Go here. Download this NAO!

This is the prettiest song I've heard in forever, and I just learned who the performer is yesterday.

For a downloadable version (and better sound quality), go here: http://www.reverbnation.com:80/ericnicholas

And then, go buy his latest album. I'm going to. And not just because I'm in a romantic frame of mind, these days. Local music needs local dollars.

Three score and ten

I just got off the phone with my father.

He turned 70 last Friday, and was waxing poetic about the things he'd achieved in his life. He said he hoped for a few more years, as long as he could take care of himself.

I told him to fuck the bible, and Abraham Lincoln. I need at least 20, if not 30 more years with my dad. I'm not ready.

Then we talked for a bit more; poor dad, it must suck to talk to your daughter, who is exactly like your father (ooh damage; can we get a hell, yeah!).

Happy belated birthday, Dad. I'll talk to you any time you want. It's even better when Mom isn't around.

In which we are both embarassed

So. Yeah. He loves me.

Gulp.

The next day, I had to work at my LYS. I was totally, completely prepared to walk, grabbing a coffee (and some breakfast) on the way. I'm a 21st century woman.

He had other plans (did I mention Mustache Man is nine years older than I am? He's pretty old school, in some ways).

I was served coffee, bacon, basted eggs (my favourite!) and toast. It was all pretty good. Even the coffee (I have few domestic skills, but I am good at making strong coffee).

And then he insisted on driving me to the shop. Would not take no for an answer, but needed gas, so we had to leave a few minutes early.

OK. Fine.

Sadly, he ran out of gas about two blocks before the gas station. So, I got out to push (something I have never, ever done, by the way. I've pushed lots of cars because of snow, because of ditches, but never because of lack of petroleum).

Mustache Man was mortified. But, I chose to be good-spirited about it, and thought it was an excellent way to work off the above-mentioned bacon and hash browns.

Until we turned into the gas station and I turned to wave thanks to the vehicles behind us.

It was a mixer truck. Not one of Construction Inc's, but a related party. I damn near died of embarrassment. I've busted my ass for two years to be taken seriously as a manager, and then I'm waltzing down a major city street, pushing a car? I was not pleased. But, at the same time, I could totally see the humour.

Got to the shop at 12:59. My shift started at 1 pm.

Introducing Mustache Man

I floated through work that Tuesday. I freely admit that I was not firing on all cylinders. I floated about three feet off the ground, and I could not keep that shit-eating grin off my face. I had that good of a time.

By the bus home from knit night, however, I couldn't stand it anymore. I missed tall, dark, and handsome. So, I texted him, and that made the bus ride far, far more enjoyable than usual. Apparently, he missed me, too.

And much the same thing happened on Wednesday, except he couldn't stand it anymore and texted me. That bus ride home was just fine, and when I was safely ensconced in the house with a glass of wine, I called him.

And we talked. About everything, again, even venturing into politics. We like the same party colours. Whew!

We made arrangements to get together on Friday night.

On Friday night, he had a dinner, and I was at home, talking on the phone, when he called to tell me he was home for the evening. I didn't hang up on my friend, but instead held the land line in my hand as I spoke on my cell.

Apparently, I was all giggly and girlish. Yuck. I hate it when I do that. My friend happened to be sitting on her front step, and as she rang off, saying "Go! Have sex!" a random stranger was walking down the street and nearly tripped. She explained the situation, and then phoned my back to tell me that strangers in another city also want me to have sex. Good to know, I thought.

But, there was a bus in 20 minutes, so I got on it, and when I got off the bus downtown, he was there waiting for me. With his car. Because he didn't want me to walk downtown in the dark. I was completely, utterly blown away, both by his thoughtfulness, and his presumption that I couldn't walk three blocks by myself at 9 pm. However, this was not the time for a lecture, so I concentrated on the romance.

After a quick stop for beer (of course!) it was more of the same... talking, listening to music. Dancing. At one point, he looked straight at me, and said that he wanted to know what was going on... that this was so strange, and so intense, and unlike anything he'd ever experienced. He wondered what would happen.

Well.

I sat up straight, composed myself, and told him, straight out, that I hated to define things, that I disliked labels, because labels are too confining, that I wasn't good at monogamy, or indeed long-term relationships, period. But all that said, I thought that I wanted him to be my boyfriend.

He said that he loved me. And, I've got some serious good karma, because I managed not to laugh. I just said, "I know."

And that was that. Tall, dark and handsome is too long to write, so henceforth, he shall be Mustache Man.

Dating Really Gets in the Way of Knitting

And blogging, and studying, and cleaning, and laundry, and hanging out with friends, and wine-making.

But not wine-drinking.

Incredibly, I'm not sorry.

Here's the story:

My birthday was the first full weekend in September. A glorious couple of days, where I was privileged to be part of a team competing in a Dragon Boat Festival to raise funds for the Canadian Cancer Society. I'm on a team that is chock full of great people, some of whom have become dear, dear friends. But, because I'm fairly narcissistic, I prefer to think a weekend outdoors with a couple thousand other people is really just a big party in celebration of me.

On the Saturday, my actual birthday, we were all sitting in the beer tent, enjoying wobbly pops, and I saw another friend. We had a big ole reunion, and it was lots of fun. A few minutes later, I saw his girlfriend off in the corner, and ran off to say hello. She was talking to a tall, dark, handsome fellow. Girlfriend and I chatted, I got myself an introduction to this fellow, but went on my merry way, it being my birthday, and I felt the need to be sociable with everyone.

