Now Norma Knits

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. 

It's Wednesday

There is a whole lot of interesting reading material in the Islander. It's a very big issue this week, being the week before the election -- questionnaires and letters and ads.

I will not comment [much] on the content, except to say that there is a little bit more relevant reading material about Mr. Rice, who wrote "an open letter to Mr. Miller", here. (and I can't find the other link I'm looking for.)  Suffice it to say that "Retired and enjoying life to its fullest" is, you know, just maybe a bit of a euphemism in this instance. 

And on Monday night there was a forum for Probate Judge candidates, Assistant Judge candidates, and State's Attorney candidates.  

Except that David was the only State's Attorney candidate who showed up. 

No, I am NOT kidding.  Seriously, I'm arguably a writer, but could I make this stuff up?????  

If the result of this election is not the right one, well, there is really nothing more that we could have done. We did what we HAD to do (oh yes, we did!), and we did everything we COULD do. 

I'll have to close the comments on this post, but you are very welcome to email me with your thoughts.  :)

 

 

WTF Wednesdays Have Become Campaign Update Days

Seems so fitting, especially given the circumstances. Bwahahaha!  It's perfect, because The Islander comes out on Tuesdays, so I can direct you there on Wednesdays. See our ad on page 3, and a letter to the editor from Mary Senior Harwood on page 14. Of course there is no ad from the phantom opposition. That's just the way she rolls -- and she's PROUD OF IT! There is, however, a lovely letter to the editor by one of her supporters, from which I take the following quote:

"Experience alone is no guarantee of a safe and secure environment in our county -- evidenced by the brutal homicides which have occurred here over the last few years."

CLUELESS MUCH?  

No, my dear, but experience HAS BEEN PROVEN TO BE A GUARANTEE that the perpetrators of those heinous crimes are behind bars for 28 years to life, 30 years to life, and 20 years to life, respectively, as opposed to RUNNING FREE after their cases are bungled in court by their no-experience prosecutor, or after post-conviction relief, ditto. 

I would claim that indeed, David has magical powers, as she so eloquently asks, but I don't want to let out any family secrets. 

O.

M.

F.

G.

WTF Wednesday, Have a Happy One. I love ya!

Cute New Birdhouse

I've been getting a weekly email from ReSOURCE. Last week's contained a notice that birdhouses from scrap and reclaimed wood and parts from Waste-Not Products were on sale for $10 at ReBUILD. I went in on Monday and picked up this cutie. 

There were several, all interesting and unique, but I loved the red front on this one, as well as the part of an old window latch used as a perch. The pole and base is left over from a feeder I had for years. I'm pretty sure the ones that were at ReBUILD on sale were unloved first efforts by the "at-risk youth," so-called, who build these. Over at the main store, ReSTORE, there were similar ones that looked a little better finished, more experienced efforts, and were a little more expensive. (There were also some absolutely stunning cheese boards, bread boards, and trivets -- wedding-gift-quality, even -- all made from recycled materials. I may have to go back and get some of those. They were truly special. Not cheap, but special.)

I just love this thing in all its rough and imperfect and recycled glory.

And that was how it looked at about 7 p.m. on Monday evening, all cozy and warm and sunny. I took this picture in my t-shirt and overalls, and I could have been wearing sandals as I had been earlier in the day, but of course I had on my gardening boots for traction and safety against errant axes and chicken wire and such. 

Just to tell you how warm and pleasant it was out there, Mr. Jefferies wasn't even wearing his sweater. And if you've gotten to know him over the course of the months, you know that it takes WARM to get him outta his sweaters!

BUT:

As of 3 p.m. Tuesday afternoon, the birdhouse looked like this:

Holy freakin' mother of .... OMG OMG OMG. 

I....

I.....

I.....

uh....

can't....

speak.

At the risk of eclipsing the wonderfulness of the little red birdhouse, I'll show you more photos which, according to the weather forecast, are but the least of it. By this morning (Standard Blog Time, heh) we may have 12 inches or more of this heavy, dense stuff. 

   Now, this is Vermont. We are no strangers to late-in-the-season snow. We call it poor-man's fertilizer. It doesn't really harm anything, and it doesn't really stick around. After it melts, everything is supercharged and green and hopped-up and, "Is that a banana in your pocket or ..... HELLO! SO HAPPY TO SEE YOU!" 

