restingmotion

Muttering While Packing, or is it Packing While Muttering

Yesterday I was at the vet, sitting and waiting for my (actually Sam's) appointment and I overheard a telephone conversation that just had me livid completely out of proportion to the situation.  

 

Someone was on the phone (duh) and she said "yes Thanksgiving dinner was good"  ..."The man cooked it" ..."he even made stuffing"...."It was really good".... "I couldn't believe it either".  

 

I was really about to lose it when we were called into the examining room and I started fretting about Sam, who somehow developed diabetes just as we were putting the house on the market and are packing and moving and it is absolutely the worst time for a poor sweet sensitive cat who really just likes things to be quite and uneventful to get sick, and I forgot about the conversation.  I forgot about it until I was in the car and it just started rolling around in my head again.

 

I don't even know who I feel this whole conversation is more insulting toward -- men, whom we assume can't cook (are they too dim?  or is it that they are too bright and cooking is mere "women's work")  But then if it is the latter it is really demeaning to women. But it is demeaning even if we think only women can cook because they "pay attention to the details more" and taking pride in the idea that women cook and men don't.  As soon as we decide something can only be done by one or the other sex, we are putting both sexes down, as if each group only holds a subset of the qualities that make up the whole creature known as "human".  

 

Why do we give a guy who cooks a turkey AND dressing accolades?  Why don't we marvel that mom or grandma or the lady next door just happened to turn out a fabulous turkey and dressing and maybe even (hold your breath) PIE.  Really we take it for granted that women can make Thanksgiving dinner and really only comment upon those who fail.  Why is it considered an affront if a woman can't cook a decent turkey but if a man burnt the turkey no one would care?  Why do we applaud a man who "helps" around the house and condemn the woman who doesn't?

 

Yes there are very real biologial differences between men and women and I applaud them, and these differences do affect or pyschology and everything about us, and I applaud that too.  But the rest of it?  Why do we have to get ourselves so invested in our own little pieces of the metaphorical pie?  Why limit ourselves?  Why limit others?  Just why?

 

Really, we let men get away with far too much.  And don't give ourselves nearly enough credit.

 

Asside from my self-absorbed mental peregrinations, I am occupied with the mundane tasks of packing. Being the perhaps neurotic person I am, I have color-coded the new house and purchased 10 colors of duck tape to assist in the packing process.

 

Aside from cataloging box contents, I am wrapping each box in the appropriate color tape so that it will be evident where it goes when it is unloaded.  It will also be very evident if any box ends up in the wrong room.  

I can see already that I will need a great deal of tape and that I did not perhaps purchase enough of certain colors.  Luckily that situation can be remedied with a simple trip to the store.  

In the meantime, it may be overkill, but the colors make me happy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Everyday Blues

Although sometimes I feel very comfortable standing out in a crowd, far more often I feel happiest when I blend into the background, pulled together yes, but also comfortable and appropriate.

 

A couple of weeks ago I posted a bright blue outfit, which I was wonderfully happy wearing.  But don't go getting any ideas.  Even though I love to dress up, most days my impulses run more toward function than frivolity.

 

Patti, at Not Yet Dead Style, says that Visible Monday is about what makes us feel wonderful/visible, and I applaud the idea of visible Monday.  But what happens when the clothing that makes us feel most wonderful is more closely aligned to our actual habitat?  Do we become invisible?  I don't really think so.  Or by allowing our dress to be more attuned to where we are and what we do do we actually allow ourselves to be more ourselves and more visibly a part of our environment?  

 

I don't have the answers to these questions.  I am not sure I ever will.  In fact, I am not sure that I ever want to reach a point in life where I feel I have more answers than questions.  

 

I've mentioned before that I live in the country, or in a small town at the outer edge of a extended suburban area, in a gray area between suburbia and farmland.  In this setting, my autumnal garb mostly consists of jeans and boots.  If I go north I  need to walk on cobblestone sidewalks.  I often need to tramp through a little bit of mud.  If I go south, I need a little more polish.  Either direction I need to remain warm and dry.  I hope to manage all these things while looking somewhat pulled together, competent, and practical but without looking sloppy.  Usually my uniform of choice for running errands about town is something like this.  

