Now Norma Knits

WTFriday: All The Bad News That's Fit To Print

1. I made my first batch of mozzarella cheese yesterday. I'm very disappointed and whiny about the whole thing. I wasted a whole gallon of really good organic raw milk that I drove a good distance to acquire. The people who say cheesemaking is much easier than yogurt-making are wrong and they should have to write that on the chalkboard 110 times, RIGHT NOW. And the directions in the little booklet that came with the cheesemaking kit I sent for are terribly ambiguous. Worse, they are gleefully described on the package to be SO EASY A 7-YEAR-OLD can do it, exclaims one testimonial. 

Well, I suppose that's me and Sarah Palin: Not smarter than your average 7-year-old. I can never figure out what so-called universal symbols are supposed to mean, and I can't make mozzarella like any old 7-year-old should be able to do. Let me see if I can remember how to tie my shoes... hm. I'll have to get back to you on that.

(Take out a colander, it says, but then doesn't have an instruction in which you use a colander, for example.) (Add the dissolved rennet, stirring in an up-and-down motion. WTF does THAT mean?) (Drain the floating whey off the top. But if you try that, the curds go down the drain with it.) (Ladle the curds into a bowl. They had not said to take out a ladle, but a slotted spoon -- and chasing the little curds with the slotted spoon in all that whey is like trying to get guppies out of a 100-gallon murky fish tank using a salmon net.) I finally said $%#&* *^&%##% (come on; are you surprised?), and poured it into the colander that the instructions had TOLD me to take out, but without telling me what to do with it, to drain the whey off the curds. And when it comes to the addition of salt, the quantity specified (1 T.) MUST be wrong, because that cheese is so salty I can hardly eat it. VERDICT: Mozzarella-making is fiddly, MUCH more complicated than making yogurt, and though I will probably try it again someday, I will not jump to make it again tomorrow. I'll use my good milk for yogurt or ice cream and just buy my freakin' mozzarella. 

2. Yesterday was July 1, and Mr. Jefferies had had a haircut the day before. Poor l'il dude was shivering so much yesterday afternoon (high temp in the mid-60s F) that I had to put his alpaca sweater on him. That's just not RIGHT.

3.  It seems to me that it's been raining and grey pretty much nonstop, and yet yesterday afternoon when I went to check my garden, almost everything was BONE DRY. I had to water. I could die.

4. The strawberries I planted seem to have been asleep, sitting dormant, not doing anything, looking like they are not thriving, but just (barely) BEING. I felt it was probably a pH problem, and since my soil is often on the acid side (though this soil is the bagged MooDoo potting soil, so I really don't understand why it would have a pH imbalance, but there you go) last week I gave most of them a little feeding of lime.  They seem to have perked up a bit since then -- some of them, anyway. But they are still not bursting out with a joyful rendition of "I Feel Pretty!" as they should be.

Ditto for the peppers. JUST.SITTING.THERE. I thought I gave all of the peppers some lime and bone meal last week, but as of yesterday three have sort of taken off and three are still JUST.SITTING.THERE looking anemic and pathetic, like they are out on the frigid corner of a building in January for a smoke break, rather than sitting in the beautiful peninsula garden of expensive soil and sun I made JUST.FOR.THEM. Ungrateful snots. I guess I need to get out there and give them some lime, too. And perhaps some fertilizer. Maybe all the rain has leached out the nutrients from the soil; I don't know.

5. I've spotted my first Japanese beetles. Gardengeddon.

6. I have planted bush beans four times. It is not a good story.

If they deign to germinate, they either seem to rot at the base (or something is eating their roots) or get eaten by something when they are in the cotyledon stage. These are the few that are hanging on so far, but they don't look well.

I'm having my usual unimpressive results with pole beans. Sort of like the people who yelled that cheesemaking was EASY compared to yogurt (Yes, I'm bitter; why do you ask?), the people who shout out that pole beans are superior to bush beans because they produce all season are just plain WHACKED.

They just SIT there and SIT there. Slow growth, and I do mean S-L-O-W. This is always the case with me and pole beans. They just don't LIKE ME. I'm starting to get a complex. The gardening books say these things start producing right away and produce all season as they grow up the pole, and Jack will be climbing the beanstalk and bring me back the golden ticket from the chocolate factory. Wait. I think I'm mixing up my stories a little bit. But those people and their pole bean fairytales are JUST.SO.WRONG. Pfffffft.

