hidden clumps of marsh grass lay just beneath the surface, the walls of reeds teasingly showing hints of other paths through the reeds. The need to find out whether we were discovering a new path through to Lake Erie, or if the path would continue to narrow to the point where our only recourse was to paddle out backwards, the way we came. Most often, we paddled across the little lake to ‘our’ spot, a gentle slope where it was easy to pull up the canoes, even with our tired arms. It was only a narrow divider between our little lake and Erie, so we would cross the sandy hill, and wander the wider beach, sometimes venturing down to the point itself.

Those were good days. I’ve never been so sunburnt, or so tired, or so content since, I think.

But that’s not what I came to talk to you about today. I think I’ll make that another entry, though.

My First Sock

Well, it took restarting about 7 times. And it took three days. And it's not big enough to fit anyone whose age would be described in anything but weeks.



But it's a sock. And it has a heel. And I used double pointed needles. To make something other than a hat.

Yay, me.

The model wasn't feeling terribly cooperative tonight, however. Ungrateful wretch.


(click for bigger picture - blogger's being bitchy about pictures tonight)

The Flatiron Building

In the spirit of random pictures.

Another Goofy Personality Test

Your Five Factor Personality Profile

Extroversion: You have low extroversion. You are quiet and reserved in most social situations.A low key, laid back lifestyle is important to you.You tend to bond slowly, over time, with one or two people. Conscientiousness: You have medium conscientiousness.You're generally good at balancing work and play.When you need to buckle down, you can usually get tasks done.But you've been known to goof off when you know you can get away with it. Agreeableness: You have high agreeableness.You are easy to get along with, and you value harmony highly.Helpful and generous, you are willing to compromise with almost anyone.You give people the benefit of the doubt and don't mind giving someone a second chance. Neuroticism: You have medium neuroticism.You're generally cool and collected, but sometimes you do panic.Little worries or problems can consume you, draining your energy.Your life is pretty smooth, but there's a few emotional bumps you'd like to get rid of. Openness to experience: Your openness to new experiences is medium.You are generally broad minded when it come to new things.But if something crosses a moral line, there's no way you'll approve of it.You are suspicious of anything too wacky, though you do still consider creativity a virtue.

The Five Factor Personality Test

In Time For Spring

It's finished!

And I'm quite happy with it. I think I've got the clapotis bug. This thing was so much fun to knit up, and it turns out so fun and different, and with so much character. If I were to do it again (and I most likely will) I think I'll choose less funky colours, so that I have more opportunities to wear it. I think I also foresee some of these being made as gifts sometime in the near future.

Here's an idea of the length of the scarf/wrap:

And now I'm in that weird place where I'm so used to knitting, knitting, knitting, that I have no idea what to do with myself. I find myself in need of a new project, pronto.

I'm thinking it's time to finally learn socks.

Blood Red and Daffodil Yellow

Today there are two bright spots of colour that are making me smile.

This:

And these:

And in non-colour related news, I found out today that I am eligible to give blood again. Which I was very happy about, until I couldn't get an appointment. Sigh.

Happy Birthday to Me

That's right - it's my birthday. And while I did have to fight off 'woe is me - how pathetic that I'm all allloooonnnne' feelings that kind of blindsided me now and then throughout the day, overall it turned out to be not a bad day at all.

Things really started yesterday morning, when Deena met me for a morning at the market, followed by lunch at the Hot House, which is the place that, every single time we pass it, elicits the outburst, "See that restaurant there on the corner? Best. Tomato-Basil Soup. EVER!" Guess what she had.

One thing we both had was wine, right as the clock hands ticked to meet on the twelve. Deena explained to the waiter that we were only having wine this early because it was my birthday. So, like any good waiter worth his salt, at the end of the meal, he presented me with the most ENORMOUSLY tall piece of chocolate cake ever. And sang to me - but just himself, and quietly, so it was okay. I have since been working my way through that piece of cake gradually - three meals and counting.

When we returned to the parking garage, needing to go down a couple of levels, we were confounded with this little puzzle, which we felt had to be recorded for posterity. And humour.

Here's a close-up, just in case the problem isn't clear in this picture.



I dropped Deena off at Union Station, then headed off to Romni Wools, to see what all the fuss is about. Holy cow. Er, holy sheep? There is so much yarn there, and so poorly organized (to my eyes) that I left empty handed because I couldn't get it all set in my mind what I needed. But it was interesting wandering around.