 

The simple truth is that I feel wonderful in this outfit. I feel like I am a part of this place where I live, and yet from this place I also feel like I can conquer the world. Of course, I would rather conquer the world surreptitiously. To that end I feel well atired.   

Fry Boots

Michael Kors Jeans

J Crew Flannel Shirt

Carlisle Silk Scarf

Fleece-lined Barbour Jacket

Loro Piana Bag

 

Only the shirt is new.

 

 

A Beacon of Visibility in Brilliant Blue

My life right now centers around two activities:  

    1.  Packing and planning to move

    2.  Not packing.

 

Usually I am so thrilled to be not-packing that I am eager for a little dressing up, even if I am only taking my spouse to a doctor's appointment or going to the grocery store.   There is certainly nothing wrong with making life an event, and I'm always up for a celebration.

 

We had a bit of Indian Summer last week, 'though more like the Autumn that never was came back for a stunning encore.  The sun was shining and the significant number of trees that had not yet dropped their leaves (surprising since they are usually gone by mid to late October) decided that this was the time to turn.  We had the kind of glorious fall color that we normally have in October, but really didn't this year.  

 

Autumn colors aren't really my colors, so in a celebratory mood I opted for brilliant blue.

 

Blue Silk Dress purchased from local designer Haldora this past summer (2011)

Long Black Cashmere cardigan, Bergdorf Goodman house label, a gift from my (at that time future) mother-in-law (1985)

Long black freshwater pearl and oxidized silver necklace (2011)

Black St John knit pencil skirt (2005)

I seem to be slowly outgrowing my extended matchy-matchy phase, and although I do actually own tights in the same shade of blue as the dress,  I opted for these tights by We Love Colors (2011)

Manolo Blahnik pumps (2007)

 

This week is already looking rather harried, filled as it is with appointments and not enough time for packing.  Unfortunately Sunday's planned packing extravaganza did not come to pass and I feel like I have taken a tumble from the peak I was feeling yesterday morning.  I will catch up, and everything will get done, but like most people I harbor my illusions of control and get grumpy when they are snatched away. Just looking at this photo this morning has brightened my mood, and reminds me how happy I felt in that outfit.  Perhaps it is time for another dose of color therapy.

 

Don't forget to visit the other women Patti has gathered together over at  Visible Monday.

 

 

 

Assessing, Wearing, Packing...

Although it is probably possible to arrange to move and pack and also blog consistently, and I am sure there are people who can manage it with panache, I am apparently not one of those people.  So postings shall just remain erratic, regular, in that I believe I can manage more than one post per week, but not on any fixed schedule.

 

I finally took Creep off the blocking board.  Getting it on my body in a way I liked proved to be a bit more problematic and there was a brief period when I feared I had created an orphan, a loved orphan but an orphan nonetheless.

 

It proved not to be so.  Here I am wearing Creep with a black turtleneck and black Joseph Ribkhoff pull-on pants, so far the only successful outfit.  Behind me on the bed you see the pile of rejected options.  Quite a few of them will work in time, once I accumulate the proper supporting players. For example, Creep looks fabulous with my new deep greenish-black J Brand cords, but not in combination with any top currently in my possession.  And as you can see, Creep definitetely needs to be worn with a top.  

 

There are also some issues with placement, namely taming Creep's natural urge to become a boob harness, that need to be considered.  Although there are probably situations in life where breast bondage may be desired, they are certainly outside my normal territorial rangings, consisting as they do of post office, grocery store, pharmacy, and doctor's offices.  In fact, I can comfortably say that I hope never to find myself a situation where Creep's asset-framing propensities were considered desireable, if not de-rigeur.