A little while later, I saw tall, dark and handsome dancing across the beer tent, and thought that it was an act that required a certain amount of chutzpah.

Even more later, a teammate and I wandered away from the festivities to have a smoke (duh - this event is in support of the Canadian Cancer Society - we are not assholes) and this tall, dark, handsome fellow wound up in the same spot.

We talked. Team-mate wandered away. We talked some more. And went for a little walk. And maybe did some smooching. And also ducked behind a bush when a former... interested party (with long-lasting butthurt - get over it, all ready!) walked by. It was lovely. He invited me to join him for the evening at his residence. With great regret, I told him that I was beyond the days of going home with random fellows, even if introduced by mutual friends.

Back at the table, the four other people left besides me and I decided to go home. We walked across a bridge, to an entirely different neighbourhood. We had a plan all worked out for the most efficient route for our driver to deliver our drunk asses back to our respective residences. Driver had just started the car, and I said "Fuck it. Take me back. I need to get laid."

Driver indeed drove me back, and he and the three other passengers hooting and hollering all the way. What a birthday.

I found him, and he was thrilled. Absolutely thrilled. We played it cool as the interested party walked by again (would you get over it, please !?!) and went back to the beer tent.

Finished our beer. Decided to go for drinks at the pub. Had an awesome time. We were the only two dancers for the duo playing that night, and I gave solicited advice for catching a man to the young men and women sitting around the place. While he was proudly telling people that he was with me.

We stumbled to his place, thankfully only two blocks away. Also, thankfully, he had beer in the fridge. Not good beer, but beer.

And, believe it or not. We talked. He's a widower, lost his wife to brain cancer two years ago. Has lost two children. One at 12 days old, another at nine years, both to incurable diseases.

I was blown away by his honesty, his still-existing joy about life. He told me flat out that he was looking for a long-term relationship. That he was seeing someone that didn't have long-term potential. That he wanted more children, but realized that he was running out of time.

I told him that I had just promised myself that I was going to finish school by the time I was forty, and that it would be a serious commitment to achieve that goal. That I'd pretty much shut the door on any baby-making and had made my peace with that.

The sex was glorious. We slept for maybe three hours. He walked me back to the festival the next morning, and we were probably still drunk. He carried my backpack for me, because that is what a gentleman does, but he bitched about the weight of it the whole time. In a funny way. We kissed, and went our separate ways.

Thank god it was foggy, and the morning got off to a late start. I needed the time to sober up, because of the whole no-tolerance for alcohol rule.

I got lots of high-fives and good-natured ribbing from the team. Only blushed a little, because I was feeling pretty good. At 10, when things got going, we were down in marshaling, and he was there. Lots of eye-contact, and me elbowing my friends in the ribs, "that's him!"

Turns out, he was steering a boat in our heat. That was epic. We came in second in the heat. Our best result of the festival. Sadly, the third and fourth teams nearly collided. One of those teams was steered by you-know-who. I didn't know what had happened, but I cheerfully told those around me that it was because a certain steers-person was busy looking at me.

I went to the beer tent for some hair of the dog, and around noon, decided to go home, via the marshaling area, a much longer walk. He was so happy that I sought him out. We talked about possibly hooking up at the wind-up party. I told him that I would likely be there, since the wind-up was being held at the watering hole.

Home. Nap. Glorious nap. And shower. Fed hungry cats. On the way to the watering hole - was I going? Yes, on the way. I'll see you then, but I'll have someone with me for a bit.

I had some pints with the boys, my girly pals showed up. It was cool. High-school levels of anticipation and excitement, but cool. The girls left, his guest left, and I joined him at the table with fellow paddlers. Even though Mr. Will-not-let-it-go was there. Mr. Will-not-let-it-go passed me the cup to drink out of, saying I was a paddler, and it was OK. Apparently, I have his blessing? I didn't know, and didn't care to examine it. Girlfriend's boyfriend was also there, and we continued our chat, because we have been friends forever (but meanwhile, he was doing the holy-shit-I-hope-you-know-what-you-are-doing eye conversation with tall dark and handsome over my head. Because I am bad news - we are former lovers. Sigh. He was a lousy lover, btw). Another paddler got up and danced on the table. It was a pedestal table. All drinks went crashing to the ground, naturally. Tall, dark and handsome ordered me another, unaware that the staff are instructed to not pour drinks for me that are not ordered by me.

Hannah looked at me, and I nodded. She winked back.

So, somewhat later, the bar closed, and we sort-of left separately, just to get into a taxi together. Tall dark and handsome did have to have a conversation with my friend... clearly about something different, because he didn't run screaming for the hills.

It was lather, rinse repeat of the night before. More talking. More beer. And more glorious sex.

He called in sick the next morning. I had the day off. I woke him up and told him we didn't want to waste daylight. It was too nice a day, and might be the last one.

So, we got coffees and went for a walk. He reached for my hand... and I didn't mind having it held as we walked down the street. Normally I abhor public displays of affection like that. I think it is immature and unnecessary.

We walked and talked. And, he suggested a drive. So, we drove out of town and had a fabulous lunch over-looking the river. And, talked some more. Then, we got some beer, retired to his place... he asked me to stay the night, again, and he would drive me to my place in the morning so I could get ready for work. I said sure, but I would need to be fed, at some point.

