Now Norma Knits

335. W is for Wishing It Were Wireless

Margene brought to my attention that I skipped W in the ABC-Along.  Well, I think I didn't skip it so much as I cheated.  I remember I posted a not-really-seriously-ABC-Along "W is for WTF."  Don't tell anyone, but it was because I was sick of the ABC-Along, though I will admit that it helped to fill a few days in 365, so for that I thank it. 

However, I now have a W for you, so perhaps we will go back in and fill in W retroactively.  Is that allowed?  Of course it is!  There's no such thing as strict adherence to rules around here.  We bend 'em as the will desires.  Does a will have desires?  Well, I don't get bogged down in rules, right?  So in my world a will can have desires. Shall I shut up now and get on with it? 

Here's my W.  I forgot to show you my new toy. 

My new iPod Nano.  I love how small it is (I don't know how big it will reproduce on the screen, but I'm betting it's bigger than life-size. It's a teeny-weeny little thing).  And I love the lime green color.  I love to be able to put audiobooks and music on it. 

But I'm not using it as much as I thought I would. 

I finally realized what is the problem:  I wish it were wireless.  I am too active when I use it -- either when I'm working out, cooking, or knitting -- and I'm always getting caught up in the cord and yanking it out of my ear or dropping it on the floor, and it bugs the hell out of me.  Why haven't they made these things so you can just put them in your pocket (or in your armband, which I do when I'm working out) and put a little earbud without a cord into your ear?  Am I the first person who's thought of this?  Am I giving away a billion-dollar idea to somebody? Or IS there such a thing and I'm just not aware of it?  If so, people, show me where to get it. 

Dear Apple:  I wanna be wireless.

315. Z is for Zingiberaceae

That is, ginger.

My love affair with ginger has been longstanding.  Though in my earlier life it was only as a minor element in pumpkin pies, gingerbread cake and other spice cakes, molasses cookies, and the like, when I went to live in England I was introduced to it in fresh new ways that had yet to hit the U.S. -- at least my provincial part of the U.S. -- such as ginger ice cream and ginger tea (or tissane, as they know it).   

Nowadays my favorite yogurt is ginger yogurt, my favorite vodka is ginger-flavored vodka, my favorite cookies are ginger cookies, my favorite dish at my local Chinese restaurant is ginger chicken with string beans, and I order it with extra ginger.  One of my favorite teas is ginger tea, I love ginger in my smoothies, I often use ginger in my jams, and I've (almost) never met a gingerbread cake I didn't like. I adore gingerbread hermits, I love to munch on crystallized ginger, and looooooove dark-chocolate-coated ginger.    

But ginger is a rather strange-looking little root and is surprisingly challenging to photograph and come up with anything that doesn't look like a little gnarled weird-looking thing-that-I-won't-name, especially when you're in competition with things like this cookbook. 

Not that I would deign to compete with that.  I mean, really.  I could claim I posed for this photo, but at least a couple of the readers of this blog would know this is clearly not me   

...................because I do not have long dark hair.

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

And thus, I am thankfully done with this year's ABC-Along. 

264. Y is for Yellow

I realize this may seem a bit like a cheat, since X was for ... well ... yellow.  But I was out in the garden yesterday doing some cleanup, and some things, including the asparagus fronds, had grown so large that I almost missed the fact that the Seckel pears were ready to be picked.  How sad it would have been had I missed out on these little golden gems.  So sweet and so perfect.  I got a plateful of juicy, delectable pears from this little tree in its first year, and here they are, just for you. 

This is not exactly all of them. I had to sample a few before I wrote about them, so I'd know what I was talking about.  You know how that goes.

When I first got this tree home (and I remember writing about this last year), I learned that Seckel pears are teeny-tiny things, and I was a bit disappointed that I had bought that variety.  Not disappointed any more.  It proved to be a perfect pollinator for the Summercrisps, and it produced a lovely harvest of not-so-tiny, sweet, juicy, delicious fruits in its own right, even though it was virtually ignored all season.  A definite success just in time for the Autumn Equinox. 

Happy Autumn!  Though I love all the seasons, I love Autumn the best.

258. X is for Xanthous

Dave had fun playing with my tomatoes. I got the highly coveted, "If I were straight, I'd show you a really good time" award!!!  THAT is the highest compliment. Have you read his entry yet?  If not, go here, then come back.  I'll wait. 

