Finito X 2

In the last few days I have finished 2 items--the Dreamsicle sock and the I Can't Quit scarf. Both of them turned out well, in fact I plan to wear the scarf today when I go to Mom's for lunch. Just now when I was in the living room taking the scarf's picture my eye lit on a bag of single skeins in my knitting basket and I chose the next scarf's yarn. The. Next. Scarf. Does this tell you something about me? Do you see that I'm on a scarf knitting jag that has gone on, unabated, since early October? Would you like to hear how hard it was to give DD, DIL1, DIL2, Mom & Carla my beautician the scarves I made for them for Christmas? It was excruciating! I want them all. I want to sit in my nest and pat them, stroke them, tickle them along their lengths and wear them so that people will exclaim "where did you get that scarf?" and then I'll pet it and preen and say "why, I made it, of course" and be all proud. If they're very nice and respectful I'll even tell them how to make their very own. (It's too easy to believe.) You would cry at the time you have lost in making your own scarves to love and pet. Even better than having a wardrobe of stunning fashion scarves to wear making them has made me not hate purling anymore. (Ooh, a hint!) Now I can pick up my Red Marl sweater front and forge ahead up through the colorwork to the shoulders. Maybe I'll even finish it before the snow melts.

I like the sock too but it's no Purse stitch scarf. Oh, man, now that the cat's out of the bag I might as well tell you.

All I do is cast on 12 stitches (in worsted yarn, 8 in chunky) on US10 1/2 needles and then follow the directions for purse stitch lace (k1, *yo, p2tog,* rep * * to last stitch, k1), that's it. Back and forth, back and forth until the scarf's as long as you want. I've been buying a 125-200 yd. skein and just going until it runs out. Some are longer, some are shorter, all are gorgeous. Well, I think so.

This morning a ballsy squirrel decided to see if it couldn't intimidate the sharpshinned hawk as it sat on top of the fence. The hawk kept an eye on it and eventually moved a bit to get away from the pest, but when the squirrel managed to chase it way, Durwood popped the fuzzy little creep in the hindquarters with the BB gun to teach it some manners.

The First of Four Days Off

Ahhh. I love it when Mrs. Boss goes on the ski bus on Tuesdays in the winter and I have to work Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. That means for 3 mos. I have 4-day weekends, every week! Not this year, though. She's going to be diving in Grand Cayman the end of January, spend 10 days diving in the Maldives in early February, and 2 weeks skiing in Colorado in late February/early March, so the first 3 weeks in January are her only ski bus weeks. I try to keep my enlarged paychecks in mind when I look at the calender. Good thing I've got a couple run-aways planned for this winter--3 days in Fish Creek with some friends in February and 4 in Sheboygan with a writing friend in March. Too much working makes me cranky. Today I'm going to Mom's to take pictures of her still-blooming-since-last-April orchid. She told me the other day that she's sure the "blog people" want to see more pictures. I think that means her sister. Mom's not on the 'net, she tried but just got frustrated. She's more of a phone person, that's how she keeps in touch with her family and friends. And I have library books to return and some holds to pick up. Do you library? For a while there I forgot how easy and convenient it is, cheap too, since you can just borrow the books for free and then return them. Now I only buy books by authors that I really love. I'm not so willing to spend money on books I might not like these days. Thrift comes late to me.

January 5--Katsushika Hokusai, The Great Wave at Kanagawa.

The foam on top of the breaking wave
looks like the white claws of polar bears
to the men in the boats
out on the sea.

The winter night falls fast,
the iron gray of the storm clouds
eats the daylight.

Far to the west Mount Fuji
sits calmly on the horizon,
the model of serenity.

The men watch
as the setting sun
paints the mountain-side golden.

