Now Norma Knits

I is for Internet

Without it, I would not know any of you.

My life would be so much the poorer for it.

It's a Perception Thing

HOW WE LOOK:

HOW WE SEE OURSELVES:

HOW OTHERS SEE US:

You will be asking me, I know, how I can state this so definitively. Well, my people, let me tell you. For the last two days, my depositions have been held at a hotel in Burlington. That very same hotel has been home away from home for umpteen hundred female barbershop quartet -- and who knew THIS even existed? -- barbershop chorus members.

FREAKS!  The gathering was titled...

"Show*ers of Har*mony." 

We won't even ponder what Freud might think about that.

A fucking FREAKshow! And it wasn't just me who thought so.  It was unanimous in the room. We started the deposition today and it was being videotaped. After ten minutes, we were all about ready to spontaneously combust. We couldn't stand the cacophony (singing?) out in the hallway and at the huge conference room across the way. We had to request that we have another room far, far away from it (in another city, perhaps?), as we could not concentrate to conduct our business.  Their music and their voices were SO ANNOYING to us. UGH-LY!!!

But when I looked at those people, I could tell they were having a BLAST. They were having the BEST.TIME.EVER!!! They could not have found more happiness.  Anywhere.  The smiles were ear to ear.  I could just feel the fun they were having together -- together with kindred souls, people who all shared the same interest. When I left the hotel, I never saw so many vanity license places from different states in my life with one variation or another of:  "SING" or "LUV2SING" or "SINGER." 

It left me to ponder what we must look like to "outsiders."

Freaks. Teehee.

I Try My Hand at Writing for "24"

I haven't been telling you, but I've gone over to the dark side again. That's right. TV.  I've been watching some of the "24" episodes. It's no "Lost" (my first love), but I've enjoyed it.  After watching the latest episode last night, I've decided that I'm going to try my hand at writing the dialogue between Jack and Chloe.  Here goes.  Let me know how I'm doing.

JACK:  Chloe, I need you to get the (fill in impossible thing) from the (fill in impossible-to-hack-into) computer.

CHLOE:  It's going to be impossible.

JACK:  I understand.

CHLOE:  I'm going to have trouble getting past their firewall.

JACK:  I need it in 38 seconds or thousands of people are going to DIE!

CHLOE:  All right, I'm working.

JACK:  Upload the image to my PDA and call me back.

Formulaic, much?

Ah! Things Are Back to Norma(-l)**

1. Taking blurry photos of Dulaan hats in the garden in the rain:

This one is made with love from the Dye-o-Rama queen's very first hand-dyed yarn (Lopi used in the brim and pompom), and Cascade 220 scraps left over from Abigail's Rogue (photo in my 2004 Gallery) and Patons Divine. 

Ryan reminded us on Friday that we are less than halfway to our goal of items for the Dulaan Project for 2006. Remember those sweet photos of the kids receiving their handknits last year? Remember how they tugged at your heart and you pledged to do more this year? (or was that just me?) Anyway, get out the needles, folks! The deadline for the packages to be in Arizona is July 1st.  See Ryan's blog for all the details.

2. Photographing baby socks on my feet in the garden in the rain:

I finally found a pattern that worked for me and this yarn. It's Mim's free baby sock pattern. Aren't they cute?! Or I should say, "Isn't it cute?"  The second one is about half done as of this writing. But it looks exactly like this one. I'm a wicked tight knitter (I'm trying to work on that), so I used US2 needles -- and yes, I did cast on 40 stitches. I still can't wrap my head around that, but there you have it -- photographic evidence of it above. Amazing, isn't it?  It's big for a newborn, but as people reminded me, they grow so fast, bigger is better. (yarn: Opal Crocodile)

3. Spending all day Saturday digging in the garden and spreading a pickup-truck-load of compost; dirty fingernails, blisters, hangnails, scratches.

4. Off at oh-dark-thirty in the a.m. to a long-ass deposition. I'll be mostly incommunicado tomorrow.

Yes.  Back to normal around here.

**Some people have referred to me as "one L short of normal."  This is my favorite distinction.

Politics on my Sleeve

I'm declaring this Time Warp Saturday and pressing "publish now" to post this, even though it's dated tomorrow.  (Margene did it, so why not me?)  There is an important message from my nephew below, so I'm anxious to get it out there.

Hot Rod Libby sent me the link to this video & song and I can't stop listening and watching.... I thought you'd appreciate it too. 

And while I was listening and watching and getting pensive, I got an email from my nephew that said this:

There will be a rally on April 30th in DC and in SF for Darfur- the biggest rally in support of action for Darfur in the three-year history of the genocide... The goal of the DC rally is to have tens of thousands of people there, but to also deliver a million postcards to President Bush calling for more international action. Right now, Save Darfur has 1/2 million postcards... A huge push would get them to a million... I have already exhausted all my connections numerous times to try and get people to sign million voices postcards. I don't usually ask this, but I was hoping you could forward on to all your friends to ask them to sign the postcard... Postcard is available at  www.SaveDarfur.org.

I signed one, and thought I'd post it here in case you'd like to, also.

Have a lovely weekend.