-------------Now, then.  Let's get on to more mundane affairs.

Xanthous, in case you don't know (because why would you?), means yellowish. 

I could go around and photograph all my yellow and gold yarn and fiber, and my sunflowers (which are nonexistent this year, but...) and my calendula and my marigolds and my daylilies and my summer squash, the couple of pieces of yellow pottery I have and the yellow botanical prints, and my yellow jasper pendant, and bees with their legs laden with yellow pollen, or dandelion blossoms -- but I'm rather sick of sticking to the rules of the ABC-Along, aren't you?  I think I speak for all of us when I say we have to search desperately for an X word, and let's face it, I scoured the dictionary mightily for one I could use. So I thought I'd photograph something that is more at the front of my mind right about now.

Holy xrap, that is what's known as a xrapload of Swixx xhard!  You can't see it, but there are yellow-stemmed ones in there too. 

And you know, if it weren't for yellow, my wheelbarrow would be reddish (it's faded over the years) and my Swiss chard would be blue. Right?  So xanthous is the word of the day, and I'm nearing the end of the ABC-Along.

In case anyone is wondering, if the conditions are right, this is how much chard you can get from one 3ft X 3ft grow bed. This is after the several bags I have already frozen and the several meals we have already eaten from this year's one bed entirely devoted to Swiss chard.  And it's still growing.

It's a good thing we like it, herrm? I spent all of Sunday afternoon blanching and freezing some of this, bagging some of it up to give away, and I still had more left over to eat this week.  I wonder if we'll ever eat it all, or will we just grow so terribly sick of it that I'll never grow it again?  I haven't even started on the kale yet.  And the new fall planting of beet greens. 

I had beet greens and chicken for breakfast yesterday morning.  And a highly delicious breakfast it was, too. 

The other night I had a dream that I had realized a whole other great place for a garden spot that would dramatically increase my growing space.  I was knocking myself on the head and saying, "Why didn't I think of this before?!" Then I woke up and realized I was dreaming about my childhood home, not this one.  I told Claudia about this dream, to which she replied:

"Repeat after me:  I am a gardener, not a farmer." 

Hm. Xactly. 

249. V is for Vermont Day Out

At the last minute, Sandy and I decided to get up early and go to the Vermont Sheep & Wool Festival the lonnnnnnng way, via Waitsfield, followed by brunch at Libby's Diner.  To get the joke, perhaps a little visual will help:

Lemme tell ya, Waitsfield really knows how to do a farmer's market.  If you have the opportunity to go, this is no ordinary farmer's market, and I highly recommend it.  I did bring my camera, but it was raining, so I didn't take very many photos, but here is a hardly representative sampling:

There was so much more there.  I bought some luscious bulbs of garlic, and a delicious apple that I ate on site.  I also bought some fabulous blueberries and had a wonderful chat with the vendor who told me how to take care of my blueberry bushes (sawdust!).  I got the most wonderful seeded baguette and Sandy bought artisan cheeses that served nicely as the beginnings to dinner later, when paired with my garden tomatoes and basil.  The produce at the market was stunning, and many more fantastic artisan cheeses and artisan breads were on offer, as well as pies and sticky buns -- oh, I want to go back just for the sticky buns, which I sadly did not sample.  And donuts.  And honey, and jam, and flowers and plants and various artists' wares, including Woody Jackson's, and of course our own Ruby Charuby and her husband Ken, who took this shot of us:

Sandy and I now own a couple more of Ruby's scarves, modeled in the photo above.  We had so much fun there, even in the drizzle, and the day had only just begun!

We backtracked our way to Libby's Diner, where we joined Lee Ann and her family, Ann, and Paula, for a fabulous brunch.  Then we made our way to Vermont Sheep & Wool Festival for much fun schmoozing and klatsching.  We saw and gabbed like mad with Manise and Laurie and Chris and Joan and Gayle and Kathy and Dave and Judy and .... oy, I get nervous making these lists, because I'm always so afraid I will forget someone, but I don't mean to. 

