Y.O. In The House

The Other Side

2012-02-28T19:12:00.000-05:00

Thank you all for your kindness. Funny--I had actually made it through most of the day and was surprised at how calm I was. Amazing how your emotions can sneak up on you.

Today I am fine. I think because I am lucky enough to be surrounded by really interesting, kind, warm and inspiring people.

So here's the plan for the rest of the week. Up early (very very early), lovely morning knitting (I'll post some pictures tomorrow), good things at work (although a few people are annoying the crap out of me this week), good food at home (my Brian takes good care of me) and (hopefully) getting the damn house clean.

My challenge to you this week--be happy. Be intentionally happy. Decide that you are going to be happy and do whatever it takes to do it. Even if it is just for a minute or an hour. Embrace it. Because, you know what, if you know how to be happy, I believe that you will be better at being unhappy when the time comes.

Today

2012-02-27T20:25:00.002-05:00

Today would have been his 45th birthday. I truly believed that I would be okay but it didn't really work out for me. About an hour ago, I started weeping and couldn't stop.

This was not supposed to happen. It was not supposed to end this way.

Perfect Sunday Morning

2012-02-26T09:05:00.001-05:00

Brian is sleeping on the couch. Heather is sleeping on the love seat. Smokey is sleeping on the couch pillow behind me. Max is sleeping under Couch 22.

And I am playing with yarn.

I've gotten a lot of gifts of yarn in the past few months and each one is better than the rest. I've had them all out on my desk so I could play with them. Sort of the equivalent of a little kid wanting to leave all the Legos out so she could build something anytime she wants to. Although it really hurts to step on a random lego--not so much with a ball of yarn.

I'll show you some today and save some for other posts lest you all get greedy and try to sneak into my stash!

This pile of deliciousness was cleverly disguised in a Bloomingdales box on Christmas morning.

I know I've mentioned before that my parents are very good yarn shoppers but it turns out that my father takes it very very seriously. When we arrived in VT for the Christmas celebrations I was wearing a sweater that I had FINALLY finished! It's beautiful fuzzy Brown Sheep Lambs Pride bulky (I'll tell you about the sweater another time--it was a journey) and Pop started asking all sorts of questions--What kind of yarn do you use? Umm--anything that's a natural fiber. So the size doesn't matter? Nope, not at all. As long as it isn't fake. And colors, what kind of colors? All colors Pop.

I didn't catch on that he was afraid he picked the wrong yarn until two days later. He's so sweet. And see what he picked. The old man picked out Noro. And not just one skein but two! And that purple in the bottom corner--that's Malabrigo! And then he pushed the envelope and picked out some sock yarn that I've never even heard of before. Good times!

This lovely pile came from my neighbor Denis's trip to China. He's the father of one of my childhood friends and he loves to travel (he's also brought my yarn from the market in Italy).

The labels are all in Chines so I have no idea what this is or what the yardage is. So far it has passed the wool test so I'm pretty sure that's what it is. It is squeezy and delicious and I love it. And one of the big balls is enough to make a Baby Surprise so, really, how wrong can you go. There's more of it but it's already on the needles so you should be seeing more of this soon.

There's a lot more to come but I don't want you to start out your Sunday all jealous so I'll save those for next time.

I Suppose An Explanation Is In Order

2012-02-23T17:10:00.000-05:00

First things first. About the Kenny Rogers video. You see, we were at Maud's a few weeks ago and someone said something that triggered something in my brain but it totally misfired and I ended up having one of these conversations.

Me "There's a song about a field."
Brian "What are you talking about?"
Me "A song--I know you know it--about a field. With plants in it. Come on help me out here."
Brian "Okay sure. A song."
Me "It's a country song. I think it's Kenny Rogers. Yeah it's definitely Kenny Rogers. Something about not be able to pick the crops. Yeah yeah yeah."
Brian "Oh yeah--I know that song. What the hell is the name of it."
Our neighbor at the bar "It's a woman's name isn't it?"
Me and Brian "Yeah yeah yeah--a woman's name!!"
Our neighbor "Ruby!! It's Ruby!"
Me and Brian "No, no, no!! That's not it."
Me "Ruby was the one that he didn't want to take her love to town."

And on and on until we finally sort of forgot about it until I shouted out "YOU PICKED A FINE TIME TO LEAVE ME LUCILLE" at the top of my lungs about an hour later.

Of course now I had it stuck in my head for a few days so I decided that I needed to share the shame of it on my blog. Or, I should correctly say, my other blog. Feel free to visit but don't blame me when you get caught singing Sylvia's Mother on the 1 train.

Somehow, I managed to post it to both blogs and you guys ended up with it. Mea culpa.

Moving on.

The blog has been dark and I am sorry for it. It's not that I haven't wanted to write. It's just that I couldn't. The ex-boyfriend was my most loyal reader and his death is still oh so very surreal to me. He visited the blog every day and I believe that it was his way of somehow keeping a connection with me. I've been on an emotional roller coaster since January over this whole mess and, although my brain is very rational, my heart and my spirit have had a few bad instances of the "what-if"s. Now I know that his problems were his own, etc. etc. but every so often my psyche takes off into some other place that is neither rational nor linear and I get stuck there for a bit.

I've been reading Ann Leary a lot lately and last week she had a post asking her readers what was going on in their lives. So I decided that it was going to be a really good idea to just dump all my issues in some strangers lap and hope that it would break things open and I would be back in the saddle again. I wrote a response on her blog very carefully. I chose my words well. I really thought it through and, I think, said everything I needed to say to get my groove back on. And I hit post. And it got lost. Gone.

And in my head, I heard Denis Leary laughing at me, calling me a pussy and telling me to shut the fuck up with my whining and write about shit on my own damn blog (his words--not mine).

So I'm back. There may be some whining and some wild irrationality but there's also been lots of good stuff to share.

Four Hundred Children

2012-01-29T16:55:00.000-05:00

There's A Reason

2012-01-23T13:48:00.000-05:00

The blog has been dark for a few weeks now for a reason. I've got lots of posts halfway done in my head but have been unable to write them without starting to cry. My ex-boyfriend died. He was my most loyal reader and the thought of coming here to write was very confusing for me. I didn't write the blog for him and there were things on here that he didn't like along with many other things that he loved. We still talked occasionally and I know that he checked daily to see if there was a new post up. There are a lot of things that happened in the past few weeks that I want to write about these past few weeks but I'm not prepared to so instead, I will share with you something that he loved.

Brisket

1 nice sized brisket that will fit into your Dutch Oven
1 bag of onions
1 jar Heinz Chili Sauce
1 can of beer

Peel the onions and slice them into half moons until you can't stand peeling onions any more. Walk away from them and then go back and peel and slice more of them.

Pack half the onions into the bottom of your Dutch Oven, nestle the brisket on top of it and then pack the rest of the onions on top. Your brisket should be completely buried in onions.

Pour the bottle of chili sauce over the top. Open the beer and swish a little around in the chili sauce bottle to get all the goodness out and then add the beer to the pot.

You will want to stir it but don't even try. Just leave it alone. Put it over a high flame, bring it up to a boil and then turn it down as low as it will go, pop a lid on and simmer it for at least 3 hours until the brisket is done to your liking. I like it a little bit shreddy but still sliceable.

Serve it over egg noodles or on a buttered kaiser roll with a bowl of the gravy for dipping.

I made it this weekend for the first time for Brian and he loved it. I didn't get into the whole dead-ex-boyfriend's-favorite-meal thing with him although I know he would understand (the man is a rock). I just wanted this meal to continue to be something special for someone other than me.