Facing Vincent's Our Fears

Knitting blog purists, I know you've all but given up on this being an actual knitting blog. Sorry. I should change the name of the blog, since it makes a promise I just can't seem to keep.

And:

I should just accept the headaches as a fact of life. I am going to get them and they are going to shut me down, for all intents and purposes, for 24 hours every 28 or 30 days. Period. Because true to form, exactly 24 hours after the headache started, it stopped again. This time (it doesn't always happen this way) being outside in the fresh air helped. I dragged poor Vincent back up to the hill. And I do mean dragged. He dug his heels in and tried to run back home as soon as we hit the entrance to the trail. But I'm bigger than he is. I picked him up and carried him past the place where the Big Bad Wolf was last time. He still wasn't too convinced. He kept dawdling and looking behind him worriedly, making like if I gave him even a hint that we'd turn back, he was all ready to run back to the safety of home. Then again, he did not want to be too far from me, either.

I don't think so! Monsters are in there.

Mommy, please, home?! 

Come on, Vincent. It'll be ok.  Let's walk. Now modeling the L.L.Bean hiking boots that I adore. I wear these for gardening, too. Well worth the dear price.

Our side of the bump. The city, the lake, and the Adirondack bumps in the distance.

And we're walking......

Look, Vincent! The great beast has been taken care of! No more ravaging of Northern Franklin County!

The monument says: In this spot (note the arrow near the top, presumably pointing to the exact spot) in the year 1839 Lawrence Brainerd shot a grey wolf which had been ravaging the northeast part of Franklin Co. The great beast measured six feet in length.

Lawrence Brainerd: Hero. Either that, or rich. I'm guessing rich.

A tree doing yoga. Leg up, flat back, stretch to your toes!

The other side of the bump: More bumps!

Let's go home now and look at the penises we are growing in our garden. See? Nothing to be afraid of.

Ah! Headache all better. But no knitting.

Important Facts

1.  This blog is the fourth Google hit for the word "enemas."  I thought that might signify something. 

2.  The new uptic in the estrogen patch therapy has been proven to NOT be 100% effective. I had one of my headaches again yesterday. As a consequence, after I was released from work early because an attorney had laryngitis and could not continue, I could not get home fast enough. Of course, I then proceeded to just be useless and feel miserable at home for the rest of the afternoon and evening.

3.  I found the 2nd skein of orange Koigu. You might have noticed the lack of the second orange sock around here. I was not admitting to it, but the reason for that is I had misplaced the 2nd skein. It's found now. Phew.

4.  I'm still hurting, so I must get away from this screen and rest my head and my eyes. Hoping to be back to normal sometime midday today.  Must sleep now. Please don't call me at 7 a.m. I am hoping to be still asleep then.

Camnesia (and other camera-related maladies) Strike(s) Again

I have a double defense I wish to plead:

a) It was tax day. I remind you I am self-employed. The IRS hates me. The feeling is mutual.

b) Not only was it tax day, but it was college financial aid form day. Which is a futile exercise (the bastards), but one which has to be attempted. Tuition watch:  $43,890 next year. Kill me. Kill me now.

I was up 'til the wee hours weeping, then filling out the damn forms. And weeping some more. Then I had to get up at seven freaking o'clock to go to work. Don't laugh. That is a totally uncivilized hour -- I don't care what you say.

So it was a beautiful day. Even in my sleep-deprived state, it was hard to be grumpy. The weather was glorious and my deposition today was in one of the prettiest places in Vermont. I even remembered to bring my camera. Hey, it's a step. 

Several times I wanted to take photos of our bumps (Margene has mountains, we have bumps, she says), but when I saw the most picturesque scenes, I was driving and couldn't pull over.  I wanted to take a picture of Lee Ann's favorite thing on I-89. But there was a ton of traffic (by Vermont's standards -- come on, give me a break) and the highway crew was cleaning up trash right there, so I couldn't stop.

I wanted to take a picture or two of the sky for The Sky-Watcher.

I was hoping that the Notch Road would be open for the season so I could have a close encounter with a moose or bear. Not that that has ever happened to me, but it's happened to just about everyone else I know, so I keep up the hope.

But then I remembered I had to deliver some transcripts to Burlington, which meant even if the road were open (I never did find out if it was, but it's rather doubtful), it made no sense to go that way since it takes me too far from Burlington.  So I drove home with my new moonroof open, listening to Lectures 8-11 and saying "Oh!" and "D'oh!" a lot when I drove past photogenic things but realized they were photogenic too late to act upon them.

Have I mentioned I love my moonroof? Little old, plain old Norma with a moonroof.  It's a bit much to bear, really.

I came home and I was so drunk on the sunshine and warmth that I decided to put on my hiking shorts and my hiking boots and grab the camera and Vincent and head up to the little bump behind my house. (That one is TRULY a little bump.)  As I climbed up our steep backyard to the street behind the house, I bumped into my neighbor and his little girl, who had also just entered the street.  "You going to Hard'ack?" I say.  "Yup."  "Me too!"

So I handed the leash to six-year-old Alexandra (little girls love little white Bichons...) and we make our way to the opening of the trail together. This was going to be good for photo ops.