7. I fear that I can see the telltale early signs of the squash vine borers, and I'm sick about it. Freaking moths. I'm hoping it's just my imagination and I'm holding my breath. What a shame if we managed to keep away the beetles and the bugs, and yet our squash still got ruined by the borers. Gahhhhhhhhhh.

8. My sinuses are taking a wee bit of umbrage with the level of dairy eating I've been doing. They are my own little "off" switch to stop me from overeating the ice cream, so I can't just sit and down those incredibly complex and delicious and adventurous flavors all day. 

But there is some good news!

1. Not one cucumber beetle has been seen, nor squash bug, except the one cucumber beetle I killed. The nasturtiums have worked WONDERS in that regard. 

2. Is there anything cuter than a baby cucumber in bloom?

These are those lonnnnng English cucumbers, and this is what they look like before they are pollinated. Can you believe that thing is going to be a foot long or longer when it's mature? 

3. We're eating delicious broccoli!

And beets and radishes and asparagus and lettuces and onions and black raspberries and Swiss chard. It's really more than two people can possibly eat. I've been giving some to my mom and the neighbors. Soon the many cabbages I planted are about to take center stage. I don't have any idea how we're going to eat them all. Please do not suggest kimchi or sauerkraut. I do.not.like either of those, even though I would love to love them. I love the idea of them, and I could totally see myself wasting days and weeks and months (or however long it takes to make that smelly crap) making it, only to throw it away because I can't tolerate it. So it'll be fresh or braised or cooked with root veggies and corned beef or something, and SHARED. A lot of it will be shared. 

4. See #8 above. The sinuses are keeping me from overindulging in all the most amazing flavors of ice cream I've been making. OK, it's only been two. I made two batches of orgasmic rose petal ice cream and one batch of orgasmic strawberry-basil. You want my honest assessment? ORGASMIC. But beyond that, the basil ice cream base BEFORE I put in the pureed strawberries, was OR-GASSSSSS-MIIIIIIIICCCCCCC. Next time, I'm going to forget about the strawberries and just make basil. I know it sounds strange, but you have to believe me: O. I'm not even kidding. 

But, thank goodness for my screaming sinuses. Otherwise I'd gain back all the weight I lost over the winter, and PLUS have to work out 13 hours a day. 

So see? It's all good, even the bad.   

A Tutorial Is Not Needed

Sooooo. 

A couple people axxed me how in the HELL does one drive over one's laptop?

Seriously?

It's so fuckin' easy, people. Killing horsetail is hard. Giving a Yorkie a bath is hard. Stopping at just one cinnamon bun is hard. Driving over one's laptop: EASY. I don't really need to explain, do I?

A couple other people advised me to always look around my car before I drive. Yeah. Well, since the last time I did this, I have been 100% vigilant about that. I mean, oops. I have been 99.9999999999% vigilant about that. METICULOUS, even. It was that extra .0000000001% that was the kicker. 

Anyhoo.

A [FREAKIN' GENIUS] friend read about my travails in Facebook and texted me first thing yesterday morning, telling me to call him as soon as I could. I did, and he answered the phone with, "Is this the BLONDE who..." blah blah blah. Hardy-har-HAR. Funny, funny.  

We had a good laugh. Or two. Or three. And that was verra much needed. He saved me from slitting my wrists. Nahhhhh, I kid. He saved me from having a rum and (diet) coke for breakfast, which is exactly what I was contemplating as I was out taking Mr. J for his morning constitutional. 

So I managed to drive to UVM, where he was, without running over anyone's small children or pets, or any other computers. I delivered the entrails to him, and unBELIEVably he was able to use some of his magic equipment last night to get the stuff off the hard drive for me. Halle-freakin'-lujah, because I'm pretty sure that this guy:

might have reneged on his promise, or that his definition of "fixed" might be sort of like shooting the thing (or me?) to put it out of its misery. At the end, my buddy asked me if I wanted "the carcass." Heh. No, thank you. Go ahead and boil it up and make a soup out of it or something.

In the meantime, miracles truly do exist, and I'm LIVING PROOF of that. The steno machine (knock loudly on wood) is working, and after a surprisingly easy and stress-free phone call to the Stenograph people (I think they're lonely now that there are hardly any court reporters left), the drivers were updated and it's talking to the backup laptop. I'll take it out on its first real road test this morning.