We wound up having a few beers (big surprise, eh?), and then going to a little hole-in-the-wall Thai place. Hardly anybody there. The manager/waitress hovered over us, and bossed us around, and we howled with laughter about how corny and romantic the whole weekend had been. How all signs seemed to indicate that this would be a very fun thing.

Lather, rinse, repeat. More talking. More beer. He called me "Honey" but then thought to ask if it was OK if he did. I said it was OK. More glorious sex. I got dropped off the next morning... and I have never, ever seen such a hangdog look in my life as I did when he asked when we would see each other again. I was vague... perhaps later in the week.

I walked to my house, sore between my thighs, but swinging my hips, because I knew tall, dark and handsome was watching.

To be continued...

Common People

I'm having a massive brain fart when it comes to writing these days, but, I love this version of this song. It's a couple of years old, but I'm not tired of it. Yet.



When did William Shatner become so camp he's cool. It must have been well after TJ Hooker and Tambourine Man

Where to start?

This has been one hell of a summer.

I stopped blogging because I was hanging out in my back yard, which is amazing, even though produce from my garden is somewhat lackluster.

But then, stuff happened. Not to me, but to people I care about, and therefore I did what needed to be done, to take care of the people I love (this is not a pity party, by the way) and I am in the fortunate position to be able to take care of people. Not that I excel at it, but I do what I can. And I was glad to do it. Every moment of my heartache that helps someone I love is worth it. Oh, yes it is worth it.

There were family visits, cottage-camping, jazz fest, folk fest, fringe fest, dragonboat fest, a birthday (mine!) and shitloads of knitting. All of it crazy, all of it fun, all of it full of people I love. It was a damn good summer.

And sadly, my camera doesn't talk to my computer anymore, so it's a royal pain in the ass to post photos.

But, now I'm back in school, work is still hell, and... I had sex (oh yes I did! and it was great!) but I'm searching for my new routine. Bear with me.

One of these days I will update Rav with the dozen pairs of socks I've made. I promise. (I wouldn't take that sucker bet, if I were you. It'll be a while).

Remember, you saw it here first!

I've been waiting for months to get this. I tried to upload it last night, but my computer is so aged that the CD drive doesn't read video files.

This is a clip from my show. I wasn't in Holy Babble, but this is the sketch that was born when I suggested the election of President Obama was like the second coming of Christ.

This song was definitely the highlight of the night:




And the audience loved it so much we had to do it again. Actually, if you listen carefully, you can hear me hollering, because I was right beside the videographer.



I'll post a youtube link when it's uploaded, but I just couldn't wait any longer.

Edit 09/17/09: Youtube link is here.

Carpe Diem? WTF?

I used to work from 9 AM to 7 PM without a lunch break five days a week, and go into the office for a few hours on Saturday and Sunday, just for fun. Because there was that much work to do, and I loved work that much.

That company wound down operations in 2005, and gave me the severance package that allowed me to buy Chez Peepee. I bounced around for a couple years after that, and two years ago, I found a job that I thought would give me the freedom and ownership I needed to be happy professionally, without that crazy overtime commitment.

Well.

Be careful what you ask for, because you just might get it.

Construction Inc. has been kicking my ass lately, and I'm not sure if it's because I'm off my game or if I'm not ready to play in the old boy's league.

Part of the attractiveness of this job is that I'm good at playing with the old boys. I'm smart, and I'm clever, and I've got the background (farmgirl, FTW!) that lends me the faint whiff of legitimacy I need to have my say. It helps that I tower (physically) over all of our sales people and office staff. In fact, the only people taller than me in the office are the president and the yard manager.

I'm starting to think that's not a coincidence, because I've always been wary of short people - they are feisty and sturdy in their own way.

It's been hell over the past couple months: we rolled out a new software system (thanks for letting me know, assholes) right at year end, the satellites that I need to do inventory are infuriatingly close to the horizon and there are buildings between those satellites and the piles of sand I need to measure. This is how it went:

Me: Please move this pile.

Them: Oh, are you sure you need that? How does that work? By the way, what are you doing with that stuff?... I don't know, we're busy.

Me: Well, I need this because I report to our owners, so please? Pretty please with sugar on top?

Them: Oh, I don't think we have the time.

Me: I don't want to be a bitch, but this is important, I need you do it.

Them: Well, OK, but it'll be real difficult, and we're really busy.

Me: Great. That's really helpful, guys.

Bossman: What she said, and do it now.

Them: Oh, lookee there, it's done all ready.

Me: That's grand. Look at this teamwork. Go us! (and in my inside voice, FUCK YOU assholes!).

That was May month-end. Repeat ad nausea at June month-end with the office staff, except Bossman is copying the president when he replies to my "whiny" emails (because Bossman is my biggest fan, not because he disapproves - he's just all about full disclosure)..

Ten more courses... and I will run the place. I will, and it will be awesome. Is it mean of mean to hope that a few folks retire between now and then?

I just need to pretend.

Phone call, earlier this evening:

Him: Are you sleeping?

Me: Not yet.

Him: I just talked to Seymour. He's camping, but we'll both be there.

Me: That's great. I couldn't do it without you guys.

Him: This is your brother, by the way.

