Now Norma Knits

A Quick Catch-Up

1.  May we have a little applause for our wee fundraiser for the Red Scarf Fund/Craft Activism giveaway. Even in this rotten horrible no-good economy, $575 in donations were reported to me from a total of 15 donors/entrants in the contest for my extra copy of Craft Activism.

2.  And the winner is: Michelle P. from Missouri. Her book is in the mail! Thank you to all the donors to the fund!

3.  I had my stress test with echocardiogram yesterday, and according to the nurse, nothing seemed awry. Of course, this is subject to the official word of the cardiologist, but I felt good walking out of there. I was told I'm in GREAT SHAPE. But given that most of the people they have in there are probably over 70 (at least that's all I saw in the waiting room), and all the docs and nurses couldn't therefore stop STARING AT ME, I'm not sure how to take that.

The problem is, I'm still having the symptoms and my blood pressure is still high-ish. And I just plain know that something is not right. So I'm thinking there are more tests in my future. But I will admit that I felt like a huge weight was lifted from my shoulders after that test yesterday. 

4.  Mr. Jefferies says hey. He forgot to blog yesterday. He was busy sleeping, since he had had a weekend visit with dogsitter extraordinaire Jessica, who apparently wears him out to no end. 

5.  I've been BUSY with work! I approve. 

6.  I'd be willing to bet that my weekend was wayyyyyy weirder than yours. In fact, I'd lay 1,000,000-to-1 odds. 

And that's all I'm going to say about that.  

It Was A Social Media Vacation

I took a couple days off and withdrew from the world, from social media, even from Mr. Jefferies. He was not amused. He was pretty damn glad when I got home, I'll tell you that. 

While I was gone, some carpenters were working on replacing and repairing and releveling parts of the deck. Ahhhhhh, it's all clean and straight and white and beautiful.

Mind you, they are not finished all the work yet. But at least this part is finally done. I've been waiting for this for a lonnnnnng time. I just can't stop gazing at it. 

I also came home to find that the beautiful Stella D'Oro daylilies are open and there are pints of blueberries to be picked and broccoli to be harvested, among other things.

(The netting keeps the birds away.)

A lot of beautiful things can happen in a couple of days.

All this helps me to find a little bit of zen and keeps my mind off the fact that I also came home to find that the Japanese beetles are having a convention an orgy on the asparagus ferns. 

Fuckers.

Meet McKenzie

This is my nephew Tanner -- you know, the one who was the driving force for my sister and her hubby to start their business Vermont Nut Free Chocolates -- and his girlfriend McKenzie.

I met and spent some time with McKenzie over the Christmas break this past year. She is a multi-talented, multi-dimensional, very impressive young woman. She has just finished her freshman year at University of Wisconsin - Madison. 

The other day I logged into Facebook, and McKenzie started chatting with me. She said she had been stalking my blog. "I like nice stalkers," I said to her. She said she wanted to start her own blog as a summer project and beyond, had an idea for it, and wanted to pick my brain about blog hosts and other tips I could give her, and wanted to run her ideas past me. We spent almost an hour and a half talking. 

Well, she didn't let any grass grow under her feet, I'll tell you that. When I got back from the commencement ceremonies for the graduate schools at UVM yesterday, I saw a message from McKenzie, alerting me that she had already started her blog. 

I think it is pretty fabulous on many levels, and I'd like to share it with you. Go read. Comment. Give her a nice big Now-Norma-Knits-reader-style welcome to the blogiverse.

Her blog is called: 

A Shot of Sobriety <------ click!

Hibernating

Poke At Your Own Risk

Lookit, it's been a week (a month? a period of time) of last straws. Sometimes it only takes that one extra molecule to be The One That Tips The Cart. It's not just the blog, it's a lot of other things, too. I'm just absolutely fed up with some of the crap. Perhaps this running thing is making me [even] meaner and just a touch on edge, and now on top of it all, I seem to have a sprained (?) ankle. Lovely.  

On the topic of the blog: There are some people who should not read here. This has come up once or twice before. They don't understand the medium, they don't understand me. They think it's all about them. Their eyes are too sensitive for the way I write, and it has nothing to do with them. And I am pissed off.

I wish they would go away, but meddlers just can't stop being meddlers, and they don't seem to leave, even though I apparently offend their sensibilities. 

