Where in the world is...

Brewgal?

I took a plane to Galway, Ireland.

Where even the manhole covers are cool.

Drank lots of Guinness,

and bought some yarn (angora-wool blend, aran weight).

Then I got on another plane

to Lisbon, Portugal.

The weather was lovely.

I ate this (not the heads),

drank lots of coffee,

saw beautiful views,
sampled some local brew,
and some wine,

and ate Santo Antonio's pudding (love the caramel star!)

Finally, I managed once again not to fall in the Corrib.

Get your kicks on Route 66

Neat stuff from Google.



create your own visited states map
or check out these Google Hacks.

Yes, I'm feeling better. Thanks everyone!

I picked up this link from Midwife with a Knife. Shouldn't some of these states be blue? :-) Clearly I've missed a whole section of the country up there. Also, I'm fairly sure I've been to Alabama AND Mississippi, because you can't drive to Louisiana without going through both of them.

Ok, technically you can drive to Louisiana without going through those two states but based on our travel pattern, we would have driven in a straight line.

Today we are celebrating Little Brewer #2's birthday. Five little boys and a moonbounce shaped like a Dalmation. What could be more fun? Brewguy has declared that he must test the moonbounce first, to make sure it is "safe." Let's hope he doesn't "safe" it into deflating.

When I was a kid, birthday parties consisted of 5-8 of your friends running around your house, eating cake and playing Pin the Tail on the Donkey. Now it's ballet parties, dance parties, Chuck-E-Cheese, firehouse parties, etc. And the gift bags! Sheesh! They're like Oscar night swag.

I am attempting to resist this trend as long as possible. All Little Brewer birthdays have been held in the back yard. We are fortunate that both birthdays occur in the spring, so I usually just let them run around and play.

However, Little Brewer #1 is turning 7 this May. I am fearful she has been led by her friends into expecting something *big.*

Resistance is futile.

Is it possible to get mono twice? I caught it in 2004 during my long battle with a post-partum infection and dual root canals.

Back then, when the doctor told me I had mono, I repeated, "I have mono?" I was 37 years old. In my exhausted state, the diagnosis seemed ridiculous. So I started laughing. Loudly.

This probably would have been no big deal, but at the time I happened to be speaking to my doctor on my cell while riding on an Acela train. Based on their expressions, I deduced my seatmates were not pleased to be privy to the news of my condition and my seeming hysterical response. Yeah, bite me.

So back to now.
My symptoms: low grade fever (between 99 and 100.4), muscle aches, fatigue, dizziness, slight nausea.
Duration: three weeks, probably brought on by the stress of being verbally bitch-slapped by the statistics division at work and moving MIL.

Symptoms improve with ibuprofen but I hate taking that stuff all day, every day. Tylenol and I are not on speaking terms (Brewgal loves the brew and also loves her liver).

I would love nothing better than to stay in bed all day but I am speaking at a conference on Thursday and next week it's back to Ireland! And Portugal! So I must GET BETTER.

Healing vibes appreciated.

The big move: update

My MIL has decided that she no longer wants to live in the retirement home and will move back to her house.

She lived there for three days. THREE DAYS.

I think my head is going to explode.

We're back. MIL is successfully moved to the retirement home and her rooms look passably like her own.

I have learned a number of important things:
r Milton-Freewater does not have Wi-Fi (but the Pasco/Kennewick airport does)
h Ibuprofen is my friend
a It's ok to say no to a "family heirloom" if you don't like it

We have spent the last seven days, 12-hours a day packing, sorting and cleaning MIL's house. She saved everything. Let me rephrase that: EVERY-%#$!!-THING. Receipts for watch repairs from 1954. Contents of desk drawers from long-vanished desks. Brochures from national parks visited in 1972. Sealing wax. I am not making this up.

Now don't get me wrong- I love digging through old things. If I sound dismissive, it is only because every time I opened a drawer or a cabinet I was faced with a mountain of stuff to sort. If I had more time (say, three weeks) I would have been much more relaxed about the whole process.

Most interesting:
Grandpa's WWI doughboy helmet with hand-painted scenes of places he had been stationed

Most scary:
Live ordnance. Four enormous shells (similar to version F in this photo) and a box of live ammo of various sizes. I have no idea how MIL managed to move that stuff from California and store it in her garage without some sort of disaster occurring. Eeesh.

Best knitting find:
Grandma's nickle-plated double-points in the original package

Wineries visited: 3 (we were really busy)

Must clean out own house now.

Go West

We are preparing to head out to Milton-Freewater in a couple of days. I wish I could say this trip was going to be fun. Rather, I suspect there will be extreme drama. Let me rephrase that: DRAMA, involving Mr. Brewguy's sibling, the disposition of my MIL's house, possessions, and inheritance. In brief:

• Brewguy's sibling (whom we shall name CAguy), lives with his lovely bride in an apartment in the Los Angeles basin.


• CAguy spends his time attempting to be a freelance writer. This gig pays poorly.


• MIL sends CAguy money each month to help with rent.


• MIL and Brewguy see an opportunity for CAguy and bride to live in house in M-F rent-free, thus nullifying the need to be sent money each month.


• CAguy believes he is being babied by MIL and attempt to get them to move into her house is just another way to keep him dependent on her. Resents monthly rent checks.


• Brewgal's reaction: Uh, dude? Simple solution- STOP TAKING THE MONEY.


• All parties are coming together next week in small Oregon town.

It's shaping up to be a fun-filled week of tension and packing! Wheee!

To tide you all over, some photos from my trip to NYC last month.

This is the view from my hotel room at the Marriot Marquis.

This is a slightly different view. Note the glass office building at right. Brewgal thinks to self: "Who can possibly see me up here on the 12th floor? All those people on the street can't....oh. Hi, office guy." I am sure I flashed the office workers at least twice during my stay.

Look at the wattage on that Nasdaq sign. Aiee! I'm blind!

These are the Oscars. More accurately, these are the Oscar butts. They are hanging out in the ABC studios prior to being shipped to LA for the Oscar ceremony.