The sight fills them
with confidence that
they will reach the shore

as the great wave
engulfs them.
~~~~~

Well, I couldn't just leave them bobbing around out there, now could I? That'd be cruel. I had to either save them or destroy them, and unfortunately for them, destroying's more interesting than saving. Besides, it's just pretend. Stay warm today.
--Barbara

Cold Feet

No, no, I'm not reluctant to do something, my feet are cold already and I haven't even left for work and the cement slab under thin carpet that freezes my feet year round. I shouldn't be surprised at this, it is January after all, the dead of winter. The sun is trying to poke out of the hazy clouds but thicker clouds are anticipated with a bit of snow as garnish. I've been meaning to contact the editor of the dive club newsletter and bow out of writing for this year but he sent me a very enthusiastic email last week and the pleaser in me kicked in, and this morning in the shower I had an idea for an article lead. $hit. I wanted to back off the "shoulds" this year to see if I could recapture the writer in me and here my traitorous brain has betrayed me. Have any of you read The Story of Edgar Sawtelle? I got it on CD from the library and am listening to it. It's pretty good. I made the mistake of reading Amazon reviews and one of them was a spoiler so I'm kind of bummed about that. Oh, man, look at the time! I've gotta get this posted and get off to work.

January 4--Christian Lacroix, House of Patou, Evening Dress. Meg couldn't get comfortable in her bridesmaid dress. One of the darts or stays or strips of metal that help it in shape was digging into her ribcage. She had no clue how she was to go to the bathroom in the thing either, and she hadn't thought to ask the battle axe of a sales clerk in the bridal shop. At least hers was red, a decent color. Whatever possessed Cece to have her maid of honor in palest pink and then each successive attendant (and there were an even dozen of them) in a darker shade until Meg brought up the rear in scarlet, she did not know. Actually Meg would be first down the aisle so the dresses would pale until the bride came down the aisle in her pure white dress. Meg wondered if anyone would buy into the implication that she was the sluttiest of the attendants because she was in the darkest red? Although she wouldn't mind if one or two of the groom's cute groomsmen paid more attention to her. The dress was a horror with its one long sleeve and one bare shoulder, the lines of eyelets down the left side threaded with black taffeta ribbon tied in the big bow at her hip, and the skirt looked like a red popcorn ball all crumpled and scrunched. At least she had cute shoes, not that anyone would notice.

Gotta go! Bye.
--Barbara

Yogi

I had a thought running through my barely-awake mind when I was doing my Wii Fit Yoga routine this morning... whoever is voicing Yogi Bear in the new movie doesn't sound like the real Yogi. The real Yogi has a warm depth to his voice and whoever that is has a more brittle sound. Does that make sense? Do you care? Why do I care? It's not as if I'm hurrying out to buy a ticket to see an inane movie like that, it's just something that nags at me sometime. Isn't the human brain a wonder?

People came into the dive shop yesterday but none of them spent any money. So how's your 2011 going so far? I'm working today so I'll be knitting at Patti's tonight. I don't go often because I usually don't work on Tuesdays so I don't make the cross-town trek (all of 5 miles), but since I'll be there at knitting time anyway, I thought I'd go and see Karen and Mary and Patti and Denise and other people I don't care a fig about. God forbid I should put myself out to see them.

January 3--Stettheimer, The Cathedrals of Broadway. Colors swirled--red, gold, white--flashing before his eyes. He groaned and shifted on the narrow bed. His left foot wormed its way out from under the covers to touch the cold floor as if his unconscious mind sought something stable to hold onto. Car horns honked, whistles blew as doormen summoned cabs, and thin women dressed in fox furs and satin laughed the seductive notes that fill men with hunger. His fingers flexed on the rough sheet straining to reach the lights and sounds of the night. Cigarettes were lit, cocktails sparkled in crystal glasses and jazz throbbed through the city's very marrow. A rising siren brought him upright, the clammy sweat making his dingy undershirt stick to his bony shoulders. The sounds and lights of his dream were replaced by the buzz and flicker of the neon sign outside the flophouse window. He groaned and pounded the stained pillow into shape, determined to sleep again without dreaming.

Well, hmmm. Interesting. Yesterday's flurries banded together to make a dusting of snow on the driveway. I should probably dress and shovel it away before I leave for work. Toodle-oo.
