restingmotion

Monday Miscellany

  1. I'm still here and still sorting.  However, I was so encouraged by the response to my post on weeding books that I went back and managed to eliminate several hundred more books.   They were all delivered to our local library this past weekend and I am relieved to note that the remaining books will all fit in the available space once the process is complete.  

 

2. My step-son and his wife were here last weekend and we had a lovely and relaxing visit, with some interesting excursions, much companionable visiting time, good food, a gift exchange and a shot of pineapple tequila.  I was given this book, which I had been lusting after for some time, and there are several recipes that will be appearing on our dining table in the very near future.

 

3. The next weeding project is my cookbook collection, although I am still welcoming this new cookbook.  There will not be as heavy of weeding here, but there still seems to be some chaff, and I will probably eliminate most of the bread-baking section as I no longer make bread and am not likely to resume doing so given my celiac status.  This does not mean that I will eliminate all pastry and dessert options however.

 

4. One section of books that has been isolated from the rest is a cabinet of books to read, mostly books that I have purchased in the last couple of years with full intentions of reading, as well as a group of books that I wish to reread before giving them away.  The latter group included Isak Dineson's Out of Africa, which I just finished reading and sent it on its way, although I did have a few moments of regret following that move.  I only had a paperback copy though so it pains me less than some books, and I feel certain that I shall be able to find it again should the desire to read it recur.  Of course this is the big point for me now, that there is no reason, unless a book is difficult to find or personally meaningful in some way, to keep books which I can get digitally or from a public library.

 

But back to Dineson.  As was true the first time I read this book, 30 some-odd years ago, I initially found it hard to get into the flow of the story, but eventually Dineson's prose, her lyrical way with words, and her charming observations and descriptions won me over.   The high point of this particular reading occurred one morning when I found myself sitting out on the edge of the deck watching the sunrise with a cup of coffee as I was reading Dineson's description of coming across a lion and and killing it in the dark, only to return at sunrise and find another lion.  When I write it here, it all sounds brutal and cold, but it is not so in the book, and as I read that passage I was linked through sunrise in the Hudson Valley with a sunrise in Africa in a time long ago, all through the magic of words and imagination.

 

5.  Today I washed the front door, the door frame and the front porch, then moved on to cleaning the windows above and around the front door.  Now everything is welcoming and sparkly clean and I feel a certain lightness in my spirits.

 

At Long Last Louisa

Well, it is with great relief that I can state that something is finished around here.  I finished Louisa Tuesday night and wore it yesterday.  I am smitted with this sweater and I will knit it again, in fact I already have yarn for the next iteration even though I won't be starting it right away.

 

There I am in the morning, trying hard not to shiver in the spring snow.  The yarn is a wool/linen blend from Habu and it is very light weight.  I thought this might be a nice transitional sweater and will be, although I was really thinking along the lines of slightly warmer transitional weather.  I was much too eager to wear this sweater to worry much about being a little chilly.  Besides, shivering burns calories, right?

 

I am very happy with how this turned out, and I didn't do anything to the pattern aside from adding 6 inches to the length.  At the time I worried that it was perhaps too much, but now I see that it is just perfect;  I might make the next version shorter, but probably no more than 2 inches shorter.

 

Here is a picture of the sweater on the floor, so you can get a better view of the actual shape.  It was a very simple pattern, knit in the round from the bottom up with just enough shaping to make it flattering and avoid complete boredom.  

As I mentioned previously,  the pattern is Louisa from CocoKnits, and the yarn is Habu N-68 Lamb/Linen, which is now one of my favorite yarns.  In fact the pattern may become a favorite as well, and I am eager to try other patterns by the same company.

 

But next up is something from the new Spring Rowan magazine.

 

 

The Enormity of it All: or Trying to Contain that Which has been Unbound

Looking back at my post of a week ago, it seems so distant now, that simplicity and that happiness.   I do know that even as I wrote that post, things were slipping, perhaps only imperceptibly to all but the most attentive, the most involved on a day to day basis, and yet I am happy to be reminded.

 

In the meantime I have been absent from my normal pursuits, from this blog, from blogs and the internets in general although I do keep up, somewhat marginally with personal mail.  Rather I have been focused on the big push to tackle the piles that have accumulated and which I had been happily ignoring throughout January and February.  Perhaps it is a spring cleaning sort of thing.  Perhaps I see bits of confusion and randomness poking out of the cracks here and there and tackling the piles at least is something I can control.  Control I must.   

 

  And so I have been tackling the books which have been piled on the floor.  When I created a room for the caregiver, I dismantled my small library, my favorite the room in the house and the contents have been piled on the living room floor ever since.  I took the shelving system and put it up in the family room.  I lost a few shelves.  There are radiators here, and windows that were not present in the original location.