Something pink this way comes...

Twins!

Twins! Not for me, of course. That would be frightening. When I got married, I discovered there were eight sets of twins in my family history. I have twin aunts. Since twins tend to skip generations, I figured there was a pretty good chance each peanut would be peanut(s). Imagine going from 2 to 4 kids in the blink of an eye. Three bedrooms, four children, zone defense. Thankfully, I had two healthy children, one at a time.

One of my co-workers has discovered she is having twin boys. She'll now have three boys and a husband. I've christened her new life "The Locker Room." When she told us her good news, she had a smile and a slightly crazed look in her eyes that said, "What the hell have I gotten myself into?"

What indeed.

I, on the other hand, was so excited I ran home right after work and made these.

She is not due until August. I am having a very hard time waiting that long. I want to give her the hats now NOW NOW!!

I'm trying out a new template. What do y'all think?

It's springtime in Maryland! Three days ago the weather was warm enough for me to break out the short sleeved shirts. Little Brewer #2 wore shorts. And then...



I heard birds singing this morning. It is hard to tell if they were singing for joy or out of desperation. Birds are inscrutable.

I feel better able to put this cold snap into perspective because Friday night we viewed The Day After Tomorrow. Billed as "a wake up call for us all," it is a cautionary tale depicting climate change resulting from overuse of fossil fuels, arrogant politicians, and blatant disregard for traffic laws.

I may have made that last one up.

*spoilers, for those who have not yet seen it*

It was great up until minute #2. Scene: the Antarctic ice shelf (where it is very, very cold). The new guy is drilling for core samples. Suddenly, cracks start to appear along the ground and ominous rumbling occurs. As the experienced scientists emerge from the tent, the new guy squeals, "I didn't do anything!" Ah, the mantra of our generation- It's not my fault! It soon becomes clear IT IS ALL OUR FAULT! MUHUAHAHAHA!

Sorry, channeled my inner mad scientist there for a second.

As the cracks progress, the entire Antarctic ice shelf breaks off, causing a giant crevasse to appear. Dennis Quaid, climatologist extraordinaire and olympic long-jumper, leaps across the widening crevasse to save the core samples. And then he leaps back.

I'm no climate scientist, but the antarctic ice shelf breaking off seems slightly more important than those core samples. That, and living to tell other people about the event.

As the climate change hits (with unbelievable speed), Quaid sets off to New York City to rescue his son, Jake "Resourceful Boy!" Gyllenhaal. He and a few others are holed up in the New York Public Library awaiting rescue, because we all know the best way to wait out a climactic event changing the course of civilization is to burn the written records of that civilization.

The next hour+ is a whirlwind tour of wooden acting, bad politics, unrequited love, snow, supercooled air from the Troposphere, wolves, snow, more wooden acting, and Mexico.

Moral of the story: keep a few land-line phones around.

Age is catching up with my MIL. She's a springy 88 years old and has worked out a compensatory mechanism for everything. Stiff joints? Walks two miles a day. Memory problems? Writes notes to herself and leaves them around the house. She lived in California for 30+ years, decided the price of living was too high, bought a house (herself) in her old home town of Milton-Freewater, OR, sold the one in Newbury Park, CA (herself) and moved. Herself.

Well, she didn't lift the furniture but she packed everything.

Herself is a strange word when you type is over and over. Herselfherselfherself

MIL is very pleasant and personable but when she sets her mind to something, watch out. You are a dinghy and she is a battleship - hard to stop and difficult to turn. Better to just get out of the way.

A month ago she had a nosebleed incident in the middle of the night that sent her to the hospital. It was a 5-hour ordeal, as most ER visits are, and she realized that although she was quite capable, she would be on her own if there was an immediate emergency. And so she has decided to move again, this time to an adult retirement community.

She is already packing.

I'm too lazy to post any content this week so you'll just have to be entertained by cute photos from the Little Brewer Archives.

First short sleeved sweater I ever knit.

Hat knit by the mother-in-law of one of my work colleagues.

For the past week, Brewguy has been in Milton-Freewater Oregon visiting his mother. This means Brewgal has been single mom. After 5 days I am proud to say:

1. The little brewers (2) are both still healthy and moderately clean.
2. The fish (2) are still alive.
3. The mail has been picked up.
4. The dishes are (mostly) washed.
5. No laundry has been harmed.

Yesterday Brewguy called me on his cell and said, "Check out the street camera in Walla Walla." I pulled up the webpage and waited as the camera swung back and forth across the street, focusing first on the Starbucks, then up Main Street, then on Title Plaza.

"Do you see me waving?" There he was, on camera, waving.

"Yes, I see you! Hi!" I replied. For just the briefest instant, I forgot that Brewguy was on the other side of the country waving at a light pole and I returned the gesture. I waved back. I waved AT MY COMPUTER.

Then my synapses had the following exchange:

Synapse 1: "You're waving at your computer."

Synapse 2 (freezes hand in embarassment): "Oops!" it giggled. "That was silly. I hope he didn't see that!"

Synapse 1 (rolls virtual eyes): "He can't see you. He's in Walla Walla."

Synapse 2: "Oh, yeah."

Synapse 3: "What's for dinner?"

Synapse 1: "Do you mind? We're talking here!"

Synapse 4: "I have to pee."

It's busy in Brewgal's head. Brewguy is coming home tonight. I hope he's bringing wine.

I'm back from New York.

The Louise Brooks exhibition is tiny- about 20 photos from her private collection consisting mostly of movie stills from Diary of a Lost Girl and Pandora's Box, with a couple from Metropolis thrown in. They are also running the film Pandora's Box. The Henri Cartier-Bresson exhibit is much larger. The prints are contact-sized (about 2x4") so you have to get reeeeeally close to see the detail. Great stuff, though.

The best part was an exhibition on Martin Munkacsi. According to the notes, it was Munkacsi's photo of three boys running into the African surf that inspired Cartier-Bresson to take up photography. The photos were stunning! There is one photo in the exhibit that shows a soccer (football) goalie stopping a shot with his head. The shot was taken at the exact moment the ball impacts his head and you can see the way the ball smushes itself against his skull. Wow. Then I read the caption which said this photo was taken with a large format camera*. My jaw dropped open. WOW.






