Two hundred degrees, that's why they call me Mr. Fahrenheit

For the last couple of weeks I've been spending all the time that I can quarantine away from work, sport and social commitments; marinating in a vat of wool and soapy water. All in the name of Christmas. And with that, I may have said too much.

Having all these projects and one big deadline is GREAT. It means that I can watch hour after hour of Gilmore Girls on DVD (I'm well into Season two now), and still be 'doing things' at the same time, thus maintaining a completely self-imposed level of virtue by multi-tasking. Whenever the snappy dialogue (not to mention Rory's new, usually oddly little girly, formal dress for EVERY Friday night dinner) gets to be a little too much I swap to Wonder Woman, and at one point I balanced out the overall fluffiness level with a screening of Citizen Kane. AND the accomanying documentary.

It's just been a little bit hard to explain to other people. 'This is a really nice party, and I've having a great time, but if I want to get any sleep at all in the next few days, I have to go home now to, er... make things.'

You just get up to answer the phone, leaving a dog in the living room....

I found this outside, hence the grassy embellishments.

Take care of those you call your own and keep good company

wreath

J and I concocted this wreath two Christmases ago. It has been sitting on the end of the ironing board for two years, because I forgot to even hang it up last year. That's the Christmas spirit. Anyway it has pirates

aaaargh

and dragons and dogs and lego,

detail

and, of course, the King and the Princess.

The King & the Princess

I don't believe in Peter Pan, Frankenstein or Superman

I went into a few clothes shops yesterday. In response to the standard Hi-how-are-you greeting, I have a usually failsafe combo of a quick, decisive 'fine thanks' and very brief eye contact, then rapidly getting back to searching the racks in a self-assured manner. Generally they get the message and leave me alone in my search.

Not this one. Once I had a couple of t-shirts in hand she approached with "You have two fantastic tops there". I replied factually, but already aware that I was straying from the proper script, "I don't know yet..." (ie, they will most likely look like crap but I'll try 'em) but I'm not sure she heard that. She went on to offer to take them to a change room. This is ok, I know this is often standard practice and also quite helpful.

I was now on my guard. Ooh, I hate being expected to rhapsodise about how wonderful the clothes are. As if I would happily snap up just about everything in the shop given the chance. Generally I go into a shop expecting almost everything to be unsuitable - colour, shape, requiring a little more in the bust region, just damn ugly - and look for the one or two items that might have potential. I'd have to be in a really good mood before I'd find myself going on about how lovely something is before I've even tried it on.

As I kept looking she continued to follow me around the shop.

"Don't you just love this season's colours?"

Now small bubbles of my blood were forming, and rising, in a way that suggested some boiling action was possibly on the cards. Pause. Breathe. "Actually, no, I don't like most of them". I felt a bit mean, but I really thought I had clearly signalled I didn't want to chat. "I'm kind of fussy". I regretted that as it came out of my mouth, it sounded completely pretentious. She looked surprised and quickly a bit miffed. "Oh? What colours do you like?" I only looked at her quickly, then continued searching. "Um....I know when I see it." As she was still following meI mumbled something back at her about ending up with a lot of black, as I fled to the back of the store.

I was so glad to see she was on the phone when I returned from the changeroom. I left the items on the counter, saying 'thanks, can I leave these here?' with a decent smile as I made my escape.

Cause she knows that it's demanding, to defeat those evil machines.

We had a large work christmas party at the Convention Centre the other day. Couldn't help noticing the centre is looking a bit run-down, especially the outside where the trees and bushes haven't been pruned, and grass is brown, in spite of most of Canberra being bright green at present. Some voiced suspicions that there are plans to demolish and replace it; apparently ten years is about the lifespan of a convention facility these days. Seems disgusting to me to build a large public building with such a short lifespan.

In any event, I did much better food-wise than last time, mostly because it was a buffet and I could load up on the things I liked - baked potatoes, potato salad, and some ravioli featuring heavily. My only regret was that although we sat this close to the buffet - and there was no table order specified (whenever there is, my table is always called last) - we still waited way too long to fill our plates the first time - joining a huge queue seemed way too undignified - and they cleared it up before we got to seconds. This may have been a blessing in disguise because I then managed to put away two desserts (christmas pudding with custard, black forest cake), and that's not counting the fruit mince pies with coffee.