Now I just wait for the other shoe to drop. 

I'm Committed -- Or Maybe, If You Continue to the End, You'll Agree With Me That I Should BE Committed

Make a Difference | Starbucks Coffee Company.

Even though their shareholders recently declined to vote in a recycling initiative*, BOOOOOOOOOOO!, I still do love my Starbucks coffee and very much support the shop that I visit frequently. I like the people -- it's (South) Burlington, Vermont, you know? -- it's got that small-town local-place feel, the taste of the coffee is consistent (lack of consistency is a problem for me at some of the local places), the location is convenient (when I'm at work), and all summer long I pick up bags of free coffee grounds for my garden, if I can get in there to grab them before someone else does. So I will bring in my reusable mug today, as I do most days, and get my free cup of coffee. 

I forgot mine one day last week and the barista noticed. She said, "You don't have your mug today!" She then gave me a survey to fill out so that my next cup was free. Heh.

The economics of the situation with the mugs:  I bought my two Starbucks mugs last summer. One of them was 50% off, and I think I paid full price for the other one. It was approximately $6 for one, and $10 for the other -- one grande size and one tall size. Each included a free first beverage at the time of purchase -- I chose a Skinny Vanilla Latte each time. About $3-something each, I think. I get 10 cents off each beverage I buy in my new mugs. I use the mugs, I think, an average of 4 times a week. You can see how easily they have paid for themselves, and more, over the last year. And today I will get another free cup of coffee for using my mug.

HOWEVER, here's a last-minute update: I'm not sure how this fits into the economics of my free cup of coffee for today. Yesterday afternoon as I was backing out of my driveway, I forgot that I had not put my bags in my trunk, but had put them behind the car before I went in the house to change my shoes. So yesterday makes two times in three years that I have backed over my equipment. That thwack sound you heard just now was me banging my head on the desk.

So. My laptop was creamed. Amazingly, though I also drove over it -- you can see the tire marks on the case here:

-- my steno machine is alive -- or at least it seems so. I can't tell for sure, because my backup laptop for some reason would not recognize the steno machine, though I am positive it has been used with that laptop before. So it might indeed not be working, but I won't know for sure until I contact the Stenograph company for the drivers. Stenograph has a history of being less than helpful in these situations, so I really don't know what the outcome will be. If it's broken, I think I will just hang up my steno-writing career and, after indulging in a brief nervous breakdown, just use that LSAT score and go back to school. I don't have it in me to fight the mighty forces of fate that much, especially not this week. 

So. Shall we continue with the economics lesson? Let's see.... I don't have any work today, I can't charge for the class I tried to do (but failed) last night, and the only reason I will be going to Burlington (and getting my free cup of coffee) is to buy a new laptop under emergency circumstances. 

Today is tax day, and being self-employed, that is never a good day in my house. 

I'm not sure in what other ways I can feel beaten and battered this week. Anything ELSE, Universe? Or are you done with me yet?

Notice, I did not even swear once in this post? I don't have it in me, and you know that's gotta be a bad sign.

--------------------------------

*Hypocritical or a good business plan? You decide. I think it's a little bit of both. I can only glean that their idea is to get the CONSUMER to foot the bill of recycling, that they can then take the credit for, by buying their snazzy reusable mugs (or buying their own elsewhere, or in my case I've just given a big box of them to Goodwill -- freebies from various events I've attended and tuition bills I've paid over the years, or whatever -- so they can be had for "free"). Fair enough, I guess. 

Say WHAT?!

So....it was all going swimmingly until....

....I read the ball band.  Gentle hand wash, dry flat in shade.  Do not tumble dry.  (do not dry clean -- that one is not the issue).

Probably not optimum care requirements for a baby garment. 

Crud.  Back to square one.

------------

Something to put you in a happy place:

Knit Night Cupcakes

(first seen at June's blog)

At Least It Wasn't a Thong

Work is killing me.  Today's assignment was to cover a Very Important Public Meeting.  Very Important.  I am tired.  No, not tired.  I am exhausted.  And the pages are piling up, as are my sore hands, back, neck, head.  I can't keep my head above water, and I had to get up extra-early and drive 70 miles to this job.  I'm not at my best in the mornings under the best of conditions, but especially after two long days of another job that kicked my ass.  I arrived at the job site and was setting up my equipment at the front of the room.  There were probably 50 people there.  A woman (I never did see her face or figure out who it was) came up behind me and whispered, "Your dress (it was really a skirt, but it's an unimportant technicality) is completely unzipped in the back."