Me: I know, I have call display.

Him: So, what time?

Me: I don't know, but it will be around late afternoon. I'll tell you this, I'm shitting my pants about driving a 26' truck to Nodnarb. I'll probably call you so that you can meet me at the Husky and drive this damn thing.

Him: That's nothing. It's like a 3-ton. Just remember your off-track. And find out if it takes diesel, there should be a sticker, but you can tell by the sound.

Me: Remember the last time I drove a truck bigger than a half-ton? I don't, but y'all keep telling me how I drove it into the granary. I was ten!

Him: You'll be fine. I have to shower now. I'll see you on Saturday.

Me: Yup.

Later: Oh, shit. I do not want to do this. And not just because one of my dearest friends is moving away from me. Though that is the major factor. The driving a 26' truck is just a minor annoyance. This really fucking sucks.

Happy Canada Day!

I had to work today, so no beer-drinking in the sun for me, but I had to do something to celebrate the day.

So, I'm drinking some Keith's and getting a wee bit weepy over a commercial:



It's too bad that such an awesomely-named beer sucks so much.

Calm before the storm

Edgar and I have been having an amazing time, lately. The weather is warm (finally!) and so the ce-ment pad is truly open for business:

When the sun is too strong, we retreat to the shade for our knitting:

(note to self: get some loung-y chairs and a table for the shady part of the yard).

We finished a pair of socks (which only took a year! And less than a gram of yarn to spare!):

There's also been that travelling scarf thing going on:

With all this nice weather, the garden is growing like there's no tomorrow, or something. I've got broccoli and hot peppers growing. Plus, I expect a huge burst of daisies and tiger lilies just about any day now:

Edgar and I were hanging outside tonight, when it suddenly got very dark. It was one of those maybe? maybe not? rain moments. I grabbed Edgar, because I wanted to bring him inside if it started to pour. And since we were cuddling, I thought it would be good to have a photo of us:

I'm going to miss that little stinker when he's gone. It's nice to have company when I am outside.

I nearly lost Edgar

The partners in w(h)ine were over on Friday, and we were enjoying a fabulous meal al fresco. That is normal for w(h)ine making in the summer.

Well. Edgar had some... callers, shall we say? And he went off with those hussies. I was tipsy, and busy, so I wasn't too worried.

He didn't come home Friday night, even though I was shouting his name and shaking the container with the food.

He didn't come home Saturday. Or early Sunday morning, because I got home at 2:45 AM, and was desperately hoping he was waiting for me.

He didn't come home Sunday.

His owner called Sunday evening, and I had to woman-up and give Brucie the news. I saw Brucie drive by my house at least twice looking for him. Brucie also drove by his own place (currently under-going renovations) to see if Edgar had undertaken is own Long Journey (is anyone else remembering a miserable book from Grade 7 and the even worse Disney movie that seems to evoke that title? My google-fu fails me) and actually made it across the river.

No Edgar on Monday. I was giving up hope, but woke up in the night frequently, either dreaming of him or wishing he was home (I've fallen in love with a cat. It figures).

Tuesday: I don't go home after work. Instead, I get an awesome meal and a few laughs, go to knit night. Because I didn't go home, I had the usual scramble at 10 pm: scoop the poop, make lunch, make coffee, iron something... surf for an hour, just to wind down. Wouldn't you know it, at 11 pm, far past my usual bed-time, I hear someone singing outside.

I run out into my back yard, oh-so-sexily dressed in a tank-top from 2000 and a pair of boxer shorts that used to belong to my ex-husband. In 1999 (I have no excuses. He only wore said boxer shorts once, and I find them comfy).

It's my dear sweet Edgar.

He doesn't want to come inside, because Parker has his head out the door and is already hissing, but I scoop him up, tell him I loved him and missed him. He ate lots and lots... and disappeared to the basement.

I phone Brucie - who was just heading out to cruise my neighbourhood again. He's relieved, but not really surprised. Apparently Edgar can be an asshole (That's no surprise to me: every male I've ever fallen in love with has been an asshole. Now, I'm prey to inter species assholes).

My own cats ignore me all night, because they are mad that the interloper is back again, but I don't care: my house is full; everyone is home. It's the best I've slept since Thursday.

I'm going to have a hard time giving him up, when it's time for him to go home. We spent three hours outside tonight: we watered the garden, knitted, and listened to an amazing audio book:

All is well.

That's a whole lot of wine

No wonder the place smells like booze.

My partners in w(h)ine and I are bottling the two in glass tonight. Whee!

Sheesh, gotta get back at this blogging thing.

Well, Edgar has settled in, a little. There's still an awful lot of hissing, but I took a lot of hope from this moment:It appears that tuna juice is a great community builder.

That said, the living room smells like pee. The cleaning service is due tomorrow, and I purchased a special odor removing cleaner. I've left the cleaners a note asking them to use it instead of whatever it is they use.

And, there was an appalling fight earlier this week, just as I was applying my make-up and getting ready to go to work. Poor Edgar was dripping blood, but seems none the worse for it now (also, I was late for work, because I needed to clean it up and make sure that murder wasn't going to be committed).

I was taking a much-needed nap on Sunday. My two boys were in bed with me, as they usually are. Edgar sat in the doorway and looked at us longingly. I felt bad for the poor wee bugger, and since then I've been sure to give him lots of cuddles. And yes, I have broken my own rule. He is allowed to go outside, but only when it's nice enough for me to actually be outside or I am not doing much and therefore can hang around the kitchen window and watch for him.