 

I have not really gained much space.  There were shelves here before on the wall to the right, and between the window and the corner.  But the aluminum system from Rakks looks much nicer than the old sytem of mismatched wall brackets and boards.    The simple truth is that I lost 126 board feet of shelving and have only added 36 feet to the family room storage so there has been much purging and much metaphorical pulling of hair and mental angst.  There will be many books that will end up going into boxes until some future date as well because I cannot bring myself to get rid of them all.

 

When I read Larry McMurtry's story about collecting books I thought I was not a collector, and in a sense I am not, in that I cannot collect a subject just for the sake of having a complete set.  I have to like each book.  But I do collect the books I love, look for better copies, consider each one old friends, and have multiple versions of certain things, such as my five versions of the various works of the Pearl Poet including one version in the "original" text, one cleaned up middle english version, and at least three translations of Gawain, each different and each prized.  I suppose that the love of early English literature never dies just as I cannot imagine life without an occasional foray into Spenser or Skelton.

 

So it is about condensing and making choices.  I learned that coding books, especially the newer ones, are often available as PDF files, and I can purchase PDF files of paper books I own very cheaply, hence one small shelf has been freed.   And I am still on the fence about mass-market paperbacks versus digital copies of books.  Most mass-market paperbacks are sent on their way after I read them, but there are a few favorite authors I hold on to but feel no need to upgrade to hard copies.  I increasingly find that I prefer the portability of the kindle to even a small paperback at the gym or when out and about, but the kindle does not lend itself to picking up a book and reading a random page here and there before putting the book back on the shelf.  There is a stack of books that are currently in this kind "save, toss, or go digital" limbo, and I suppose I will eventually make a decision as I continue to catalog books and decide what will fit on the remaining shelves and what will get boxed until the next phase.

 

Reading Thomas Cahill's How The Irish Saved Civilization, has kind of played into this general mental turmoil in unexpected ways as well.  I picked it up thinking I could read it and get it off the shelves, which will indeed happen.  It is entertaining and a good, light, introduction to the subject.  It served as a bit of a refresher course in a way, as I have, and have read, many of his primary sources:  Bede, Augustine, Ausonius,  even Kinsella's translation of the Tain, as well as many of the referenced works on Medeival and church history.  Again it is that fascination with the medeival that serves me well.  It served me well in a career too, as I was hired for my first computer programming job precisely because of my interest in medieval literature, and would agree with my former mentor that there is much similarity in the mind-set requried for both.

 

But what surprised me about Cahill's book was the way I started questioning my decision to transfer more of the less important stuff to digital copies.  I suddenly started wondering what would happen if the computer networks went down, or there were no more electricity, and I would undergo a momentary flight of panic.  I am sure the tragedy in Japan has also fed into these musings for, as unimaginable as it all is to me, and as sorry as I feel for these people for the pain and tragedy of their loss, it is also a reminder of how tenuous our hold on life and civilization really is in this world.  The Romans were just as confident that their world would endure forever as we are that our digital information system is the future of all knowledge.    At the moment I shall take comfort in my computers but also in my own small space and my own volumes of cloth and paper.

 

But I suspect I shall be preoccupied with these tasks at least through the end of this month, so postings will be light.  I am oft exhausted and although I think of things I want to write, by the time I sit, my brain is a scrambled up bit of connections and images and incoherent fragments.  By the end of the day  I crave mindless visual stimulation and the simplicity of stockinette stitch in my hands.

 

After the books I shall tackle the closets, including G's old closet, and the piles of fabric and yarn that were also displaced.  But I shall emerge in time for spring perhaps with a flowering of creative energy to accompany the flowering of the landscape.

 

As you can see, Spring is most definitely arriving to the Hudson Valley.  The first crocus bulbs burst into flower yesterday, and I have a nice batch of small irises as well, even though there are still also a few piles of snow scattered here and there across the lawn.

 

I would not also be surprised if, just as I say that I will be absent because I must finally deal with all this stuff in my life before it drives me batty, just as I think I am overwhelmed, my voice decides to emerge from the hole in which it has entrenched itself.  At the moment, however,  I continue to feel more overwhelmed by piles than inspired by flowers.

 

New Glasses and a Concert

I picked up my new glasses yesterday afternoon.  That isn't really where I planned on starting, but it is probably the most important event.  I knew I couldn't see well, but I didn't really appreciate how badly I saw until I put my new glasses on and the world suddenly snapped into focus.  Putting them on I was transported to the day I wore my first pair of glasses.  I was 21 and I looked out my dormitory window completely entranced by the details of the leaves on the trees, rather than the impressionistic, late Monet view of the world that I had previously experienced.  The change wasn't that dramatic, but it was enough of a change that I really noticed the details and even the familiar drive home seemed new.