P.S. I may have blogged this recipe before but I don't really care about being redundant right now.

Dear 2012

2012-01-01T20:49:00.002-05:00

Hello 2012 and welcome. It's very nice to meet you.

First of all, let me thank you for kicking the year off with a rainy night. I'm not sure if 2011 gave you some notes before you started but I really love a rainy night. 2012, if this is how you're going to roll, we'll get along just fine.

Now, here are some things that you need to know before we get too involved.

1. I know that I already have enough yarn but if you could find it in your heart to have some really special things in the marketplace at Vogue Knitting, it would be nice.

2. In the beginning of 2011, I had to tell someone that "this is totally fucked and your job is to unfuck it!" I would rather not have to use that sentence, as charming as it is, again.

3. You may not have noticed yet because you are just a day old, but there's enough misery in the world already. It would be great if you could do your best not to contribute more. I'll help. We all will.

4. Could you please remind me to carry my camera more often. And to keep it charged. Regarding number three, there is is far more beauty in the world than misery and I would appreciate you doing your best to make even more (see number 1--you're already doing a great job--there's nothing prettier to me than a rainy night). If you can help me out with the camera thing, I promise I will share everything beautiful that you give me.

5. I wouldn't mind being given the opportunity to foster some more kitties. We really enjoyed the two that we had in the house this year. Bring 'em on!

I'm sure that this has already been a really long day for you, my new friend 2012, so I won't burden you with any more requests. Lets just agree to do this whole thing together; I think we'll make a really good team. I'm looking forward to getting to know you.

Love,
Karen

P.S. Dear 2011--Thank you so much. You were a pleasure. If you happen to run into 2004, please let it know that I've forgiven it for sucking ass. xo

My Family

2011-12-27T15:34:00.001-05:00

1. My family is good--knitting books and yarn for Christmas. Woo hoo!
2. My family is very good--wine store gift card for Christmas. Woo hoo hoo!
3. My family is better than yours--some of the yarn is Noro. Woo hoo hoo hoo!
4. My family rocks--Flying Fingers gift card for Christmas. Woo hoo hoo hoo hoo!
5. I love my family and clearly, they love me back.

Holiday Hump Day

2011-12-21T16:46:00.001-05:00

One of the best things about my birthday is that it falls almost exactly between Thanksgiving and Christmas. It's actually exactly two weeks before Christmas (don't bother doing the math--it's the 11th.) which makes it the perfect Holiday Hump Day. Usually everyone is ready to take a much needed break. No shopping. No wrapping. No baking (unless it's cake for me!).

And we did it up right this year. Pat (of the tomatoes) hosted a perfect gathering. There were family, friends, friends with families with them, friends who didn't know they had me in common, old friends, new friends and really, everyone in between. Some friends didn't have the luxury of escaping the holidays but that just means I have a reason to get together with them soon.

And we ate. Chicken three ways, chips, dips, cheese, crackers, treats, kasha varnishkas (I have no idea how to spell that), roasted cauliflower, stuffed mushrooms, carrot cake cupcakes--need I go on? We drank wine and soda and water and Coquito which may be my new favorite thing.

And even though I said no gifts, there were some shiny little things for me to play with when I got home.

Last year, I had a similar gathering but the intention of it was really different. Pat and I both needed a party so we threw one. My birthday just happened to be at the right time. And I think that party really launched something for me. I realized that I am surrounded by amazing people who love me very much. And that made me realize that I had wasted so much time being unhappy. Look what I had!! Right here in front of me all this time!! And I spent the past year embracing it. (I know I've rambled on about this before but it really is quite a stunning difference in my life. Indulge me.)

Yes, I took some risks. I've taken risks before and sometimes they work out and sometimes they turn around and bite you on the ass. But it's worth it. I finally remembered that ass bites heal.

Yes, I still have a boat load of baggage. But really, who doesn't? And on the rare occasion that my baggage sneaks up on me, I have someone who holds my hand when I'm acting like a ~~raging lunatic~~ sensitive soul and soothes me.

I remember thinking "I can do whatever the hell I want." And I really wish that my inner voice had said to me "Yeah, and how's that workin' out for you?" I think it was the convergence of many, many things that led up to that birthday party in 2010 that finally made me answer that question.

So was it a perfect year? No, of course not. There's no such thing. But did I live it fully and with an open mind and heart? I think so. At least I tried to. And maybe the trying is the part that counts.

I've knit a lot less because I actually have other things to do now. I have made new friends who I really, really like. I still knit a lot but I no longer have the obsessive need that I had to accomplish something because I'm accomplishing other things.

I know you're dying to know what the best birthday gift I got was. I was reading the Yarn Harlot yesterday and she had it up as the gift of the day for knitters. On the morning of my birthday I woke up really, really early--like 4 o'clock early. After laying in bed for about 20 minutes trying to convince myself that I was not, actually, bright eyed and bushy tailed, I got up and snuggled up on the couch with tv, a cat and my knitting. Around 5 o'clock, Brian wandered out, half asleep and bleary and said "I didn't know where you went." So I told him I would come back to bed and read while he slept. He looked at me and said "No, I'll be okay. You deserve some nice, quite knitting time" and he wandered back to bed.

Let's Not Talk About the Potatoes

2011-11-25T18:01:00.001-05:00

Every year I give myself a cooking theme for Thanksgiving dinner. It's not obvious and it doesn't really involve anything other than entertaining myself. It only involves the side dishes (turkey, stuffing and gravy are sacrosanct) and it simply provides me with hours of entertainment planning the meal. One year it was side dishes that were both sweet and savory. Another year it was dishes that could be considered New York food. You get the idea.

This year I went with recipes from friends and family. Over the past few months my house has suddenly become our home and it seemed a good way to celebrate. So instead of buying the shrimp cocktail, Brian made it (fresh horseradish is my new best friend). We had my friend Larry's delicious corn pudding. My mother's friend Eileen's carrots. My sister's cranberry sauce. My grandmother's turnips. The sweet potatoes that were inspired by my friend Mark.

Really--can you beat brown sugar, butter, bourbon, heavy cream and pecans.

My neighbors Joanne and Carol came over for drinks and hors d'oeurves. I see them on the elevator all the time and on Wednesday night told them to stop by any time. And they did! And it was a huge treat!

Then my cousin Trina showed up after dinner for a visit.

Look at that--friends and family! My theme worked out.

And I really think that's why my potatoes failed so miserably. I've made mashed potatoes about a million times. Could do 'em with my eyes closed. And they were so beautiful. Five pounds of Yukon Golds that looked like they came out of a magazine spread.

Something happened.

Something bad.

Now Brian is convinced that I boiled them too long but in relation to the doneness of the turnips, they should have been just fine. I drained them, put them back in the pot, added butter, milk, cream cheese, salt and pepper, a touch of sour cream for zing and then, lo and behold, I couldn't find the damn hand mixer. So I grabbed my trusty potato masher and figured my biceps could use a good workout and that's when it happened.

One mash. Just one simple mash. And the whole thing turned into liquid. Not even soup. Just liquid. My jaw dropped. I couldn't believe my eyes. It was shocking.

It didn't really matter because I had enough food to feed the Russian Army and no one really missed them but I couldn't get past my complete and utter failure. And I think it may be because it was just my basic mashed potatoes. Had I gotten a recipe from a family member or friend, I'm sure they would have been just lovely.

Bratty Girl thoroughly enjoyed picking the marshmallows off the sweet potatoes. I couldn't help noticing that they left a little outline--kind of like the chalk outline on a dead body.