Now I have a week off work. I am prepared. I have lots of this:

And a nice person let me borrow this:


I'm getting to the end of my first delicious day of wool-wrangling and DVD watching, and now I'm off to play soccer. This is when I discover that even though I never thought I was fit back in the winter, I must have been, because it is always so hard to come back. Even for slack-off summer soccer. Wish me luck.

All I need is a bumpin beat to bump away my blues

Since J bought an Ipod she has been listening to music a lot more often than she used to, and also seeking out more and more to listen to and to fill up those gigabytes. It makes me really happy to see this happening cause I know how important music is to me, the excitement of discovering new things and especially the connections between different styles and artists. I also like the being a music enabler, trying to finding those songs she knows she likes but can't name.

We've been comparing notes on how having music to listen to can make boring or repetitive activities so much more appealing. I used to occasionally try jogging but I never managed to keep it going over many days/weeks. Realising that I could run with my MP3 player made all the difference. (Buying $200 running shoes may also have been an important motivational factor.) I try to remember to take a spare battery with me too, because I learned the hard way that if the music runs out it's going to be a hard slog, possibly involving some dejected walking, to get home. The music is not really for running to as such. It's more to daydream to while running so I don't think about the fact that I'm running. Unless it's to imagine crossing the finish line of a race. Sometimes I'm skiing (bumps), and quite often I'm somewhere else entirely. Except - being Road Safety Girl - when crossing roads.

Today I finally made a new mix for the MP3 player. It had been months since I had changed the music on it, and I had been running to the same two albums - not even a decent mix of upbeat music - for way too long. No wonder I hadn't been feeling much like going out for a run. Today's run was the best I'd had in ages. With the new music I was inspired to change the route as well.

Later this evening I realised I hadn't listened to the new Darkness album yet (yay!) and also, that the bathroom was really really dirty (boo). It actually took more than the length of the album to finish the bathroom, but that was okay. I loved it, and instantly wanted to play it again. This lead to the motivation to cook dinner, which is worth noting because I generally need almost as much prodding to cook as I do to clean.

Rock music. Is there anything it can't do?

A thousand Cheshire cats grin inside of me

Recently at a party I had a long conversation with B, all about his family and growing up in Scotland. It came out that he still all his mother's knitting needles and wool stashed at home, as he hadn't quite wanted to just give them to Vinnies, after she died several years ago. He was thrilled to hear that I'm interested in knitting and offered to give me his Mum's needles and leftover wool if I wanted them.

Since I'm pretty sentimental, and almost as aquisitive, especially when it comes to craft supplies, I was tickled pink with this offer. Last weekend a few of us were at B's house. After dinner, he brought out a large alfoil box (you know those huge caterer's packs?) and I spend the next couple of hours gleefully picking through a large collection of knitting needles, crochet hooks and other bits and pieces, getting polite disinterested hmmms and ahhs when I couldn't stop myself excitedly pointing things out.

worn needle heads, originally uploaded by Olma.

As soon as I saw these I wanted to photograph them. Those needle heads with the paint mostly worn off and the metal showing through reminded of Dad's (lovingly kept) old Dinky and Matchbox cars.

I haven't crocheted for ages (and can only do very basic stuff), but fell in love with this wooden-handled crochet hook straight away. Don't you just want to pick it up and fondle it? I guess a photo can't capture how lovely it feels - since this came home with me I've already finished a little crochet project already. It just looks and feels like a real old-style, well crafted tool. (You can click for bigger pictures).

When I discovered this teeny tiny crochet hook hidden away in a plastic sleeve with a much larger hook, I really did squeal with glee. It's so tiny it would be easy to bend or break it, so it has its own protective lid. I haven't tried to use this one yet. The work would have to be lace-fine (or, maybe, a total disaster).

I felt I had to check several times that B really wanted to give all these away. It's silly but I felt better when, amongst the wool and unfinished knitting, we found a finished pair of grey socks, so he kept those. I assured him that I very much appreciated the gift and would treasure it - and use them of course.

