1992: Barcelona

Many unusual events took place in 1992. It was an election year in the United States, but it featured three high-profile candidates: George H. W. “thousand points of light” Bush, Bill “I feel your pain” Clinton, and extremely earnest billionaire H. Ross Perot.

1992 debate

As you might imagine, this debate was an easy mark for parody. We’ll probably never see a presidential candidate with flip charts again. It was mesmerizing.

1992 debate parody

Dana Carvey, left, and the late Phil Hartman.

At my new workplace, we celebrated the 50th anniversary of the American Society for Nondestructive Testing (as it existed with its various names) by publishing a special edition of the journal. I was also hard at work compiling and formatting a comprehensive index of all the feature articles and technical papers that had appeared in the journal during that time; it proved to be so comprehensive that it actually ended up going all the way to 1994. (I can lend you my copy if you need to look something up.)

ASNT logo

But 1992 was also an Olympic year, and at this time both the Winter and Summer Olympics were still held in the same year. The Winter Games took place in Albertville, France, and the Summer Games were held in Barcelona, Spain.

Bonnie Blair won a gold medal in speed skating; Dan Jansen still fell short of that prize, and our hearts broke with him as he struggled towards a goal that meant so very much. I enjoyed the excellence of sport as much as I appreciated the personal stories and the hard work that the athletes put in — no matter what country they represented. It’s quite possible that I began watching televised Olympic coverage in 1976, and I grew more enthusiastic every four years.

Just a few months later it was time for the Summer Games, and the hype was amazing. NBC was promoting a special coverage bundle called the Triplecast — you can read here about the details as well as all the reasons it was never offered again. I couldn’t afford the Triplecast, I definitely couldn’t afford to spend two weeks vacationing in Spain, and I couldn’t even afford to just take two weeks off and watch whatever was on TV.

NBA players were permitted to play Olympic basketball in the 1992 games, forming a “Dream Team” of some of the best basketball players in history. The team went 8-0 during the games, beating their opponents by an average of just over 43 points. I don’t pay much attention to professional basketball at all, but even I knew who most of these fellows were at the time, and still recognize a handful.

Barcelona-92-Dream Team

I watched whatever event I could during the evenings, but the moment that will always stay with me is the lighting of the cauldron during the Opening Ceremony. Over the last several years it has become a ritual to watch the Opening and Closing Ceremonies with my children, for as late as they can stay up. We have seen some elaborate and spectacular lightings. Yet nothing will surpass the pomp, suspense, and triumph of the Barcelona version. After a recent Olympics (Vancouver?) I queued up a clip similar to this one, and was gratified to hear my kids say, “WOW.”

Thank you, Antonio Rebollo!

Another high-profile mention of Barcelona came many years later, and I can’t resist sharing it with you. But it’s not referring to the city of Barcelona.

 


Knitwise, I met a friend last week and we talked sock knitting. I’ve even knitted a few rounds on a sock I started quite some time ago. The pattern is basic, and the yarn is nice enough, but the cool bit is the set of Karbonz double-points, constructed from carbon fiber. Tomorrow night is knit night and I’ll take the sock project with me as well as Nakia’s Scarf, but I’ll probably need to take a pillowcase or something that size to put over my lap before I work on Nakia — the Noro sheds terribly.

I recently took a week’s vacation, which entailed time away from Facebook. As of this evening I still haven’t gotten back in the habit of logging in to see what all my friends are sharing. I was surprised to realize that I don’t really miss it. I still have Messenger on my phone, so feel free to contact me that way if you feel like it. Otherwise, you could always leave a comment here on the blog and we could turn it into a conversation.

Advertisements

1975: Letters

I loved my years at Westgate Elementary. After conquering kindergarten, I spent two years sitting on the younger side of what were called either “split” or “combined” classes made up of children from different grades. Some fluke of demographics had created this circumstance of first/second and second/third grades, membership in which had been framed as a reward for children who could work independently. Not only did I get to listen to everything the older grade was doing on the other side of the room, but sometimes I was picked to do something like read the spelling test words to the older students. I was absorbing everything I could, and my reading level jumped so high that even the double classroom couldn’t contain it. When it was time to join the new reading group, Joe D. and I picked up our workbooks and went down the hall to read with much older kids.