Even the potatoes couldn't ruin our fun. (Thankfully, Brian got rid of all the evidence.) We danced in the kitchen which, if you've ever seen my kitchen, is quite a feat. In one of those big relationship moments, my father insisted that Brian carve the turkey this year. And to prove what a stand up guy he is, he invited my fabulous brother-in-law to share the task with him. We drank champagne. We ate too much. Then we ate more. We had Jack Johnson on the CD player.

I hope that you and yours had a day as wonderful as ours and that you have as many things to be thankful for as I do.

My House Every Morning

2011-11-10T16:49:00.000-05:00

Still haven't found the camera cable and I have lots to blog about but they all need photos so instead I will give you a run on sentence and a funny video. Watch it all the way to the end.

This is totally Brian and Max. It was actually so bad one night that Brian stayed up all night like a crazy man. He spent the night watching very bad television and coming into the bedroom chasing the cats off the bed. His reasoning--if they're not going to let me sleep on the bed, I'm not going to let them sleep on the bed. Suffice it to say, that explained all the Amityville Horror "GET OUT" dreams I had that night.

You have to watch it all the way to the end.

Back In The Saddle Again

2011-10-24T21:44:00.000-04:00

Has it really been a week? Not quite a week but close enough.

Tonight's post is just some random thoughts.

1. Remember when I lost the camera? Well now I lost the cable. I have lots of knitting to show you (and even some crochet--oye) but I can't do it until I find the cable. Pray for me.

2. I work in a commercial food manufacturing factory and no it is nothing like Laverne and Shirley or An Officer and a Gentleman. But I do get to spend my days with people who are really trying to fix the things they fucked up in their lives and they inspire me more than I could ever tell you. Everyone who works on the floor has to wear a hairnet which is really a white beret so all you see are their faces. Today I noticed just how beautiful the faces are. All of them. When you can't see someone's hair you really get to experience their face and it is quite a stunning experience if you pay attention to it and enjoy it.

3. Saturday turned out to be an oddly nice day. It started with a funeral. The mother of a childhood friend of mine died and off I went to the church that we all grew up in for the funeral. I haven't seen my friend in many years--probably since her father died. It would be very trite of me to say that I have fond memories of their house when in reality I have lifelong habits and sensual experiences that have never left me. If you come to my house for a party and you have a cold, I will put a band aid on your cup. I eat wheat toast and peanut butter almost every day (except for lately because the toaster died and we need to get a new one). I know all the words to the song Cecilia. My friend had in on a 45 (if you're too young to know what that means google it) and she had one of those record players in a box and we used to play it over and over and sing it really really loud. I got into the car to head to the service and I turned on the radio and guess what was just starting? Cecilia. I felt like Mrs. Charles was checking in to see who was going to show up at church and I think she was happy I was there. Every time I hear that song, I can actually smell their house. It's amazing.

Take a moment and sing along.

After the funeral, I buzzed up to Dobbs Ferry to teach a really, really nice woman how to do more than just knit and purl. We've started with knit 2 together and yarn overs. I was so happy for her because she got it right away. There is a math and a science to knitting and she became both a mathematician and a scientist. We are going to make her a sampler scarf--okay, she's mostly going to make it--learning different knitting nuances. Fun for both of us.

Then my BFF turned up in town. With her dog who I haven't seen in years and guess what? He remembered me!!! It was awesome. And it was my BFF's first time meeting HandyMan and she loved him.

All in one day.

I just asked HandyMan if I could actually call him by name here on the blog. You may have noticed that I don't name names without permission. He said "Sure".

Meet Brian. I think he's pretty terrific. Especially since he just spent about 20 minutes scratching my back.

4. Comfort food for dinner tonight. Browned some chopped meat with salt, pepper and garlic powder. Added my home made marinara with some oregano, red wine and more pepper. Tossed with little tiny bow ties then added a lot of fresh ricotta, more pepper and parmesan. Ladled it into little baking bowls, topped with mozzarella and then, spit spot under the broiler. Delicious.

Comfort

2011-10-19T21:12:00.000-04:00

I tend to find comfort quite easily.

It's raining tonight--big time comfort zone for me.

HandyMan is sleeping on the couch next to me and Smokeythecat is sleeping on his belly--how cozy can you get?

I had some scallops and cream and wine and made Bubbly Bake with rice for dinner--one of my favorite comfort foods.

It should have been perfect. But it wasn't.

The scallops sucked. I cooked the rice with some vegetable bouillon cubs that should have just been labeled bad salt cubes. Have you ever had one of those tiny pillow pack salt and peppers that they give you on airplanes. This was worse. I was going to try to reclaim it with some soy sauce but for the second time since Sunday the soy sauce is no where to be found.

I have a cold. I have to put the laundry away. I'm hungry and now I really don't feel like cooking again.

And then I found it.

Law & Order UK. How on earth did I not know that this existed. Law & Order (any version) is my ultimate comfort. It has served me well through sickenss, unemployment and just plain old boring days.

Law & Order UK. Cool Brittania baby.

24 Years Ago Today

2011-09-29T17:08:00.000-04:00

On September 29, 1987, I started my first real job. Naturally, there had been plenty of other jobs but they were part time or seasonal and I didn't need them to actually support myself. They were just there to pay for my 1980s vices (let's not discuss those here, ahem).

I'm honestly not really sure how I got the job. Even then, I didn't remember sending them a resume but a phone call and an interview later, I was working for the local newspaper.

Maybe it's the rain today that's making me so nostalgic or maybe it was facebook reminding me of the owner's birthday. Or maybe it's because it's Thursday and I was online reading the columnists like I do every week but it's been on my mind all day.   In a good way. Sometimes that type of nostalgia can be very melancholy but not this time.

I've been reminded of the man who gave me the world's best cheesecake recipe. And the woman who gave me the pattern for my favorite baby sweater. I've looked around my office today and realized how different it is and yet, somehow, work is the same.

I remember so clearly the columnist for the paper who stood at my desk and recited the last two pages of The Great Gatsby to me from memory. When he was dying, I wrote him a note to tell him how special that was to me. I don't know if he ever got it but it instilled in me a lifelong commitment to eulogizing the people that I love while they're still alive to hear it.

And I still tell the story of the day that one of the reporters--after a particularly nasty fight over something--wrote Fuck You in foot high red letters on a length of green bar paper and left it draped over their adversaries desk. (It's funny to me that I felt I needed to add a link to green bar paper because a lot of people probably don't remember it at all. It seemed so space aged at the time.)

I have habits that I can track back directly to that job. Our advertising manager used to say "It's clean up time" at 4:45 every day. I still do that. Even if I'm not going home until 6:00 or 7:00 I still tidy my desk at 4:45.

I fold 8 1/2 by 11 inch paper in half. Almost compulsively. Because that's what we did at the paper. It was folded to be 8 1/2 by 5 1/2 to go into the copy baskets. All of my knitting patterns--folded in half. Directions to anywhere--folded in half. I probably have 20 pieces of paper folded in half in my purse right now.

I clearly distinguish between house and home. There's a difference in the meaning of those two words. I never say the bride or the baby was beautiful--all brides and babies are beautiful.

I laughed when I read one of the columns in today's edition. It was about Twitter. This from a woman who, once we started using computers, refused to have one in the front office because she didn't like the way it looked. In 1987, birds tweeted. Not people. I still have the little bookmark that she gave me for a Christmas present one year. I love to read and it was a perfect gift for me. It's a little gilded monkey holding a bell.   Is it a reminder of a simpler time? I don't know. I just know that it makes me happy.