But you know the best part? Mr. Brewguy hadn't heard of him. I brought back the exhibition book and he loved it, enough that he's thinking of traveling up to see the exhibit. I introduced BREWGUY to a PHOTOGRAPHER. Ha!

*the skill necessary to get this photo is just awe-inspiring.

Help me Rhonda

I need help. Help, help me Rhonda.

I am not an idiot. I am a highly trained, possibly overeducated, slightly absent-minded, pun-loving working mother but I cannot FOR THE LIFE OF ME figure out why the sidebar links to my patterns are not working. ARRGH. Is there someone out there with basic HTML knowledge who can help me fix them or at least point me in the right direction?

*sigh*

In other news, I came across this super cool webring for Knitting Scientists. Now here is the dilemma. Brewgal *is* in fact a scientist but does not blog about her job. Blogging about her job will get Brewgal fired quicker than ... than... heck, it's so fast I can't even come up with a good analogy!

I shall be forced to admire the webring from afar.

I'm off to New York next week for a 2-day conference. I'm taking the early train from Baltimore so I should have about a total of 8 hours in the city around mandatory conference stuff. I'm planning to go to the International Center for Photography to see this exhibit on Louise Brooks Cinema, this exhibit on Henri Cartier Bresson , eat here and here and possibly here, give my presentation, hopefully not get too many hard questions, and jump back on the train. Trains! Knitting time!

The weather’s been chilly lately. Brewgal knew it was cold when she came home to find this on Mr. Brewguy’s dresser:


Yes, that’s yeast in the bedroom. Apparently it was so cold in the basement for the yeasties they weren’t growing properly.

Love those little yeasties, love them in my beer

In addition, the fermenter showed up in the powder room.



Yes, it’s been cold at Lincoln Street. But you know what Pedro says…
Chili today,
Hot tamale

South of the Border
My mother grew up in Florida. OLD Florida circa 1942. She ended up in DC working for NIH, married my father and settled in Maryland. But every year we’d make the pilgrimage back to Gainesville to visit my grandparents.

These experiences are seared into my mind, mostly because of the heat. There’s nothing like driving a gazillion miles in an un-air-conditioned Plymouth Valiant during the month of August. My father knew this. He would bundle the four of us into the car well before sunrise so as to “beat the traffic” on the Beltway. The goal was to make it as far as South Carolina before having to stop for the night.

My brother and I would be piled in the back, stretched out on pillows (seat belt laws were more lax back then). I used to lay back and watch the stars move through the back window. I’d get that funny floaty feeling in the pit of my stomach, the way you feel when you’re at the top of the arc on a swing, ready to head back down with gravity.

It was awesome.

My mother made these trips with a large thermos of sweetened iced tea sitting on the floorboard of the car, sandwiched between her legs. I don’t know how she did it. Brewgal gets all freaky when there’s anything on the floor near her feet, much less impeding her legroom. Mom would hand out little cups of tea and lifesavers to make the trip more interesting.

Are we there yet?
Going south on 95 the mile markers count down so it was easy to know how far one had to go in each state. Every state had its own character. Virginia went on forever. The pine trees started in North Carolina. Georgia had that enormous peach. Orange juice at the Florida State Line and the stench of the paper mills near Jacksonville. The best part were the South of the Border billboards: Burma Shave of the 1970’s. They were tackiness incarnate; bad puns (see quote above), stereotypical depictions (giant sombrero-wearing Latinos), animal abuse (that poor donkey!) No amount of begging on our part could convince my parents to stop there on our journey southward.

Pleeeeeeeze????
Like many things subject to denial, the place began to take on mythical proportions. The billboards were placed closer and closer together as you approached the South Carolina border. Some had moving parts! Every car seemed to have a South of the Border bumper sticker.

Except us. We never stopped.

I hear the old place is still there, still tempting the weary and the unwary with Pedro's promises.

Someday, when we make the journey southward with the little Brewers we may stop. Maybe.

Or maybe it's a place best left to my imagination.

Rude Haiku

Brewgal has a long commute. Not as long as the 144-mile round trips between Rockville and Gettysburg Mr. Brewguy and I used to make on a daily basis.

I miss the cows and the horses I used to see on those trips up to Pennsylvania. I guess that's why I love Bohemian's photos. It reminds me of those days when I could drive out into the orchards of Adams County, park the car up on a mountain in Ortanna and sit listening to the sounds of birds.

But I digress.

My commute is long enough to allow my mind to wander. I have a few minutes of nice scenery, punctuated by insane Maryland drivers whose time is CLEARLY MORE IMPORTANT than Brewgal's. *deep breaths*

Ahem. Anyway, yesterday, as I was driving home to the dulcet sounds of DC101,* I came up with the following haikus.

For most of you this will be tame stuff. However, I warn those of tremulous sensibility that what follows is rather rude. Naughty bits are referenced. Bodily functions are discussed. Proceed on your own recognizance and don't send me nasty emails because you feel post-hoc offense.




In parenting books
Not once did I read the words
"projectile pooping"


Empire State needle.
Old Doc Big Apple, pricking
the ass of the sky



*Yes, I realize "dulcet" and "DC101" are rarely mentioned in the same context. It's SARCASM, people!

Quote of the day

"Get me a scientist!" -- Tommy Lee Jones in Volcano.

As if we're all on retainer and can be called up at a moment's notice like The Geek Squad (TM). Imagine it: huge bands of scientists, roving the countryside, looking for problems to be solved. We could wear badges!*

Cat up a tree? Call a scientist! (a tall one)
That missing sock? Call a scientist!
Global warming? Call a scientist! Oops, did that already. Inspectors general at two agencies have begun an investigation into whether the Bush administration has suppressed government scientists' research on global warming, officials at NASA and the Commerce Department confirmed yesterday.