 

As to other things, I am almost finished packing up my  yarn and fabric stash. Of course I have to lay my hands upon every piece, admire it, contemplate its potential and finally fold (fabric) or count (balls of yarn) each item before cataloging it and boxing it away.    I expected this to be the most time consuming, and overwhelming part of the packing process and in many ways it has been.  I will finish packing bulk of my collection today but there will still be the last few boxes to address before my self-imposed Thanksgiving deadline:  the last box of fabric, the one I hope I might get an opportunity to sew before I move, even as I know it is not likely, and the last box of yarn, which shall be the first in Knoville, the box of yarn that will keep my fingers busy those evenings first in temporary housing and then while unpacking once we are finally in place. 

Wednesday, or musings of a crazed knitter

Creep has been on the blocking board since Monday.  It is completely dry, and yet I am loathe to unpin it and take it up.  It just looks so pretty lying there, in the corner, on my bedroom floor.  I am entranced by the architecture of it, the way it sometimes looks like a row of stone columns marching across the floor or the way it sometimes reminds of a grouping of stained glass windows.  Perhaps the effect is best experienced early in the morning, when I have not yet donned my glasses, or at those odd moments, when I am not expecting it and it catches my eye as I walk across the room. Folding will ruin the effect.  There shall be no lump of joy when I gaze upon its neat blue form on the shelf.  I am fairly confident I will enjoy wearing it, but for the moment I am content to just sit and drink my coffee and gaze fondly upon it.

 

The photo above was taken in the late afternoon sun, when droplets of water still clung to the top of the wool.  My poor camera skills were inadequate to capture the magic and yet, when I looked at this photo just now, my mind's eye remembered the combination of glistening water on soft wool, the aetherial sparkle, and I am again rendered speechless that this small bit of beauty could be lying on my own bedroom floor, knitted and pinned in place by my own hands.

 

Alas, I have descended from knitting nirvana into one of the lower circles of hell.  Worst of all, I have done it to myself.  As I finished up Creep I was already thinking about what I would knit next, and I decided to do something with the two remaining balls of the lovely Royal Alpaca that I had originally intended to use for Creep before Moisés got his claws into it.  I fell hard for the lovely Milanese Loop on Ravelry and as soon as I pinned Creep to the floor, I sat down and cast on.  It is not a difficult pattern; a few short weeks ago I would have just ripped through it.  

 

You might recall that I took it into my head to learn a new way of knitting, as if the way I had been knitting for 20 years was not good enough.  Now, just as I had gotten comfortable with the new technique on straight needles,  I had to adapt to circulars.  50 stitches into the first round I was ready to pull my hair out, telling myself I was a total birdbrain.  By the time I got 100 stitches into the round I was  constantly dropping and retensioning the yarn in my right hand, but at least I had a grip on the needles. By the time I got to stitch number 200, it was smooth sailing, slow but with a natural rhythm, and I thought "I can do this".  There are only 224 stitches in a round.

 

Then all hell broke loose.  The first and last six rows of this pattern are knit in garter stitch.  That doesn't sound so bad.  But I am knitting in the round.  That means I have to purl the even numbered rows.  Purling was my downfall.  I couldn't get the yarn around the needle to make a loop.  My hands kept cramping up.  I was muttering curses under my breath, cursing whoever thought up this method of knitting, cursing myself for ever thinking that I needed to learn something new.  Most of all I was cursing whoever thought that knitting garter stitch in the round was a good idea.  Who wants to purl in the round? People knit in the round to avoid purling.

 

I had to take a break, go look at creep lying innocently on the floor, take a few deep breaths, and remind myself that I could indeed produce something lovely,  tell myself that I would not be beaten by stupid knitting.  And yet, those 224 purled stitches almost did me in, almost made me into a blithering lunatic.  I was muttering curses under my breath that would make the saltiest sailor blush, my hands all contorted into unnatural shapes, and I wouldn't be surprised if my hair was standing on end as well.   Even my cats thought I had lost my mind; they abandoned me in the middle of a complete purl-induced breakdown and were sitting across the room, staring at me wide-eyed with alarm.

 

When I finally finished that row I uttered a huge sigh of releif. I had to make a cup of tea just to hold it and let my hands relax. I looked forward to a row of simple knit stitches, but to my chagrin, I had lost the hard-won rhythm I had finally achieved at the end of the first row and had to start learning all over.  Luckily this time I got the rhythm after the first 100 stitches, leaving half a row of joy before venturing on another row of pain and suffering.