I'm Slowly Emerging

2011-09-21T16:10:00.000-04:00

When we last spoke, I had had a crappy-doodle day. Although nothing else dramatic has happened since then, I'm not really sure how to describe this week. The word maze keeps coming up but that's not exactly right. I haven't hit any walls or been chased through the snow by Jack Nicholson.

Maybe catacombs is a better word for it (although not the definitions with the graves). Lots of twists and turns and I feel like I'm in the dark a bit. But there are lights--in my mind they are very gothic torches--along the way.

So here's how it's gone:

1. Big leadership change at work.
2. Supposed to go to knitting group and cast on a Baby Surprise Sweater.
3. Skip knitting group and knitting to go back to work and meet with our night shift.
4. Deal with a bunch of other issues while I'm there.
5. Home and crash. No cast on yet.
6. Ridiculously early meeting. Bring yarn and needles to work just in case I have time.
7. Meetings, meetings, meetings, meetings. And not a knittable one among them.
8. Home and cast on. Knit some. It's going.
9. Saturday morning wake up early early early. Knock out a big chunk of the sweater while my HandyMan sleeps.
10. Lose a bunch of knitting time because BrattyGirl is bored and lonely and wants to have lunch.
11. Discover that the grocery store in a Hassidic neighborhood is paradise on a Saturday afternoon. Very few people and lots of good food.
12. Got the cart with the OUTRAGEOUSLY squeaky wheel.
13. Home. Clean. Cook.
14. Sunday morning--see number 9.
15. Clean carpets. Not sure why but I found this oddly stressy.
16. More early days and late nights at work. Some knitting but not enough.
17. Had a "damn it" moment. I can knock out a Baby Surprise with my eyes closed. Realize that stressy=unfocused.

Am planting my ass on the couch tonight. This sweater is just too magical to let it get under my skin. I actually made up a line by line spreadsheet for the pattern ages ago so that I don't have to pay attention to anything but the pure genius of the engineering of this sweater.

I'm aiming to have some photos up soon. The yarn is a new one from Manos and I really like it so far (although I did hit a knot). I'll report on it when the sweater is done.

My home computer is still crashed and I am too broke to fix it or get a new one right now so I'm playing "hit and run internet access". Maybe some money will fall out of the sky! Is that too much too ask for?

Frankly, Frankie

2011-09-15T23:15:00.000-04:00

Okay, are you ready for this one. It's a good one. And it's one of the reasons that my silly little life absolutely fascinates me.

I live on a street that is about a quarter of a mile past a three block long commercial area. We have a great corner store. A terrific little market. A bar. Another great corner store. At least three banks. A Chinese restaurant. A Latin coffee shop. A soon to be opened Japanese takeout joint.

And a pizza place.

If you are from the Y.O. you will understand the nuance of a "pizza place". It's not a pizza shop. Or a restaurant. It's not a store. It's a pizza place and it really is just that simple. It's a place where you go for pizza.

When I was a kid, the pizza place was owned by a family name Triarsi. I think that's how you spell it. The whole family worked there. Two sons and a daughter. The mother and father. And a sort of random guy named Patsy. Mrs. Triarsi was one of the prettiest women I've ever seen. She had a look that my family refers to as "La Strega"--the witch. Olive skin, black hair and blue eyes. She was gorgeous and she was nice. They were all nice. And for a buck you got two slices (on wax paper thank you very much) and an RC Cola.

Eventually Patsy took the place over. There was fire. There was a move. There was another move. There was a change of ownership and for years and years now, it's been owned by a guy named Frankie.

Frankie is what we lovingly refer to as "a character". He wears his shirt open to his waist and clearly uses Pantene on his chest hair. His hair is a dramatic dyed pompadour (there is a whole school of thought that it's a wig). He wears a big gold medallion and shockingly sculpted facial hair. He wears white patent leather shoes with a Cuban heel. He makes a killer pie, great meatballs and a pasta with garlic, sausage and broccoli that makes you believe in true love. He calls everyone sweetheart.

You know this is leading to something don't you?

I had a shitball of a day today. Utter chaos would have been a walk in the park. I had to go back to work (again) at 8:15 to talk to our night shift and dry a lot of tears. I finally headed home around 9:30 (ish) and had a text from Pat (of the tomatoes). Perfect. I was going to stop at the pizza place and grab a chicken parm wedge for HandyMan and Pat lives right around the corner so she agreed to meet me for one glass of wine.

As I parked the car and headed over to the pizza place, I couldn't believe that yet another wall of shit had fallen on me. The pizza place was closed. All the lights were off. I was hungry. I knew my honey was hungry. And goddammit the pizza place was closed.

But the door was open. So I poked my head in and said "Hey--Frankie! What? Suddenly you're working bankers hours?" Long story short, the stove was still lit and the oven was still on and 15 minutes later, I walked out with my sandwich and a pizza.

But here's where it gets good. He wouldn't let me pay for it. In his words, "It's the end of the night sweetheart. You're a good customer. If I can't feed you, I can't feed anyone."

I actually had tears in my eyes. I started to say "Frankie, today was awful and you just turned the whole miserable mess around for me." All I got out was "Frankie, today was awful." He cut me short and said "Not anymore."

The Things I Will Never Forget

2011-09-11T11:01:00.000-04:00

As I prepare to spend a day with some good friends and family, I keep being inundated with the phrase "Never Forget". And it feels very incomplete to me. Never forget what? For the people who were injured or lost loved ones, to tell them to "Never Forget" feels a little cruel to me. To suggest that they could possibly forget what happened is naive. I do hope that they have somehow been able to relearn how to live their lives after such a profound and public tragedy and that they have been able to embrace the future. But they are the last people who should be reminded to "Never Forget".

So, what should I be reminded to "Never Forget". The fact that hatred exists? Nope, I don't need to be reminded of that. I see it all the time when someone crosses the street when a young, black man is walking toward them The fact that we live in a world divided? Nope, don't need that either. We live in a country divided.

I think that, perhaps, the day we should remind each other to "Never Forget" is September 12th. And the people we were that day.

1. We grieved--individually and collectively. I know that I normally fear grief. It makes me uncomfortable because I know that I can't do anything about it. In times of grief, I need a job. I'll cook. I'll clean. Just please don't make me look it in the face. On September 12th, we openly grieved together. And by doing that we created unity.

2. We took care of each other. Hands were held. Backs were rubbed. We touched each other. Normally, we don't hug each other as often as we should. We don't hold hands because we don't know what people will think. Our world is so convoluted that, often, touching is misconstrued as potentially sexual rather than as a simple human function. There's a reason that we have the ability to feel each other. I think it is because we are supposed to.

3. We showed our personal weaknesses. We talked about things that we never would have otherwise. We showed our wounds.

4. We accepted help. This is often the hardest thing of all. Our first responders helped. The volunteers helped. Everyone I know did everything they could think of to help. And, in doing so, we all accepted the help of others. Needing help is often seen as a sign of weakness. On September 12th, we discovered that, if you say you need help, someone will help you. It may be because I find asking for help so difficult that the acceptance of help really resonated with me.

5. We were all on the same team. I have a friend who was as far on the other side of the fence politically as I am, as a person possibly could be. And we argued. But, at the end of the day, we always hugged each other and went on our way. Our arguments became debates. And then our debates became conversations. Before September 12th, we were on opposite teams. Now, we realized, that we just played different positions on the same team. And we achieved compromise. And we learned so much from each other. And we didn't say, "I told you so" when minds were changed. We just kept working together. Our friendship became stronger and I still cherish him.