Most of the time, it's no big deal. I mutter "F.U." under my breath and I carry on. It doesn't even register as a blip on my radar. But when it's a Last Straw Week, I just have to say it out loud. And then I might just have to break something. So here in this instance, you could say I'm symbolically breaking the blog for a bit so I don't end up putting somebody's eyes out or something. 

Sadly, this might make all the good and friendly and supportive readers feel like I'm punishing them or that I'm talking about them (the ones who are on the same page, the ones who are my dear friends in real life and virtually, and who understand blogs and understand humor and metaphor and rhetoric and hyperbole and self-expression, the ones who aren't going to pick apart everything I write and turn it into something it isn't).

As always, the ones to whom a criticism is directed are the ones who just don't get it. 

Whatever. 

Do not take from this that the terrorists and the busybodies have won. Oh, no. You know I'll probably be back. I'm just taking a rest. 

After I rest, I might just come out a-roarin'. So watch out.

In the meantime, meddling busybodies are kindly invited to go find something else to worry about and gossip about, and forget about this blog. I'd appreciate it. Thanks. 

Grounded

Well, now. We all know about my traveling mojo as it seems to have developed over the past few years, and so I guess it should come as little surprise that I am still at home. 

And yet, I am surprised.

Good grief. There was a storm predicted for the afternoon yesterday, but my flight was at noon, and I thought I'd make it out before anything untoward happened.  But it was not looking good even as we were driving to the airport in the morning. When I arrived, they announced that my plane was going to be delayed about an hour -- not because of the storm, but because of mechanical difficulties. 

Then, sitting at the gate, the other passengers and I were looking out the windows and going, "Hm. This isn't looking too promising."  

The people with whom I was sitting and chatting, it turns out, were not taking JetBlue as I was, but a different airline, and they were all of a sudden boarded with great haste by the crew. They were just barely told to board when a second announcement was made: "If you want to get on this flight, please hurry! The door will be closed in ONE MINUTE!" I have never seen those crew members scanning those barcodes on the boarding passes so fast.

I said goodbye to my new friends, and then the announcement was immediately made that my flight was canceled. Arrangements could be made right there at the gate, but if the line grew too long, the rest of us would have to return to the ticket counter. Then the announcement was made, "If you have checked a bag, you will have to go to the ticket counter." 

So I rushed to the ticket counter. And the line was already immense (by Burlington standards). And then I saw on the board that the flight that my fellow waiting passengers had been so hastily boarded onto had a new status: CANCELLED. Those poor sods. Well, at least they weren't sitting on the tarmac for three hours or something. 

The storm came more quickly and with more force than was predicted. So anyway, here I am back home, in limbo a bit. Not sure when I'm going to make it to D.C., but it will be replanned sometime and somehow. 

I had a new experience with the TSA. I was patted down for the simple reason that I was wearing a skirt. I do acknowledge that this is no joke: Imagine what-all you could hide under a skirt, I suppose, even though you've gone through the metal detector already. (In my case, just thighs that needed to be shaved, but I digress.)  

I'm still laughing about the instructions the (female) agent gave me:  "I'll be asking you to spread your legs first one way and then the other. And then I'll be running my hands up each of your legs until I meet resistance."

Yeah. That's what he said. 

So, I bet you're all wondering who the winners of my blogiversary comment contest are!  All commenters since February 23, when I first announced the contest, were assigned a number. Then I ran the Random Number Generator for the winners. Here are the results:

1. Winner of the cat mug:  Bullwinkle, who blogs at Out Of Yarn.

2. Winner of the bison laceweight:  Seanna Lea, who blogs at Another Purl.

3. Winner of the DVDs: kmkat, who blogs at kmkat and her kneedles

4. Winner of the cone of cashmere yarn: Elisa, who blogs at Knot Knitting Enough.

I think this is a first in my contests -- that all the winners happen to be bloggers. Thanks for all your comments, and thanks for playing. I've notified the winners via email, except Elisa, whose email address did not come through in her comments. Elisa, I hope you are reading -- and if so, please email me and send me your snail mail address so I can ship out the cashmere.  

 

The Seven-Year [B]itch

Today marks seven years of writing in this space, almost every day. 2,321 posts, to be exact. 

Seven years!  

Seven.

Years.

That's longer than most marriages nowadays, I think, and it's fair cause for a celebration.