 

  George took this picture of me with new glasses while I was taking a break from putting up bookshelves and moving books yesterday.  It is not a particularly glamorous shot, but hey, new glasses were worth running out for even if I was dressed for shelf building not shopping. I had originally toyed with the idea of going into NYC for fancy glasses, but when I learned that my stronger eye saw better without my glasses than with them, I knew I just needed glasses ASAP and I am really happy with this pair.

 

What I wore:

New glasses by Lindberg

Ancient sweatshirt picked up when I was shopping at Ross Dress for Less with my sister-in-law Ann, who passed away last year, which makes this a priceless part of my wardrobe.

Cartier hoop earrings purchased from Beladora last year.  These have become my standard wear with everything earrings, the ones I wear with jeans or chinos, or whenever I don't know what else to wear.  I suspect they fill the role that diamond studs are supposed to fill, but I learned that I am just not a diamond stud kind of woman.

 

On Sunday George and I went to a piano recital in Beacon, part of a series we had attended for years prior to this year, and we had a wonderful time.  I was thrilled that he wanted to go, as I have been torn between wanting to go to the concerts and feeling somehow that leaving him behind would be disloyal, especially considering how much we used to enjoy going to conerts together. 

 

A month ago he never wanted to go to a concert again, but then one day something clicked, and his attitude changed.  The entire concert was gorgeous, but the high point, as far as I was concerned,  was the Schumann Arabeske, which was just tender and beautiful and filled with yearning.  The program notes said it was militant in places, but I didn't get that  out of the piece, just exquisite tenderness alternating with deep longing and yearning, which was almost overwhelmingly palpable, but not militant.  I wonder how much what we experience from music depends on our own emotional states and readiness or lack of readiness for a particular feeling.  Increasingly I think these things are open to interpretation, but then again I wonder if this is just ignorance of musical theory on my part.

 

G was focused and attentive and great company and we had a wonderful time.  It was sweet being with him, much like it used to be years ago, before he started to get somewhat restive in concerts.  It made me very happy.  Afterwards we got soaked in the pouring rain as we didn't quite manage to run to the car, and then we went out for Mexican food.  We shared an order of guacamole, after which G had enchiladas de mole and I had my favorite succulent slow-roasted pork, cochinita pibil.  By the time we got home, after another slow-motion attempt at a mad dash through the freezing rain, we were cold and wet so we just put on jammies and cuddled on the sofa watching mindless silly TV (Journey to the Center of the Earth) which seemed like a fitting end to a lovely day.

 

 

Current Knitting

During all this upheaval I have been knitting.  My current project is basic stockinette, necessary as my reading ability is really hampered right now until my new glasses come in (next week), and my eyes are different enough, that simple readers don't work.

 

I've been working on this pattern by Cocoknits called Louisa.  In retrospect I realize that I am probably knitting it in the color shown here, but that wasn't my intention.  I saw a sample of this garment at the Vogue Knitting Live market last month, and selected a color of Habu N-68 Lamb Linen from the colors available, and you see what happened. 

 

Being somewhat tall and long of torso, I had to do a little lengthening of the pattern to achieve a fit that was flattering on me, as you can see from the rather blurry photos below, which were taken fairly late at night with inadequate lighting.

 

The first photo is the length of the sweater as written, which as you can see, is too short and hits at an unfortunate position which emphasizes the curve of the hips and thighs in an unflattering way. The second photo shows the sweaters current length, after adding an additional 6 inches of length.  Perhaps longer than necessary, but a flattering length on me, at least if I am wearing this with jeans, which is my intention.  With a skirt or different styling the shorter length might be fine, and I may well consider that option in another version of this sweater.

 

 

 

 

 

At this point I have knit  the body of the sweater up to the armholes and am about to start the sleeves, which are knitted in the round, then joined to the body and the top is knitted in one piece.  Apparently, I don't have size 7 double-pointed needles so I will be picking those up tonight at knitting as I would much rather use the DPNs than two circulars, which I just find confusing and aggravating.  

 

Here is a photo of the body of the sweater so far.  The fabric is light and soft and has great drape.  I am having some worries about whether I have enough yarn.  I did order extra, but I don't know if I ordered enough extra for the six-inch extension.  I probably won't know until I run out, so I might be on tenterhooks for a while yet.  The yarn is available and I can order more; if the dye lots are not similar I have a couple of ideas for incorporating the color change into the design although they may require some ripping and reknitting.  

 

I wish I had weighed the yarn with the cone when it arrived.  I know how much yarn I purchased, but I don't know the weight of the cone itself.  If I had weighed the yarn on the cone, I would have a much better idea of how much yarn is left.  

 

 

 

Burnt

Yesterday I packed up my kitchen and put it away.

 

No, that is not exactly true, but it felt like I was putting my kitchen, and by extension a part of myself on hold, like I had made some kind of bargain with the devil without reading the fine print.  I brought my sweetie home.  I was able to start carving out a niche for myself again, only to find that the things that are important to me are slowly being chipped away.