This was also the year of the Carpenters’ remake of “Please Mr. Postman,” when my father swore I would drive him mad with my constant playing of the Number One single on my box of a record player. I probably came pretty close to sending him over the edge. What can I say? I loved the Carpenters and loved the song. #sorrynotsorry

1975 record player

1970s technology is very 1970s.

Third grade was a wonderful time for me, but I combine a lot of my memories with those of fourth grade; the teachers of these grades were new to my school, they were friends who had taught together at a prior school, and I thought they were awesomely cool. I have happy memories of Miss Rood bringing her guitar to school to teach us the song “There’s a Hole in the Bucket,” of a Christmas play where I got to hide behind the curtain and plug in the Christmas tree at a dramatic moment, of a school visit from a painter who worked from photography, of playing kickball and foursquare and dodgeball on the playground, of Miss Bahorek getting married and including some of my classmates in the ceremony, of a school visit from a published author, and of a class trip to the Columbus Zoo to visit Colo, the gorilla we had raised funds to adopt for a time.

Underwood Leader

My beloved Leader.

It was also around this time that my parents gave me a typewriter. Why? And where did they get this one? Who knows? (Was I an eight-year-old who asked for a typewriter? Do I want the answer to that question?) It may have been the best present ever. I have dim memories of whacking away on a mostly-plastic children’s typewriter, probably from Sears, but this was a real typewriter, a manual Underwood Leader from the 1940s. It was the same model E. B. White posed with on the dust jacket of my copy of Trumpet of the Swan; for me, it might as well have been the very specimen. With it came endless opportunities for storytelling, neighborhood journalism, and labeling; with it also came the occupational hazard of never being able to develop into a true touch typist. The keys required such strength for me to strike that hunt-and-peck became hunt-and-pound out of necessity. Over the years I was able to come up to some respectable speeds. To this day, people who have watched me type at full speed have often called it “interesting.”

This was the typewriter on which I retyped Quotable Quotes from Reader’s Digest, composed newspaper copy, and wrote original (and awful!) short stories. After an incident in eighth grade science class (I hand-wrote an eight-page research paper and developed a callus that never left) I was given permission to use my beloved Leader for homework. I used it constantly in high school and took it with me to college, where it finally locked up halfway through a report on every short story in James Joyce’s Dubliners; I switched to a Smith-Corona electronic typewriter somewhere around page 12, and I held my tongue when my Freshman English professor criticized the inconsistent appearance of the final paper.

I set the Leader aside for several years then, writing on the electronic typewriter until I switched to a Macintosh SE in 1987. From there I went through a series of Macintoshes that culminated in a 2009 iMac, a hand-me-down from my late ex-husband, that I’m using today. The fun bit is that I’m actually typing on a vintage-look Bluetooth-enabled keyboard that has a slight family resemblance to my Leader.

QWERKY Keyboard

“Wine for writing, coffee for editing.”

I have purchased a few other vintage typewriters, usually manuals, in recent years. I still own the Leader, and I even own the little spring that I need to install to return it to full functionality. I have also purchased a complete repair manual for my machine; thank you, Internet! I’ve carried the spring around for over a decade now, but I’ll get around to it. A gift like this, you take care of.


Knitwise, I haven’t been doing very much. I knitted on my Olympic cowl but am still a long way from done. In fact, I made an error early in the last round I knitted and now I must un-knit (so to speak) 110 stitches of [Sl1, P1] before I can again make forward progress. I have looked at a few interesting knit and crochet patterns in the past week, but I know that I am forbidden to cast on anything new until I finish a couple of projects which have been waiting (for an unreasonably long time) to be completed. I’ll take a progress shot of the cowl and get going again. It’s a neat pattern but I would like to FINISH IT and move on to something else.

Published in: on March 5, 2018 at 10:57 pm  Comments (3)  

1970: The very creaky chair

NOTE: As I find, or take, pictures of this chair I will use them to illustrate this post.

In my home library there is a rocking chair in which no one ever sits. Its spindled back, these days, is draped with a blanket I knitted a year ago; on the seat rests a round gold cushion that I use on the extremely rare occasions I decide to sit zazen. A tote bag with my current knitting projects hangs from one of the back posts. At night, my discarded daytime clothes lay atop the gold cushion; during the day, my pillows sit on the seat after I convert my futon from bed to couch.