Lee Ann, Jessie, and Sandy

Amazingly, I did not spend much money there.  I almost feel guilty for not enriching the festival economy more.  Sandy and Paula made me walk away from some stunningly beautiful alpaca jackets.  These grrls are nothing like the Utah ones when it comes to shopping, let me just say. I only bought a $3.50 jar of honey and gave $5.00 to a young man who was playing a violin slightly off-key and with a fairly bad sense of rhythm, with a basket set in front of him that said "College Book Money."  I said to him and his parents that I like his reason.  And even if it's not the truth (but I'm sure it is!), he gets A for effort and creativity.  We liked it so much that we had to go to the ATM machine and get some cash and buy something smaller (for me it was the jar of honey) to break the 20.  Sandy joined me and gave him a fiver also.  We both wished we'd given him 10. 

When we were done there, we drove up the road to see Jill and the clan at Kaleidoscope Yarns. I stimulated their economy a bit more than I did the festival one. 

Mongolian cashmere in the most delicious red.

238. U is for Utah Economic Stimulus Package

Yes, well.  U is really for Utah, but I've gone on and on about it as if I'll never get over it, and really I won't, I loved it so much. I mentioned to a couple people that I could very easily move there.  One of them would be losing her main CART provider if I moved.  She yelped, "NO, YOU CAN'T!"

Nice to be wanted. 

I hope you will forgive me about the Utah lovefest lately. But the package of things Margene mailed to me (because I could not fit them in my suitcase, which was just a carry-on) arrived.  I'm calling it the rest of my Utah Economic Stimulus Package. 

Elsebeth Lavold Book No. 8, enough Silky Wool to do the cover sweater (I hope!) and a couple of Addi-Turbo needles.  Silly me, I thought I'd get to start the sweater while in Utah, but I spent my knitting time on the lovely Chinese red wrap.  There is also an Addi lace needle in the mix, the one I'm using to knit the Everyday Wrap, and boy is that a lifesaver.

Hm.  I just noticed how well the sweater will go with the new bag....

Better get knittin'! I wonder when exactly I will have time. 

You will be glad to know I did not buy this "Norma is Playing Julia Roberts Playing Tess Playing Julia Roberts in Ocean's Eleven" hat, though all my crazy compatriots totally thought I should. For once I did not cave in to peer pressure.  I really did sort of like the way it looked, it would really be nice to have a hat that would protect my delicate aging skin and eyes, and it would be totally da bomb for my next time I go to the Royal Ascot, but since that will likely be, uh, never....I saved the dough and left the hat for someone else.  Besides, I had just bought the dinosaur bone necklace, and that was quite enough for one day.  Well, that and the black skirt.  Enough.  See?  I know when to stop.  I do. 

I also totally know how to have fun.

237. T is for Time and If You Read, You'll Have A Chance at Some Free Yarn

Speeding right along.....

Really, I'm kind of skipping T because it could be for tomatoes, but that's been so done around here.  It could be for travel, because I've done more of that this summer than I've done in a long time and I'm just over the moon about it.  It could be for truck, because I do love our truck for hauling compost and shtuff like that. It could be for trellis, because I love my garden trellises, though I only have workhorse ones, not some of those lovely pieces of art that I covet.  But time, that's going to be in very short supply from here on in.  Labor Day Weekend is going to be exactly that for me -- lots of labor -- because Labor Day coincides with the opening of college. I have a full schedule of orientation events and opening ceremonies to work this weekend, and then I immediately hit the ground running next Tuesday for classes -- full mornings of medical school, lectures starting promptly at 8 (Have I mentioned I am not a morning person?) a couple-hours' break, and then various and sundry undergrad classes including that gem organic chemistry LATE in the day.  Under normal circumstances, I'd just be about waking up at that hour, but since I'm forcing my body to shift schedules, AND I will have already put in a rather full day by that point, I'm thinking....hm, not so much. 

BUT I'm NOT COMPLAINING.  I'm thrilled about this turn of events, and it's a wave I want to ride for as long as I can ride it.  Surf's up! Hang ten, baby!

And yes, all you concerned individuals, I'm taking good care of myself.  I am very fortunate that I had an easy summer during which I had some lovely vacations and ate and exercised like a queen (in the healthful sense), so I feel like I have a good store of good health and happiness with which to embark on this (sure-to-be-exhausting-and-overwhelming-at-times) journey.  In addition to that, I am going to schedule a massage every week, make sure I get enough sleep, see the chiropractor as necessary and get to yoga as much as I can.  I have all the necessary tools in my tool chest and I know how to use them.   