*Ok, FINE. Everyone repeat after me: "Badges? We don't need no stinkin' badges!" Then if you haven't already, go rent Treasure of the Sierra Madre so you can know whereof you speak.

Stashing and busting

Little Brewer #2 is a genius. Look at the drawing he did on Paint. This would make a fabulous yarn!

It looks like a sunset. I officially name this color "Jeffrey"

In other news, I've been pondering the rules for Knit From Your Stash.

(if I could figure out how to add a button to my sidebar, I would. HMTL=1, Brewgal=0)

For instance, are the following scenarios within the KFYS rules:

1. Can I buy yarn from a thrift store? Net yarn = +, but cheap
2. Can I take apart items I have already made and re-use the yarn for another project? Net yarn = 0
3. Can I buy items at the thrift store, take them apart and re-use the yarn, yadda yadda yadda? Net yarn = +, but possibly offset by effort.

Can you tell Brewgal has been loitering around the thrift store lately? My zip code has an excellent mix of households that are new families and families that were original owners. This means that when the original householders move on to warmer climes or Leisure World, they downsize. And this often means the knitting stash gets donated.

Yesterday, while Little Brewer #2 and Brewguy were having "guy's day out" at the Udvar-Hazy Air and Space Museum, Little Brewer #1 and I ran errands. We came away from the thrift store with a great cache of needles and an odd kntted garment. I am not sure how to describe it. It was open in front like a cardigan, seamed under the arms, short sleeved. What attracted me was the geniune norweigan frog clasp and the feel of the wool. I am sure it was knit with unprocessed fibre because I could feel the lanolin. Heaven! And for $2.50, worth the price just for the clasp alone.

I tried it on just to make sure it couldn't be salvaged as a stand alone piece. It fit like a slightly off-center short sleeved blanket. Oookaay, let's frog that puppy!

When I'm finished, I'll post before and after photos.

Crisis!

I had a dental appointment yesterday. Just a cleaning. I say "just" for those of you who do not harbor a deep, ingrained fear of dentistry.

Unlike myself.

WARNING: scary dentistry story follows. Feel free to skip! I've had four root canals in six years to fix problems from prior bad dentistry. In the first, the anesthetic never took effect completely. *feel free to cringe here* Two others occurred simultaneously, about three weeks after Little Brewer #2 was born. Someday I will write a book entitled "The Root Canal Diet." I lost 50 pounds of combined baby and me weight. Perspective: I'm 5 feet 10 inches tall. My weight went down to 125 pounds. And it was not a good thing.

You have no idea how good food tastes when you've been unable to eat for a month.

My reward for getting through this particular appointment without crying was to stop by my favorite local thrift store for a look-see. Twenty-three dollars and one hour later, I came out with the following:
1 Hello Kitty down jacket, size 6
1 Old Navy soccer jersey
1 black purse
1 pair enameled cufflinks
3 long sleeve t-shirts
3 issues of Vogue Knitting magazine circa 1995
2 Bernat booklets
1 copy of animal knits by Zoe Mellor
1 copy of Vogue Knitting - the 1989 reference book

It is the Vogue reference book that has precipitated my crisis. I was taught to knit by my maternal Grandmother (twice, but that's a story for a different post). This is the woman who could eyeball a pattern and recreate it in her head. When she passed away I was lucky enough to inherit some of her stash, needles and her wooden swift. I still have the fair isle sweater she knit for me in junior high.

There, in the book, were the instructions for the knit stitch and the purl stitch. And I became aware, as I once knew, that I KNIT WRONG. At least, wrongly according to the gurus at Vogue. When I knit, I put the needle through the back of the stitch, rather than taking the front of the loop through the back. My purls seem to be ok.

Yet my finished work is, to me, indistinguishable from "correct" knitting. Why then the crisis?

Have I completely screwed up the others I have taught to knit? Probably not. Adding more knitters to the universe can't be a bad thing.

Is my work crap? Various opinions may be voiced, but I don't think so.

I think it is the fear that someone will tell me I am doing it wrong and this will destroy my love for the craft. This fear kept me from knitting or crocheting in public until fairly recently.

So now I'm mad at myself for falling back into the trap of "different=bad." I need to grow up.

Blogfodder

Happy New Year, Everyone! It's that time again, time for New Year's Knitting Resolutions!

1. I will tame (organize) the Stash of DOOOOM.



2. I will either finish or frog the half-started projects and return the yarn to the Stash of DOOOOM.



3. I will attempt socks.

Ok, I'm bored. Coming up with knitting resolutions seems so pedestrian. Let's just say I'll knit more and be done with it.

Lately I've been reading other blogs more than writing my own. I guess I'm not thrilled hearing myself talk. I mosey'd over to Samurai Knitter and saw she wanted to know where we all knit.

I like Samurai's take-no-prisoners approach to knitting. If we were all pirates, she would be the one teaching the new recruits how to drink rum and taking them all for their first pirate tattoo.

I don't usually do what other blogs tell me to do, but what the hell! Photos of my knitting corner.

Here is the corner of my knitting sofa: Note the comfy pillow to support my arm.

and the other corner showing one of my many knitting reference shelves:

(it's the packed one in the middle)

Congratulations Samurai, you've managed to make me blogfodder.

Christmas with Al

Alpaca, that is. Two weeks before Christmas I realized, much to my horror, that I did not have a big gift for my father. Big as in significant, not size. This is a tradition in my household. Everyone gets one "big" gift and one or two little gifts. With two weeks to go, I was sure I could knit him a scarf so off I went to the Stash of DOOOOOM. I picked out some lovely black Alpaca I bought last spring at Maryland Sheep and Wool and started a modified basketweave pattern.

I was into the second ball when tragedy struck- a hole. My own fault, as I had joined in the middle rather than at the end of the row. No problem, thought I, I'll just rip it and start over, this time using a simpler pattern (3x3 reversible rib). I still have a week to go (I'm not the fastest knitter).

On December 23 I snagged the scarf pulling it out of my purse. ARRGH!

Now I had a serious problem. I cannot knit a scarf in two days. I can, however, crochet a hat in that time if it does not have a major pattern.