But this... THIS takes the cake. In my lifetime I do not remember anything like this. I hear tell of a year before my birth, or maybe when I was just a wee babe, when we had snow even in July, but I certainly don't remember it.

 WTF Wednesday, indeed.

The Dreaded Meme is Alive And Well and Other Good Stream-of-Consciousness Stuff for a Wednesday

Oy vey. Facebook, Facebook, Facebook. You are Meme City, and you know how much I [don't] like memes. It is an endless.stream.of.annoying.crap*. I've made it so I don't see the stupid game updates, like "Sandy (or whoever) has just found THREE MAGIC EGGS in their (sic)** backyard in Farmville!"  **How much do I hate those mismatched pronouns? Sandy/their?????? FFS. 

Over and over and over again.

Also, the ads: Nurses are In Desperate Need! Teachers are in Serious Need!

Of what? I have wondered time and time again.

"We desperately need 50-year-olds to test the new iPad, a pair of Uggs, an orange Macbook (they must have mined info that my favorite color is orange). Sometimes they REALLY show how smart they are by saying, "We need 50-year-old Vermonters to test" ... blah blah. WOW!  That's ME!  I should jump right ON this! (This is a come-on to get you to sign up for some service.) The best one yet is "Free Food For Seniors! 50-year-old Vermonters, sign up to win free groceries." 

Now I'm a senior.

I repeat, oy vey! I can't deal with it! But Facebook has its good points, I have come to acknowledge. I had to search hard for them, but they're there. Perhaps. Not sure. Maybe. 

I must admit, the latest meme in there (or is this "so yesterday"?) had me a bit interested:  Go to urbandictionary.com, type your first name into the search field, and post the first result in your status.

I saw all these ones, like "a name meaning beautiful goddess," blah blah.

Or:

A bodacious beauty with full lips, luscious locks and dark mysterious eyes. Most Teresas are sensitive, caring listeners, but they also have their mischievous, fun-loving sides. A great girl that any one would be lucky to have as a friend or special someone.

Or:

In Ireland, this is a name given to someone that makes you laugh alot. "I was laughing all day because of a Victoria I know."

Mine:

Norma: A blonde moment; including, but not limited to: stating the obvious, trying to relate things that can't be related, pretending to understand when there is obviously no understanding, not understanding in general, etc..If u dont understand this its a Norma. Basically, anytime one says something stupid.

Excellent.

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As I'm typing this, I've got a raging headache. (I don't think it's related to the meme, but maybe.)

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The cleaning lady is here, and she usually incites Mr. Jefferies to too much excited barking. But this morning, I said one word to him: "Enough!" and bam. No more barking. (It's been an hour so far.) Some of you have said this, and I think you're right -- I hope I only use my power for good. (And Mr. Jefferies is one helluva dog.)

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Headache notwithstanding, I must go do some more organizing while I have someone here to help move furniture and stuff.

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Joan just sent me a notice about the indoor farmer's market upcoming at Fletcher Allen, and the part I can't get over is they even allow payroll deductions as a form of payment. Now that's progressive! Of course, it doesn't affect me, because I'm not an employee of anyone except Uncle Sam, so my "payroll deductions" would be from my own checkbook. But given the fact that I sometimes can't even get a shop in New York City to take a credit card, I think it's pretty cool.

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BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA! Some people asked if that photo the other day was my entire stash. BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA. Hell no. This is but the teeniest-tiniest appetizer. Just something to remind me that I am a knitter. Or am I? At last reckoning, I believe I have somewhere between 15 and 20 sweaters' worth, plus lots of random other stuff. At my present rate of knitting, it has definitely reached SABLE status -- Stash Amassed Beyond Life Expectancy.

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I have been allergic to aspirin and ibuprofen for 25 years, since just after Abigail's birth. I was able to take them before my pregnancy for her, but I suffered three occasions of anaphylactic shock symptoms since that time -- two from aspirin and one from ibuprofen. Not fun, and the time I figured I was closest to actual death (this is debatable, because this is a lot like being "a little pregnant," I suppose) I was in England at a hospital with no ID on me and had been dropped off there by a cab driver in the middle of the night after a shift at work. My final thought just as two nurses caught me by the elbows before I hit the floor was, "I'm in a foreign country without ID, and nobody knows who I am or who to contact when I die." Thankfully, that did not occur. The young doctor there saved my life. 