So T.  There you have it -- time, what so many of us wish we had more of. I'm really just clearing the way for U for tomorrow, and I think you know what U stands for.   

But because the ABC-Along is supposed to be all about the photos, I leave you with a couple of treats:

Miriam arrived at the Tuesday night stitch-n-bitch in SLC bearing this gift of her "Liquid Crack" (Purple raspberry and peach jam.)  I had some of this on rye toast the other night.  (The rye toast is becoming a bit of a theme, isn't it?  I'd better stop that.)  Sorry, I'm not sharing the jam.  It's mine, all mine. DeLICious.

And a very pretty, very soft, mondo skein (500 yards, I believe) of Louet Sport Weight yarn dyed by Scout for the Red Scarf Project.  She sent it to me to either knit it myself or offer it up as a prize.  I am thinking "prize," because I've finished one red scarf and am not sure I will have time to do another. (Believe it or not, I would like to knit something for myself. Maybe even finish a sweater before Rhinebeck. Gasp!)

What say you?  You interested in winning this big pile of loveliness?  Just say so by midnight today, Pacific Time (that's 3 a.m. tomorrow my time). 

(P.S. The color in the photo is quite accurate. Quite pinkish and grayish and lovely.)

Everyone say: Thanks, Scout!

236. S is for Squash

As Cookie responded to my post about the garden bounty when I returned home, "Squash are sneaky."

Yes, indeed.

These two butternut squashes were not there when I left, and look at them now:

The summer squash, which got a late start because I replanted due to the beetle problem early in the season, are finally starting to give us something to eat. Not a whole lot, but something.

The buttercup squashes planted in the compost bin are really doing me proud:

The pumpkins in the other compost bin are the most bountiful of all, with some at (almost) every stage of development and color:

These are wonderful sugar pie pumpkins, which I normally cook and eat more as a squash than pumpkin as in pumpkin pie or desserts, though I would be really stupid, I think, to deny myself the pleasure of at least one pie out of my own organic pumpkins this year.

And perhaps best of all, the zucchini plant that I rescued from its too-soggy planter and placed in a raised bed is showing great signs of recovery, is thriving, and has given me my first succulent little zucchini.  I ate it my first day back from vacation.

Now, isn't that all nice?

I could leave this post there, and you'd think everything was hunky-dory and rosy.  But I'm not like that, am I?  With me, you get the good, the bad, and the ugly. Here's the bad and ugly:

This is what the lovely spray of pumpkins from the compost bin, which had been perfect up 'til I left, look like now.  Powdery mildew has taken over, and it's not good.  It's really not that bad a situation, because it is late in the season and things are on the wane anyway.  The pumpkins are already grown and just need to ripen, so really, if it had to happen, I'm glad it's now and not earlier.  It's still heartbreaking, though.  And as is inevitable, it has started to spread on the other cucurbits. This is the summer squash.

Sigh.

235. R is for Red

I seem to be following the ABC-Along in clumps this time around.  I tend to follow my urges, ya know. Spoiler alert:  Expect more letters this week. 

I love red, and I have lots more red in my life than is represented in these photos, which admittedly are garden- and tomato-heavy.

This post is rated RT for healthy and productive Red Tomatoes. If you are disturbed by images of very healthy tomato plants this season, please do not scrutinize the above mosaic on the bottom near the right.  Not that I am bragging at all.  No, that would not be in my nature. Would it?

I have red furniture and red rugs and red walls and red plates and red clothes and red art and red yarn (hm, not so many red clothes as I thought). But I got tired of photographing.  I hope you don't mind. 

Here is a red recipe -- or not so much a recipe as a method -- that the ever-thoughtful Scout sent me the link to a couple of weeks ago. I have been using it nonstop ever since. The results are to live for. Unbelievably delicious, for example, on a slice of sourdough toasted Jewish rye bread (I don't eat bread much, but an occasional indulgence like this is worth it), smeared with goat's cheese, and topped with the slow-roasted tomatoes, as shown in one of the photos above.  The recipe is given for smaller tomatoes -- cherry or paste, but I use it for all sizes.  I slice the bigger ones rather than cutting them in halves. This has been my breakfast a few mornings a week ever since. 