 

Here's how it happened.

 

On Monday evening I went to use a particular pot, a beloved pot, and as I pulled it out of the cabinet I noticed that the color had changed from the soft gray of stainless steel to a deep burnished orange-brown on the inside with orange and black spots all over the outside.  This did not scrub off, even with Barkeeper's friend.  It had melded with the metal.  I was, at that point, far too upset to cook.

 

I did ask E what happened to the pan, and he said it wasn't his fault, he made popcorn using oil from the "waste oil" can, the jar where I store used oil waiting to be discarded.  

 

Now, one shouldn't use the old oil, but the more I think about it, there had to be more than that because the pan had to be very hot, hotter than is necessary for popcorn, for the oil to scorch into the metal like that.  I've made popcorn in that pan.  I've fried chicken in that pan.  I suppose I should be grateful he did not start a fire, and I am, but I am also still sad about my pan.  

 

But overheating is an ongoing problem..  Countless silicone spatulas, the kind that are supposed to withstand 600 degree heat, have been melted, including my favorite, the one I use for eggs in the morning, even though it was in the jar labeled "gluten free do not use."  I suppose I shall have to change that to "Mardel only do not use."   He always cooks on high heat. He leaves the pans on the heat with nothing in them.  I smell the hot metal and the burning oil from across the house long before I see the smoke.  Although they are only things, I can't help but feel like my babies are being slowly tortured in front of me.

 

I've purchased new utensils to separate gluten from gluten-free.  One of my favorite nonstick skillets is scratched and warped.  I need a new slow cooker.  Now I need to replace my 18 year old 5.5 quart Demeyere casserole as well. It is not the price.  I am just as upset about my green silicone egg turner and by favorite blue colander as I am about that pan, although the thought of constantly replacing things is daunting.

 

Nor is the problem exclusively with this aide, it has been ongoing.  It is a question of care, and the people that come to help G just don't take care, not with things.  They are good with G, and ultimately G is more important than things.  I know this.  And yet with each thing that is lost I feel little bits of myself being lost as well.  I can say that G is more important, but I can't say that the things are not important because each thing is purchased with care and thought:  for years I have been eliminating the chaff, saving only the essential, the things that matter to me, and now those things are being slowly taken away.

 

I can teach someone not to take a hot pan off high heat and immediately run cold water over it.  I can teach someone not to plunge the electric base of a slow cooker into a sink full of water.  But then someone else comes, and I can't think of everything I need to teach them because so much of this is second nature to me.   I can't come running and screaming into the kitchen every time a pan has been left on high heat empty for 10 minutes "so it will get hot" when I smell it burning from 20 or 30 feet away.  I can't teach someone to take care of things that they don't care about.  I care.  They are my things. I feel ripped apart with each gash in the finish of my favorite skillet.  And yet we need them, the aides.  I can't abandon G just for a spatula or a pan or any other thing that may exist in the house.

 

I have to adapt. My only alternative is to put the things I care about away until this phase of our lives passes.  I took great pleasure in my heavy "good" pans, I took care of them, I loved using them.  As I cleaned them one last time, polishing the copper on the heavy copper skillet, I felt like I was saying goodbye to old dear friends.  I felt like I had lost "my" kitchen, like there was no point in cooking anymore, like I had lost a part of myself. 

 

I put up new pans.  Not bad pans, a relatively inexpensive set from Macy's.  It is better to just have pans I don't care about. I don't care about these pans.  I don't care about using them.  I don't care about loosing them. But I also realize it is not about pans at all.  Things melt, things burn, it is a normal part of life, and in normal life, at home with family, I would laugh these things off.  

 

But this is not about normal life, or not about normal life as I am prepared to embrace it. Even though I made the decision to make these changes, I hadn't really considered all the implications.  I suppose decisions would never be made if we actually considered all the implications involved.  It is about change, and control, and being dragged kicking and screaming to accept changes I was not really ready to make.  It is about opening up the walls to the cozy little sanctuary that is/was my home and accepting change rather than building walls with things. One moment I am embracing the future, and another I am retreating into the past, holding my pan up like a shield.

 

Sometimes I feel like a stranger in my own house, like it is slipping away from me and I am powerless to stop it.  Here I am trying to reclaim my life but I gain a little something only to lose something else.  Life seems to be a lot like a teeter-totter, first I'm up, then I'm down, and I can't quite find the balance point.  I know we will get there, but sometimes it seems that I hit the ground rather hard.

The Promise of Spring

The first small shoots of green peeked up above the ground yesterday.  They gladdened my heart, sparking a frivolous bit of giddy happiness.  Most of the ground is still covered with snow.  The temperatures will once again drop and stay below the freezing mark and we will probably have more snow. But spring is coming.