 

Now I never minded purling before this.  I never understood people who hated to purl, who would knit in the round just to avoid having to make a purl stitch.  Even learning the new technique I had no trouble making purl stitches on a straight needle with the needle firmly anchored under my arm.  But the small tip of a circular held in my hand was a completely different story.  It took me four hours to knit those six cursed rows. Four hours to knit 1496 stitches.  And I'll admit I cheated.  I went back to my old technique.  It was the only way I survived. I'd still be knitting those accursed six rows of garter stitch if I hadn't reverted.  But my hands paid.  Throwing the way I used to throw is much harder on my arthritic knuckles.  Even though I was nearly spent, I had to knit the first couple of rows of the pattern, using the new technique, just to calm my hands and my mind.  I had to quit for the evening with a win.

 

Now that I have another 96  rows of nice straight knitting ahead of me I can relax.  Already I want to drag it out, make the knitting last as long as possible before I have to purl again.  Maybe it will be simpler by then.  Maybe. 

 

For my next project though, I will be back on straight needles. New techniques are probaly best mastered one step at a time.  But I still have doubts about purling in the round. 

 

 

Drying Sweaters

I had hoped to have Creep ready to show you today, but that has not come to pass.  I did finish knitting it this weekend, but as of last night the blocking board was still not available so Creep just had to wait.  I washed a couple of sweaters Saturday afternoon and laid them out to dry, but the weather is cooler now and the sweaters simply take longer to dry than they did even a few weeks ago.  This despite the ministrations of my sweater-drying assistant.

 

I present the assistant dryer of sweaters, otherwise known as Sam.  Shortly after I laid the sweaters out on the blocking board Sam jumped up to take a nap in the sun.  Apparently a wet cashmere sweater was no impediment to a good nap.  In fact, the part of the sweater which served as Sam's bed is actually dry, unlike the rest of the sweater. I am now wondering if there is some way I can get Sam to move around on the sweater in fixed intervals, without disturbing its position of course, in order to speed up the drying process.

 

In the interest of fairness, here is Moisés.  Moises is sitting exactly in the place I tend to sit in the mornings when I put my shoes on.  This explains why, if I don't remember to brush the furniture first thing in the morning, I spend the day with gray cat fur on my back.  Perhaps wearing more gray is a good thing after all.

Roasted Pepper and Anchovy Salad

Last week seemed to be very task- and deadline-oriented.  I literally felt driven, and a little panicked, panicked enough that sleep was fitful and I felt always behind.  I took off two days for visiting family and felt like I was behind for a week.  Can I handle a trip at Thanksgiving?  Can I balance it all, the hopes of family, the need to spend time separate from all of this with my spouse, the need to keep his life as calm and balanced as possible, and still get everything done?  Can I do all of this and still sleep at night?

 

I don't know.

 

Yesterday, I came in rushed and harried, plagued by phone calls, plagued by things I hadn't done, and by things that have yet to be done.  I came in and made lunch, which was basically pretty simple:  burgers and a salad.  But sometimes just working in the kitchen calms me.  Measuring, chopping, stirring -- these things force me to slow down, to concentrate on what I am doing and let everything else slide away.  And of course the results are good too.  

 

This salad was adapted from a recipe by Mario Battali that appeared in the October 2010 Food & Wine magazine.  I reduced the quantities from 6 to 2 servings and in doing so also changed the proportions somewhat.

 

Roasted Red Pepper and Anchovy Salad

serves 2

1/2 red bell pepper (halved lengthwise)

1/2 yellow bell pepper (halved lengthwise)

3 Sicilian green olives, seeded 

3 anchovy fillets

1 teaspoon capers

12 fresh rosemary leaves

1 teaspoon sherry vinegar

2 teaspoons extra virgin olive oil

crumbled goat cheese

 

Place the peppers on a baking sheet, cut side down,  and place under the broiler until the skin is charred. Let cool.  Discard the skin as well as the stems and seeds if you have roasted whole peppers. Cut the peppers into long strips.