We were no more than three feet inside the trail when we saw a woman walking a massive Newfoundland. Did I say "massive Newfoundland"? Wicked redundant.

Poor Vincent (and I) nearly expired. Vincent didn't even engage in the usual small yippy-dog stupidity. He just nearly fainted. I'm not kidding. I've never seen anything like it. I was so afraid that Alexandra was going to let go of his leash and he was going to do the stupid-yippy-dog thing and it would be all over. But he didn't. He melted and turned into a puddle of goo. He saw his life flash before his eyes, I am sure of it. He thought, "My mommy has brought me to the dark woods to sacrifice me to the great dog in the sky."   

I managed to pick him up and the Newfie came over. Vincent weighs 11.7 pounds with his leash and collar on. I know this because he was just at his annual checkup appointment where he was weighed. The Newfie?  His tongue probably weighs that much. His owner, in a voice with an accent I could not distinguish, hastened to tell me, "He's very good. He is very friendly." 

Yeah. I'm a heathen. I'm an atheist. But I believe in the God of Instinct. Give a nice tender juicy white pretty morsel to a giant bear of a dog....and well, the God of Instinct is just gonna take over.  And there I was, holding Vincent in my arms, trying not to pee my pants and let the big dog know I was scared shitless.

The Newfie then did what every self-respecting dog would do.  He marched right over to us, where he stood as high as my shoulders. I was covering up the most logical place on Vincent for him to sniff (and I think you know where that is), so what did he do instead? He started licking Vincent's privates. Slobbery (but gentle, I will admit) licking of poor little fainted Vincent in my arms. Could there BE anything more humiliating? I wonder if Vincent will ever forgive me.

I wish I got a picture, but I was busy trying not to get eaten. Or licked. Gently. Because he was a very gentle Newfie.

I Don't Understand It

I've been sitting around waiting for three solid days, and that transcript hasn't done itself. 

I am beginning to come to the conclusion that the green croc yarn does not want to become baby socks. I have started those things over countless times, using countless patterns. (well, ok, "countless" is probably a bit of hyperbole) 

I was almost finished and was very excited at the very darling little thing I had created, when I looked down and saw a huge gaping hole at the gusset. Riiiiip! So I picked up the Dulaan cardi and did the first sleeve instead. It's lookin' kinda cute, I think, even if it does remind you of some team colors, as some people mentioned last time I showed the picture of the sweater. Since team sports are irrelevant and rather foreign to me, I have no clue about that.

Yesterday afternoon I went out to the veg garden plot. I saw a bunch of holes where perhaps pea sprouts should have been.  I believe the robins had themselves a salad. When they see sprouts like that, I think they believe they are grubs and pluck them out. Damn. Mother Nature can be a cruel, cruel woman.

I should mention that when I planted my seeds super-early for Vermont as I did, I put a GardenQuilt (aka Reemay) over them. I've used these for years and years, and they are one of my favorite helpers. They protect from light frost, hold the moisture and warmth in, and protect from wind. They are marvelous for improving germination rates and speed and for making nice perfect little seedlings, not all chewed up by wind or hail or heavy rains or birds or dogs tromping over them.  The blankets are really not too pretty lying on the ground, but they work so well I don't mind. They're not expensive, they cut to size, and they last for at least a few years before they wear out. In those years when I've tried to save a few pennies and not use them, I've been sorely disappointed. But I took the blanket off on Saturday, and there you go -- the thieving robins stole my pea sprouts. I guess I should get back out there and put it back on, eh? And perhaps shoot me some robins plunk a few more seeds in while I'm at it.

Speaking of birds, I had the most fun time watching a group of chickadees playing with the Austrian pine boughs that we had cut from our backyard and left lying near the front porch throughout the winter. They were intended to be winter decorations for the barrels we have on the front porch, but, um.... well, I dunno. They just never made it to the "decoration" stage. They just "decorated" the grass (or snow) or something. They're still there, still decorating the grass.  Anyhoo. The chickadees nearly made me pee with glee as I watched them cavort in and around the boughs. Then I realized what they were doing: They were eating the seeds (or nuts?) from the many pine cones that were on the boughs. Cutest thing ever. They repeatedly did a particular set of movements that could be mistaken for a choreographed dance, then stuck their heads in and grabbed a seed/nut from between the scales of the pine cone, showed it off proudly to their compatriots, then flew off, presumably to eat it. Okay, they were just EATING. But still. It was the cutest thing EVER.

Fawk. I've been sitting here yet another half an hour and the transcript has STILL not done itself.

DISCLAIMER:  This post written under the influence. BUI: blogging under the influence. Should it be a crime?

Herbs

As in, "H is for...."

Shown: Borago officinalis from last year's garden.

"You say 'erbs,' and we say 'herbs,' because there's a fucking 'H' in it." ~ Eddie Izzard

So much has been written about herbs and information is so readily accessible that I feel at an utter loss to write any more. Suffice it to say that growing herbs and using culinary and medicinal herbs are a couple of my passions. I'd love to have an herb garden that looks like this, but that is far from my reality. I have plants plunked wherever I happen to have plunked them.