And speaking of outside, I highly recommend allowing a five-year-old and a three-year-old to pick your flowers:

Other than the impatiens, I don't have a hot clue what any of my flowers are, but they are thriving in the front, which is rather shady, and in the back, which is a huge, sunny, heat vortex.

I'm impressed.

And one more garden thing:

I have this thing sticking out of the south-end of my hedge, right before the potentilla. I think it's mostly dead. I didn't know until this evening that it blooms, and that it is gorgeous. When I rip out that gawd-awful mess, I'm saving that tree. Or whatever it is.

Wait for it... there's knitting content. I finished this sock at work today. I started it a year ago.

The wee bit of yarn is what is left-over from the 50 gram ball. It's about 24 inches of yarn. Couldn't have done that better if I tried. Of course, I grafted two sets of 22 instead of two sets of 14. But still, it will fit someone. Now to do the second sock. Hopefully this one will take me less than a year.

Meet Edgar

A while ago, I agreed to look after a drinking buddy's cat for a month.

I was hoping that said buddy was as drunk as I was and would therefore promptly forget (and he should have, I saw his bar tab - it more than quadrupled mine, and I was drunk!).

Sadly, though, he did not, and since I am a woman of my word, here's Edgar:

He's actually really adorable. He's a dark tabby, domestic short hair, about 11 years old. He looks quite bulky, but he's just rather large, lean and fit. A really nice-looking cat.

But chatty. I've never had a cat that sings at night. Edgar sings. And bless him, he's sweet, but he can't carry a tune in a bucket. Parker isn't a fan either, so I'm also interrupted three or four times a night by a big fight.

Scout is too old to be bothered. He just shoots Edgar dirty looks and sleeps on my bed.

It's been two days now, and Edgar is sitting on my desk right now. After allowing me to cuddle him for a bit, he wandered up there.

Here's the real problem (other than the singing). He smells. He smells poopy. I know Edgar is used to spending lots of time outside (I do not believe in letting pets wander, so Edgar will be staying inside, whether he likes it or not. All signs point to not liking it). Since he may not be used to a litter box, I wonder if there are any...surprises waiting for me.

I'll let you know if I smell poop when I am not within two feet of (a) Edgar or (b) the litter box. That will answer my question.

It's gardening time!

Unexpectedly, I received (oops, I mean blackmailed) a lift to a garden centre (a really cheap, really excellent place) this morning.

The weather was crap, and I truly did not expect to get anything in the ground or in pots today. But hey, lookee here:


That is approximately one half of the flowers I purchased in those two clay pots. I don't have any idea what they are, but they sure are pretty. The hanging baskets were impulse purchases, one selected by the chauffeur/long-suffering mother (not mine) and the other, is well, blue and orange. I like blue and orange together (see: my living room).

Let's move on to the bedding plants, shall we?

It appeared that I went a little bit crazy, and perhaps that's true. I have green peppers, orange peppers, jalapeno peppers, cherry tomatoes, beefsteak tomatoes, Early Girl tomatoes (yes, I like tomatoes and peppers), spaghetti squash, butternut squash and zucchini and yes! watermelon.

Plus basil, thyme, dill and parsley.

So why, do I only have one cucumber plant? Because the chauffeur was in charge of cucumbers and she was busy worrying about her kids. Sigh. (kidding! Love you! I'll go and get more cukes).

This marks a new stage is the Chez Peepee garden plan: writing down what is planted where. Revolutionary. Of course, the photos above aren't oriented the same as the photo of the plans, but still, it's an improvement (and said plans are under magnets on the fridge. And suitably beer-stained).I also threw some clematis and geranium bulbs in the ground, things purchased a while ago. And, there's also the hanging baskets of petunias and strawberries I purchased while on a "break" ahem, with the company truck last Thursday.Put together, I think it looks pretty good. Needs more cucumber. And perhaps more cowbell.

Slowly finding the surface

The show was two weeks ago, and I've sat down at the computer many times to write.

Then wrote nothing.

I don't know where to start, with the journey I was on for that short five weeks that is the social highlight of my year.

How about some photos of knitting?

Rehearsal socks. Basic sock pattern, too small for me. Details to be entered on Ravelry. Eventually.

Sweater for Junior B. That name is bulky, and she shall henceforth be known as Lillibean. Trust me, it fits. Argh, details on Rav to follow.

This is, believe it or not, a much, much smaller version of the same sweater shown above. It's for my vet's assistant's daughter. Let me explain... no, is too long. Let me sum up; lady I like had baby. I make present.

Big brother or dad socks. These suckers are huge (Six-ply yarn FTW!). If I stick my arm in them, with my fingers at the toe, the cuff ends up at my elbow. And I have long limbs. Really long limbs.

Well, that was good for me. How's about you?

**Spoiler Alert!**

"Yeah, though I walked through shadows,
There'll be a new tomorrow!

Obama Mia! We can live again..."

We are here. Tickets available here.

T minus two days to lift-off, when we blow the roof off this city.

Where have I been?

I was hanging out with some readers I know IRL tonight, and I got a wee bit of gentle ribbing about how I haven't been blogging.


Well, damnit, I'm busy.


