I Don't Loll Well

Remember that was one of my choices for activities yesterday but once again I've discovered that I just don't loll well.  I keep finding things to do, little things that nibble away the day.  Once I'd posted to the blog I did go and organize, weigh, and measure out my lunches for this week.  (We've got sundried tomato breast on lightly toasted whole wheat sandwich thins with honey mustard, 1/4 cup of lima bean dip with carrot chips, and a cup of fresh pineapple and blueberries per day.)  Then I tried lolling again but Durwood asked me if I was going out and I remembered that Hancock Fabrics has moved to Oneida St. and it was their grand opening weekend so I got dressed (see how serious I was about lolling? I hadn't gotten dressed) and went off.  Durwood's parting comment was, "as long as you're going that direction, will you please pick up my prescription."  Hmm, d'you think he maneuvered me into going?  Nah, probably not.  Anyway, the new Hancock is smaller and therefore more crowded but it's down in the "shopping corridor" between JoAnn Fabrics and Hobby Lobby so maybe it'll get more business.  It's farther away from me but easier to get to.  My intention was only to buy some waistband elastic (see? I was still thinking I'd make that skirt) and I found it right away but then I flipped through the bolts on drastic clearance and found a couple fishy ones.  DS & DIL1 said they were thinking of an underwater theme for the nursery so I figured I could risk $10 on a panel and some yardage, so I did.  By the time I got home it was time to think about supper.

I'd culled out the oldest meat from the freezer and brought it upstairs on Friday.  Most of it was ground beef, so I thawed out some to make burgers on the grill.  I thought I'd make potato cakes, kind of like a cross between hash browns and potato pancakes, to put under the burgers instead of a bun (all that blah bread) and found recipes in the WW cookbooks.  The potato pancakes were most like what I was thinking of so I made those, and they turned out pretty good.  Durwood cut up fresh broccoli for a veggie, minced a scallion for the potato cakes, and diced onion and red bell pepper to mix into the meat.  I got to do the cooking and grilling.  Most of the time he cooks so I enjoyed it a lot, and I even managed to get it all done at the same time.  (I've still got it!)  And there's enough for another meal.  We love leftovers.  We

shared an orange after the table was cleared as we do every night.  So I didn't sew and I barely lolled but, all in all, it was a good, relaxing day.

This morning I went out to fill the birdbath and take pictures of the blooming flowers.  I tried to take pictures of the busy bees in the purple spiderwort but they were moving too fast.  One of them had its leg pouches stuffed full of bright orange pollen; it looked like it had saddlebags.  Today's pictures are today's flowers.  Dad's roses smell glorious and there are so many blooms this year.  Look what normal amounts of rain and a winter cold enought to kill off the Japanese beetles does.  Gorgeous!

July 15--Georges Demeny, Fencer.  Parry.  Thrust.  Riposte.  En garde.  That's all I know about fencing, that and epee which is in three or four out of the dozen crossword puzzles I do every week.  An epee is a thin sword, a blunt sword, a sword for sport not for fighting.  I don't understand why people fence.  I suppose it's good exercise but it's a sport that teaches people how to kill one another.  What's fun about that?  Oh, I know that martial arts, Tae Kwon Do and Judo and the like, are ways to fight but they are defensive.  Fencing is offensive.  Fencers learn where to poke their swords to score points.  Points are scored where you can hurt or kill someone.  Martial arts is all about diverting momentum, defusing the fight.  I don't understand wanting to learn to fight, to kill.  I just don't get it.

All-righty then, that's certainly a ramble.  I'm off to chase down some breakfast, read the paper, shower, dress, make sure Durwood doesn't nap too long, and go to work.  Work, work, work, but it's also payday.  Yay for payday!  What are you doing today?  No, I really want to know.  Please comment.  I suspect that you're out there and every once in a while someone besides Aunt B comments.  I like it when you comment.  (would you like cheese with that whine? sorry but I get lonely; it's big in here)  Have a day.
--Barbara

Progress!

I'm making progress on my WIPs.  Really I am, despite the almost unbearable urge to cast on a blanket and 2 sweaters.  I am determined to finish a couple of them before embarking on any more projects.  Really.  Cross my heart (and not my fingers, crossed fingers make typos), hope to die, stick a (knitting) needle in my eye.  (wow, that is one dire promise, isn't it? good thing I wear glasses)  Anyway,

I'm almost to the end of the gusset on the POrange (pink & orange) Ankle Sock.  Soon I can remove those little markers and zoom down the foot, knitting every stitch and not thinking for 7 1/2 in. until I get to the toe where thinking will recommence.