The chair is positioned in the corner of the room, in front of a bookcase that houses sheet music for piano, guitar, and saxophone; books about musicians ranging from John Denver to Leonard Cohen; books about guitar building, playing, and repair; and at least a hundred compact discs, a few cassette tapes, and dozens of record albums. The cherry-laminate bookcase is topped with stereo components and flanked by speakers. If I want to find a disc or an album, I must first drag the rocking chair out of the way; that’s when I see the grooves that the rockers have pressed into my carpet.

Why do I keep this chair in such an awkward spot? The short answer is that it literally won’t fit anywhere else. It’s too wide to fit through the doorways of the upstairs bedrooms (I’ve tried), and none of my sons has expressed a desire to have it in his room. There’s not enough space for it in any other room in this house, and moving it to the basement would probably destroy it through heat and cold cycles, floods, and vermin.

A longer answer is that this chair isn’t something I want to use every day. It’s a family heirloom, and I’m afraid that if it were used more often it would break. When my children where little, just big enough to climb into it and really get it going, I was terrified that they would over-rock it and topple over backwards (they came close). I don’t even remember how it came to be my chair; perhaps when I started living on my own in my twenties, I had room for it when others did not and never subsequently gave it up.

There’s nothing particularly special about this chair’s construction. In fact, if you sat in it you might be convinced that its construction was about to fail at any second. It creaks when you sit in it, creaks when you rise from it, and practically screams if you rock in it. Yet it has surely been in my family for at least a century.

At some point several years ago I did a bit of research and found that this type of chair is called a grandfather chair because of the breadth of its seat; narrower chairs are called, predictably, grandmother chairs. In my family’s case this is a bit ironic, as the story goes that my father, now within one moon of turning 84, was rocked to sleep in this chair as an infant in his grandmother’s lap. I’m not sure which of my father’s grandmothers it was who did the rocking. Grandma Grace had four sons, including my grandpa; Grandma Naomi had two sons and three daughters, including my grandma. Either way, the chair had probably been used to rock many babies before my father came along – perhaps even the entire previous generation.

My great-grandmothers passed on in the 50s and 60s, and then Grandma passed on in the 70s. Her youngest son – of eight boys! – was just twenty years old when she died. Many years later I told him that I had the rocking chair. A smile spread across his face and he asked, “Was it really creaky?” He couldn’t have heard his brothers being rocked in the chair; perhaps he watched and listened as my cousins, his nieces and nephews and maybe even myself, were rocked in it. (If it were that creaky by the 1960s, it must have given us Lamb babies a tolerance for high levels of ambient noise, which is not necessarily a bad thing.)

It’s not a Windsor chair, an Adirondack chair, a Bentwood rocker, a Mission rocker, or anything you can call up on the first (or second) page of a Google Image search. It could be oak, might be maple, might be store-bought, might be homemade (generations of woodworkers and cabinetmakers run through all my family trees). But it’s irreplaceable to me and I will continue to take care of it.

This chair is the source of my first memory. My mother sat in this chair in the summer of 1970, rocking something in her lap that I thought at the time was a kitten. It turned out to be my little brother, and life would never be the same.


In my knitting life, I did in fact miss a day of knitting at least one stitch – last Friday, when all was chaos. That’s not so bad over the course of a month. There’s been more than enough going on to keep me busy and cause plenty of stress, which has driven me to do more with my meditation. It can’t hurt, and neither should the knitting.

I have finished knitting three of four slippers for my grandmother; after I finish the fourth slipper I will seam them all and then work on squares for a baby blanket for a friend who recently became a grandmother. Why is it that I am constantly knitting for grandmothers? I suppose that the blanket is really for Oliver, not Jenny. When Oliver’s blanket is done I will have some project choices to make: cast on for a local knitalong, or finish a project that was promised three years ago? Cast your vote in the comments.

Published in: on January 29, 2018 at 9:50 pm  Comments (1)  

Thoughtful

In 2014 I actually did a lot of knitting. It’s hard to tell this because I didn’t spend much time on Ravelry fussing with my queue, creating new project files, updating old projects, or taking and uploading digital photos of my projects at each stage of progress. (Actually, I didn’t spend much time on Ravelry doing anything.) But I always had a project to take to Knit Night, and things slowly got done.