I'm busy doing the one thing that I love more than knitting.


That's right. There is one thing that I love to do more than knit (and it's not what you think, get your minds out of the freaking gutter).


That thing is a political satire sketch comedy show. It's been a Winnipeg tradition for 75 years. The organization that hosted the show for 73 years went bankrupt in 2006.


So myself and two other people formed a not-for-profit corporation under a new name to keep it going. We, along with a whole bunch of other people, have been busting our asses for the last eight months. It's that special. We do something truly unique, and we are very, very good at it.


For the past three weeks, we've been making phone calls, selling tickets, rehearsing, building sets and laying awake at night wondering how we are going to pay for this thing if we don't sell the 400 tickets necessary to break even.


Because there is no question about it. The show will go on. Tickets are available at Ticketmaster. Our website is here. We were even mentioned in the Winnipeg Free Press.


And if we don't break even, I'll cash out some RSPs to pay for it. Seriously, it's that important to me.

Easter at the homestead

Since Granny and Grampa are chocolate fiends, I have to do something else for Easter.

Plus, I think my sisters-in-law appreciate that I don't wish to add to the future not-inconsiderable dental bills.

For once, all the socks were done before I presented them to the recipients (just barely, though. Cast off the last one just before everyone arrived for brunch):

Is anyone else singing "One of things is not like the other? One of these things just doesn't belong...?"

All wrapped up and ready to go.

On the feets! Squee! I'm a lucky, lucky auntie to have little kids who are thrilled to get socks.

Mini B's Mom: What are those, Mini B?

Mini B: Thocths!

Mini B's Mom: What do you say to Auntie Misstea?

Mini B: Please!

And later:

Mini J's Dad: Who's Dad's sister?

Mini J: Auntie Missie.

Mini J's Dad: What did she make you?

Mini J: Socks!

Clearly, my work is done for another year.

Catnip

I don't know what was so attractive about the yarn I purchased this week, but someone sure was interested in it.

I had to put it away before Parker suffocated. Or shed on the cashmere and llama. Really, I'm not sure which would have been worse.

I can see

Ce-ment pad.

Oh boy! I'm so excited. I could see ce-ment pad a few weeks ago, but it was too early. Sure enough, we got dumped on. Now, I see it again, and I think this melting business will continue.

Looks good to me, so far. Is anyone besides me dreaming about garden vegetables right now?

I know this because I cleaned up a puddle in the Basement of Doom ™ earlier today (don't worry, no books, yarn or wine were harmed in the unfortunate puddle incident of 2009). It was a very small puddle. Maybe half a cup of water. I didn't smell it. Could have been cat pee, for all I know (this is Chez Peepee, after all).


How much longer until I can sit outside and drink wine? I'm betting three weeks.

Too many deadlines!

So, I started this sweater in January...

(tiny, wee cute sweater. Missing one lousy sleeve).

The kid it was intended for has grown some. It won't fit.

So, this morning, I cued up some module notes and did some reading. Thank FSM that I can read and knit:

(and this is a far more accurate representation of the colour. It's a lovely semi-solid purple).

Though, doing the reading was hard, because I was constantly tempted to take a nap in today's glorious sun:

The goal is a sweater for Easter. And two assignments between now and then.

Kids these days

So I just walked down to my local dealer, oops I mean gas station, to buy a pack of smokes.

$12.20 is the total. I handed the attendant a 20 dollar bill and she keyed it in. Then I handed her a quarter.

She couldn't make change. I looked at her and said, "you owe me $8.05." She said, "thanks" and handed me my change.

Now, I know I'm a freak because I played bank as a kid, but seriously, that's simple math. One just has to count backwards. Add $0.05 equals $0.25 and $8 equals $20.

Don't get me started on actually counting back the change. I remember, way back in 1994, being complimented on my ability to count back change. At the restaurant I worked at, we were so busy that we didn't actually clear out bills. We just took the money and cleared the bills out later. We had to do the mental math. Oooh! The horror! I also walked uphill to school, barefoot...

Famous Blue Raincoat

This is my favourite Leonard Cohen song. I have loved this song since the first time I heard it in 1991, a cover by Jennifer Warnes.

Sadly, Leonard did not perform this song in 1992, when I saw him in Regina. Here's hoping I get to hear him perform it April 30, 2009, when I get to see him in concert again.

Travelling Scarf, Part 3

I was nearly a week late, but on Friday, I sat down and did some knitting:

I think this scarf is amazing, and now I want to learn how to double-knit (look at the bottom panel - it's the Transformers logo! How delightfully geeky).

Also, I need to stop taking photos in my office. Believe me, the scarf was much nicer in person. I think I also need a new desk. That fake wood veneer is gross (the rest of the office isn't much nicer, but it is large).

Screw you, winter!

A mere 36 hours ago, this was mostly ce-ment pad and dead grass.

I am sorely tempted to move to the Cayman Islands and launder drug money. One more winter like this, and I will! (OK, I'm kidding, there's no need for woolly hand-knits in the Caribbean, so I won't go. But that doesn't mean I can't fantasize about it!)

Woolly and Wonderful

I managed to get away for a couple days, and it was heavenly. Good friends, good wine, lots of laughter.

And knitting. I really, really needed it.

I can only hope

I went out for dinner last night with a friend, and I forgot to eat my fortune cookie.