So you can imagine I have been fearful of NSAIDs since that time. 

But there was a lecture given by a cardiologist in one of Ally's classes last year during which the doctor said that aspirin allergy can be "cured." I seriously thought she was full of shit. But I kept thinking about it and thinking about it, and there really are times, especially when I'm suffering this tendinitis that seems to be plaguing me more and more often, when I sure would love to be able to take an anti-inflammatory. So one day I made sure that David was home, I told him what I was going to do, and that the car had gas in it (we live about 4 minutes' drive, maybe less, from the hospital). I took a baby aspirin.  

NO REACTION!

And I followed the protocol mentioned by above said cardiologist, and pushed the amount a little higher each day, and over time I have now taken the equivalent of two adult aspirin tablets at a time without a reaction. I've done it a few times now, so I assume I'm safe.

It has been several months now, and I've taken aspirin on and off during that time.

And so last week I really wanted to try the same thing with Advil. Long story short, I am still a little bit iffy on the Advil. I sometimes get a little red and a tiny bit of itch in my throat, and I know I still have to be very careful, but I have been taking some Advil on occasion, when I know that David is home in case I need to get medical attention fast, and it's been OK. 

So I'm kind of cautiously happy about that. The tendinitis seems like it just will not go away without an anti-inflammatory, and I'm very glad that I can now take something.

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LOST's new season started last night. I'm LOST.

All About My NYC Yarn Crawl

There's so little to tell. I only went to one store. Isn't that pathetic? But at least I chose a winner.  And it had the added benefit of a next-door latte, a pumpkin tart, and a wonderful gab with Kay and her daughter who has A+ skills at Sitting and Pretending Not to be Bored and Unhappy When Mothers Gab.  That girl has awesome skill and talent!  She could win gold in the Olympics in that sport!  Not only that, but when a stranger comes along who is admiring and trying to furtively touch The Mom's handknit Shadow Box, she even cheerfully models it for said stranger who *gasp* has never heard of Ravelry.  Hopefully she remembered the word, because she did not write it down, but Kay urged her to JOIN.  Seriously! You mean there really is a knitter left on this planet who has not joined Ravelry? And we met her. Not only that, but when I was in Purl, the helpful and cheerful staff kept asking people if they were there for the yarn crawl, and many of them said no.  You could tell they were wondering why it was so sardine-like in there.  Made me feel so very cosmopolitan.  There I was, having flown down from Vermont for The First Annual NYC Yarn Crawl.  

I really did intend to hit more of the shops on the crawl, but instead I spent all of Sunday with the kids and the dog.  Not much surprise there, I suppose.  And it was a blast.  The weather was wonderful, we walked miles and miles, and though my best NYC walking boots were in the repair shop, I managed to make it through with only a couple blisters and minimal aches and pains, thanks to plenty of "are you gellin'"-type inserts in my shoes.  

I know you want me to shut up and show you what I bought already!  So here it is:

 

Two skeins of splendid, exquisite softness known as Swans Island Certified Organic Merino worsted-weight yarn in Indigo.  This is such gorgeous stuff, I'd like to take a bath in it.  It's made in Maine, and the stunning dye is natural indigo.

The softness is amazing, but as we knitters all too sadly know, the tradeoff with such softness is often that the knitted item pills like a mofo. This yarn has a bit of a tighter twist, and I'm hoping that prevents the pilling. Fingers crossed. I bought it with something very specific in mind, but after I got home, my idea morphed slightly.  The new idea will require more yarn, and I promptly called Purl and ordered two more skeins.   

I've already cast on for the first part:

Look familiar?  Yup, another Palindrome. And since I cast on and knit and ripped out and recast on and reknit a total of four times the other night, in order to get the width I wanted, and the yarn held up really well to all of that nonsense, I have high hopes that it will not pill and be ratty in no time.  I sure hope it won't, because it's meant for something special, and I certainly don't want it to turn into a schmatte suitable only for wiping down the car after a few wears.