Today I was ridiculously lazy, not getting out of my pjs until 2 pm or so. I headed to Chapters for a wander and an ice coffee thing (mmm, whipped cream and white chocolate) and picked up a couple of things - a copy of Yarn Harlot, which I've wanted ever since I first heard Stephanie on CBC one day, and another thing that's a gift, so I won't go into details. But one thing I do want to share is the fact that knitters are pretty friendly people, I'm finding. Every time I'm hovering and digging in the knitting book aisle, another knitter will start talking to me. So far, no crazies, so I enjoy it.

After a stop at the grocery store to supplement the market fixings, I sat down for my birthday-evening. It looks something like this.

So that's the Wallace and Gromit movie dvd, my Yarn Harlot book, a bottle of wine I got as a housewarming gift to a different apartment a couple of years ago (it is GOOD), the flowers I treated myself to (floral arranger person I am not), and, the best of all - my dinner. Fresh, handmade basil spinach pasta, with a tomato/cream/pesto sauce (also fresh made), organic baby portobello mushrooms, broccoli, sundried tomatoes, and fresh grated parmesan. And for dessert, raspberry vanilla Haagen Das sorbet.

Why on earth am I blogging? Back to the movie!

Happy birthday to me!

Best. Telemarketing call. Ever:

Me: Hello?
Telemarketer: Hi! This is Keith calling from Big-Ass Company Home Phone. I'm calling to help you save money today.
M: Uh, well, actually, right now I'm-
T: With Big-Ass Company Home Phone, you can save up to 20% on your monthly phone bill, all without installing any new equipment, AND you can bundle this with your other great Big-Ass Company services and save even more!
M: Well, I-
T: Are you currently with Bell Canada?
M: No, I'm not.
T: Okay, who are you with?
M: I'm with Vonage.
T: And how much do you pay each month for your home phone service?
M: Well, if I include all the taxes and such, it comes to twenty two dollars a month.
T: Twenty two dollars?
M: Mm-hm.
T: Oh. Well, do you ever make long distance calls?
M: Oh, yes. Most of the calls I make are long distance. That's included in the twenty two dollars - up to 500 minutes a month, but I never use that much.
T: Ah. I see.
T: ...
T: Well, thanks for your time. Have a great day.
M: Thanks! You, too!

Sticks and String and Pencils

Yes, it's been a while. But I have an excuse! I have a plethora of excuses, in fact. I was in Windsor, then I was in Toledo (without internet access - woe was me!), then I was back in Windsor, and after that, um, well, I've been tired and lazy and too busy catching up on everyone else's blogs and the forum and well, I guess there was some actual work in there, too. Somewhere. I'm sure there was.

And I've started a new knitting project that I'm pretty excited about. So every spare moment at home is spent on the couch with my pattern in my lap and the needles in my hands, little baggie full of stitch markers at my side. I never thought I would, but I've been sucked into the clapotis. Oh, for a better name. It really does sound like a disease. Or at the very least a Condition. One you don't talk about in public. But, it is pretty, and it's going pretty well so far. I restarted about four times, but haven't had to go back since then. (Touch wood! Now! I mean it!) I'm in the third section now, which is the straight section. It's also the section where you have to start deliberately dropping stitches and doing mysterious things to the strands hanging between the survivors. I was struck with terror at that point (I'm still such a newbie) and refused to go any further before checking on the Clapotis support group website for someone else freaking out about the same thing. I did manage to find someone else like me, clinging to the needles, project slung apparently haphazardly between them (but in actuality held in a death grip), trailing the ball and juggling markers while trying to do a web search while kicking the cat away from the yarn. I'm sure I'm not alone. So I did it, and it laddered down the way it's supposed to (I think) and all is well. I don't have any pictures yet of the straight section, but here's one of the increase section, taken while I was in Toledo.

Of course, I'm way too cheap (and broke) to splurge on the Lorna's Laces the pattern calls for ($30 a skein, and you need three or four of them), so I'm using an apple green and hot pink mercerized cotton that seems to be about the same weight, if not quite as beautiful and luxuriant. I love the colours, but I can already tell that this is going to be another thing that I and only I love. Like the time I painted my kitchen a vivid green, somewhere between apple and acid. I loved it. Most other people (with the sole exception of Jodi, love her) walked in and said, "Oh. You painted the kitchen. It certainly looks... fresh..."

I love that this is in spring colours, though. And it's the kind of thing I'll want to wear when it's just a little too chilly to go without a jacket, but I don't want to start layering up. So if things continue to go well (wood! now!) then it should be finished in time for just that purpose. Also assuming that the weather doesn't become freakishly warm suddenly in the next couple of days. And it might. Weird winter.