I even baked a cake for the occasion. Well, really I baked it because Abigail whined asked me for a cake. I used this recipe, and yes, I used all that white cake flour and sugar and butter and eggs and buttermilk. A girl can't live by green smoothies alone. Once in a while a little indulgence is in order, if only to remind oneself that one should not indulge.

I am probably paying for it today as you read this, but at least it was a good cake. I was quite pleased with myself that I sort of remembered how to bake. I used to be a right proper baker. I had a sourdough going in the fridge at all times, and I baked bread at least weekly, not to mention pastries. But it's been a very, very long time. I had forgotten what a big mess it makes to cook a big meal and bake a cake. I'm out of practice. 

I'm also out of practice at greasing and flouring a pan and turning out a cake. Exhibit A:

Oh, hell no.

No, I'm sorry. There is just no amount of fixing or fussing or fudging or remolding or remodeling, Julia Child style, that could make that thing acceptable to serve at a dinner party or bring to a potluck. But! It sure did taste great. If I have to pay the price of the inflamed joints and/or messed-up sinuses today, at least it was a good cake.

It seems very fitting that my package of Icelandic yarn and the pattern for that scrumptious sweater arrived yesterday. I was notified that it was shipped ages ago, and I was starting to wonder if it was coming here by Viking longboat (to borrow Mel's phrase when I was chatting with him about it the other day).

I thought there was only going to be the one pattern in this sweater kit, but it's a whole 36-page book, chock full of some really good-looking patterns. Check some of them out:

I can't wait to get started on that sweater. The zipper they sent me is beautiful -- very classy, with very lovely pulls -- but it's lonnnnng, so I'm not sure how that is going to work out. I may have to settle for one from a less nice source, but we'll see. Perhaps the sweater will be more tunic-length than was my original plan. Problem is, the zipper seems to me to be too long for the "right" length, and too short for a true tunic length. It'll hit right at an unfortunate place on my anatomy, I fear.

I wish I could take it with me on the trip I am embarking on today, BUT I am going to remain true to my promise to myself to do one project at a time, and take along the Geode sweater instead.

About that trip, it also seems very fitting that on my very blogiversary, I will be flying down to Washington D.C. to spend a few days in meetings with the good folks at my favorite cause, and the one most near and dear to the heart of this blog: The Orphan Foundation of America. We'll be discussing red scarves and much other general goodness. 

The opportunities and experiences brought to me by the blog have been plentiful. I've used this place to sound off, to bitch and moan, to get angry, to be happy, to be sad, to make new friends (and lose a few), to soapbox and to learn, to do my cheerleading and my cajoling, and to move through a few life phases. And now a couple more new and exciting doors have opened. Expect to hear more about that -- much more -- from me in the future.  

So Mr. Jefferies just barely got home, and I'm leaving again for another few days. It's all right -- I spoiled him a lot for the one day and two nights we were together.

Anywaaaaay... we fell quite far short of my hoped-for 60,000 comments by the time of my blogiversary. We are somewhere in the range of 56,520. Even though we did not hit the mark, and comments dropped off after the initial flutter and flurry that the mention of cashmere and a cat mug (who knew a cat mug would get so much interest?) created, I'll still award the prizes. Tomorrow I will announce the winners of my comment contest.

Also: I wish I had a dollar -- or hell, I'll be generous -- even 50 cents -- for every page view for the life of this blog. My bank account would be this fat:

$2,821,764

So go ahead and see if I care! Be stingy with the comments! Just send a buck every time you read.

That'd be good.

 

B-

All right, apparently that wasn't enough of an enticement. As of this writing, I only managed to beg 85 comments out of you. If we're going to even begin to approximate Margene's, we've got to hit at least 100 a day for the next two weeks. So I only give you a B- for your efforts. Think I'm a hard grader? Tough! It's my rules!

Fine, then. Maybe if I show you a picture of the pretty cashmere.

That's quite a lot of yardage, it's aran weight, and it fluffs up like you would not believe when it's washed (you'll want to wash it before you knit it, because these cones are intended and treated for machine knitting). I can show you something that I knitted with a similar amount of this yarn several years ago:

Not enough? How about this:

That's a stunning 400m of Bamboo/Merino/Bison laceweight.

Or these DVDs:

 

And Mr. Jefferies has thrown in a gift, as well:

Better get those comments in. You never know which one is the right one.  