I know you're going to ask:  The answer is "white Jockeys." 

Black Arm Bands, Please

We are officially in mourning for the Plain Vanilla. R.I.P., my beloved.

Smell The Roses

Rosa rugosa

On the first day of summer, I picked rose petals and made rose petal jam.

But sadly:

The jam didn't turn out. I don't know what happened. I threw away the first batch, thinking that I had cooked the pectin too long. Then I made another batch, being extremely careful to time the cooking just right, and it still came out the same way -- too thick and very gloppy. Not a nice consistency on the tongue or to spread on toast. It tastes great, but it's not right. It's very cloudy-looking; it's supposed to be deep-colored and jewel-like - light should pass through it. I could swear I followed the same recipe I followed last year, when it turned out perfect, and could swear I did everything the same. I'm so sad. All those precious and rare rose petals wasted.

P.S.  The recipe I used is here. 

Norma's Steakhouse

Poor Claudia. She thought I knew how to cook.

Claudia and I propose this as a new Socks That Rock colorway called:

Norma's Steakhouse (aka BURNT)

More to come later, when I rest up from the fun-filled weekend for which I extend great thanks to my devastatingly handsome, warm host, Igor; his compatriot Kimba; and their people.

Unfortunately, I had camnesia* (a condition marked by forgetting to use one's camera), so those seeking photos will have to go visit the multitude of others in attendance on Sunday.

*thanks to Cate for my most-favorite new term

Stupiditis

I apologize for what you are about to read. I am really in no condition to post this, and it's really a waste of your time. But you clicked in, so I guess I owe you to finish this sentence.

Yes. Work has been a bear. Actually, compared to other work bears, this one has been rather cuddly and nice. No big teeth or claws. No scary growls, really. My witnesses have not been astrophysicists or brain surgeons or hydrogeologists or actuaries. This week it's just been plain-old plain-old regular people talking regular English. This makes my editing, assuming I wrote good steno, which I usually do, almost embarrassingly easy. When I say, "50 pages before bedtime," it sounds like a lot to you, but I'm not typing it, just fixing it up. It's already there in rough draft, and it's not terribly rough, given that I was trained to write real-time for television audiences.  But still. As of now, my neck, shoulders and forearms are about to give in. Pain! Ouch!

And thank goodness I've got back into the yoga, because if not for that, it would be worse pain. Add to all this a couple, three, four more depositions this week, and two hellish drives -- one in driving rain and one in sleet -- and I'm kind of on my way to being t.i.r.e.d.  And my steno machine is overdue for a cleaning, so some keys are sticking, etc., and an extra letter in a keystroke (which I will remind you is not like typing, but more like stroking chords on a piano) makes a whole 'nother word or phrase.  Ugh. At one point in my lonnnnnnnng Monday deposition, the software decided that the questioning lawyer was "THE COURT."  I noticed it after a few minutes and I stopped her, trying to figure out why the frigging software grew horns and decided to do that.  She was a very young associate lawyer, and I said to her, "We don't want to put you on the bench -- just yet."  She got a kick out of that. I explained that having that keep up like that was going to make my editing life HELL, and since they wanted that transcript fast, they'd better let me see if I could fix it. I did eventually. I have no idea what I did, but I clicked and looked at the dictionary, etc., couldn't see any problem, and then it stopped.  WTF?  Frigging software.

And then a brief form came up from wayyyyyyyy the hell back when I worked for BBC Television.  That was over a decade, and two different brands of software ago, and many, many, many changes in my dictionary.  I swear to gawd, I keep telling the software people that this happens and they think I'm retarded. It's like ghosts of brief forms past. This one was "one member, one vote."  Too hilarious, to those of us (all two of us, Yvonne?) who understand the steno and the television and the British politics.

Anyhoo.  I'm exhausted and can't really think or write any more. A little glimpse into the wild and wacky work world (gee, I wish this was W week in the ABC-Along....) of Me.