And with all of these things, nothing bad happened. The fear of touching, the fear of grieving, etc. etc. had no bad consequences. In fact, they were all good things. Our vulnerability worked to our benefit as human beings. So that is what I will never forget. And I will do my best to do so with an open heart and an open mind.

I'm Just Planning on Celebrating the People I Love

2011-09-07T20:12:00.000-04:00

This does not make me un-American. Frankly, I think it makes me more of an American. I am sick to death of all the programming on TV about the 10th Anniversary of September 11th. Mostly because I find so much of it profoundly disrespectful. Really? I need to see a show about "How Pop Culture Saved America"? Are you kidding me?

If you had asked me on September 10th if I could have emotionally survived watching thousands of people die, I would have said "Absolutely Not!". I assumed that I did not have the fortitude to handle something like that and that I would have had to be institutionalized. But that didn't happen.

What did happen was that it made me want to be a better person. Like thousands, actually millions, of others, I just wanted to help. I realized that we live in a turbulent world and that, perhaps, peace is a pipe dream. But compromise and acceptance are not and I could embrace those in my own life. It took a long time for me to articulate this. September 11th was raw. It was painful. I felt the glass in the air when the second plane hit the towers. I was so overwhelmed by the loss of the day that I actually focused on the pigeons that must have been killed in the plaza between the towers. That was so much easier for me to handle than all of the people who were gone.

Earlier this year, I was at a Bat Mitzvah and, since I couldn't understand the Hebrew portions of the ceremony, I read the prayer book. And I found a prayer that said (and I paraphrase): Don't pray for things that have never existed. Don't pray for peace--instead pray for tolerance and communication. Wow! It rocked my world.

In that moment, I realized that the idea of peace is totally individual. I know what I think peace looks like. You know what you think peace looks like. And they are probably extremely different visions. Because, since we have no real, global examples to hold it up to, peace is completely subjective.

On the other hand, I have seen--and participated in--acts of kindness. Moments of coming together. Unique situations that could have gone terribly wrong but turned out just fine. And I can seek those out and try to make them bigger and more common.

I will be watching one program on September 11th. I will watch the 48 Hours coverage of the day. Do you know why? I will watch them because they were there. And I will pray for all of the people who were there and not watching from up-river like I was. And, on September 11th, I will shine a white light out of the very bottom of my soul for all of the people who are remembering loved ones lost. And all of those who stepped up and became a better person that day.

And in their honor, I will live my life to the fullest. I will do my best to live every day as if it is my last. And I will try my hardest to be kind and loving. And (and I know that there are people in the world who will have a problem with this), I will include the people who did this horrible act in my prayers. Their lives were lost as well and I am deeply saddened that there are so many people in the world who are so profoundly hateful and unhappy that they see acts of terrorism as the best option for themselves.

I double parked my car at the post office today and, as I was hopping out of the car to run to the mailbox, a man who was crossing the street took my mail out of my hand, added it to the pile he was carrying, gave me a little wave and took it all across the street and dropped it in the box.

I think that we should start a new tradition of making "September 11th Resolutions". Mine is to try to be like that man who took my mail today and do one, small act of kindness every day.

It's Better Than Saying That I Sit Like A Man

2011-09-04T21:19:00.000-04:00

The other day, I tried to explain to someone that I had a certain way of sitting when I knit. I only sit this way at home on my couch but, since that's where I do most of my knitting, I pretty much consider it my stance.

What I said was, "I sit like Whitney Houston singing 'I Will Always Love You'". They didn't get it.

Elbows on my knees. Yarn between my feet. The big difference is that I'm usually not wearing lipstick, my hair is in a pony tail (I shed), I have no body guard and I haven't just pimp slapped Bobby Brown. I do, however, usually take my bra off so me and the Whitster have that in common as well.

It Went Click

2011-08-25T12:11:00.000-04:00

Sometimes things just need to click. So much has happened over the past six weeks and, although I am quite happy about all of it, sometimes it scares the crap out of me. I've had several random moments when I've suddenly stopped dead in my tracks because my inner voice was screaming "What the hell are you doing? Have you lost your ever loving mind?"

And then I calm down and I wait for the clicks.

The first click came when he mentioned that he liked to keep the extra toilet paper in the built in hamper in the bathroom. He did it very nicely but my first reaction was "NO THAT'S THE HAMPER IT HAS ALWAYS BEEN THE HAMPER AND WILL ALWAYS BE THE HAMPER AND FOR CRYING OUT LOUD DON'T YOU KNOW THAT THE EXTRA TOILET PAPER SHOULD BE PERCHED PRECARIOUSLY ON THE TOP SHELF OF THE HALL CLOSET WHERE IT WILL FALL DOWN AND HIT YOU ALL THE TIME BUT IT WON'T HURT BECAUSE IT'S TOILET PAPER AND DON'T WORRY YOU'LL GET USED TO IT AND NEVER MIND THAT THE HAMPER DOESN'T HOLD ENOUGH FOR ONE OF US NEVER MIND BOTH OF US IT'S A HAMPER DAMN IT!"

Before all of this came out of my mouth, it clicked. Guess where the extra toilet paper is living these days?

The second click came when he said "It's just a little pet peeve of mine."

"PET PEEVE! YEAH WELL THEN WHEN DO I GET MY PET PEEVES? I'M A HUMAN BEING! I HAVE PET PEEVES TOO!"

The great goddess of shutthefuckup was definitely looking over me again as this sentence never made it out of my mouth. What did occur was my that this entire house is full of MY pet peeves. There is no habit or system or really anything that is not one of mine.

Click.

The third click was, I think, the biggest so far as it stretched out over the course of two weeks. You see, we both really like to cook. And both of us are really good cooks. So one of the first things that we did was inventory the freezer and the fridge. For some reason, he seemed to believe that the last time I went grocery shopping was some time during the Clinton administration and was sure that everything I owned was spoiled. (Okay, there was a 10-year-old bottle of steak sauce but at least it was unopened. I let him throw it out.)

After a few tense moments, and a serious scrutiny of expiration dates, pretty much everything stayed. However, I got a hrumph and a eyebrow lift over the tupperware container full of gorgeous duck fat that I keep in my freezer.

Flash forward a few days and come join me in the kitchen. We've gotten home late and are both hungry and--lucky for us--had had the sense to take some pork chops out of the freezer that moring. At this point in the story, I need you to understand that I have never met a pork chop that I didn't like and that I make really, really killer pork chops. It's really quite simple and much more of a technique than a recipe. Put a drop of olive oil about the size of a half dollar in a skillet that can go in the oven (I've lectured enough about the beauty of cast iron so I'll let it go this time). Salt and pepper both sides of the chops and, over a mediumish flame sear them on one side for about 5 minutes. Flip the chops and pop the whole pan into a 350 degree oven for 20 - 25 minutes. Let them rest for about 5 minutes before you serve them and you will have perfect juicy pork chops every time. (Note--these times are for center cut chops. If you have the really thin ones, start checking them after 5 minutes in the oven.)

So there I was, getting everything ready and a voice comes from behind me saying "What are you doing with those pork chops? They need liquid. They'll dry out!" So I just said, "Leave me alone I'm cooking." I said it very softly and I think I may have scared him a little bit so he went grumbling to the couch. I heard a few grousing "If they're dry I'm ordering out" comments but I ignored them.