I forgot that last bit.

I ran to my newly-purchased book on Charted Celtic Cross-Stitch, chose a twisted rope design and got to work. The design is done using tapestry crochet technique where the contrasting yarn is carried behind the main yarn and brought forward for the design. I used Alpaca and some other soft vintage yarn from the DOOM stash.

Here is the finished result:

Here's a shot of the hat being blocked on tupperware. Note my arm. I am wearing my bathrobe because it is CHRISTMAS MORNING and I have not finished weaving in the ends. I think the pattern turned out nicely. I would have enjoyed it more had I not been working so feverishly.

Note to self: start making Christmas presents in JANUARY.

No Casino for Gettysburg

The Pennsylvania Gaming Board has decided not to award a slot license to Crossroads. This means there will NOT be a casino in Gettysburg. You can find a link to the story on the New York Times site here.

*begin soapbox*

I am THRILLED there will not be a casino in Gettysburg. Yes, LeVan et al. said the casino would not have been visible from the battlefield (what, it's invisible?) and yes, there probably would have been a short-term increase in revenue/jobs for Adams County. IMHO, the resulting increase in crime, traffic and loss of ambiance would not have been worth the short term gain.

Honestly, I really could not have imagined a worse place to put a casino- except perhaps Salt Lake City (my apologies to Salt Lake City). A casino right next to Gettysburg, a major civil war battlefield. Imagine- Pickett's Charge Keno! Confederate 21! Union Penny Slots! 55,000 dead!

Ugh.

*end soapbox*

Happy Birthday to Me

December birthdays are a tricky business. They are often lost amid holiday preparations and bouts of the flu. Case in point: last year's birthday was a washout. This year, however, was glorious.

Mr. Brewguy took me to the Flag House Inn in Annapolis for a parents-only overnight adventure. My parents (who ROCK) babysat the little brewers overnight. Mr. Brewguy spends quite a bit of time photographing politicians at the State House in Annapolis so he was eager to show me around. Ireland seems to be in vogue these days - there are at least 5 Irish pubs (I can recommend both Sean Donlon's and The Galway Bay) and two stores carrying Irish goods.

The best part was my knitting book score. One of Samurai Knitter's book recommendations was Charted Celtic Designs. Finally! I have some old celtic design sourcebooks but have been incredibly frustrated trying to figure out how to make my own charts using celtic patterns (that twist goes where???) I was thrilled to find two celtic cross stitch books at one of the aforementioned irish gift store (should have written down the name!) on Main Street and promptly bought them.

Fear not!

This is the lesson I try to pass along to everyone I teach: do not be afraid of the knitting. I am not sure how this fear of knitting got started. I myself had this fear when I first started knitting: the fear that I would make a mistake and as a result, ruin the whole piece.

You cannot ruin the whole piece. You only need start again. Sure, it can be frustrating if you are twelve inches into a complicated lace pattern only to discover you've dropped a stitch at inch #four. This is why lifelines were invented. And yes, it helps if you use reasonably-priced yarn until you are comfortable. This is why Red Heart is $1.99 a skein.

In the beginning, however, you have to be free to experiment. Work out how to hold the needles in a way that is comfortable for you (continental, american).

Experimentation is how I stumbled across my current scarf pattern, a reversible rib. I was sitting in my car, killing time before my doctor's appointment. Having learned my lesson about not bringing a project, I had needles and a nice dk weight varigated merino in my purse. "Let's try a drop stitch pattern!" I thought to myself (I had just finished re-reading the Clapotis pattern after seeing the photos on Franklin's blog). Ok, that looks yucky (rip, rip, rip). Now what? Cables would not show very well on the stripes. I had already tried a straight stockinette. This yarn was recovered from another scarf I made in stockinette that rolled like a stack of quarters no matter how much I blocked it.

Then I tried a 3x2 rib pattern on an even-number of stitches. I have lately become enamored of even numbered patterns on odd-numbered stitches. I thought this would make a nice crumbly nap but it turned out to be much more interesting.

Brewgal's Reversible Rib Scarf
Cast on 34
Knit first row (I find starting with one knit row is easier than starting the pattern off the cast on row.)
Slip 1, knit 1 (edge stitch). *Knit 3, purl 2* repeat 6 times, knit last two stitches.
Repeat this row until scarf reaches desired length, knit last row, cast off.

Nothing fancy. I used #6 needles on dk weight yarn. This makes a cute little 2-stitch-wide rib on both sides.

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Stash Rambling

My yarn stash is filled with all sorts of unusual yarn. I have a habit of picking up stray skeins from many places: yard sales, thrift stores, my parents' basement. None of it is in sufficient quantities to make a sweater but I can always go stash diving for emergency scarf yarn.

I have yarn that has been around longer than I have. Yarn trucked back from my mother-in-law's house in Los Angeles. Yarn inherited from my grandmother and great-grandmother. Yarn in bright skeins, yarn in half-finished projects. Yarn that is on the verge of turning into yarn zombies. How appropriate for the Stash of DOOOM.

I don't know why I've been so hung up on zombies lately. I certainly wouldn't want to meet one. Maybe it's because I recently watched Shaun of the Dead. At least, I almost watched it. Stupid TiVO didn't record the last 10 minutes of the movie.

Then I came across this. Some clever person has recreated Dawn of the Dead using knitted characters. Wow.

Thanksgiving

In times of plenty, it is not the food we are most thankful for,
but the friendship and love of those who care for us,
and those we care for in return.

And the pie.

I need more bookshelves.

The problem- where to put them? The current bookshelf layout is thus:

• covering two walls in the family room. Brewguy won't let me cover the back door. Stupid fire codes.
• covering one wall in my study.
• lining two out of three hallways
• in the corner of the living room
• covering three walls of the basement.