I finished the Drunken Octopus Sweater.

20140520_184329

I finished Citron.

20150111_100545

I finished Traveling Woman.

Travelling Woman

I finished a pair of socks.

FB_IMG_13952352636605826

I also knitted slippers for my appreciative grandmother, squares for a group-project blanket, and probably a few other things for people who really didn’t care much one way or the other.

In 2015 I’m still looking at my pile of WIPs (Works in Progress) with an eye to finishing them before I start any new projects of substance. A few of these WIPs are small and need just a bit of focused attention (green wool slippers) to move them to the “finished” column. Some of them are big and tedious (Scrabble blanket) and will take many months to properly complete. Others are ambitious and filled with complex lace or cable patterns, and got stalled out early.

That being said, a baby was recently born on the other side of the country, and in a fit of love and familial compassion I whipped up a pair of booties for him and even threaded them with blue organza ribbon. And then I thought up a simple baby blanket scheme (I wouldn’t call it a pattern, but I suppose you could if you wanted to) and cast on and started knitting like the wind. The baby’s already been born, you know. You have to knit more quickly after the baby’s been born, or you might as well forget the nursery accessories and start planning a size 10 Wallaby pullover.

20150111_180344

I’m finding now that I’m taking more time to think about which project I want to finish next, and why. I need to think about why I’m knitting it, and for whom I’m making it (if it’s not for myself). I need to think about when and where I’ll be able to work on it. Some of these projects will need some serious recon time before I might be able to take them to a public place to work on them.

This type of thoughtfulness seems to be spilling over into other areas of my life. I’m more thoughtful and deliberate about how I spend my limited time at home, what I wear to work, how I want to accomplish a task, and how I interact with friends and acquaintances. I don’t feel the need (or perceive the value) of rushing through things as quickly as possible. It’s all right, and sometimes better, to reply with “no,” or “wait,” or “let me think about it,” or “I’m not sure, but probably not.”

Quick reactions often lead to more crises for me — I don’t have the time to fully understand my situation, realize my options, or decide upon the optimal solution. It’s good to be able to slow things down when I can, to have some space around the decision point. It gives me more time to take care, to make a better choice, to think more than one move ahead. (It might even aid my chess game.)

One of the things I’ve been thinking about is my writing. I didn’t do much blogging last year, but I did start a journal. I reviewed a movie on another blog. And I wrote a lot of song lyrics. I lost count, but there were a few dozen. Most were shared with just one or two trusted friends, but some were “published” only for my own sight as I still need time to deal with both the wording and the emotional message being expressed. I intend to continue the journal-keeping, and I also intend to return to this blog with more frequency, whether I’m writing about my knitting projects or some other topic.

Resolutions are fun to make (remember my own Sheep and Wool Challenge? yikes), and intentions are just intentions until they’re backed up with action. One of last year’s epiphanies was that, to be blunt, nobody is interested in what I want to do. But if I actually do something, some people might be interested in what I did. Most people won’t be interested, and that’s fine. But I still need to do the things, for my own varied reasons. I’ll share some of the things I do. If you are interested, or appreciative, or appalled, or intrigued, give me your feedback. And please feel free to share with me the things you’ve decided to do.

Starting Over

This weekend I cast on for a shawl. I know what you’re saying: “Wait a minute! She’s finally going to write about knitting in a knitting blog?”

This shawl is worth writing about because I’m actually re-knitting it. Not making a second one from the same pattern; re-knitting the same shawl with the same yarn. A few years ago, I cast on for this shawl. (Should I look up the exact date? You really want me to look up the exact date? Really? FINE. I will go to Ravelry and be right back.)

On April 6, 2012 I cast on for this shawl. (Are you happy now?) I had wanted to knit this pattern, Traveling Woman, for some time and I had just the yarn to make it with, an Araucania fingering weight wool in tonal teal. It’s not an overly complicated pattern really — it goes from fiddly to tedious to Pay Attention To Me — but I was working other projects at the time, and from my project notes on Ravelry I can see that I made my fair share of mistakes. Because of the pattern repeats in the lace sections, though, I could usually tell when I’d goofed up somewhere, and I could un-knit those stitches, give my knitting a little more attention, and re-knit the section.