And now, of course, I had to prove a point. So out came the duck fat. A little thinly thinly thinly sliced onion. Two thinly sliced potatoes and some salt and pepper. All into another skillet. In no time flat they were beautifully brown and crispy and perfect. The chops came out and went on a plate. Some white wine and lemon juice went into the skillet and back on the stove. Boiled for a few minutes then finished with some butter. Outrageous.

I plated it and brought it out and he looked at it and immediately apologized. He ate three pork chops and all the potatoes.

But guess what? That's not even the click part. The click part came a week later when he asked for the same dinner. No problem. As you can see, it's a quick easy meal so we had a lovely supper.

The click part came the next night. I had been down to pick up our CSA bags for work (we get two bags of wonderful fresh veggies for our employees) and the farmers had overharvested herbs that week so they had gorgeous, tender thyme, rosemary and parsley to give away for free. I couldn't resist accepting a few handfuls and stopped and picked up a whole chicken to roast for dinner.

When I got home, I realized that there were still two pork chops left and I couldn't let them go to waste so we decided to hold off on the herb roasted chicken for another night. And here's the part where the clicking starts.

Here's what I heard from the living room. "I'll leave you alone in there but could you make the duck fat potatoes again?" Cl... Sure. Sliced the chops and heated them up in the gravy. Delicious. Clic.........

A few hours later when a certain someone got hungry again (have I mentioned his metabolism) he started poking around the kitchen looking for something to eat. He emerged 20 minutes later with meat ravioli served in the last of the pork chop gravy and finished with a handful of the herbs I had brought home.

CLICK!!!!!

It was such a perfect moment. I know this is a really long story to get to such a seemingly silly thing but it was the first time our cooking came together like that. He's made things. I've made things. We've made things together. But this time, there was serendipity and intuition and connection in the kitchen even though we weren't in there together. When we've made things together before, it was intentionally "our food". This time it was naturally "our food" and that's a big difference.

P.S. There should be great photos of the food in this post but home computer is still down. And it's not going in to get repaired until Mercury gets the hell out of retrograde.

Random Thoughts

2011-08-23T16:16:00.000-04:00

1. Does anyone else find it interesting that Jerry Lieber and Nick Ashford died on the same day.

2. Bratty Girl started college yesterday. I'm thrilled, nervous, etc. etc. etc. This is going to be a long four years.

3. I learned today that if you search "swimming pool tits" in Turkey, my blog is the 455th result. Weird, right?

4. My coworkers are so used to me that no one has asked why there's an electric toothbrush on my desk.

5. I really, really, really need to fold the laundry.

It's Fun Being a Girl

2011-08-22T15:37:00.000-04:00

I read this article the other day and started writing a total rant about it but stopped myself. I just have three quick points to make:

1. Courtney Love is held up as a role model. Hello? Miss Heroin is no heroine to me.
2. The Signourey Weaver character in Working Girl was not a "superwoman" as you say. She was a raging bitch who lied and cheated her way to the top.
3. You mention Julia Roberts and Meryl Streep. How about mentioning the real Erin Brokovitch and the real Karen Silkwood.

Rant over.

I knit. I cook. I rule.

F-You Mercury

2011-08-17T16:34:00.000-04:00

According to every horoscope I've read, Mercury is retrograde. Which has been shockingly apparent lately.

1. The home computer crashed. For some odd reason, I didn't freak out about it. I have a loaner from work and I'm not going to take the broken one in until after this retrograde shit is over.

2.. I wore two different shoes to work yesterday. One had a big flower, the other little sequins. And one was higher than the other. It took me hours to notice, even though I did catch on that I was feeling a little limpy.

3. Sent my guy off to his union meeting in Manhattan. Cancelled.

4. Had a long email conversation with my IT guy in which we were each talking about something different even though our responses all sort of made sense.

5. We did finally find the heating pad but now no longer need it.

I can't wait until August 27th.

P.S. I generally read my horoscope when I have no idea what to do. Hey, my life is in the toilet bowl and I don't know which end is up--I'm going to follow the one sentence advice of a total stranger at the NY Post. Otherwise, I don't really keep up on it.

Some Good Things

2011-08-15T22:27:00.000-04:00

1. Getting flowers for no reason.

And then coming home to an amazing dinner (there was shrimp cocktail).

2. Kittens

She and Max have been plotting all day. They're either going to murder us in our sleep or sing Memory.

You can thank me later for not linking to the Barry Manilow version.

3. Penne with sausage and broccoli from Palisade Pizza. Thank you Frankie.

4. A silverware drawer that opens and closes.

5. A clear spot of floor in Chez Chaos. It slowly, slowly, slowly moves forward. And I'm not complaining one bit. Slow and sure wins the race. Things are starting to look really good around here. The plastic room is still hanging around the kitchen door to keep the sawdust in but I'm just calling it a second bedroom.

Balance

2011-08-11T12:56:00.000-04:00

When I started this post today, it was called Strangers. But as I wrote it I realized that the idea of strangers was a small part of what was really on my mind.

I've still been thinking about interdependence a lot and the concept of balance keeps emerging. Balance is not equality. Or tit for tat. It's not "the groceries are $10.15 so here's $5.08 and you have to pay the extra penny next time." Balance is not readily measurable.

Balance is catching someone when they are falling. It's picking someone up who fell too fast. And it's being caught when you are falling and picked up when it's your turn to hit the ground hard. It's flying high together. Sometimes, it's being loud while someone else is quiet. Sometimes, it's singing along to the radio together. It's one person navigating while the other drives. But it doesn't just come from personal relationships. It comes from inner contentment and thoughtfulness. It comes from knowing yourself and loving the person who you are. And, often, it comes from strangers.

This week I found two things on Ravelry.

The first is this beautiful new baby. I don't know her and I don't know her parents but for whatever reason, she has come to represent birth and beginnings and all babies to me. She's beautiful and I find myself going back to visit her. She makes me cry happy tears and giggle out loud.

The second is this young woman. She died in April in an accident on the camping trip that she mentions on her blog. I don't know her either and didn't start reading her blog until after her death. And I wept openly for her. Just as the baby has come to represent a concept to me, this young woman has come to represent loss. In the pieces of herself that she shared on her blog, I see so many other woman who I have known and loved in my life.

And in that there is balance. Beginning and end. Life and loss. From strangers.

I am finally feeling balanced in my life. So much so that I am surprised at just how unbalanced my life was. That doesn't mean that there weren't wonderful things in my life or fabulous moments or kind and loving people. It means that there were bad things, and rotten moments and really crappy people and I let those things take over.

Balance is learned. You have to try to balance on a two-wheeler, it doesn't just happen. But once you learn it, it's wonderful and you can stop worrying about the balance and enjoy the wind in your hair and feel of the road under your wheels. And when your balance starts to waver, you feel it right away and can fix it before you fall.

I Am the World's Worst Passenger

2011-08-09T12:16:00.000-04:00

We abandoned Chez Chaos this weekend and took a daycation out to Pennsylvania. It turned out to be more than a day which was just fine with me.

I'm usually the driver but this time I suggested that perhaps it would be a good idea for me to get a few hours of knitting time in while my Handy Man drove. I just forgot to tell him that I really suck at being the passenger. And I mean REALLY SUCK! I have a friend who has threatened to put a burlap sack over my head whenever she has to drive me anywhere. I give directions. I check the mirrors. I look over my shoulder. But the worst part is, I flinch.

I flinch a lot.

Which is bad.

