The cold is intense for mid-December; so much so, not even many layers of wool help ease the bite. To say the least, it's not a good night for the heat to go out. However, this is an annual event in this house and it's always the same problem. The furnace is so ancient, I think it belongs in the Henry Ford Museum.
The pooch was so cold, he let the man-child snuggle up. Notice who has the blanket though (you'd think the fur coat that comes naturally would be enough).
Yesterday was the gloomiest day I've seen around here in a very long time. The rain started Monday night. I drove an hour and a half to see a patient. It was dry but damp and cold. By the time I came out of my patient's home an hour later, there was close to an inch of heavy wet snow on my car. Driving home, the snow turned to rain and slush. It took closer to two hours to get home. It rained all night and all day yesterday. The blessing is that an inch of rain does not require the use of a shovel. The snowy equivalent would have placed nearly a foot of snow on the ground.
I had the day off to shop and pretty much finished it all. There is nothing left to do except wrap everything and I don't do that until it's almost Christmas. Rachel can't stay away from wrapped gifts. It doesn't matter to her if they don't belong to her, if they're out, she will unwrap them. It's really pretty funny to see all of the perfectly wrapped gifts get patched with things like scotch tape, duct tape, surgical tape and Bandaids; pretty much, whatever is handy.
I stayed out all day and came home to this gift from my oldest daughter hanging from my baker's rack:
The top picture is a simple garter stitch scarf in all the shades of sand and mud. The yarn is double stranded and every 8 or 21 garter ridges, I pick up a new shade. Right now, it's about half way finished and I'll work my way back down to the sandy colored shade. It's a gift for my son though it is not a surprise. After this, I should have filled my quota of garter stitch for the year. It is a pretty stitch but bores me to tears after awhile. I have another 4 feet and it's done.
Last Saturday, my sweetie took me to see the play White Christmas. I love going to events at Detroit's Fox Theater. Years ago, this place had fallen into disrepair. A painstaking restoration brought this icon back to its former glory. You can look at this theater for days and still not take in everything. Every square inch is filled with something remarkably beautiful. It really is quite stunning and I don't think there is a bad seat in the house. Let me say here though, for this play, I've never had better seats. We were in the first row-orchestra pit. How fun!
I saw Yes here about 8 or so years ago and the music was beautiful in this venue. I've heard the Detroit Symphony play here too and that was equally lovely. This was perfect for listening to an orchestra play the music of Irving Berlin-they were fabulous and a lot of fun to watch up close. Just a bunch of regular Joes (and Joans) working the night away.
White Christmas was good, but just not the same without my favorite players. The story line drifted a bit and that didn't really jive with the movie version that I know and love best. I think what was missing was the love that was brewing between the couples. I just didn't feel it during the play. I've seen enough stage plays to know that love can be conveyed in a live performance. The dancing was amazing and so was the singing so I can't say that was the issue. A lack of feeling was.
David Ogden Stiers from MASH fame played the general. He has a great stage presence. It's almost as if he is much better suited to the stage than to the small screen or film. All in all, it was a nice evening out and fun to see that people still get dressed to the nines for a night on the town. Still, I think I'll be watching the movie version of White Christmas for my annual nostalgic fix.
Photos: Google Images-like a fool, I left my camera at home.
Am I there yet? I may have reached the pinnacle in terms of yarn hoarding. I should be all set now if there happens to be a shift in the universe and all sources for anything woolly dries right up. I think I may have achieved SABLE- a term coined by The Yarn Harlot (I think): Stash Acquisition Beyond Life Expectancy. I won't feel too guilty about this because my knitting is like art to me and yarn is my medium. As long as I have my job and don't have to think about eating this wool for sustenance, I'll keep it.
Today's journey into my stash began innocently enough. I couldn't find a particular skein of yarn in the haphazard collection I call my stash. I've been meaning to get to this mess for awhile now. I bought new containers to organize about 6 or so weeks ago. One single skein led to a complete overhaul; I needed it to finish a moebius scarf I'm knitting. What I found was appalling. Lots, I mean LOTS of unfinished projects. A blanket for my oldest daughter (she is always so appreciative of anything off my needles-that's why she gets lots of stuff). I started that blanket two (maybe 3) years ago. It's past the half way point but I just can't seem to pick it up and work on it. I guess it would help if I left it out. Her green sweater-which is sitting there right next to me-hasn't been touched in 2 weeks. It's mocking me. It's a fun knit and it's mostly done so I don't get why I won't touch the thing.