--Barbara

Malled

Dusty and I met at the mall and walked for 50 minutes, around and around. I'd much rather walk outside even if it's cold but I had to come to work so I thought the mall was a better idea. I folded nice work clothes (jeans and a sweater) into a backpack so I could take off my sweaty clothes once I got here and put on clean, non-smelly clothes. Customers are few enough without scaring them off with B.O. Do you sweat when you exercise? Man, I do. It's one of my best gifts. I can sweat like a pro, but I keep telling myself that's why I have nice skin, I sweat out all the impurities. It was so warm New Year's Eve and Day that I'll bet half of our snow cover is gone Naturally the temp plummeted to the teens and single-digits once the front passed. We're having snow flurries today with very little wind so the flakes are kind of meandering toward the ground. It's sorta pretty. After the next big snowfall I am determined to go out to Barkhausen Waterfowl Preserve and rent some snowshoes to try it. I wanted to do it last winter and didn't, I'm doing it this year. Cross my heart. I'll give a report too. Maybe even with pictures.

January 2--Renoir, Two Young Girls at the Piano. "You play and I'll sing," Martine said, their parents and the dinner guests laughing and talking in the drawing room behind them. The girls were glad to get to stay up later and see the couples in their evening dress but they didn't not like being trotted out like show ponies. Lisette especially didn't like it. "I feel like I should have a price tag hung from my sleeve," she hissed as she settled the sheet music for a spritely melody on the piano. Martine pinched her and said, "You would feel differently if Bertrand LaChaille was here." Lisette aimed a kick at her but hit the fern stand instead setting it rocking and bruising her foot.

Ah, one more reason why I never wanted a sister, brothers are bad enough. Survive your Monday. It's payday for me. Yippee!
--Barbara

Sunny Sunday

It's a cold but bright and sunny day today. DD & DIL2 left for home about an hour ago. The dishwasher's splashing away in the kitchen and Durwood's off to take his first nap of the day. He's been a little short in the nap dept. the last week with the girls here, but I have confidence that he'll quickly make up for it. We had a full house last night with both the kids here with their SOs for a last supper together before we're all together again in April in KY. (I'm hoping that the harness racing track is open when we're there.) It was great to have everyone here. I'm thrilled that both our children turned out to be such nice adults who are willing to spend time with their parents and that they both found such nice people to love. It'll be good to get back in our quiet little rut, though, and I'm sure everyone feels the same. All that activity and company is great but it'll be nice to be back to what passes for normal around here. I might even take a walk today out in the sunshine. Load up a little vitamin D.

January 1--Renoir, Two Young Girls at the Piano. She's always looking over my shoulder, Lisette thought as her sister Martine edged closer and drew in her breath to speak. "Do knot even start," Lisette said as her fingers faltered on the keys. "I know I am playing all wrong, the tempo, the pacing, the interpretation, all wrong." Her shoulders rose with her tension, waiting for Martine to tell her what she was doing wrong just as she always did. The older sister leaned on the top of the piano. "How can you stand to play in here? It's always so cold." She shivered and drew a shawl across her shoulders. Lisette shrugged. "This is where the piano is. Where else could I play?"

I'm so happy to have art to write about again. I never thought I'd get tired of looking at pictures of islands but, damn, I sure did. Art is better.
--Barbara

Hap-py New Year!!

Did you stay up and ring in the new year? I made it until 11:07. Wow. Even I am underwhelmed. Sucks to get old and dull. One of my writing and knitting friends had an open house in the afternoon so I went there and knitted and yakked for a few hours, then I made my way home in the fog (stupid weather) and did laundry. Ooh, big times at our house.

Here's the last Island calender prompt writing...thank god, I'm so over them...

December 31--Kauai.

Beyond the point where the
"End of Earth 1 mi."
sign should be
is Shipwreck Beach
with a hammock strung
between two palm trees,
coconut palms so you
don't get too relaxed,
but no shipwreck.

Over decades it decayed,
became bonfire fuel,
or just disappeared.

The name stuck
like the secret lore of locals
who tell you (when they
give you directions)
to "turn left at Elmo's
Shell that burnt down
in '72"
though you weren't
even born then.
~~~~~~

Well, that's it for 2010. I wish you happy times and good health in 2011.
--Barbara