This worked until I was (if I recall correctly) about two rows from The End, Completely Done, Finito!, and Off The Needles. Somewhere in that row I made a fatal mistake. (I was probably tired and knitting with my eyes closed. This doesn’t work very well, as you can imagine, and it’s a particularly bad technique to use with lace.) It was probably a simple mistake because I don’t have enough technique to make complex mistakes. What made it fatal is that I couldn’t determine how I’d made the mistake. That meant that every time I tried to undo it, I was actually making things much, much worse.

At last I realized the truth — I couldn’t go forward because I couldn’t fix the mistake, and I couldn’t go backward because I couldn’t fix the fix to the mistake. So I did what any good intermediate knitter would do. Somewhere around the end of August I sent the whole project to time out. And because I was so frustrated with it (really, with myself) I actually sent it to that special farm Up Nort where old dogs go to romp forever in sun-bathed grassy fields. I told it that it wasn’t its fault (I lied) and that my friend Brandy would take very good care of it and maybe fix it (I lied), and I sent it packing.

On January 1, 2013, I sent a text and asked Brandy to take this project off the needles, pull it apart completely, and wind the yarn back up into a ball. She texted back: “Are you sure?” (Actually, there may have been a 24-hour waiting period imposed. Brandy really wanted to make sure this wasn’t an impulse decision.)

I was sure. A few months later it came back in a box as a humungous ball of yarn.

I wanted to do things differently this time. I wanted to give the shawl more time and attention. I wanted to be monogamous with it. (Knitters, you may laugh heartily now.)

So this weekend I cast on for a Traveling Woman shawl. It’s the only thing I’m working on right now. It’s coming along just fine, so far.

And it’s actually part of a very, very small knitalong. Brandy is making one, too.

This particular shawl is knitted starting from the center back.

This particular shawl is knitted starting from the center back.

 

My, how it's grown! This is after 38 rows. I start the lace charts after 68 rows of...this.

My, how it’s grown! This is after 38 rows. I start the lace charts after 68 rows of…this.

 

Published in: on October 20, 2014 at 11:13 pm  Comments (2)  

Imaginary Lover

One of the most exciting parts of falling in love is that feeling of being chosen. You’ve gotten the seal of approval from an Other who finds you smart, funny, attractive, and generally Worth Spending Time With. An Other who thinks your crazy plans are cool (and not so crazy). And you get double bonus points if they often finish your sentences and seem to finish your thoughts. You haven’t just found someone who likes you — you’ve found another of your kind, someone who loves you, appreciates you, and “gets” you without having to be told how to do it. We enjoy the sameness, the recognition.

Wouldn't they make a great couple?

Wouldn’t they make a great couple?

Online dating sites are packed with the profiles of the hopeful ones who think, “Pick me! This is me in my profile. Find me interesting, find me worthwhile. CHOOSE ME.” We want to be discovered, understood, valued, and selected. When someone chooses us, we can feel complete. Authentic. Motivated. Inspired. Confident.

pickle juice

It feels good to be chosen by the right person. What if that right person were yourself? What if, instead of doing anything to win someone else’s approval, you did everything to value yourself, chase your own dreams, and equip yourself with the tools to achieve them?

This would be tough to do. Think for a moment about what it would mean to be emotionally self-sufficient and intellectually self-confident. The person who doesn’t need anyone else is the same person that “society” will marginalize at its first opportunity. If you didn’t actually need anyone else’s approval, support, or even commiseration, would you feel lonely? What could build and sustain your self-confidence to keep it (and you) happily humming along for the rest of your life without companionship? And if/when that little engine breaks down, who fixes it and how?

confidence

I’m guessing you would need to create and maintain your own support system. You’d need to be your own best friend, and always treat yourself with kindness. This would also be tough to do, especially in a society that treats self-confidence as cockiness and egotism, but then again, if you’ve already been ostracized, do you care what society mutters behind your back?