And after mucho waffling, the decision has finally been made:  I will be going to Rhinebeck, though I may be walking around with a tin cup asking for donations, since I freakin' lost my freakin' wallet at UVM last night. So all the credit cards have been canceled and I have to start over.  Off to the DMV for a new license today, unless someone miraculously has turned the thing in and I get it before I go to start to recreate my life.  It's the return of WTF Wednesday.  *siiiiiiiigh*

EDITED TO ADD:  The wallet is sitting safely in someone's office.  I will pick it up later today.  Dang it, though, all the credit cards are canceled.  But still, this is the best sort of outcome, and I got the call before I went to get my license replaced.  Big whew.

337. Wednesday Weirdnesses

Well, how about a little bit of WTF Wednesday? 

I've got a little bit of wild and weird and wacko for you today. (Perhaps I should have saved that W.) 

We have an entry in the work category:  Here's another one of my translation gems, from a lecture on.... well, you'll see:

....acute endometritis.  It's just what it sounds like.  It can be associated with miscarriage.  It can be associated with retained products of conception, either from a therapeutic abortion, or even after normal delivery if all the placenta is not evacuated from the uterus. If a little piece of placenta stays in the uterus, it can incite an infection. So after you deliver babies when you're on OB, after the baby is all taken care of and you're delivering the placenta, the placenta is examined by UFOs and you look to see that it's intact and look to see that you have all of the placenta removed.

Should have been "by you folks." 

Gave Ally a laugh, anyway. Pay attention to that one, Ally, so you get it RIGHT on the boards.  Remember:  UFOs examine the placenta!  Srsly!  Would I lie?

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Pardon me, MR. J!  What mischief is this?

 

Poor beheaded lion.

UFO or WECU*?  Or Mercury in retrograde?

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In knitting news, I feel like I've entered Sleeve Hell.

I've ripped this thing out twice already.  I dislike the increases.  I can't seem to get them to look half decent, and I'm having flashbacks to the ill-fated Audrey sweater -- the one I divorced years ago because of the same evil ribbed increases.  In general, my stitches don't look pretty and even, either.  I used a lovely Addi Turbo needle for the body of the sweater, and I'm using bamboo DPNs for the sleeve, because that's all I have in US8 DPNs.  The yarn liked the Addis better, and so did I.  I've decided to proceed for a while and hope it will all come out in the wash.  I hate the uneasy feeling, and I like seams.  Seams are all nice and ordered and logical and structured. 

I am seriously considering knitting these sleeves "normal," flat, WITH seams, but at the moment, I'm just flowing with it.  I'm letting the weirdness wash over me.  I am becoming one with the weirdness. I'll let you know how that's working out for me. Soon.  Right now it's Weird Wednesday.  Embrace the weirdness. 

Or perhaps Marta will be a vest after all. 

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(*Wacko Evil Canine Unit) 

266. Or 267. WTF Wednesday Comes Back With A Rip

RIPPPPPPP! 

That is never a good sound to hear when one is getting out of one's car at work at 7:30 a.m., especially when one's work is over a half hour from home and is on a college campus, and one's work day runs from 8 a.m. to 6:30 p.m. that particular day. 

How in the hell did that happen, in just this way?  It doesn't make sense, this rip.  That is in the back of my skirt, near the kick-slit in the center back, and this is denim, not some mamby-pamby fabric.  This is a long pencil skirt, and it's not even tight. Thankfully it could have been worse. It could have been an above-the-knee skirt, I suppose, and my nether regions could have been exposed to the world, and not just an extra flash of leg.

It's always something. 

And speaking of It's Always Something, Terry brought to my attention the night before last that there were as of that day 100 more days left to the calendar year, and that therefore I (and Sandy) must be off on our counting of the days in the Blog 365 project, since that day we labeled our entries 264.  Well.  I laughed 'til I cried, because we all love that Terry and her anally wonderful ways, and I don't know how to refute it.  I do remember one time when I repeated a number and someone brought it to my attention, so I fixed it.  However, maybe there was another time that happened!  There should really be 366 days this year, in fact, but we took leap day off, if you recall.  Or did I actually do that?  I can't remember if I was strong enough to actually not blog that day -- that was the "rule," but did I break it?  I think I didn't, which is to say I didn't break the "rule," and I did not blog that day.  I imagine I must have chewed off my right arm, but it seems to have grown back. 