 

Wild Wacky (Maybe Even WTF) Wednesday

Well, you'd think that without the little Yorkshire Terrier running around trying to be the boss of me, and getting under foot and causing all kinds of chaos, life would be a lot easier. But no. It's more like I have phantom-limb syndrome. Always hearing the pitter-patter of little feet, always thinking I need to rush to get home to take care of him, always wondering what despoilation he's up to, and missing him on my lap and my chest and making me laugh. (The latest "I wish I had a video camera moment" was when he was "boxing" at me with his front paws and trying to stare me down, to get me to stop brushing him. Adorable doesn't even begin to describe it.) He really is a true love, that one. 

So, no. Even though I am so busy right now, with so much going on that requires so much of my attention, and it's a time that, by rights, it should make it easier not to have him here, it's not helping. 

David is in the same state. David, the confirmed (ha) non-lover of dogs. He's still reporting, "I took him out and he peed and he p... No, wait. That didn't happen."

I went for a brisk walk after my morning shift yesterday, because I needed to clear my head -- and clear my head the 2-degree-Fahrenheit temperatures surely did. I couldn't help myself, but I went on the regular lunchtime route that Mr. Jefferies usually drags me on. It just seemed like the right thing to do. And the whole time, I knew I was alone, but I was worrying about the cold and the salt hurting his paws.  

Nuts, I tell you. Absolute bonkers nuts. But I never said any of that, and don't say I did. I'll deny it.

But anyway.... I've been able to soldier on. I plunked a few seeds (50 to be exact, which I thought would be enough, but is not even the beginning of enough) in some poo pots:

At least I'm calling them poo pots. They are those things -- some of you know them -- that are flat little disks. They used to be called Jiffy peat pots, these things, but this packaging from a Canadian company is all about saving our peat bogs (I typoed "blogs," of course) and claims that by using their little disk thingies instead of peat ones, you are saving the peat blogs (I did it again) of the world. They call them "fiber" pots, and nowhere on the packaging can I find WHAT they are actually made of -- what kind of fiber, pray tell. But I swear to you that, when I wet them, the aroma was unmistakably moo doo. I really don't mind. If you are giving me dung pots, just be honest and tell me so. I'm all about saving the peat b(l)ogs too!

So what else. OMG, there is just so much going on. Soon my blogiversary is coming up, and not that it's a competition or anything, but I started my blog about the same time as my dear friend Margene. And as a part of HER blogiversary, she recently had a contest to reach her 60,000th comment. She had written considerably fewer entries than I had, and had almost 5,000 more comments in her blog lifetime than I. How is that fair, I ask you?! (KIDDING) I haven't been able to hold up my end of the blog-community bargain very well for the last year, at least. So I deserve to have you just pretend I don't exist. (Stop it! I'm taking the piss out of myself and NOT having a pity party as it seems. You have to hear the voice[s] in my head to realize my tone of voice.) (snork)

But. What if I were to bribe you a little, to give you an idea of what I'm going to be giving away on MY blog birthday? [a cone of cashmere, a skein of bison laceweight in red?] And told you that it all depends on your comments, and maybe some surprise commenter in the next two weeks will be the winner? Would that get you to show me the comment love? Nah, never mind. I refuse to beg. Poor li'l adorable Mr. Jefferies only got like 10 comments yesterday -- a blogging Yorkie who umpty-billion people claim they read and adore! And if HE can't garner the comments, when he works so hard to put on his dog-and-person show, nobody can. I'm not even gonna try.

Anyway, I'm sorta too busy to handle the comments right now. And don't expect an answer from me! This is a one-way street, and don't you forget it! 

I'm not complaining. Here are some numbers to let you chaw on. They sort of stun me. For realz.  

 

Lifetime Pageviews:  2,807,877

Total Posts: 2,290

Total Comments: 55,812

I have written 2,290 blog posts in THIS blog (more in other blogs such as the Red Scarf Blog), and I've answered in excess of 50,000 emails, in the seven years I've been blogging. I think I need to lie down, actually. 

 

And in other news, WHAT TOOK ME SO LONG to get this book????