Could you surround yourself with an invisible cocoon of support? Could you walk into a room, any room, with the confidence of someone who had just received a kiss and a bouquet of flowers? Could you, without enabling schizophrenic tendencies, be there for yourself and provide yourself your own comfort when you ran into obstacles, got sick, or just generally felt that you weren’t at your best?

bestfriend

Personally, I’m getting tired just thinking about all the effort that would take. But it may well be a path on which I find myself. It’s one thing to perceive myself as witty, clever, and generally fun to be around (and sometimes the homemade bread comes out of the oven looking pretty nice, too), but if nobody else agrees with me enough to take a chance on walking a little closer to me and seeing if things work out, then I need to walk on regardless.

I’m not sad, and I’m not completely alone. Of course I have my children and my family and my friends. I have cyberfriends and blog-readers and friendly acquaintances and fellow kniterati. But sometimes I’d just like that have that “someone more” in my life again, even if logic continues to not-so-gently remind me that it’s something I’m not likely to get. So, for now, I’ll just pretend that I already do. I don’t have to bruise myself in the dating websites or hang out in bars or do whatever it is that people do when they’re hunting for love. I’ll just accept the love and care that are already in the air like wifi, and keep on walking forward.

walking-away

Published in: on July 16, 2014 at 9:16 pm  Comments (1)  

If I Could Turn Back Time

This week I got all the way to this

20140118_112500

and turned it into this.

20140118_112645

When I took it off the needles I was also taking a load off my shoulders. The knitting was putting me to sleep. The thought of continuing on for two whole skeins to make yet another wool blend scarf nobody had asked for was just oppressive. I found out what the mystery pattern looked like, and that’s all I wanted to know anyway. I slid the project off the needle, pulled it all out, and wound it back over the skein and put the yarn back in the stash. It will be something else someday. I don’t know what; I don’t know when. Right now that’s none of my concern.

Doing something you’re good at and enjoy shouldn’t feel like you’ve been sentenced to the salt mines. If it’s boring you or annoying you, you can undo it and do something else. The yarn doesn’t really care. It probably wanted to be something else anyway. Knitting is one of those amazing activities that allows you to do a tiny thing over and over and over and end up with something tangible to show for it at the end (unlike, say, trying to clean a house that is full of children). It also lets you go back in time a bit to fix your mistakes (which would be handy with parenting a house full of children). And sometimes, moving your marker all the way back to GO and forfeiting your $200 is exactly what you need to do.

What I’m knitting this week:

This week I picked up a couple of projects that I set down some time ago. The first project was a pair of slippers everyone thought I was knitting so quickly. Well, I was… until I stopped. Funny how that works. I wasn’t quite sure how to do the next step in the pattern, so I put it all away for a while. Then my feet got ice cold and I thought, “How hard would that next step be to learn anyway?” Turns out it wasn’t hard at all. I now have one slipper done except for two seams and some weaving-in, and I’m nearly halfway done with the second slipper. That was Monday morning.

Top: woolen canoe. Bottom: Almost a slipper.

Top: Woolen canoe.
Bottom: Almost a slipper.

On Tuesday night I went to my knitting group and resumed work on the Drunken Octopus Sweater. I got the stitches all picked up for the ribbed collar band, and right now I’m knitting away on that section. When it’s done there is a bunch of seaming to do, and then it will look like a proper sweater while I pick up and knit the bottom edge and add ribbing to it. And add the button bands. And add buttons. It will be so satisfying to get this done, particularly because my office is cold in the morning. (But my house is cold at night. Do I really have to knit another one?)

Of course, pride goeth immediately before rows one has to rip back. I was so thrilled to be working on the sweater again that after a mere glance at the pattern, I was cranking out the two inches of collar I thought I needed. But after a while I started thinking, Shouldn’t there be a purl row for turning this collar? It’s going to be awfully bulky. When I had knitted for two inches I finally read the pattern. Knit for ONE inch, purl one row, switch to smaller needles, knit for one more inch. Ouch. Well, there was no way around that one, so I sat and un-knitted each stitch of 1×1 ribbing for six rows of 71 stitches each before being able to move forward properly. Yeahhhhh, that wasn’t much fun. Next time, I’ll read the pattern, or at least try to look at it for more than a microsecond.

Almost collared.

Almost collared.