I'm still waiting for the Lion Cashmere Blend I ordered so I can finish the red scarf. And someone gave me some red yarn. There's a blog-worthy story behind it, but I'm afraid I've run out of steam for now. Suffice it to say, it's not going well. I am not in love with Lion Brand Suede. The color is wonderful, but man, is that stuff hard to work with. And squeaky. Don't you hate yarn that is squeaky in your fingers?  Ugh. But when the printer is printing the hundreds of pages it's printing these days, and when I'm not editing, I'm soldiering on and making a "My So Called Scarf" with it.  (I have no energy to link it right now) I love the pattern, now that I'm over my Stupiditis about it. That's where I got the title, and there's a story behind that, too. Man, I'm useless. I'm telling you.  Here's a pic of the thing. The "edging" is just my Stupiditis. I decided to keep it as an edging. Design element....yeah, that's it. If the yarn doesn't kill me, it'll make me stronger? Is that what I'm supposed to believe?

P.S.  Why did the menopausal woman cross the road?

To kill the chicken. 

Man, that one just cracked me right up. It's on my "Wild Words from Wild Women" peel-off calendar. (more W's!) I had to share it with you. This is just indicative of my state of mind, no?

Hung Over

*sssshhhhhhhh!* stop slamming the door! uhhhhhh, ohhhhhhhh. My aching head and back and shoulders and arms and wrists.

Yes, I'm hung over. What's it to you? I overindulged this weekend. Overindulged in digging, weeding, planting, eating (a five-course luncheon yesterday! with wine! and crème brûlée! and there was an apple pie and fresh pears in the evening - and yes, for breakfast. What's it to ya?) (p.s. for the Eat Local Challenge folks, every morsel of it local food! Every morsel and every sip, including the wine. I would have gone to this thing even if it weren't, but it was extra-special that it was. It was an annual awards luncheon to honor somebody - or this year a group - who does good things environmentally for Lake Champlain.)

And there was overindulgence in knitting too. Put your hands together, please, for a completed Beth sleeve. What is that I hear? Lukewarm applause? Come on, LOUDER! Wait, STOP. Too loud. *ouch*

Oh, crap. Maybe you know something. Do you know something? Do you want to know something? Fine, if you'll stop yammering about it and close the door Q-U-I-E-T-L-Y when you leave. PLEASE! Be.quiet! Shhhhhhh, I'm HUNG.OVER. REMEMBER?

Look at that picture again. Does that sleeve look a little long to you? No? How 'bout from this angle? Still can't tell anything? How 'bout here?

I hear ya, I hear ya. The photos don't really help much, because there is nothing for perspective. How about this for perspective: Row gauge called for in pattern, 40 rows/10 cm.  Row gauge I got, 37 rows/10 cm. (and for more perspective, I'm a little on the short side)

Oh, wait, that pain in my head? Not from a hangover at all. I forgot. It's probably from the banging of it against the wall that I did last night when I realized that the completed sleeve had just been downgraded to "swatch."

As I see it, I've got a two choices:  Leave it as is and roll up the sleeves, which I seem to do with all my purchased sweaters anyway. Or rip the entire thing out and reknit it, changing the increases and decreases to every 3rd row instead of every 4th. According to my sucky math (but confirmed by my husband who is a little better at math than I am), this will be just about right. I have to let this percolate a bit, but I think we all know the right answer. Because, of course, this will affect the fit of the body as well - not just the sleeves.

This is a little bit ironic, all of it, because when I first posted the photo of the pattern, Lauren asked the question, "The sleeves look a little on the short side -- are you going to keep them that way?" And I explained to her that yes, I favor bracelet-length or 3/4 sleeves, and if they aren't, I always end up pushing or rolling them up at work. And I also said, "The model in that photo is probably very tall, so the sleeves might actually be long for me." Of course I kept on checking the stitch gauge and I was spot on. I figured if the row gauge WAS off, it would be in the other direction, since I'm a relatively tight knitter.

After finishing the sleeve swatch, I did the only thing I seem to be good for. I knit a Dulaan hat. This is truly a "scrap hat."  I picked up some small random left-over balls of Lamb's Pride bulky that various people had donated to me and knitted as far as they would go, changed colors when I ran out, and literally used as much as I could for the pompom on the top. I REALLY ran out of yarn with this one.  It'll fit a 2-4-year-old, I believe. I had originally attached (poorly, I might add) the pompom directly to the hat, but last night after Cassie laughed at it (she didn't really -- well, at least not in a MEAN way...) when she saw a preview photo of it, I detached the pompom and added a little braided cord so it flops around whimsically -- this time it's a purposeful flop and not just, you know, floppy.

The rest of today will be reserved for sulking.