So I tossed it in my bag and forgot about it.

Fast forward to tonight: It's 10:30 and dinner is still in the oven. I'm starving. I see the fortune cookie sitting on the counter, where I had tossed it this morning.

You know how one is supposed to read a fortune.

Mine says, " Something special will happen at home soon..." in bed.

I can only hope that it doesn't mean another impressive hairball incident.

Kitty in a cupboard

I've got an hour and a half before I must be in bed, so I'm flying around the house, doing two loads of laundry (I'd only planned for one, but I arrived home to a massive amount of hairball on the sheets. No, I didn't make my bed this morning).

Unloading the dishwasher and putting the sink-full of dirty dishes into newly emptied dishwasher, making tomorrow's lunch, getting the coffee ready. Rush, rush, rush. I whip into the office to put away some papers, go back into the kitchen, and just as I'm about to close the cupboard door I left open, whoa! Cat!

Parker just loves to get into small spaces. It's a damn good thing he's cute, because otherwise, he'd be a street kitty.

24 hours to go

I wanna be sedated.



Yup, exam in 24 hours, and surprisingly, I feel OK, though I haven't done near the preparation I should have (though, with me, that's not unusual).

Today's plan is to take it easy, read the material, take some notes, and maybe do the practise exam and play with the multiple choice test bank.

I'm going to do my best to do as Bossman tells me, and just show off to the examiners how much I know. I have that attitude in every other area of my life, and exams shouldn't be any different.

As I type this, I realize that showing off in an exam situation is easier said than done.

But I'm going to try.

A bad simile

Like an unwanted, persistent suitor, winter keeps calling. I've tried screening my calls, not answering the door.

Some may think it's my fault, because I kept wearing all my cute hand-knits that are so much more comfortable when the weather is cold. Really, they say, I'm just a tart, and am asking for all this unwanted attention.

But really, is it my fault that I look smashing in a scarf and hat combo? I think not. I think it's perfectly natural to want to appear attractive and tidy.

And, it's not like I flirted outrageously with winter. I don't have skis or skates. Snowmobiling is right out, because careening through stubbly fields at 60 miles an hour lost its charm when I was about 16.

Furthermore, I've even tried pretending that winter doesn't exist, by forgoing long underwear and boots. Freaking winter doesn't care that I am under dressed.

I think winter may be a stalker, because no matter what I do, winter won't go away. Do you think changing my phone number would help?

From the heart-breaking to the ridiculous

It's been a really, really shitty week. I went to a funeral, which always sucks.

And I spent some time with a friend who really, really needed me. It's a disaster that is so awful that I don't want to even talk about it.

I'm used to solving problems and holding people when they cry. I don't even know where to begin with this one.

I hope bad things don't really happen in threes. I can't bear to think of what might happen next.

But! I have an exam in six days that I have not yet begun to prepare for. I went to the review class this afternoon, and had the fear of the examiners put into me. Which is fine. That happens at every review class.

The ridiculous was standing at the bus stop, making and returning phone calls, checking my email, and the drunk-ass vagrant behind me kept saying to whatever poor sap beside him, "Do you see her socks? Aren't those interesting socks? Excuse me, miss, where did you get your socks?"

At one point, I snapped, "I made them" and returned to my phone.

Then I heard, "Did you know that she made her socks? I don't know how she does that. It seems strange that she can make socks."

Poor me, we got on the same bus, and he asked if I would explain how I made my socks. I snarled, "I'm a knitter, and I've got other things on my mind!"

He left me alone.

Wine in a box

It is a happy day today, because my favourite cheap Canadian wine, Naked Grape is now available in a box.



I'm pouring myself a really, really large glass right now, because there's been just too much bad news this week.

Travelling Scarf, Part 2

I had so much fun, stalking my team-mate's profile, choosing a complimentary yarn (Paton's SWS in Natural Blue), poring through the stitch dictionary to find the perfect pattern (mock cable rib from the Knitting Stitch Bible).



I didn't even mind the queue at the postal outlet. Much. It would be nice, though, if the employees of said postal outlet actually knew what they were doing. And that Great Britain and United Kingdom are the same place!

BBC's Book List

The BBC believes most people will have only read 6 of the 100 books here.


How do your reading habits stack up?


Instructions: Copy the list into a Note and put an ‘x‘ after those you have read, count ‘em up, compare tallies. This should be easy. Strutting and preening is optional.

1 Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen (gah, I can’t get into it, but I own a copy)

2 The Lord of the Rings - JRR Tolkien (x times 3)

3 Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte (x)

4 Harry Potter series - JK Rowling (x times 7)

5 To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee (x – my cat’s name is Scout, FFS. I loved this book)

6 The Bible (does 25 years of worshipping in a Christan church help? I've read most of it. I expect I skipped over all the begats, though)

7 Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte (I know I should read it, and I own a copy, but I always think of the Monty Python skit, and then the idea is ruined)

8 Nineteen Eighty Four - George Orwell (I just joined a book club, and this is the first selection. I’m very excited)

9 His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman (x times 3)

10 Great Expectations - Charles Dickens

11 Little Women - Louisa M Alcott (x)

12 Tess of the D’Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy (the movie made me ball my eyes out. I’m never reading this book)