Luckily, my Handy Man is also a very patient man who understands me (for the most part) so I didn't drive him crazy. After we made it up the loop-de-loop from the Major Deegan and got over the GWB, I calmed down a little and settled in with my Citron. The ride up the loop-de-loop was definitely going to be a make or break moment for us. I hate that thing on a good day and I avoid it at all costs but we had stopped in the Bronx to get bread and I couldn't really say, "Hey, let's go all the way across the Bronx, waste a half hour and pay a toll" just to avoid the loop-de-loop.

There's always traffic on it and there's a big merge in the middle of it and you're up really really high which I don't like at all, ever, anywhere and then for a random 20 feet you're on solid ground again and then you're up even higher and there are 18 wheelers and holy crap on a cracker I'm never going to survive this. And if that's what it's like when I'm driving, you can only imagine what it was like when I was the passenger. I had to cover my eyes until we got under the apartments (you have to be from NY to understand what that means but just trust me, it's a real place.)

From there on out, it was smooth sailing. We had a peaceful, restful weekend notwithstanding a tumble out of bed and a bloody shin. (It wasn't so much the fall as the sudden stop.) The plan was to head home Sunday afternoon but there were fresh tomatoes and fresh corn and a swimming pool and a little nap in the sun and I'm just not strong enough to resist that sort of a Sunday.

We made it home before midnight, stopped and had a quick nightcap and slept the sleep of the innocent. By the way, I drove home.

I'm Hoping Today is the Day

2011-08-04T14:45:00.003-04:00

I still haven't found the camera but I'm hopeful. I have been able to get to the general area where I thought it was but still haven't been able to put my hot little hand on it. I have so many things to show you that I was considering getting some paper and crayons and drawing pictures instead but I can't find those either.

So today will just be some random notes.

1. Chez Chaos gets better every day. The piles are diminishing slowly but surely and we can almost walk around.

2. All of my kitchen cabinets now close and latch. This (much like the bathroom doorknob) has never happened in the history of my apartment. No more getting bonked in the head while I wash dishes. Glory Hallelujah it's like a brand new place.

3. We're finally able to cook. Too bad I can't find the camera or your mouth would be watering right now. The first of the tomatoes are ripening up in Pat's garden and they are absolutely perfect.

4. The heating pad is still missing. Damn.

5. I had to get a new alternator (thank you Pop). It was quite dramatic when it happened. It actually crossed my mind that my car might have been being taken by aliens (and me with no knitting with me!) but it turned out to be pretty mundane. However, you would be surprised at how much power your car can lose without you noticing. It seems the death of alternator is a gradual process. Now it's like driving an airplane. Very exciting.

6. I think my boss may have gone on vacation without telling me.

7. I'm going to try to use the word "hubris" in a sentence today (and this sentence doesn't count). I'm feeling the need for some righteous indignation.

Still No Photos

2011-08-01T15:37:00.001-04:00

I think I know the general area of the house that the camera is in right now but there's no way in hell I can get to it. The kitchen is finished being painted so we can start moving things back in and give me some room to get the rest of all my stuff organized which makes me believe that things should be back to normal pretty soon. I'm continuing with the "touch things only once plan" which is working out great for my work desk but not so well for Chez Chaos. And let's not talk about my desk at Chez Chaos.

There are little paths through the house right now and last night I ended up in a tangle with Heatherthecat in the hallway. She was walking in one direction and I was walking in the other and it was dark and somehow her front paw went right between my second and third toes and neither of us had a clue what the hell had happened. We both walked away unscathed but spent the rest of the night giving each other shifty glances whenever we moved.

Aside from the fact that there are things that I just can't reach, so far only one item has gone completely lost. The heating pad has been missing for two days and I'm sure it's going to turn up somewhere crazy. In the meantime, I would like to take this opportunity to thank the manufacturers of Tiger Balm. I don't know what would have happened without you.

There have been a lot of conversations that go like this:

Him--Oh crap. Where's the skinny screwdriver?
Me--In my purse.

Me--I can't find the cat food bowls!
Him--Don't worry. They're under the table and I already fed them.

Him--Have you seen the bandaids?
Me--They're in my purse.

Me--Have you seen the kitten?
Him--She's on top of the blanket, that is on top of the bag, that is on top of the box, that is on top of couch--22. She'll be okay. She has her pink yarn with her.

Him--I'm hungry.
Me--I'm hungry.
Both--Hell if I'm gonna try cooking in that kitchen right now. Let's go out.

I probably just put a huge curse on the whole process but we're so close to the end, I'm sure it will be fine.

Up next--the new kitchen floor goes down in a few days, the bathroom gets a pretty new coat of paint, and the tomatoes from Pat's garden get sliced up and served with cheese. Sounds like a pretty good plan.

My Goal For Today

2011-07-28T13:05:00.000-04:00

I'm going to get through a bunch of crapola today. There's a boatload of paperwork on my desk and the chaos at Chez Y.O. is starting to get to me.

So here's the plan.

Touch everything only once. Do what needs to be done with it and get it out of the pile. No setting something aside for later. No slipping it lower in the pile. Just deal with it.

Wish me luck.

A Photoless Day

2011-07-27T10:46:00.001-04:00

It happens sometimes. The camera battery is dead so today is all about imagination.

I would like you to close your eyes and imagine what my bathroom door looks like with a shiny round thing on it. Oooo. Doesn't that look pretty? Don't you want to reach out and turn it? After 13 years, I finally have a doorknob on my bathroom door. I keep looking at and touching it and turning it. It's like having a brand new toy to play with. Of course the first night it was on I walked square into the door in the middle of the night. Not having to turn a knob does have some benefits like not knocking yourself unconscious when you have to pee.

The kitchen is coming along swimmingly. The walls have been replastered and sanded and are smooth as silk. Today the paint goes on and the plan is to install the new floor on Monday. For now we're just painting it white and will play with other paint colors later on. I'm going to have to retire my recipe for paint chip souffle but that's probably a good thing.

I gotta tell you, it's a lot of fun having a handy man around the house.

The kitten is also coming along swimmingly. She almost let me pet her last night and then freaked herself out and ran and sat under the rocking chair staring at me. She will play with me as long as the toy is on a string (or is a string--she has a piece of pink yarn that she's in love with) and she'll sneak up on me when she thinks I'm asleep or not paying attention. And she has conquered the mountain of tools that currently takes up the foyer. She scales them like they're the Himalayas and then hides in the caves and jumps out at the other cats. The other cats have been very patient with her. Maxthecat is her special protector which is kind of cute.

Who wants to let Justin Beiber know he has nothing to worry about?

2011-07-23T15:49:00.000-04:00

Another talented musician dead at 27.

Hendrix

Morrison

Joplin

Cobain

And now Winehouse

A real shame.

A Random Day

2011-07-22T16:19:00.000-04:00

1. I'm not going to talk about the heat. I'm not. Because that would make it even hotter.

2. We are currently under construction here at Chez Y.O. The kitchen is finally getting scraped and painted and I am beside myself I'm so excited. The rest of the house is chaos because of it but soon--very soon--it will no longer look like Pompeii.

3. I finished the first of two Citron's--FINALLY--but that's another blog post.

4. Have you ever eaten at The White Dog Cafe? You should. I had an amazing dinner their the other night with an amazing group of people. They had us all set up at a big round table and I felt like I was at someone's house for a fabulous dinner party. The lamb ragout is outstanding.

5. There's a kitten in my house. She's hiding right now (see number 2) but is getting friendlier and friendlier every day. As soon as she sits still for long enough, I'll get a photo.

Bad Kitten's Rocking This One

2011-07-21T15:40:00.000-04:00

I was going to post it on Bless Me Scott Munie but this song isn't embarrassing.