Judy asked me to please not talk about this in these terms, since her garden is suffering so much this year, but every time I have an abundance of tomatoes (evil cackle) to take care of, but not quite enough to can, I throw a batch of these in the oven to slow-roast.  (See, Judy? Not one word about pears, although you might notice that one of the photos above is a pear -- that is one of the Seckel pears, still growing.  The Summercrisp are all picked and we're going through them rather quickly.)  She asked me not to show any photos, either.  I guess I'm not such a good friend, but I say all is fair in tomatoes and war. 

These are not toasty-roasted like we sometimes do, and they are not as dried as the so-called sun-dried tomatoes that some people (not I) buy, but are somewhere in between -- less moist than fresh tomatoes, and with the flavor more concentrated and absolutely over-the-top heavenly.  When I get sick of putting them in my MOUTH, as the author of this blog says, I'm going to freeze some for use in the winter.  They will be incredibly delicious in sauces and soups. I don't usually like frozen tomatoes, but I am convinced that I will love these.

Here's something else red:

It's the ShiBui Silk Cloud that Margene gave me. Yummmm.  I've started making some serious progress on it now that I've realized I need to do this in natural light. That cuts way down on the one-row-forward-three-rows-back routine I was falling into.  Memo to self: It helps to see.

233. Q is for Quest

I'm not so much the girl who goes for the bling, but I do love me some earthy artisan jewelry, especially if it has a special local meaning. This partially explains why I'm so fond of my Iberville beach shale pieces (necklace and earrings). I'm almost always wearing them, and have taken to wearing lots of black v-neck tops to best show off the necklace. That piece of jewelry holds my body warmth and seems to be alive in its own right. It comes from the land of my ancestors and it makes me feel strongly connected to it. I get compliments on it often, even from strangers. I wear it all the time, and look, here's a little photo of me taken at Silver Lake to prove it:

When I arrived in Utah, I told Margene that while there I would like to buy a special piece of local artisan jewelry. I was thinking of a necklace or earrings. I can't wear rings or bracelets because of my work and the speed with which my hands have to move and the positions they need to get in for accuracy of the steno. The metal makes my hands hurt somehow and slows me down. It seems like it confines the little muscles and ligaments in my fingers and wrists.

Long story short (and there IS a long story, but Margene can tell it better), I found THE piece in Park City. 

I bought some bling.

It is a piece of petrified Utah dinosaur bone with a citrine stone, set in sterling silver, and on a sterling choker. Here it is reclining on my unfinished Central Park (non)Hoodie of Peace Fleece in the color Sheplova Mushroom.

I'll pause here for a few seconds to allow your heart rate to resume to normal.

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And then, as if that wasn't enough, the next day we went to Sundance and somehow or other some more pieces came home with me:

Really, the dinosaur bone is in a league of its own, but these pieces by a California artist are pretty frickin' spectacular, too. Orange agate, also known as carnelian, with rustic silver disks. Here's a close-up of the disk:

There's a long story here, too:  I was only going to get the earrings until Margene took things in her own hands, practically crawled over (she didn't really have to "crawl" over, since she's six feet tall -- just a little stretch was all that was necessary) the jeweler's desk, reached inside, took the necklace out, and put it on my neck. Just like that. Then all the other women started oohing and ahhing and telling me I'd regret it if I didn't get it, and oh, how perfect it was with my hair and my skin, and all this other dreck wonderful stuff.  For goddess's sake, how is anyone supposed to resist these sorts of criminals pushy bitches people?  The very moment it was on my neck, I knew I owned it. Quest fulfilled.

Now that I'm home, I'm also getting some strong vibes that it is time to pick up the Peace Fleece Central Park (non)Hoodie and finish that sucker.  I kinda think the jewelry is saying it. Ya think?

True Story: All this purchasing activity is so unusual for me that it prompted the credit card company's fraud division to call, just to make sure someone hadn't stolen the card and started using it to buy up all the jewelry in Utah.

Here I am, modeling the new black travel skirt I got on sale in Park City, and sticking my feet in the ice-cold stream at Sundance after all that spending. It was soooo therapeutic. The only symptom of the high altitude that I suffered was a slight swelling of my feet at the ends of the days.  After this icy bath, they felt fanTAStic!