13 Catch 22 - Joseph Heller

14 Complete Works of Shakespeare

15 Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier

16 The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien (x - took me 20 years, but I read it)

17 Birdsong - Sebastian Faulk

18 Catcher in the Rye - JD Salinger (x)

19 The Time Traveller’s Wife - Audrey Niffenegger (I am desperate to read this)

20 Middlemarch - George Eliot

21 Gone With The Wind - Margaret Mitchell (x)

22 The Great Gatsby - F Scott Fitzgerald (x)

23 Bleak House - Charles Dickens

24 War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy

25 The Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams (x times 4 Why don't I own these? Also, there's a fifth?)

26 Brideshead Revisited - Evelyn Waugh

27 Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky

28 Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck (x)

29 Alice in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll

30 The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame

31 Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy (x sort of. I’ve been about half-way through for about 15 years)

32 David Copperfield - Charles Dickens

33 Chronicles of Narnia - CS Lewis

34 Emma - Jane Austen (ugh)

35 Persuasion - Jane Austen (again, ugh)

36 The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe - CS Lewis (x – I loved this book, until I figured out it was a metaphor for Christianity)

37 The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini

38 Corelli’s Mandolin - Louis De Bernieres

39 Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden

40 Winnie the Pooh - AA Milne

41 Animal Farm - George Orwell (x)

42 The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown (x - I am not insisting on getting my $40 back because I have the illustrated version, and it's gorgeous, even though the story is stupid)

43 One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez

44 A Prayer for Owen Meany - John Irving

45 The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins (I've never even heard of this book)

46 Anne of Green Gables - LM Montgomery (x What Canadian girl has not read this?)

47 Far From The Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy

48 The Handmaid’s Tale - Margaret Atwood (x)

49 Lord of the Flies - William Golding

50 Atonement - Ian McEwan

51 Life of Pi - Yann Martel (on the shelf)

52 Dune - Frank Herbert (I haven't read this because I know I will love it, and there aren't enough hours in the day)

53 Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons

54 Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen (what is it with Austen?)

55 A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth

56 The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon

57 A Tale Of Two Cities - Charles Dickens

58 Brave New World - Aldous Huxley

59 The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time - Mark Haddon (x This was a delightful little book)

60 Love In The Time Of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez (I want to read this, just because of the name)

61 Of Mice and Men- John Steinbeck (x)

62 Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov

63 The Secret History - Donna Tartt

64 The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold

65 Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas

66 On The Road - Jack Kerouac (x)

67 Jude the Obscure - Thomas Hardy

68 Bridget Jones’s Diary - Helen Fielding

69 Midnight’s Children - Salman Rushdie

70 Moby Dick - Herman Melville

71 Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens (x)

72 Dracula - Bram Stoker

73 The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett

74 Notes From A Small Island - Bill Bryson

75 Ulysses - James Joyce

76 The Inferno – Dante (I own this. I don’t remember why I bought it)

77 Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome

78 Germinal - Emile Zola

79 Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray (on the shelf)

80 Possession - AS Byatt

81 A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens (x)

82 Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell

83 The Color Purple - Alice Walker (x Alice Walker’s novels are among the most horrifying I’ve ever read. But, her novels need to be read)

84 The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro

85 Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert (on the shelf)

86 A Fine Balance - Rohinton Mistry (now added to the book-shopping list)

87 Charlotte’s Web - EB White (x)

88 The Five People You Meet In Heaven - Mitch Albom

89 Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

90 The Faraway Tree Collection - Enid Blyton

91 Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad

92 The Little Prince - Antoine De Saint-Exupery

93 The Wasp Factory - Iain Banks

94 Watership Down - Richard Adams

95 A Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole (I started it a long time ago, and then I divorced the person who owned the copy on the shelf. I need to replace it)

96 A Town Like Alice - Nevil Shute

97 The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas

98 Hamlet - William Shakespeare (x)

99 Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - Roald Dahl

100 Les Miserables - Victor Hugo

Hmmm. 25. If had actually read the books I eventually mean to, the count would have been 40.

This is a strange and eclectic list. I can’t really sense a theme. Using my googlefu, it appears to be a survey. That makes more sense, even though the list in the link is not the same as what is posted here.

Thanks to Purpleniko and Knitting Daisies for the inspiration. I always like to think about books.

Hey! I still knit.

Meetings, when I am not chairing or busy taking notes, are an excellent opportunity to work on socks.

Also, there was that three-hour power outage at Construction Inc. yesterday. Ha! All you non-knitters, I had something to do!

I started a tiny, tiny little sock, so that I could have something ready to show my hairstylist how to turn a heel, and then I was hooked on little socks:

2.5 mm needles, 36 sts, basic twisted, broken rib sock pattern. Would fit the average six-month old niece.

Those socks were so cute, that I immediately cast on socks for her big sister:

2.5 mm needles, 48 sts, basic twisted, broken rib sock pattern. Shooting for a kid's size nine.

And for a comparison, here is one of each together:

Oh my! These are too cute! Because I am dorky, I weighed the socks. The wee socks are 15 g, and the big sister socks are 28 g. I'm using Wisdom Yarns, Marathon - Los Angeles (gah! This has been in the stash for a while - too lazy to find a good link).

I've cast on, in the same yarn, a pair with 44 sts. Those will be for the cousin.

After that, looms the big question. What do I do for the boy? Purple and lime green are too girly, otherwise this yarn would be perfect.