Then there is a beautiful beige and brown blanket that I started last winter but lost interest in. It wasn't turning out the way I expected. I think I should frog that and salvage the yarn for something else. There is another sweater I began in September 2007. A friend gave me a beautiful bottle of Chilean wine with a card that said I couldn't drink the wine until the sweater was done. Guess what? Yep. Wine gone-sweater in time out. The lace portion of the bodice has been deemed a pain in the arse. I know I came to that conclusion while under the influence of Chilean grapes. I'll ponder the sweater's destiny soon because the yarn I bought for this is too pretty to go to waste.
There's a bag of red Plymouth Galway yarn for a top down, no frills sweater. At least that's not been cast on. Yet. Seeing it there gave me a yen to at least begin this thing. Miracle of miracles, the pattern was in the bag with the yarn! There are other half cooked projects and then, there is all the yarn I bought with nothing particular in mind. It's there because it's pretty. Or soft. Or soft and pretty. In the soft and pretty category are about 10 skeins of Mo. I'm thinking of that cute mohair sweater in Stitch and Bitch-maybe a few sweaters. There's an awful lot of mohair in my stash. There's a small box (in comparison to the others) that's full of acrylic. That's my baby or wool allergy box. Not too much in there. I'm thinking of donating the contents. I'm sure there is someone that would make good use of that box. If you want it, let me know. I'll send it your way-really-it's just languishing in the nobody will use me box. I'm such a heartless wool snob. There really are some pretty acrylic fibers out there. I just don't like the way they work up. Wool is my thang.
The sock box is the best box of all. It's stuffed full (when I finished filling it, I had to sit on the box to close it) of Lorna's Laces, Jitterbug, Regia, Ty-Dy from Knit One-Crochet Too, Smooshy, Noro, Schaefer, Lambs Pride, Bearfoot and truly, I don't recall-even though I just sifted through all of it. I simply can't part with anything in that box. Some is duplication. Those would be the fibers, colors (or names of colors) that appeal to me and I buy one skein as a gift and one for me. On some, the labels have fallen off, leaving me to guess the fiber and color. Can't be helped now.
Here is a picture of the scraps I've salvaged for the birds and squirrels. I'll recycle a potato sack , fill it full of the yarn scraps and hang it outside for critters to shop through for their nest materials. Hopefully, I'll be able to look up and see the remnants of socks, purses, scarves and sweaters next year. I love this idea.
My reorganizing is done for the day. I ran out of large storage containers so some of my stash is still in boxes and bags. As for the single skein of Mountain Colors Moguls that got this project off the ground? Found it.
I don't think I've ever resurrected a post but for today, I will. This one, from early August, is for Flyboy:
I belong to a group of nurses who knit on Ravelry. There is a question on that group that asks "what's the coolest work gift you've received?" It's really a question of what is the best gift an employer has given but I interpret that question a bit differently.
When I'm treating an older patient, I ask many questions that aren't medical in the least. I want to know what they did when they were young. I'll ask what they did for a living. I'll ask if they served in the war. I'll ask about their families. People want to talk and work their lives out. Often, the end is approaching and they're questioning their value on earth; asking these questions allows them to talk about it and work things through. I do hang around for the answers. It helps that I'm truly interested and incredibly nosy. I can't help it, people fascinate me.
I had one such patient in end stage heart failure about four years ago. He was so sick and although I don't know what happened to him, I'm quite certain he isn't with us anymore. His heart failure was so severe, I don't see how he would have lived more than six months from the time I met him. I'd been pulled to another unit for the day. One where people aren't on life support and therefore, they're able to talk. I asked my patient if he'd served in WWII and his face lit up. My patient had been a flyboy in the war and had served in the Pacific theater. I'd just read James Bradley's newly released book, Flyboys: A True Story of Courage. Although the book didn't make me an expert, I knew a bit about these men and their service. My patient was thrilled to talk about his life as a flyboy. He was proud of this time he'd given to his country. We spent a long time talking.