The Jane's Locks shawl grew a bit this week.  I tried to work on it at Knitting Guild but the locks tried to escape on the evening breeze, so it got put away.






At work on Thursday I knitted the first First Grandbaby Booties and sewed it right up before taking any photos so I made sure not to sew up the mate when I made it at Friday Night Knitting so you could see the oddball way it starts life.  Lyn and I looked at how wonky it is and agreed that it'll look okay when it's sewn together.  I mean, the first one doesn't look off unless you really examine it (see? the short row gaps are closer to the cuff on the left side of the photo) but I'm absolutely certain I'll be making more of these so I can experiment.  It's a no-brainer.


The Southwestern Cowl got well started and, after the purchase of all that yarn last Tuesday, got redeposited in the Onesies basket under the coffee table.  Don't worry, it won't languish too long because it's excellent mindless knitting.  Besides I'm enamored of the colors and the way they're stacking up so I won't leave it alone too long.  Promise.





I washed and blocked the Bean's Kimono last week and on Friday I sewed on snaps and a cute, hand-print button (lower right edge).  Now it's well and truly finished, ready for it's owner's appearance in the fall.

You Totally Wish You'd Had Supper At Our House Last Night...

...no matter what you ate or where you went in the whole wide world.  That's because Durwood made Chicken Bengali, an old WW Quick Start recipe that I swear is my favorite of all time and so simple it might be a crime.  Here's the recipe:

Preheat oven to 375F.  In a small saucepan heat 1 Tblsp.+ 1 tsp. margarine until bubbly; add 1+1/2 tsp. each all-purpose flour and Worcestershire sauce, 1 tsp. dry mustard, and 1/2 tsp. curry powder, cook, stirring constantly until mixture is thick and smooth.  Spray 9x9x2-in. baking dish with non-stick spray, arrange 1+1/2lb. skinned, bone-in chicken thighs in single layer in dish.  Using a pastry brush, brush chicken evenly with curry mixture; bake until chicken is browned and cooked through, 35-40 minutes.  Serves 4.  (WW Points Plus = 7 points/serving)

The recipe says to baste every 10 minutes but we never do, and it's so juicy and so flavorful it is to DIE for.  He also sliced carrots that he steamed with sauteed mushrooms and a couple sprigs of thyme from the garden, and made plain old white steamed rice.  As you can see by the accompanying picture my intent to photograph my plate before I devoured things got sidetracked, but you can see all the parts, it's just that they're not as pretty as they were 15 minutes earlier.

I was having a huge funk yesterday.  I sat at the kitchen table in my lawn mowing clothes with a big brutz on, being crabby to Durwood, and reading a paperback mystery, trying to rationalize a reason not to mow, and generally being in a horrible mood.  When I finished the book at about 2:30 PM I thought "oh, what the hell" and went out to mow.  (because everyone knows you should wait until the hottest, sunniest part of the day to mow)  Thank god I did because being out there in the sunshine and breeze, working up a sweat, and smelling the sweet blossoms totally changed my outlook.  While I mowed I ran a hose up to water Durwood's raspberries, then after mowing I put a sprinkler on the garden and one out front to water those flowers.  By the time I'd cooled down and showered away all the sweat (and allergens that made Durwood's eyes red and weepy) I felt like a new woman--and then to have that triumph of a supper.  Well, mowing saved the day.  (how often can you say that?) 

While I was watering the patio planters I also watered the few ferns in the bed below the kitchen window.  I noticed new fronds unfurling and tried to get a picture.  I especially like this one with the water droplets on the frond beside it, and the sound of the spray on the lily of the valley leaves sounded like rain on a good umbrella.  Ahhh.

July 14--Georges Demeny, Fencer.  Lane stood staring at the red stain spreading across his white fencing costume.  His arms hung limply at his sides, his epee's tip resting on the floor.  His thoughts were a jumble--why had William sharpened his tip? what was that buzzing in his ears?  His sword hit the floor with a clatter and he sank to his knees.  William was frozen in the lunge, his sword arm outstretched, the other one cocked for balance.  Behind his shield his face was white and his sweat had turned cold.  Someone was screaming.  Was it him?