In other knitting news, I'm still plugging away at my afghan - well, maybe that's not entirely true. The afghan is sitting near the top of the big basket by the couch. As long as it stays somewhat near the top, like a recent archaelogical layer, it has a chance of being finished. A big, lumpy blanket just doesn't have the appeal of a springy, bright shawl-type thing right now, though. It's lovely to work on when it's cold in the apartment, I have to admit. It's strange and at the same time rewarding to hae the blanket that is keeping me warm growing right from my needles, covering more and more of me.

I want to try my hand at socks again, so I'm keeping the dpns handy. I also want to do another baby blanket, for my friends who are expecting some time this year. I'm out of touch with them, so I don't know exactly when. At this point, it's an excuse for knitting another one of those gorgeous blankets, and I'll jump on that. My cousin is also expecting this year, but my mum's already doing a blanket, so I may have to enter the realm of - gulp - wearables. I hope this kid is shaped funny, because the jacket or booties probably will be, too.

Coming soon to this blog - an educational piece concerning the southernmost point of Canada, and how it's not quite so southern these days.

But first, one more for Erin. My friend Deena came through with the wacky writing utensils once more. I present: The Pencil from Cuba.

Can You Tell It's Friday?

I have to go into my Cone of Silence.

I only call it that because I like the sound of it. It is a totally inappropriate name, however, as there is neither a cone nor silence involved. I find that when I am having trouble concentrating, the best remedy is a set of headphones. Funny how this happens so often on a Friday. Huh.

Today, I have a big project to get done. And it has to get done today. Before the end of the day. And it's long and kind of complicated. And I already did it once, and did a kind of poor job of it, so I'm redoing it with improved understanding and direction. And.... I can't concentrate on it. Of course. My train of thought:

Okay, so I'll move this paragraph over here. Hmm. But now I have this information repeated, and it's not quite what I want. How should I do this?

Oh, I'm going to be in Toledo next week. I should check the weather there so I know what to bring. Oh - warm at the beginning, cold later. Hm. Lots of packing, then.

Right, back to work. Maybe I should look at the table of contents to see...

I wonder what's going on in the forum. Oh. Nothing. Well, are there any new TWOP recaps up? Nope.

Hey, I should be working. Oh, but first I should get another coffee. Hey, I haven't gone to say hi to Jen yet. I'll do that now.

Okay! Back to work. Oh, hang on, I'm going to be in Windsor this weekend and the next. I should check the weather there. Oh, yeah - it's only an hour from Toledo, so it's pretty much the same. Huh. While I'm here, I should check the Toronto weather. Interesting.

Work, work, work. Oh, I have to put in that person's contact information, so I'll get that list out - oh, look - there's that knitting manual I meant to photocopy. I should do that now.

That's better. Now I can bring it with me.

I won't continue. It's less a 'train' of thought than it is a crazy ball let loose in a paint mixer. So now, before I get caught up in anything else, I'm going to be a good little worker and enter the Cone. Winamp, take me away.

Well, first I'm going to check my mailbox.

Forced Contentment is Still Contentment

I am actually happy today to have a big project and a looming deadline. I am going to give it my all, but I'm not sure I can get it completed today.

So, of course, I'm blogging. What else?

Ah, the fine art of procrastination. It's not even that I have anything specific I wanted to explore. Things are just pretty good right now. I had a good weekend, more social than usual, I have a big (if boring) knitting project on the go, and a couple I plan to start up, work is going alright, I have a trip next week, but arrangements with the kitty are all good, the sun is shining, spring is on its way, and I am busy at work. I have plenty to be unhappy about, but I choose to ignore those today and be as happy as I can be.

Some random pictures, because I have them:


First off, this one's for Erin. Another pen to use when I am feeling down. I love the way the little legs dangle and twist.

Deena usually picks me up something whenever she goes away, and I've deduced from these gifts that airport gift shops are the best place to buy funky pens. I am not so much with the buying of gifts, partly because I'm away so often, and partly because I never think of it (bad friend? maybe.)



Next up, we have Ed the Sock III, spotted during Sunday's Queen St W wanderings with Rachel. Ah, the heady rush of celebrity.



And finally, a gratuitous cat picture.

At first, the playing with the tap and the water seemed like an innocent diversion. But now, Sebastian is developing some kind of weird fixation on the drain, staring down into the dark depths until an errant drop hits his head. It makes me wonder what's down there...

Happy Hump Day!

Take my blood - please!

I know that I've been lazy about posting, but it's for a ... well, it's for a stupid reason. I haven't posted because there's been a post about blood donating that's been on my mind, but I know that it's complicated for me and I'm not sure how to say it, so I've been putting it off longer and longer.

So I haven't posted because there's something specific I want to post about. Yep.