And they're all FULL! Full of books on almost every subject: old Time-Life science books, children's books, fairy-tale books, knitting books (not nearly enough of those!), homebrewing manuals, psychology journals, textbooks on statistics and psychology, reference books, cookbooks, science fiction fantasy books, and the occasional trashy novel. For those of you who would suggest I simply get rid of some to make room, BITE YOUR TONGUE. How can I choose between the merits of Cognition: Theory and Application versus The Thousand Recipe Chinese Cookbook? Ok, I'll admit I probably no longer need The Official X-Files Compendium, seeing that the show is off the air, but giving away one book will not make the space I need.

Why can't I give books away? I blame my parents (how convenient!) I come from a household where books filled every corner of the house, where my mother went to escape into a little "me" time. We had so many books my aunts and uncles used it as their own personal library. [Much to my mother's dismay. She started losing so many favorites she began putting her name and address on the books so that when she visited *them* she could take books back.]

Anyway... my current master plan involves moving all the clothes from the closet in my study and installing bookshelves there. That should give me enough room so that all the books have their own space, instead of having to sleep two-deep like workers in tenament housing during the early 1900's.

Next problem: what do I do with the clothes from the closet? I need more closet space.

My synapse in living color

I drew this cartoon of my synapse flying back from the math section. Note the flames.

Why advance planning is good

Sometimes events sneak up on you. A few days ago I had the following exchange at dinner.

Brewguy: Yeah, they did a sonogram and moved her due date up from November 10 to November 1.
Brewgal: November 1? Thats....

(pause while my synapses rush across town to the math section. Typically my synapses take a breather after work by relaxing at Cafe Homebrew, where they are seen sipping Belgian Ale with the nightie-clad pirates scheduled to appear in tonight's REM spectacular. The synapses are VERY annoyed at being asked to do MATH after 6pm).

... THE DAY AFTER TOMORROW!

Brewguy: Yeah.
Brewgal: But...but... I have to make a hat!
Brewguy: You'd better get on that then.
Brewgal: You couldn't have told me this last week?!? {Actually, I only thought that. What came out of my mouth was} Eeep! Grrrr.

Brewguy offered to do the dishes (he really is a sweetie) while I dashed down to the Stash of Doom. I grabbed a ball of Patons Look At Me in Jewel Tones and I got to work.

16 hours and an arm cramp later, I had these.





The mittens were an afterthought. I've never made mittens before so I just created a pattern in my head and went for it. As you can see, I ran out of the Patons and had to supplement with some other remnants.

Note to self: make more hats. In advance. The synapses will thank me later.

Little Victories

Ha! And again, Ha! The laughing Cable Pixie has laughed her last. I have tackled the cable beast and I am victorious.

I am making a scarf for Brewguy featuring teeny cables on a 4x4 rib. Put 2 sts on cable needle and hold to front, knit 2 from back needle, knit 2 from cable needle, purl 4. I pulled the yarn out of my stash, a lovely burgundy wool blend, probably Plymouth.

My stash... Let me rephrase that: my Neverending Stash of DOOM. (that's pronounced DOOOOOOOMMM, like a zombie who's drunk one-too-many bottles of Chateau Dura Mater)

This is scarf #9 since September. I am SO BORED with making scarves. My next holiday gifts will be wristwarmers.

Broken links

I've just discovered the links to my free patterns are broken. I'll work on fixing them. In the meantime, click on the following archives to find the patterns:

Seedy Border Town Scarf = November 2005
Grandma D's Heirloom Crochet Cape = June 2005
Olivia's Knitted Baby Bonnet = August 2005
Brewgal's Crochet Hat (an award winner!) = January 2005

Le poèt en dedans*

I am constantly stunned and humbled by the creativity of the little brewers. Yesterday, while Brewguy was cooking dinner (spaghetti accompanied by a lovely Spanish temperanillo), Little Brewer #1 sat down at the dinner table and wrote a poem. I will spare you the misspelled words (she is in 1st grade, after all).

The leaves blow
The trees whistle
The birds sing
The shoes tap
The shirts wiggle
The socks wobble
The hands touch
The wind blows
and you are the best


[*French translation provided by BabelFish]

Lessons learned

Wherever you go, there you are. And you better have your knitting with you. (after Buckaroo Banzai)

Little Brewer #2 is an airplane nut. At 3, he can spot the difference between a 747 and a 737 in flight. So Brewguy thought it would be a great idea to go out to the Montgomery County Airpark to see some WWII bombers, the B-24 "Witchcraft" and a B-17. These two old planes were in town for the Air Force Memorial dedication. It is not often that planes of this type show up in Gaithersburg and Brewguy wanted to shoot some video for the newspaper so we trundled off to the airpark. The B-17 was on the ground (tours for $10!) so we gazed at it for a while through the fence while waiting for the B-24 to show up.

And waited.
And waited some more. Finally, THREE HOURS LATER, the B-24 arrived.

The Little Brewers passed the time wrestling each other into submission. I stood there, watching the geezers ooh and aah over the aircraft, mentally cursing for not bringing my knitting. I have 12 scarves to make for holiday gifts- I could have knocked out at least one or two sitting there next to the tarmac.

Learn from my misery. Always take a project with you wherever you go.

End of Summer Haiku

Summer turns behind.
Her verdant smile fades slowly
Seeing Autumn come

Homebrew Day

Happy Labor Day, everyone! Brewguy is homebrewing today. He is making a Belgian-style ale entitled Little Belgian #3. This is the second round for this batch of yeast.

I love waking up in the morning to the smell of the mash tun. There's something wonderfully earthy about the smell of brewing beer. Later, the tangy aroma of hops will waft up. When you brew, you quickly discover who likes beer and who does not. Those who can't stand the smell of the brew typically do not like to drink beer. There also seems to be a correlation between dislike of beer and dislike of coffee. Perhaps the two flavors excite (or dismay) similar taste buds.

And the winner is... Me!

Feeling totally retro, I entered the Montgomery County Agricultural Fair in fabulous Gaithersburg Maryland. They had online registration this year (good) so I dutifully filled out all the paperwork in advance and brought it to entry day.

Long lines to register. I was handed number 61. No problem! I thought, I've already registered online and told the number distributer that fact. Number 61 taken away, number 8 handed to me. Ok, now we're getting somewhere!