 

Chop the olives, anchovies, rosemary leaves, and capers together until minced and well blended together.   Place this mixture in a medium bowl and add the vinegar and olive oil.  Stir to blend, then gently fold in the pepper slices, being careful not to break up the peppers.

 

Divide the salad between two plates and top with goat cheese.

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The original recipe called for about 1 1/3 ounces of soft goat cheese per person and the instructions said to crumble the goat cheese on the salads.   The goat cheese I had didn't crumble; it was too soft. Instead of crumbles I had soft pillowy lumps.  I also used less cheese, about 1 ounce between the two salads, although if I had had a crumbly cheese I might have used more.  Either way it tasted fine.   

 

I will probably make this salad again tomorrow, using the other half peppers, serving it on a bed of baby arugula.

Plans on Paper

I've been playing these little games, moving tiny bits of colored paper around, pondering their placement, loosing this bit or that bit, and then rearranging them all again. Every time I would get something on paper that seemed right, I would realize that some important ingredient had gone missing and I would have to start over.

 

At times I really just wanted to start pulling out my hair.

 

All this has been necessary in order to figure out what furniture I am going to move and where it is going to go in the new house.  Now that the framing is almost complete, the deadline looms for telling the builder where I need outlets, telephone jacks, cable connections etc.  Aside from that, time is running short.  It is already November and I think it is best to sell as much as possible before the holiday hullabalu officially begins in a few short weeks.

 

Although it was fun playing with colored bits of paper representing furniture in our primary living space, I initially thought that would be the hard part.  After all, I am really not moving any furniture to my new studio, planning on setting it up completely when we get to Knoxville.  I thought that part would be easy, but of course it is not.

 

It is kind of strange, planning a space for a studio, when I haven't sewn much in a long time.  It sounds kind of pretentious.  I don't know exactly where I am going with this, only what I am interested in doing.  I am not planning on going into business, this is not a good time for me to go back to work although a part of me would love to do so, so I feel a bit of the dilettente, and it makes me peevish sometimes.   And yet, I will have the time, and the space, and I have sewn a great deal in the past, hopefully learning something from that experience, and it is time for me to work at exploring something I love and perhaps determining how far I wish to pursue it.

 

But even though this is not in any way an industrial space, and home power requirements will more than meet my needs, there are special circumstances to be taken into consideration beyond basic "bedroom wiring".   And so planning for my work space has taken even longer than the entire living portion of the house. For example, I know I will need more circuits than are normally alloted for a "bedroom" space.   I will need seperate circuits for pressing and sewing.  I know that the press and the iron together can draw up to 3000 watts of power.  It doesn't happen all the time, but when it does that is enough to blow a shared circuit if anything else is in use on that circuit.  It is much cheaper to plan for electric usage in advance if possible than it is to fix a problem later on.

 

I have two small rooms. My basic plan is that one room will house fabric storage, cutting, and pressing as it seems logical to me that these things should all be in close proximity.  This room will also house my knitting machine, primarily because there is a convenient place for it next to the yarn closet and also because I can close the door, so that I can keep work out if necessary without worrying about little kitty claws.

 

The second room, which is open to the stairwell, will contain my actual machine work stations, pattern storage, books, and another surface that I am calling my finishing station.  This is where I can block sweaters without having them take up space on my cutting tables, or where I can sew sweaters, work on beading or embroidery or other handwork.  These are all tasks I prefer to do standing up with a generous work surface.  I have learned from experience that it is best if finishing and cutting occupy different spaces.  This second room, the sewing room, will also have a cozy window seat where I can sit and look up details or thumb through my books and inspiration files.

 

Although I went ahead and pasted up a rough plan  for my own reference and for the builders, I know there will be some minor variations when it comes to final execution.  Yet this is enough to let me know where I need power and where I need light.  I am glad I did this now because although I had a vague idea of what I wanted in my head, I hadn't actually worked out the requirements for a workable space.  There have been more than a couple of compromises but I think I have come up with something I can work with and it is a good place to start.