Sick

Remember when I said I was feeling better?
Apparently I was mistaken.

I am now consistently running a fever of 102, with night sweats and shaking. My work colleague and my husband convinced me (rightly) that this sort of thing is NOT GOOD and got me to go to the doctor. The doctor helpfully said that my symptoms are consistent with a number of different possibilities and that he was going to have to do some blood tests.

Ok, here's the thing. I had all sorts of excuses for not calling the doctor sooner. I am embarassed to be sick. I thought I could get over it on my own. I was afraid that the doctor wouldn't believe me, or think I was being silly.

Stupid. I am very stupid about my own health.

Anyway, back to the blood tests. Remember in science class when we had to test our own blood to determine its blood type? I am pretty sure that only required a drop from one finger. Not this time. The doctor did warn me they were going to take "quite a bit of blood." Quite a bit? They took so much blood I should have been given a cookie and a Red Cross donor card.


Four of these. Doesn't look impressive? When you're sitting in the chair, they appear about the size of a Red Bull can. Fortunately you don't actually have to FILL the container.

Also a gazillion little vials. What are they going to use all the blood for? Late-night snacking?

Hopefully the results will come back today and we will at least know what it is. Or is not. Or something.

Mother's Day

This will no doubt be one of the gazillion blog posts on Mother's Day. My Mother's Day went as follows:

• Wake up with a splitting headache, possibly a result of the "good lord, it's HOW high??" pollen count or from last night's rum.
• Brewguy brings coffee in bed. Snuggling, while I try not to move brain.
• Little Brewer #1 brings card with poem and bath salts. At least I think they're bath salts. They appear too big to snort.
• Little Brewer #2 brings card and cookies. "Look Mom, I brought you some cookies! Can I have one?" Immediately eats said cookies. More snuggling.
• French toast. Brief delay while dining room table is cleared of unsold yard sale detritus.
• Picnic at Dixon Park, which is right on the BWI landing approach. Would have brought wine, but Maryland has crazy laws about open containers.
• Nap
• Call own Mother to invite her to lunch next week.
• Dinner and a trashy movie (The Mummy). Just the right mix of schmaltz and Brendan Frasier.

All in all, a lovely Mother's Day.

When humor goes, there goes civilization.
----Erma Bombeck (attributed)

Ever notice how little things start to go wrong when one spouse is out of town? This used to happen frequently to my mother. My father is an atmospheric physicist*. When we were small, Dad would chase eclipses around the globe to study and measure solar flares. Mom would take us for chicken noodle soup and root beer floats at Hot Shoppes. During his absences, things tended to happen. Like the chimney falling off the roof. The washer exploding. And I have this vague memory that the dryer may have caught on fire, but I could be confusing that with the kitchen fire.

Back to the present. Brewguy is again in Milton, Oregon visiting MIL. She's a little distressed that her house is in "disarray," so he is helping her put everything back. To which I say, what did she expect? She MOVED, albeit temporarily. That, and the fact that she needs a new dining room table because hers is now sitting in my dining room.

Okay, I may feel a teeny bit guilty about that but she did insist that I take it and at the time we were all under the impression she was not going to need it in that little apartment of hers.

The little brewers have been troopers. I took them to MDS&W on Saturday (slight whining), shopping at the organic food mart (organic pop-tarts! ecstasy!), and a birthday party on Sunday.

Things are starting to happen.

aThe dryer won't stop at the end of the cycle. It helpfully buzzes its little heart out, continually, until you open the door.
aMy cell phone won't keep a charge.
aLittle Brewer #1 has contracted scarlet fever.

My first thought was, "Oh no! Just like Beth in Little Women!" The pediatrician reassured me that scarlet fever is not as bad as it once was, likening it to "strep with a rash." She is on antibiotics, but will have to stay out of school until Thursday. Since Brewguy is out of town, I get to stay home with her. This is really an unexpected blessing, because now I get some undivided Mommy-Daughter time.

With a dash of itchy.

*Do you have any idea what it is like having a physicist Dad? Those forms in school that ask for your parents' occupation? Try spelling "physicist" when you're in third grade. When I asked for math homework help he would start with Newton. On the upside, I have memorized most of Newton's laws.

To sell or not to sell

As you may recall, last month we spent a week in Milton-Freewater clearing out MIL's house. With MIL's blessing, much of her stuff was sent across the country to us, traveling on a slow truck.

In preparation for the new stuff, I have been sorting my current clutter. Luckily our neighborhood is having a community yard sale in two weeks. As I unpacked box after box with labels reading "glasses from old house," and "small items," I had visions of selling the multitude of vintage chairs, glassware and miscellaneous clutter I have accumulated. The house would be free and clear, ready to accept the new bounty, and we might make enough to buy a pizza. Ah, what good intentions I had.

The moving company called yesterday. The truck will be here on SATURDAY (which, by the way, is also Maryland Sheep and Wool. They better not show up before 3pm.)

Saturday...the day after tomorrow. My living room/kitchen/porch is still full of yet-to-be-yard-sale'd items. Where the *(&*(^!! am I going to put this new crap??

Panic has set in. I have temporarily become the de-clutter monster. That set of Fiestaware? On the block! The Iriquois China? Outta here! The Wonder Woman tumbler? Well, I might have to save that one.

I even considered thinning some of my precious stash. Fortunately it was only a momentary impluse.

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.