Even if I never knit a thing from this book... but I probably will... it is just so much like drinking my favorite cup of Earl Grey tea, with a nice piece of almond tea cake, that I can hardly stand it. Funny -- I've only owned one other Elizabeth Zimmermann book in my life. I bought it, and then sold it (or gave it away or something), and then bought it again because someone (or a bunch of someones) told me I needed it for something, and both times I was underwhelmed and considered myself the anti-EZ fan, and wondered what defective knitter's gene I had been cursed with. But THIS one.... THIS one is really something special. 

Now, for that lie-down. But first, I have a lot of work to do. (Work has 'sploded, and you know that makes me happy, very happy. But it also makes me a little bit tired. Thank goodness I took advantage of that slow period to cleanse and rest up and pack my cells with nutrients. I need 'em.) And you,.... well, you just drift in and out and don't bother to leave a comment. Nobody will mind, especially not the winner of that fucking cone of cashmere. 

Oh Good Bloody Cripes

I was mad at Typepad for ignoring my help ticket for three days about my comment emails not being sent. So I finally came up for air from the work week that ate my life, and, filled with smoke and fury, went in to put in another YELLING LOUDLY help ticket, asking WHY HASN'T THIS BEEN RESPONDED TO YET? and I found the answer something to the effect, "I checked and there have been no other complaints about this, so are you sure it's not in your spam folder?  If some other spam content came through in comments, they might then redirect all the emails from Typepad there."

Yuh, RIGHT, I thought. Gmail wouldn't do that. They've never done anything stupid like that before. BUT I had to admit that I had not received the email from the help ticket, either. So perhaps she had something.

I grudgingly went to my Gmail spam folder, and there was her response to my help ticket, along with about 100 comment emails.

NO, STUPID GMAIL.  The comment emails from Air Jordans and Coach bags and MAKE UR DICK HARD and Cheap Viagra are SPAM. NOT MY FRIENDS' COMMENTS, thankyouverymuch.

Artificial intelligence my ass.

Signed:

Peeved.

 

Good Morning Sunday!

And good morning lurkers. Thank you for coming out of the mists, those of you who did. You made me smile!

This "Not a Morning Person" was awake, feeling rested and spectacular, at 6:30 a.m. this morning. I got up, read a while, finished the carpet cleaning I started yesterday, and there was not a craving (for coffee or Diet Coke or chocolate or eggs or bacon or cinnamon buns or.... you name it) in sight. 

I've lost 6 pounds in a week, and I do not ever remember feeling so well on any diet or cleanse before. The headache is gone now, and I feel really strong. There is no hunger on this thing! The first week I think there is some psychological hunger. You THINK you are hungry, but it's just that oral fixation thing or boredom going on. I even cooked a meal for David last night -- all the things I love -- Italian chicken sausages, onions, peppers, garlic, layered in a sort of a mock lasagna with a sliced multi-grain wrap to look like noodles, and topped with cheese -- all those Italian smells and tastes I love -- and I didn't take a mouthful. And here's the important part: It was not difficult. 

I have developed a sense of super-taste and super-smells. Any whiff of anything that is strong or a little bit "off" sends me searching for the culprit and getting rid of it -- hence the carpet cleaning (thanks, Mr. Jefferies!).  I used only vinegar and water (and an enzymatic cleaner for pee spots, ahem, Mr. JEFFERIES) in the carpet cleaner mix, and everything is fresh and clean-smelling. I bargained with David to trudge through the snow to bring the compost out to the bin, in exchange for the meal I cooked him last night, because I just could not stand the smell of the compost. 

And now I am enjoying a delicious (really!) breakfast smoothie that I made up of Clean-approved ingredients: butternut squash (raw)*, apple, ginger, coconut water, and agave nectar...

and the song lyrics, "I've got sunshine.... on a cloudy day..." are running through my head.

I might just have become a bit of a crazy zealot. The crazy part we already knew about. 

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*I know! Raw butternut squash for breakfast?! Am I nuts? Perhaps. But a fabulous-feeling nuts. 

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Oh, and P.S.  Someone asked:  Am I continuing to work out, so that I don't lose lean muscle mass?  

Yes. Jumping rope is my love these days (bouncing/impact for bone mass and balance), together with a combo of the elliptical machine or the hiking simulator, and squats, a back-to-basics old-style calisthenics mix (jumping jacks, pushups, etc.), weights, and the rowing machine. I mix it up in a different combination whenever I go into the gym -- a few times a week. I find this keeps my interest up and has good results.