Well, there you go.  Take that, medias in res.  I don't know what I'll do the rest of the day.  Maybe I'll cut out and sew up that skirt I talked about last week.  Maybe I'll play lady of the manor and loll about eating peeled grapes.  Maybe I'll give in to temptation and cast on that baby blankie that's nagging at me.  Maybe I'll shilly-shally around all day and do absolutely nothing--except figure out and organize my 3 lunches for work next week.  Yeah, that's a good first step.  Sayonara.
--Barbara

The Perfect Summer Saturday

Today promises to be one of those "just right" days.  It's warm, but not too hot, breezy, but not windy, and the humidity's supposed to wait until Monday or Tuesday to arrive.  Ahh.  Summer.  Gotta love it.  It's lawn mowing day and I'd run right out there to mow after this but Durwood just went down for his morning nap and I hate to wake him so I'll just read until he gets up and then go out to mow.  Hopefully the breeze will stick around since I can't walk fast enough to create my own.

I had one of those nights last night, you know, the ones where you can't fall asleep, where your brain kicks into high when you lay down and you're hyperaware off every little ache and thump of your aging body, where you hear your beloved's every breath (and grunt and fart) and it annoys the crap out of you that he's sleeping and you're not.  Yeah, one of those nights.  So I lay there being frustrated for about 45 minutes and then got up and read on the couch until nearly 1 AM.  Just after I lay down Durwood got up for his first middle of the night cup of tea, and I fell asleep about 5 minutes later.  I was not impressed when I awoke at 6:30 but I was awake and on my feet by 7 o'clock.  Bah.

I went out to see if I had a pittance of ripe blueberries for this morning's cereal only to discover that some bird had pecked the two biggest, most beautiful berries that I've been waiting to ripen, damn them.  Guess it's time to find some netting to put over the bushes.  (DS offered some netting; I think I'll take him up on the offer when he gets home from their weekend jaunt to the Twin Cities.  Go, WZ!)  That's what I get for moving the bushes so they're in plain view and fertilizing them so they make more and bigger berries.  There were about 5 or 6 berries ready to be picked but not those 2 biggies I was salivating over.  Dammit. *sniff*
 
Today is our darling daughter's birthday.  She's 32 today (holy crap!), or she will be at 11:55 AM or thereabouts.  Happy Birthday, DD!  We love you and miss you.

July 13--India, Mughal Shirt of Mail and Plate.  The medical examiner stood at the autopsy table.  He never liked it when there was a  young woman on his table.  Doc supposed it wasn't very politically correct of him.  He rarely felt the same regret when a young man lay before him but he was from the old school where you protected women.  Besides he figured as long as he kept his feelings to himself it didn't matter.  His assistant Len came into the room pushing a gurney.  "Contestant Number Two will be waiting right... over... here," he said as he maneuvered the body in its body bag onto the nearby table.  Doc cleared his throat and reached up to adjust the overhead mic.

My idea was that Doc would find a few links of the mail clutched in the girl's hand but I thought I was ready to fall asleep.  Foolish me.  Ah well, such is life.  Happy Birthday, DD!  Make it a great one!
--Barbara, aka Mom

What's the Difference Between a Pagan and a Heathen?

That was a question bandied about at Knitting Guild last night.  See, Z-Dawg had a booth at a "small pagan festival" for selling her crafts but she said that there'd been a big pagan festival the weekend before so not many people attended the one she was at so she didn't sell a thing.  (boo)  None of us pretty well-educated people could answer that question so I looked it up.  According to Yahoo! Voices, a person who does not follow the Christian god is a pagan, a heathen is someone who worships Germanic and Norse gods and goddesses.  That seems pretty straightforward.  I linked to the answer because they've got a more thorough explanation for you seekers of further knowledge.

Porter really wanted to run this morning on our walk.  She's doing better with sitting on command (sometimes even straight at my side but more often perpendicular to see what's behind us) and heeling but she wishes I would run.  When we got to the open park area where I let her run to the end of her leash on the way back she ran and spun around so much that if I hadn't stopped her she'd have choked herself.  I sure hope her backyard's able to be walked on next week because that girl needs to run.  I will say that when I asked her to heel on the last part of our walk I didn't lock the leash and she pretty much stayed right beside me.  Good dog!

July 12--John Marin, Lower Manhattan from the River, No. 1.  Everything was covered with soot.  No matter what Becca touched her hand came back black.   More people than every had gone back to burning coal in their fireplaces so the air was filled with oily black smoke.  Since the oil embargo halted the importing of Middle Eastern oil things had changed.  Coal mines that had closed decades before were reopened and safer mining practices developed.