Wrong. Number 61 came and went. Number 80 came and went and still I sat with my pitiful online 8. A fellow clutching online number 9 started to get angry and I pieced together the situation from the conversation. Apparently online registration is all and good, but there was only one person working the online registrations on entry day. And she was tied up with a scoutmaster who had registered online and was entering pieces for her ENTIRE GIRL SCOUT TROUP. So the entry judge was forced to look up each girl's name individually. Yay Girl Scouts and all that, but after 45 minutes of waiting I was starting to get pissed.

When I did finally get to enter the pieces it took about 30 seconds so online registration is worth it, if you get there when it isn't crowded.

I entered the knitted orange shrugigan and a crocheted blue child's hat. The cat design on the hat is done in tapestry crochet.



First prize! To be clear, first prize in the child's crochet hat category. The shrugigan won third. I received the premium check today, a grand total of $6.50. That almost covers the $7.00 fair entrance fee.

I am totally doing this again next year.

Thrift Store Score

Thrift stores are hit-and-miss. They can be a great source for yarn (if you don't mind partial skeins and balls that have lost their band) and needles, especially the old aluminum Susan Bates and Hero variety. Sometimes the store has a dry spell that lasts months.
Other times, JACKPOT!

Believe it or not, my most recent thrift store trip was prompted by a dream. In my dream I was trying to make my way through a sea of people to get to the yarn bin, which was filled with yarn and hooks of every variety.

You know those dreams, where no matter how hard you try you are moving so......sloooooowly......as if you are made of molasses, and you can't seem to get to your destination as you watch others paw through the booty. Muuussttt.....reach......yaaaaarrrrrnnnnn......

Then I woke up. I went to the store at lunchtime. Lo and behold, they had set up a brand new box for needlework tools and it was filled- FILLED with needles and rug hook tools. There were also some skeins of yarn on the shelves below.

I cleaned them out. Fourteen pairs of needles including two pair of Crystal Palace and one circular. I left only the rug tools and one pair of bent size 2's. No doubt that pair had been used to hold a project that never quite got done, it's neglected weight sagging lonely until the needles themselves bowed in sadness and shame.

Uh oh. Better check my UFOs.

Science for science sake

“I believe in scientific inquiry for its own sake. I think the history of science gives ample examples that pure investigation has enormous benefit. I can’t tell you what this might be good for, but learning about nature is important. And lovely things turn up.”

--James A. Van Allen (1914-2006), discoverer of the Van Allen radiation belts.

Beer Review: Zwaanendael

In celebration of Lewes Delaware's 375th anniversary (the first town in the first stateTM), Dogfish Head Craft Brewery has brewed Zwaanend'ale. This is a limited release beer available primarily in Delaware. DFH describes it as "old Dutch-style Rye Bokbier brewed with honey." I'd describe it as a slightly sweeter version of their belgian-style beer, Raison D'etre. It's wonderful! It has everything Brewgal looks for in a long-drinking beer: slightly sweet, malty, medium golden red in color, low on the hops. We consumed one bottle while on vacation and brought one home for later.

It's Wednesday, and Brewguy and I were out for a swifty. Swifty? It's a term for a quick drink. What were YOU thinking? Imagine my delight when I discovered the Gaithersburg DFH had the Zwaanend'ale on tap! I had previously only seen it in large 750ml bottles in Delaware. Yet there it was, top of the list on the draft brew board. When we inquired, the bartender said they had been sent 15 kegs. Brewguy and I exchanged puzzled glances. This was supposed to be a beer that was only available in Delaware, and then only in bottles. Where had the kegs come from? Had DFH decided to send out the last of the run to the franchise DFH?

It started off well. The color of the beer in the glass was the same golden red, slightly lighter than the Raison. Then the taste. The taste was way off. In contrast to the wonderful beer of my memory, the tap version at DFH had a distinct sour upfront taste, almost as though someone had poured lemon on top. This is a characteristic sign of bacterial infection. Brewguy noticed it as well. We soldiered on, hoping this was just a passing phase. Ugh. The sour taste continued, more pronounced as the beer warmed to room temperature. This is the first beer in a long while I have been unable to finish due to flavor. The bartender deserves kudos for offering us another beer as a replacement and not charging us for the Zwaanend'ale. Well done, sir!

The question is, why? DFH is usually pretty good with quality control. Had the kegs been mishandled in shipment? It has been very hot in DC these last few weeks. Had the beer turned in the barrel prior to kegging? Surely there would have been sampling prior to kegging. More sinister is the possibility that DFH knew the beer was substandard and chose, instead of bottling, to send it to their franchise in Gaithersburg.

My suggestion to DFH: get a bottle and taste the Zwaanend'ale then taste those kegs before you put them on!

The Orange FO

Finally, an FO to report! I've finished the orange mohair-blend sweater. That's jumper to those of you across the pond. More of a cardiagn, really, if cardigans were 3/4 length sleeved and didn't have buttons in the front. Come to think of it, it's actually more of a shrug. Cardishrug? Shrugigan? Shrugijump? Jump-and-shrug?

Here's a photo of the shrugigan on the bed.











And one of Little Brewer #2 modeling the finished product. Note the pouty model face. Watch out Zoolander!

For fun I'm going to enter it in the Home Arts division of the local county fair.

Restaurant Review: Fish On

I’m blogging from the beach in Lewes, Delaware!

Fish On opens at 5pm, which works fine for the early bird crowd and those with small children. They do not take reservations. Fish On has the distinction of having both a good chef and a welcoming attitude toward children. This is an absolute must when traveling with the Little Brewers. Not everyone with children wants to eat in McDonalds 24-7.

We were there on two nights, Tuesday 7/11 and Friday 7/14. Dinner starts with a serving of homemade bread. It’s a lovely white bread with a slightly sweet crust, the kind I could sit and eat for hours with a good red wine on the porch of my small summer cottage. Ahh….

Tuesday is half-price wine night, which brings the prices down into the reasonable range. Clearly the locals know this because the place was packed by 6. On the advice of WineGeek, we chose a Rancho Zabaco Zinfandel. It was very enjoyable.

