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.

XXOO Permalink

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.