It would be easy enough (but tedious) to find out about the numbers, and/or also to find out if this is the 267th (really 268th because of the leap year complication) day of the year, but as I'm writing this, it's easier for me to just ruminate-type and wonder-type, since, you know, the typing comes so naturally to me, than it is to look it up.  I am loath to go looking through all my entries this year (260-something of them!) to look, but if you are very bored and want to do it, be my guest, and report back to us your findings. 

However, I can hardly stop laughing enough to clear my eyes to type this thing, and I am typing by feel (I'm good at that, right?) because Terry has got me going so far into hysterics. To think that we might actually get to December 31st, after having written every single solitary day for well over the 365 (because remember I "practiced" for a good two months before the actual start of the project), only to find that I had misnumbered all my entries?  I can hardly stand it.  I think I should have an eggnog right NOW, just in case.  Make that a double.

Of course, in the end it doesn't matter what, or even whether, the posts are numbered -- just that we've blogged every day of the year.  Claudia and Kay said at the beginning of the project that they thought I was crazy enough ("in a good way" to quote them both) to do this.  It appears I am.  But I've got company, and it's company that frankly (sorry, girls, to have doubted you) I didn't think would stick with it.  It's my favorite hobby of all my many hobbies, so although I thought I might (and have) had days when I felt a little bit like I'd hit the wall, it's really natural and not hard for me.  For others, that is not the case.  I'm so proud of my compatriots for whom it's more of an effort.   

Terry, I love you.  More than you can imagine. Figure out those numbers, will ya?  Or I might just pull random numbers out the air for the rest of the year just for the hell of it. 

99. Bottles of Beer on the Wall

I couldn't resist that title when I typed 99.  Sorry. By the way, in case you are wondering, the reason for the numbers on my post titles is to count the number of days of the year in the Blog 365 project. There you go. One of life's great mysteries solved, and it's only Wednesday morning. Imagine what else you can accomplish this week.

But this post was intended to be titled "Unexpected."  And WTF Wednesday, of course.  But now it's also Stupid-Me Wednesday. Or "In Which I Admit To Being An Eejit. Twice or Three Times." (Do you really have time to read all this? You might want to skip it. Honestly.)

Here's the story:  The other day I did something stupid to my Mozilla Firefox browser on my desktop computer, and I can.not.get.that.sucker.to.fix.  I wanted to change my home page to the NY Times.  Somehow or another, instead of doing that, I changed it to a TEENY-TINY gif logo of the NYT, but not the home page of the New York Times, not by a long shot.

And worse. Exponentially worse. I rendered my Firefox browser unusable.  And when I say unusable, I do mean un-use-a-ble. No browser functionality.  No browser address bar.  Like that. 

I uninstalled it fully and restarted my computer and reinstalled it fully  about a thousand times (OK, maybe five.  But it seems like a thousand.) and every time, I end up with the NYT logo gif thingy again.  So I cleared my cache.  And I did it over again.  And I ran disk clean, or whatever it's called.  I told my computer to reset itself to two days ago.  Nada nada nyet, non.  For all I know, I have inadvertently hacked into Mozilla and permanently changed their entire website to the New York Times gif logo.  Lemme know if it's happening on YOUR computer and maybe we can clear this up before I get arrested and sent to the federal pen. 

But the strangest side effect happened: I was forced to use Internet Explorer, which I hate.  I have hated it with the power of a half-dozen suns for many years.  I have shunned it.  I have treated it much like I've treated my Amaryllis stepchild Rilona.  I have dissed it to people.  I have NEVER ALLOWED MYSELF TO USE IT. I would not admit to anyone in a crowd that I might even CONSIDER using it. Because in addition to me truly not liking it, it was totally NOT COOL to like it. No one would respect me in the morning.

And now?  I hate to admit it, but I like it.  My screen is way clearer.  The font for my Typepad account is different, and much, much better. Everything works faster than my old Firefox friend. My own blog site (and yours) is more pleasant to look at, pictures are clearer (it's the same site!  it should look the same!  WTF?!) Comment boxes work faster, though it is forcing me to type in my name and URL a lot, rather than remembering it, and that kind of grates on my nerves. 