Thirty minutes later I woke up, put my notebook and glasses on the nightstand, and turned out the light.  Such a boring accumulation of words that it put even me to sleep.  It's a gorgeous day outside, go out and play in it, or at least take a walk around the block.
-Barbara

The Times They Are a'Changing

That fact was hammered home this morning when I opened the patio curtains at 6:15 AM to discover that the sun hadn't cleared the trees yet.  You know what that means, right?  It means that we're on the slippery slope toward winter.  No-o-o-o-o-o, not yet.  But look, see?  The sun's still shining through the tree behind Lee and Suzie's house.  Even as recently as last week it was high up over those same trees when I opened the drapes (and I don't sleep in).  Soon it'll be sidling along toward the right (toward the Equator) and waiting just over the horizon until later into the day before it climbs up over the edge of the Earth (sorry, I think our planet should be capitalized just like Venus and Saturn) to warm and light our days.  I hate to be a broken record about this whole thing but time sure flies.

As on most mornings I was out with my camera, just for a few minutes, to see what's blooming today and found some busy bees on the spiderwort and the daisies in full bloom.  I broke off the blooms on the purple basil and the parsley so they make more leaves and spend less energy making flowers and, I gotta say, my right hand smells great.  Kinda pizza-y but sweet and fresh.  Mmm.

I'm off to the chiro again this morning and I'm hoping she'll say that I'm nearly cured.  My shoulder was very achy yesterday so it was good that I didn't have any customers wanting airfills.  Heck, I didn't have any customers at all except for BLV (a staff member) and ES stopped in too (another staff member)--and MW, my knitting pal and he doesn't count because he never buys stuff.  I'm happy to have full range of motion so I'm confident that I didn't tear anything or break anything, I just have bruised tissues and those take time to heal.  Especially at my (advanced) age.  Bah.

July 11--India, Lucknow, Black Stork in a Landscape.  The heat haze rising from the dry marsh made the great stork look like it was moving.  It was just after noon and only the newly arrived Americans were out and about.  Jik and Nancy were determined to wring every moment out of their honeymoon.  They ignored the suggestion that they spend the hot afternoon hours lying in their room.  "I thought siesta was a Mexican thing," said Jik, "but here we are as far away from there as we can be and still be on the planet and they're obsessed with afternoon naps too."  They were too newly wed for Nancy to tell him that she thought that a siesta was a very civilized practice so she packed extra bottled water, wore a wide-brimmed hat, and carried a parasol to keep the blazing midday sun from lighting her on fire.

Okay.  In one hour I have to be at Dr. Paula's office and I have a lot to accomplish in that time, not the least of which is making this rumpled, bed-headed woman presentable for polite society.  Bye.

--Barbara

Bad Companion, Good Yarn

You know how your Mom warned you against listening to bad companions?  Well, I ignored that advice last night.  My Friday Knitting pal, Mitch, called just before supper to say that there was a treasure trove of yarn at Goodwill and I should come look.  Now, most of the time I can resist that lure because most of the time Goodwill has acrylic and novelty yarns or yarn that's so old even the moths don't want it.  Then he said the magic word--silk.  Silk and merino and RED.  I'm not sure I hung up the phone before my keys were in my hand.  Durwood put the supper-making on hold while I zoomed the 3 blocks to Goodwill.

I met Mitch in the café and we walked over, him giggling all the way he was that excited about it.  He was right to be excited.  It was a treasure trove.  A haul.  A budget-busting amount of very good, not very expensive yarn.  I fondled and thought, piled some in my bag and took some out, mentally added up what I had against how much money was in my wallet.  Then he said, "Tuesday's senior discount day, 10% off."  That did it, I was lost.  I piled 10 skeins of the red Prairie Silks, the Plymouth Encore Colorspun, and 3 colors of Cascade Cloud 9 into my bag.  I spent almost all my "mad" money. 

Once I was home I kept thinking about that silk/merino yarn.  Thinking that if I had it all I might be able to knit a sweater for myself.  Durwood, the prince, offered me some money from his stash but I declined.  Why should he pay for my manias?  After supper I went back to Goodwill and scarfed up the rest of that Ruble Red yarn, 11 more skeins... and a couple skeins of Shetland wool, and more of that Cloud 9 in 2 other colors, an unmarked skein of red wool, and a couple balls of random creamy softness.  That took care of all of my yarn buying money for the year.  Maybe two years.  Maybe FIVE years.

That loud crash you heard last night was me breaking my yarn diet.

Later today there will be searching for a pattern for a me-sized sweater and probably a baby blankie or hat or sweater or booties or softie or all of the above.  Good thing I have a lot of zipper plastic bags and lots of needles in lots of sizes.