I have knitted sweaters before, three of them. Two were so simple that you shouldn’t really think of them as sweaters, but as “children’s tops made with yarn.” The third sweater was Tyrone. If you’ve been reading this blog so long that you remember Tyrone, you understand why I don’t have anything else to say about it. (If you’ve only joined us recently, Dear Reader, search the blog for “Tyrone.” And be kind.) This project feels like a real sweater, and it’s a sweater for me. And it’s supposed to be a certain size. I don’t make many of those kinds of projects. Scarves, blankets, and hats are pretty forgiving, and you can almost always find someone with feet that fit the socks you just finished. This is an Intentional, Sized Thing. We’ll see how all that works out.

Published in: on January 23, 2014 at 9:01 am  Comments (4)  

Week Fifty-Two: All Good Things

This week WordPress sent me a little “happy anniversary” notice. It was seven years ago when I registered my first blog with them — the one you’re reading now. I’ve started several other blogs since then, to focus on different fringe interests, but this is the blog that keeps going and growing, and gradually absorbing the other topics back into itself. I wonder why December 23 was the special day, when I had a six-month-old baby Tommy and three older children to take care of. It was probably time to switch to a blog from my e-mail newsletter, Wisconsin Crafter, because it was the end of a year.  I like starting new things on January 1, on Sundays or Mondays, or on the first day of a month. Launching a new initiative on, say, May 17 just wouldn’t make sense to me. How would I ever keep track of it?

But since WordPress is keeping track of it for me, well, happy anniversary to me! Hallmark’s website tells me that the traditional gifts for a seventh anniversary are wool or copper. (The modern gift is a desk set. I do have an antique desk at which I sit in front of my modern computer and write, and I do have a desk set somewhere; maybe I’ll tidy it up and use it.) I think I have bought enough wool for myself that I could knit up a little something special just for me. Copper is a bit trickier. Jewelry seems like an obvious path to take, but I don’t have pierced ears and I don’t wear rings, watches, or necklaces. I do have a few friends who make custom jewelry, and maybe they can give me some suggestions for some sort of commemorative item. A copper pen? A little hand-hammered copper bowl? I’m not sure.

Scratch that; I just found and ordered a hank of wool/silk laceweight yarn in a gorgeous tonal copper colorway. As my son James would say, “Achievement get!”

Well, now, since I’m closing out the year, I’d better be honest and take one last look at those resolutions I published 52 weeks ago.

Thusly, I resolve that, in 2013 (!!!) I shall:

  1. Blog on Chocolate Sheep again, and regularly. Dare I say, weekly?
  2. Finish the Doctor Who scarf I’m knitting for my friend Ginnie.
  3. Complete my calculus class.
  4. Learn one new cast-on.
  5. Find a Most Excellent Job in my chosen field of technical and scientific editing.
  6. Learn one new cast-off.
  7. Help my kids be awesome.

Seven looks like a good number, don’t you think?

I think I can honestly say I accomplished numbers 1, 2, 4, 5, and 7. Number 6 just didn’t get much attention, and Number 3, as mentioned in greater detail a few weeks ago, was a spectacular failure. Overall, though, I think I did pretty well. The weekly blogging was sometimes a challenge, but I did learn how to use the Schedule function for posts so that I could publish pre-written ones when I was traveling. After a while I got used to the rhythm of writing what was essentially a weekly column, and I found I could usually produce something mildly entertaining by Thursday (sometimes Friday).

So, do I have any new and impressive resolutions ready for 2014?

No… not really. I still have a lot of unfinished business around here. I would like to become more monogamous with my knitting, and finish the really large projects I’ve been working on for the last couple of years. I’d like to start quilting again and make some more durable and functional quilts that the kids and I can use. I’d like to deepen my friendships. I’d like to be braver. I’d like to be a better cook. I’d like to study more math and physics. And most of all, I’d like to keep writing. I can’t (and won’t) promise that I will keep to a regular weekly schedule for my posts here, but it’s quite possible that I’ve picked up a very good habit and that’s when the writing will appear.

All in all, it’s been a pretty good year for me. See you on the other side!

Week Forty-Eight: Thank you

Thank you.

Thank you for reading.

The_Young_Cicero_Reading

Thank you for commenting.