It all started back in high school. Once we were 17, we were encouraged to donate blood. They didn't bring a mobile clinic to the school, though - instead, every few months, if you went to donate blood at the Red Cross across town, you got the rest of the day off, to 'recover'. Giving blood wasn't a hardship for any of us, so my friends and I would jump on every chance we got, and make a day of it. We'd goof around in the waiting area, and then try to all get in the chairs at the same time so we could race to see who could fill up their blood bag the fastest, squeezing our fists and trying to breathe a bit faster. John always won, though, being the only boy - a nurse commiserated with us once, saying, "Boys have bigger veins - sorry." But I got my time down to under seven minutes, so I was a little bit proud of that. The clinic had Herman cartoons on the ceiling, so you spent most of your time trying to see how many of them you could see from your chair without moving around too much, so the nurse wouldn't come and scold you for moving your arm.

Then, of course, it was the cookies (usually stale) and juice (from powder), and we'd leave, with our little blood donor stickers proudly displayed on our jackets. We'd go out to lunch, then spend the day goofing around, or shopping. The only day I got woozy was the day we gave blood, then went downtown to walk and shop, then to the mall, then went straight to Tae Chi. I had to sit down quickly. It still makes me laugh that I was done in by Tai Chi.

So I kept giving blood whenever I could for the most part, dragging new friends with me when I could. I never really thought much about it, but I liked to go in part because it made me feel like I was being a Good Person. The first time I realised that it meant a bit more to me than that was when I was living in Calgary. I had a week of bad days, spent looking for jobs and doing stupid temp work, and napping in the afternoons because there was nothing else I could do, with no job and no money. I decided that the best way to get out of my little funk of sadness was to do something for someone else. I got flowers for my roommates, and that made me feel a bit better. But it was when I went to give blood that I really felt like things were going to get better, and I could look forward to maybe being positive and happy again.

Like so many other things in life, it wasn't until I lost it, that I fully realised how important giving blood was to me. When I went that last time, I was in the little partioned-off booth with the nurse asking me silly questions and looking for track marks on my innner arms (which are pock marked with the triangular scars of donation needles) when she asked me about my time in Britain. They'd changed the rules, she said, and now any time more than three months spent in the UK since 1980 - cumulatively - meant an ineligibility to donate. I was stunned. I hadn't seen this coming. I sat there, listening and nodding as she told me that there were other ways I could help, I could donate, or canvass, or hand out cookies at the clinics. I'm sure she said other things, too, but I don't remember them. I was just praying for her to stop talking so that I could leave. I went out to the car, and sat down, and started crying. Yes, it made me cry when I was told that I could no longer regularly visit a place where people would stab me with large needles and then give me broken cookies.

After that, I became pretty bitter about Canadian Blood Services. Every time someone mentioned them, I'd start ranting about stupid, non-scientifically based policies, and the people who thought them up. When I was in Ottawa, and standing on a balcony above the CBS headquarters, I had to resist the urge to spit on their roof. People stopped talking about them to me, because they were a bit leery of the crazy.

Last year, my mum called to tell me that she'd heard on the news that the rules had changed. Now, you're ineligible to give only if you spent more than three months in the UK between 1980 and 1996. I spent probably about two months there in that time, then was there for three and a half months in 1998. So I was in the clear. But there were hurt feelings, and it took me a while to decide to go back. I finally made the call last week to set up an appointment (another stupid 'innovation' of the CBS - people are more likely to give if they can just go and walk in, I think - is that just me?) and was told that I was still on the 'ineligible' list, though they didn't know why. So now I'm to wait two weeks and then they're supposed to call me back to let me know whether or not I can give.

Oh, the anger. Why?!? I'm trying to do something good, here! And they won't let me! Why should I keep trying? They are not encouraging more donations. Arrgh. I can't even express how this is making me feel, because I don't really know. I know that this probably didn't make sense, but if I didn't get it out somehow, I might have exploded.

So. I'll call again once I get back from Toledo, if I haven't heard from them by then. Until then, I guess I'll keep hoarding my blood all to myself. Thbbppt.

My Gold Medal

To fight all of the frustrations and sadnesses and all the bad in my little world today, I have my very own gold medal to show my triumph over yarn, compliments of Franklin, via Steph.

My favourite finals thoughts on the Knitting Olympics came from JenLa, complete with the description of the detritus floating about the remains of the Knitting Olympic village. Ah, the mental image of a whole village full of us loonies.

I really enjoyed this challenge - my one regret was in that I underestimated my own abilities, and finished way early. I guess I'm a bit better than I give myself credit for. Not that I'm about to start trying to knit a sweater or anything, but maybe I'll try for that sock again.

Another favourite moment was last night in my discussion group, when I sheepishly mentioned that I had been in the KO, and Christine said, "Hey! I read about that in the paper! You were in that?" My public.