My order:
Appetizer: Pan Roasted Sea Scallops
Main course: imperial stuffed lobster

Brewguy’s order:
Appetizer: Spinach salad with warm bacon vinaigrette
Main course: Pan Roasted Scallops with spinach, roasted mushrooms and ham

The sea scallop appetizer is still the highlight of the menu for me. Three scallops, seared round with sea salt and pepper, served skewered on a sprig of fresh rosemary. The balsamic reduction sauce is sprinkled with chives, and clearly made by someone who knows sauces- a chef after Brewgal’s own heart! The sauce was scraped artfully across the plate in lines. It’s exactly the right amount if you use it sparingly. I could have used a tad more.

For main course I ordered the broiled imperial stuffed lobster. It was a good sized lobster, larger than I expected, served with a small side of melted butter and potato salad. The potato salad was topped with about five whole green beans, which I believe had been blanched, but I’m not sure. Disconcertingly, they were cold, as if they had been just removed from the fridge. This may have been on purpose- it’s hard to tell. The potato salad had a gentle flavor of potatoes, with bits of fresh corn mixed in. Good job there. The lobster was cooked just right, not to the point of being mealy, which is often a problem in large-scale, serve ‘em quick restaurants (Phillips, are you listening?) The crab imperial was nothing special. In fact, I could barely taste it. Crab imperial at its best is a fluffy concoction of crab, flour, milk, and mayonnaise where the crab sits lightly inside its poufy mound, broiled to perfection. This was a light mixture, but did nothing to bring out the flavor of the crab. Perhaps they were trying not to interfere with the taste of the lobster, which can be easily overwhelmed. If so, why combine the two?

Here is where the service and the food fell flat. The lobster arrived without a claw cracker. The waiter failed to reappear to ask if I needed one so I was reduced to digging out what meat I could from the claw using the seafood fork. The spinach salad probably saw a bit of dressing in the kitchen but seemed to have lost it by the time it reached the table. It lacked flavor in that regard. Brewguy felt the scallop main course was oddly paired and overwhelmed by the Smithfield ham.

I found Friday’s dinner to be superior to Tuesday’s.

Friday we chose the Acacia Pinot Noir. Brewguy raved about it.

My order:
Main course: Crabcakes

Brewguy’s order:
Appetizer: Pan Roasted Sea Scallops
Salad: Mixed green salad with sherry vinaigrette and bleu cheese

The crabcakes were meaty and shell-free, served with green beans almondine. The tartar sauce was homemade, with a bit of tang and complemented the crabcakes quite well. Tartar sauce is usually nothing to write home about, at worst just mayonnaise-y. Here again you can see the skill of a chef that knows how to make a good sauce.

I compare all crabcakes to ones I had at Jakes in 1997. Those crabcakes will live forever in my memory. Not so much Jakes itself. I got food poisoning there in 2003 and have never returned.

Brewguy rated this salad much more highly than Tuesday night’s. The sherry vinaigrette was tangy, with a bit of sweetness evident on the back edge. The greens were fresh, with no limp hangers-on.

Highlight of the dinner for Brewguy were the corn dogs we ordered for the Little Brewers. The batter was light and slightly sweet around a plump beef hot dog. It arrived, like Tuesday’s chicken tenders, on a mound of French fries. Honestly, I don’t think so many fries are required, but I guess they’re trying to make sure you feel you get your money’s worth. The Little Brewers barely touched them.

Final notes: the Swedish Fish at the door are a cute touch. The Little Brewers just love them.

Score: 3 1/2 out of 5 for Tuesday, 4 out of 5 for Friday. Recommended? Yes

Address: Fish On
Village of Five Points
Lewes, DE
877-871-FISH

The Visitation

Ok, I'm a total loser. I just discovered I can change the font on my posts.

ANYWAY, the big news is my MIL is visiting. Two and a half weeks worth of visiting. For the uninitiated, she looks great on paper. She cooks, cleans, organizes, and has helped with major demolition projects. She's a wonder Mom, including taking care of Little Brewer #1 during the week when there is no camp.

But in reality....
I have learned to hide things so she won't organize them out of existence. I check the garbage cans to make sure she hasn't thrown away treasures under the guise of "It's just cluttering up the place. They'll never miss X,Y,or Z." I rescued two pieces of Little Brewer artwork this way.

She was a great help when we had to move suddenly from Gettysburg. But she packed by size, not type. Who knows what is in that box, lurking in my basement with the carefully hand-lettered sign that says, "Small box of small things." That describes nearly everything in the house!

The other problem is the breakage. Every visit brings a broken dish, plate or glass. I've lost a bakelite handled knife (she was using it to remove wallpaper), a unique retro serving dish (knocked it off the counter), an antique plate decorated in the pine cone style (banged into the dishwasher), and countless glasses. This visit it was my 9x9 square clear glass Pyrex baking dish. Hide the Roseville!

I realize I should be incredibly grateful I am not saddled with a MIL that is hateful, spiteful or a substance abuser. Every night I try my best to think of good things and be thankful for what I have.

I spend a lot of time "working on the computer" in the office.

Bye Bye, Bob

My high school drama teacher retired this week after 27 years in the school system.

Yes, Brewgal is that old. Stop snickering!

It was a warm and fuzzy affair, held in the high school theatre. There were speeches, jabs, and more than a few tears. I even took a few photos.

Here is ...well you can't really tell who that is.

Here's another photo.

Darn, too much flash.

Maybe if I hold it on my knee to steady it...

What the...? What the heck is that?

Alrighty, let's try the knee trick again.

No, he's moving too much.

Was he always running around like this in high school? Stand still, man! One more time: balance camera on knee, flash off, hold breath...wait for it....

^&(*^#$%*^!!

Ok, Brewgal is not a photographer. She'll leave that up to Brewguy.

It was fab to see everyone. Capt. Scott, Amy, Allyson, Jimmy K., Linda, and of course, Mr. M-- you all look great!