Comment

Thank you for visiting my blog before I have something new published, because you know it’s almost time.

thursday

Thank you for sharing the link to my blog.

sharing-guinea-pigs

Thank you for clicking “Like” after a post that you liked.

facebook-like-300x168

Thank you for responding to my surveys and questions.

survey

Thank you for following my news feed.

extra-extra

Thank you for hanging out in this space, my little corner of the Internet.

nsfnet_map

Thank you for believing that I could accomplish all my crazy resolutions.

new-years-resolutions

Thank you for trusting that every week really would bring a new blog post.

New-blog-post-600x318

Thank you for tolerating such a wide range of writing: knitting play-by-plays, philosophical musings, weather reports, “Hamlet” commentary, nerdy math posts, room makeovers, photo essays, and even a sonnet.

gothic-sonnet_devouring-tim

Thank you for scrolling down.

scroll_down_good_stuff

Thank you for laughing at the silly pictures I find and embed.

End of Internet

Thank you for coming back.

Come-Back-Soon

Thank you for sharing your feedback.

His_Masters_Voice1

Thank you for encouraging me.

cpewencouragement002

Thank you, on Thanksgiving Day and every day.

Published in: on November 28, 2013 at 9:00 am  Comments (2)  

Week Forty-Six: Flink, Flank, Flunk

As I am on my way towards keeping my resolution of writing a blog post every week this year, I’m up against the reality that one of my resolutions is going to be impossible to achieve.

For those of you who need to update your scorecards, here they are:

  1. Blog on Chocolate Sheep again, and regularly. Dare I say, weekly? IN PROGRESS.
  2. Finish the Doctor Who scarf I’m knitting for my friend Ginnie. COMPLETED!
  3. Complete my calculus class.
  4. Learn one new cast-on. COMPLETED!
  5. Find a Most Excellent Job in my chosen field of technical and scientific editing. COMPLETED!
  6. Learn one new cast-off.
  7. Help my kids be awesome. IN PROGRESS.

I don’t know that I’ve actually talked here about Resolution 5. At the risk of self-repetition, I can tell you that it took me a month to get hired, but I’m working for the Social Work Department at UW-Whitewater. In the short term I’m helping their department secretary dig herself out from her own workload, and in the long run I’m assisting with the program’s re-accreditation process. In the middle range, I’m updating, revising, and possibly rewriting some pretty large and important departmental documents. Welcome to technical writing and large-scale project management. All my experience with photocopiers, proofreading, manuscript revision, and pre-print planning is finally paying off!

hooray

Resolution 7 got an update today as the three younger kids brought home the best report cards of their lives. Also, the two oldest of the three youngest (got that?) took the Iowa Basic Skills Test this year. The school average was a score in the 74th percentile; one child landed in the 83rd percentile, and the other in the 93rd percentile. They would like to attribute this to the scientifically verified powers of concentration derived from the usually-illegal mint gum they were permitted to chew on testing days. I just think they’re awesome whether or not they chew the gum as they take tests.

39doublemint

And Resolution 6? I don’t have a problem with Resolution 6. I can cast off a new way any time I want to. (I just have to look up a method, and practice it. Elizabeth Zimmerman’s sewn bind-off might be a good candidate.)

But Resolution 3, she is toast. My poor Calculus I grade, recorded as an “I” for Incomplete at the end of Fall 12, has, over the slow but insistent march of time, converted itself to an “F” for Fail. This would be more galling if my priorities had not changed so drastically… and if my current employment status permitted me to enroll in another section of it so the new grade could overwrite the old. Frankly, I don’t have time to tackle Calculus I again on top of a new job that keeps me busy all day, and from 1 to 4 kids who keep me busy all the rest of my waking hours. And as I’m not taking physics right now, any calculus I would learn has almost no immediate application. It’s true that calculus-related concepts now pop up in my head from time to time. But there are so many things going on in my life right now that are more urgent than my desire to learn the calculus. I still want to learn it someday — and the satisfaction at having truly learned it will be more important to me than any grade on my transcript.

708336874_orig

This hasn’t stopped me from thinking up a Major Project or two for next year…I’m nothing without a Big Plan. But I’ll discuss those next year, and most likely over at my Mom Scientist blog. For here and for now, I have writing and knitting to do. I’m still the same person with goals and dreams… even if my transcript makes it look as if I flunked Calculus I.

Published in: on November 15, 2013 at 8:00 am  Comments (1)