A few weeks later, I received a package at work. It was from my Flyboy. There was a letter that was quite lengthy in which he thanked me for taking such good care of him. There was a video copy of a documentary about flyboys and he was featured in the documentary. What an amazing life this man had lead! He included a photo of himself, his fellow servicemen and a plane. They were so handsome in that picture.
I think about this man every once in awhile. On occasion, I come across the package he sent to me. He was a gift that was sent my way by my employer. I don't need anything extra for doing my job. Placing me in the right place, at the right time, is gift enough.
Not that I needed a reason to stay in today, but I got one. I hope it piles up high, but I hear we're only to get a couple of inches-not enough for Mr. Farmer to drag the snowblower out of storage. I think if this was Texas, or Georgia, or Florida, two inches would be a disaster. Here, that's a dusting. I'm going to pretend it's a weather emergency bordering on disaster. It's an excuse to stay in and not that I need one, I like to keep one handy. I have worked late all week and I have paperwork to do-it's a mess really. I have 2 entire admissions to chart in the computer (redundant work). Last night, putting one foot in front of the other was all I could accomplish after this week.
The general plan is to stay home and knit. This one's been calling my name for days. Cables AND lace! I stumbled on it and really, I'm smitten. So far, I've not listened to the siren call-but I want to. Isn't that cute? I have the perfect yarn for it-and a cable needle. I think it goes well with today's picture and frankly, it's been awhile since I've cast on for something new. What do you think? Should I cast on, or chart?
You were my best friend for almost 4 decades. At first, I didn't think I'd like you very much, but my surprising affection for you grew on me. Your visits were the one thing I could look forward to-like clockwork. I know I didn't always seem to appreciate your visits and often got upset with you, but really, you were good for me.
A few years ago though, I noticed things with you weren't quite the same. You'd come in and out of my life with little regularity. Often, you'd go missing for months and then suddenly reappear. I really didn't have much appreciation for you until I noticed you'd gone missing for nigh on a year. The other day, I was giving a lot of thought to how I truly felt with you seemingly, completely gone from my life now. And just like that, there you were again. Was it the power of positive thinking that brought you back?
I was lamenting the things you took with you when you went. Like skin elasticity. Memory. Stamina. Bone sturdiness. Regularity. My whisker free face. Mood stability. Libido. Continence. My internal thermometer. I was truly regretting the times I'd thought badly of you and the times we weren't honest about our friendship. At least I wasn't. In truth, sometimes I hated you.
I hated you the day you showed up in my life. It was halfway through my school day in the sixth grade when you introduced yourself. I looked all cute that day in a plaid skirt and then suddenly, in the middle of math class, I thought I'd wet my pants. Nope. It was you. I had to slink through a full classroom, with a soiled skirt and walk the gauntlet of shame to the gym so the lady gym teacher could help me. She was a Godsend that day with the clean panties and supplies she gave me. When I got home from school, Mom's only words were, "welcome to the club" as she handed me a box of junk to help me deal with your visits. In some ways, I was proud that I'd crossed this threshold into adulthood. However, it took me years to get over my anger for the way you introduced yourself. That was hard to forgive and forget. I wasn't aware of just what you'd mean to me when you finally left me. In fact, it took nearly a lifetime to understand the benefits of consorting with you and now, I find myself regretting that I didn't appreciate you more. It's that love/hate thing. Like a bad marriage.
Who could blame me though? You always did have a horrific sense of timing. Over the years, I got used to the way you inconvenienced me. Like showing up on my honeymoon. That was just rude. I should have expected it, but somehow, I just didn't; you were an interloper. I was devastated the day you appeared halfway through my first pregnancy. You being there in full force could only mean one thing-and I cursed you for it. That visit was crushing. A few years ago, when my friend's daughter died, you left me for awhile. I thought you could have been heartbroken too. You stayed away for months, then waltzed back in and it was business as usual.
It's been 9 full months now since I've seen you. I was just getting used to you perhaps, being gone forever. I was mourning you. I was noticing the positive things you'd done for me over the years. Well, that's not quite true. What I was mourning was the things you took with you when you left. Now you're back and I find myself wondering just how long you'll stick around this time. I've gone out to buy a box of junk to help me deal with your visits and find myself wondering how big a box or how many boxes to buy. Knowing you, you'll play those cards close to your chest.