I'm still getting used to some of the differences, but they're only differences, not BAD differences, per se. So really.  WTF?

And now, for the, OMG Was My Face Red portion of this entry.  You know yesterday's diatribe?  And thank you for all the great comments, by the way. Who knew people would get so rapt up in the topic of plastic bags?  (And does that not just go to enforce the truth of my new subtitle?  "nominally a knitting blog...but who cares?"  Don't encourage me; I warn you.)

Well, I'm extremely chagrinned to say:  Forget I wrote any of yesterday's post.

After several people commented that Hannaford's has recycling bins for plastic bags and offers reusable bags at a low price, I called my local Hannaford's, about three miles from me, and asked if they had bins for collecting plastic bags.  The person on the phone hesitated a bit, but then said, "Oh, yes. I didn't know what you meant. But yes, we do."  I asked her where they were, and she said, "Right next to the bottles-and-cans bins." 

OK.  So I loaded up all those plastic bags in the car (I considered carrying them on my bike, but there were too many to carry on my bike in one trip without causing a major traffic congestion problem. Picture a wide load looking every bit like a giant bag of marshmallows going down the road, holding up all the cars.) and drove out there. And I searched and searched, and I thought she must have misunderstood me.  Then I was about to go inside the store, and there was a quite small, almost hidden, bin that looked like a trash bin, quietly marked that it would take plastic bags on one side, and paper bags on the other.  Definitely not lit up with neon lights or anything, and definitely not very visible and definitely not trying to advertise or encourage people to notice it's there. But now I'm just being nit-picky.  Goodness only knows where they go after you leave them there.  Could be the landfill.  It doesn't say, and I'm probably just too cynical.

But anyway, I stuffed my bags in.  So, "Cool," I thought.  "One battle down."  I then went in the store to buy stuff just to reward them for taking my award-winning plastic bag collection off my hands and brought in my reusable bags to see how the clerks would react. 

I bought my stuff, and I was almost at the checkout, and I saw that, dang, they actually had some reusable bags with their logo for sale for $1.50 each, and the special price of "or 2/$3.00."  Being no dummy, I opted for the 2/$3.00 special price.  *cough*

And the clerk was a middle-aged lady, which means much older than I, and the bagger was a middle-aged man, also MUCH OLDER than I.  And the clerk politely asked me if I wanted my things put in my new bags that I was buying.  I said, "Either that, or put it in these bags that I brought."  She cheerfully said, "Okay, we'll put your NEW ones in the ones you brought."  And the middle-aged, much-older-than-me, man made conversation and said, "Someone bought bags last week and forgot them in their shopping cart!"  I allowed as how that would seem to be something I might do, and everyone was happy.  No sideways glances or downcast eyes or weird looks in my direction. I am not a weirdo! I have been validated in the mainstream store!  I can walk with my head held high from now on!  It's OK to reuse bags and not be thought of as on the FRINGE.  And they call this America.

Then I walked -- nay, danced -- toward the exit, and there was a stand selling a different style of "woven plastic" bag for 69 cents each. I actually like the style of those better than the $1.50/2-for-$3.00 ones, because they have longer handles for shoulder-carrying, but I decided not to go back and get some right then.  I dared not be thought of as a weirdo. Maybe next time.   

Anyway.  Boy, do I feel dumb.

 

 

58. Random Wednesday

1.  This is only the second time since November 1st that I have not had at least one post prewritten, and I had to come up with something on Tuesday evening for Wednesday. It must, therefore, be time for a Random Wednesday post.

2.  This is the 1,227th post in this blog.  I am too lazy to go back into my prehistoric blog to find out how many entries I wrote in that one before switching to this one in fairly short order.  The number 18 sticks in my head, so maybe that's it.