I like my bands in business suits, I watch them on TV

The other night on the bus I saw a high school boy carrying a wooden coffee mug tree. Exactly the same as the ones we made in Year Seven. Exactly the same except for a few small details, like for example the rungs that the mugs are supposed to hang on didn't appear to be pointing down like mine had somehow managed to do. In the same class I also produced a hexagonal metal spinning die with drastically uneven sides. My woodwork and metalwork skills were kind of wonky.

So, the baby blanket. The first I have attempted. I based it on this very basic pattern, but I didn't love the garter stitch. I tried stocking stitch, but the edging wasn't anywhere near tough enough to stop it from curling badly. So, I thought I could make the blanket a bit more classy (and smooth/soft) by substituting basket weave. It started ok.

The pattern involves knitting on the bias, which, as I had recently found with knitting the insanely popular (and rightly so) Clapotis, makes a nice drapey fabric, and I could see how it was supposed to make a nice snuggly blanket too. By the time I got to the halfway point, and turned the corner, I could see that the overall shape was going to be more of a diamond than a square.

I'd only tried blocking once before (a lace scarf) without much lasting success, and this yarn was acrylic which is less inclined to change its shape than wool. But I gave it a go anyway. I pinned it out into a pretty nice square, and left it to dry for a day or two. But when I unpinned it, it really didn't stay much more square than before.

Mum suggested steaming it with the iron held just above the fabric. This certainly helped - see how I've stretched the sqares out one way on two of the corners (left)
and the other way on the other two (right), in an attempt to make all the corners closer to being the same shape. I was pleasantly surprised that the effects of the steaming remained after I rewashed the blanket, but I don't really expect them to survive repeated machine washing.

Fundamentally, it's just not square. See? Bit tricky to fold.




I thought long and hard before I handed this over to the intended recipients. I hoped they would lean to the side of appreciating the charm of its wonky-ness, more than being put off by the not-squareness. (Guys, if you were just being nice, thanks anyway!)

Acknowledging one knitblogging inspiration.

I'm trying to tell you, it will if you don't even try

This is the time of year when the start of every day requires a tough decision. Is it warm enough to wear sandals? Getting dressed for work in summer is so much simpler, just pick three things that don't clash - top, pants or skirt, and sandals. No decisions about which combination of jumper, cardie, jacket, coat, scarf, and tights is necessary, and still making sure there's a decent t-shirt underneath it all for when the office heating gets too much. In summer I generally keep a cardigan or two sitting in my cupboard at work, cause often the air-conditioning is way too cold, so I don't need to worry about carrying extra layers.

Oh, how I love not having to wear socks or tights. But at the same time, I always feel a bit bad that men still have to wear socks and shoes. It seems kind of odd that they have a much smaller range of choice in work attire, though I know many wouldn't have it any other way.

I used to think I should at least always have covered toes at work (ummm, cause toes are rude?). But I found that my feet get so sweaty, I generally need socks or stockings with any kind of closed toe shoes, even if they are open at the sides. Actually, for my first couple of years of office work I never went bare legged. But it seems to be ok to be more casual in summer. And life's too short to spend time and energy (and sweat) following self-imposed rules that few others, if anyone, cares about. So now I just try to keep my toenails reasonably presentable, and bare them for all the world to see. Who's looking anyway?

Just a little bit of guilt

If it's a warm morning, this is what Mia does straight after we get back from our walk. Only for a minute or two, just enough to cool down.

I drafted this little post earlier today, with the slightly iffy title, 'Won't you lay me down in the tall grass and let me do my stuff'. We're now just back from the vet, where Elvis had a grass seed and a whole lot of assorted gunk and matted hair cleaned out of his ear, under anaesthetic.

We knew something was hurting - unlike his sister, Elvis is not too stoic and squeals if something hurts - and he had been holding his head to one side and doing a lot of head shaking and scratching. The other day Kam pulled out grass seed out from the skin behind his ear, and at first we thought that was the source of the problem.

This photo was actually taken a couple of weeks ago, and since then the backyard grass has got a lot longer (to the point where it was falling over in great sheafs) and sprouted a whole lot of seeds. Even when the grass is short, the dogs still manage to pick up grass seeds now and then. But still, that long grass can't help matters. I'd been focusing on getting the front mowed so we don't look like the shame of the neighbourhood.

PS Kam mowed it yesterday. Love you, Kam!