2.a)  I used to be phenomenally good with remembering numbers.  Heard a phone number once, knew it forever.  Your Social Security number?  Ditto.  Driver's license number?  Yep. Your address? Yeah. Account number?  Uh-huh. (This was tested recently. I had not ordered anything from a court reporting supply company for approximately, oh, 15 years.  I recently had to order something from them. The lady on the phone taking my order asked me my account number.  I hesitated for a second, then I said, "It might be..." I remembered it. Freaked me out a little bit.)  Now I can't even remember my own cell phone number. (Well, that's a bit of hyperbole, but not by much.  My brain done got all full up, apparently.  Or I stopped trying.  I think that's it. Also, things have gotten too easy.  There are cell phone numbers I "dial" every day.  But I don't dial them.  I hit "send," and it's all remembered for me. I don't need to remember them, so I don't.  I've almost never seen the number, so I have no way of remembering it. I sometimes worry, "What if I lose my phone?  I won't have ANY IDEA how to call this person."  It's those little worries that will be the death of me someday, I'm convinced.)

3.  Since I've been working out in the gym and weight-training in earnest, my appetite has moved from healthy to RAVENOUS. Consequently, I have put on four pounds. I'm not too worried about this, because I know if I want to, I can do something about it, muscle weighs more than fat, it's mostly in my butt, which was flat and needed a little oomph anyway, yadda-blabbity-yadda. I'll start tomorrow. Right now, I'm hungry.

4.  I've noticed that quite a few of my high school classmates work out at the same gym I do.  They look old.

5.  I've recently learned the interesting fact that some people's pet peeve is the fact that people have pet peeves. This was as illuminating to me as the time when we realized in this blog together that the legal term "term of art" is really itself a legal term of art.  How fascinating are circular things like that, hm?

6.  Everyone in little Vermont is excited that this year is the first year in the history of recorded time that the results of the presidential primary election here could actually make a difference. Usually by the time our primary rolls around, it's quite the moot point. We matter! We really, really MATTER! It's like Horton Hears a Who all over again.

7.  I just logged into Ravelry, and 1,526 people were logged in.  Huge!

8.  There are 259 feeds on my Bloglines list. I don't always almost never read them all, and thank goodness they don't all update every day. An admission: I also sometimes just click "mark all read."  I think it's time for the periodic trim-down, huh?

9.  While waiting for a class on Monday, I saw a guy doing a Rubik's cube.  He was pretty good.  All the girls were staring at him.

10.  I saw a student walk out of a class wearing a commercially made hat that was EXACTLY the same as the Snowball hat I made for Abigail.  Exactly the same pattern, and with no pompom, but clearly not hand-knit.  Did I mention EXACTLY the same pattern?

11.  I'm going to sell off some more of my stash.  Paring down is a part of my master plan.

12.  I just ordered 8 more skeins of Noro Silk Garden. I realize this makes No. 11 sort of a hollow gesture. 

13.  We're in the midst of another bear of a snowstorm.  Yesterday Xianglian said, "I hope this will be the last storm of the year.  Do you think it will be?"  I said, "NO!"  And at exactly the same time she said, "It's already the end of February," another student and I said in stereo, "It's ONLY the end of February!"  May, baby.  That's when we can be almost sure the snow is over for the season.  Almost. Maybe. 

14. Since I started using Catalog Choice, it seems like I'm getting more catalogs than ever.  Or maybe I'm just overly sensitive about it.

15. I did that silly quiz that says what year you belong in.  It said 1965 for me. 

In February of 1965, I had a newborn to take care of. In fact, it's quite spooky that I went looking for a 1965 picture TODAY.  I'm guessing this was taken EXACTLY (within a week, literally) 43 years ago.  Gail's birthday is February 18th. Freaky. She weighed 10 lb., 9 oz. when she was born, which in those days was quite something. See what I mean? Numbers. How should I know that? I was five, for fucksake.

I did look quite happy, though, did I not? (That's me on the left, in case you didn't recognize me.)  According to the quiz, that's when life basically stopped for me. (Well, NO, it does NOT SAY THAT. It says "what year do you belong in."  Tell me to get over myself!)

Within a few months of this, my father died and my life became very different indeed. This is, I believe, the last recorded (and actual) smile on my face for many a year to come.  As in, almost two decades.

OK, that was much more random and weird than I intended. I had no idea this post was going to develop a life of its own.  Sorry.  But it did, and it's staying put.

16.  There is a cool new tool called "matte" in Flickr toys.  That's what I used around that photo, and it made it look so much more fabulous than it did originally.