Honey, It's Time We Have a Talk About Pork Shoulder

2011-07-10T20:24:00.000-04:00

I made pernil today. Okay, technichally it was yesterday and today but since it was finished today, let's just go with that.

And it was good.

And I promised I would post the recipe. It doesn't look very pretty when it's ready but it tastes delicious.

And there's nothing sadder than how it looks after some time on the buffet table.

And yes, for those of you with magnifying glasses, that is a little piece of tortilla chip in the middle of the bowl. Apparently, someone (no names mentioned but you know who you are) thought it would be a good idea to eat it like dip.

I promised I would post the recipe so here it is.

Step 1—Pick out a nice pork shoulder (also often called picnic). Look for a nice big bone and about half (or more) of it covered with skin. I have found that if you go to a market that caters to a Hispanic consumer, you’ll get a better roast and a much better price. This is generally a pretty cheap cut of meat and often goes on sale for as low as 79 or 89 cents a pound. Full retail is generally $1.59 a pound. If they try to charge you more than that, call the Better Business Bureau.

Step 2—Score the skin at about 1 ½ inch intervals with the sharpest knife you have. The skin is really tough. Use your kitchen scissors if you need to.

Step 3—Make a wet rub.

1 cup sliced garlic (Please don’t be silly and slice it yourself. Buy a jar of sliced garlic and include some of the juice.)

¼ cup olive oil

¼ cup cider vinegar

2 tablespoons dry rubbed sage

1 teaspoon salt

½ teaspoon pepper (about 20 grinds)

Dump all of this into the food processor and let it run until you have a really disgusting looking greyish green mess (that's the sage).

Step 4—Put the pork in a bowl that just barely fits it. Pour the wet rub over it and rib it in. Roll it around. Give it some love. Wrap the whole thing in plastic wrap and pop it in the fridge until it’s almost bedtime.

Step 5—When you’re just about ready to go to bed, peel some onions and slice them about ½ inch thick. I usually use one big red onion and one big yellow onion. I can’t tell you how many onions your roast will need, you’ll have to use your own judgment here. Lay the slices down on the bottom of your roasting pan in a platform big enough to hold your roast.

Step 6—Put the roast on the onions with the side with the most skin up. Pour any leftover wet rub over the roast and then tightly cover your roasting pan with aluminum foil. If your pan has a lid, put it on over the foil. If it doesn’t have a lid, add a second layer of foil. Turn your oven on to the lowest setting possible. Mine has a warm setting and then starts at 220 degrees so warm is really 200. Put the pan in the oven and go to bed. I use the warm setting. (You may also want to make sure you have a good battery in your smoke detector but maybe I’m just a Nervous Nelly.)

Step 7—When you wake up in the morning, you can turn the temp up to 250. Your house will smell amazing and, if you live in an apartment building, your neighbors will be banging on your door in their pajamas waving torches and clutching knives and forks. Once the roast has been in for about 10 hours (11:30 bed time, 9:30 uncovering) take the pan out of the oven and remove the lid and the foil. At this point it should be falling apart. It will also look grey and gross and you will wonder what the hell you did wrong. There will also be a lot of liquid in the pan. Just keep following the directions. Turn the heat up to 350 and return the uncovered (Naked! Shocking!) roast to the oven to crisp up the skin. If you have a lot of skin on your roast, you can go as high as 425 with the temperature.

Step 8—After an hour the skin should be gorgeous and you are almost done. If it takes a little bit longer, that's okay. Take the roast out of the oven and put it back in that nice tight bowl that you marinated it in. Pull out the bones and pull the skin off with your fingers. It will be falling apart. Use a fork to pull the meat apart (or really--you can just blow on it and it will collapse) and remove as much visible fat as you can. The skin is actually really really good. Use a fork to scrape the fat off the back and then tear up the skin and add it back to the meat. Any skin that is too tough to tear is too tough to eat so throw it in the trash or give it to a really good dog to gnaw on.

Step 9—Last step! Use a skimmer to pull the onions out of the liquid left in the pan and either eat them, add them to the meat or toss them. Your choice. I add them into the meat. They melt. Pour the liquid into a measuring cup and let it sit until the fat settles on the top. Skim off as much fat as you can with a spoon then give it a good stir and pour it over the meat in the bowl.

You can serve it warm, cold or room temp. With rolls for sandwiches or rice and beans. Or salad. Or add it to black bean soup. You can even just pop the bowl in the fridge and nibble on it at will.

The best part—it’s even better the next day! If there's any left.

Happy Inter-Dependence Day!

2011-07-05T23:04:00.001-04:00

I'm creating a new holiday. Hear ye, hear ye--from this day forward, on July 5th, the day after Independence Day, I plan to celebrate our inter-dependence. Not sure if it should be hyphenated but that's how I'm branding it. It'll be easier for Google to create a cool doodle if there's a hyphen.

Much like independence, inter-dependence is a tricky thing. With independence comes responsibility and accountability. In my work, I try to create an environment for people to move from dependency on social services to self sufficiency. The hardest part about my job is working with people who have gotten over the hump but are trying to do everything themselves. I use a lot of sentences like "You are going to have to manage your resources rather than having your resources manage you" and "the important thing about self sufficiency is the sufficiency part and realizing that your community is part of your self." Bleh. I've come realize that it's not about independence--it's about conscious inter-dependece.

I consider myself a very independent person. But I really have no patience for dealing with any mechanical problems with my car. Yes, I can change a tire and put on new windshield wipers. But I don't want to. I once had a mechanic almost faint on me when I told him that the car was making a noise but it went away when I turned the radio up. It's just not my bag.

On the other hand, my dad loves to go hang out with the mechanic. It makes him happy. It makes me happy. Pop has tea with Samthemechanic. My car gets fixed.

And that's the thing about inter-dependence. There is balance. There is equity in the satisfaction of all the parties involved.

I think this may be one of those multi-post topics. I probably shouldn't have started it until I had more clarity on it but, hell, it's my blog, I'll do whatever I want. Lots of ideas about this are swirling through my head right now and I think that's a really good thing.

Pomp and Circumstance

2011-07-04T20:33:00.000-04:00

Bratty Girl is officially a high school graduate. I still not sure what happened to the little baby who chattered away in her high chair and punctuated her gibberish with such expressive hand gestures but am so in love with the beautiful young woman that she has become.

Graduation was supposed to be outside but brutal thunderstorms forced the celebration into the school. Which meant two tickets (and two tickets only) for the auditorium and bleacher seats in the gym with a video feed for the rest of us. Which was fine with me because I could knit.

Surprisingly, the video feed worked really really well and the mood in the gym was so celebratory I felt like I was at a huge party. And, I swear, when the graduates walked past the camera into the auditorium, she was looking right at me.

This is what it looks like when you get your diploma on a big screen.

You'll have to take my word for it that she is gorgeous. And the speeches were all really, really good. I usually say the speeches are good because it's important to encourage young people but, for real, these were great speeches.

And the cutest little girl was sitting on the bleachers with me. She was intrigued with my knitting, and it took her while but she finally got up the nerve to wiggle over and ask what I was doing. Of course I showed her. Then she asked if it was my job to knit things and, as much as I would have loved to have said yes, I had to be truthful and tell her I did it for fun.

She was so sweet and so friendly that I had to break off a length of yarn and make a little chain stitch bracelet with her. She was just so sweet. Very much like Bratty Girl at that age.

The only downside of the day was my poor mother landing herself in the hospital for a few days. Turned out that everything was okay but I do hate those phone calls at dawn.

There was a young man in this cool t-shirt sitting in the folding chairs in front of me.

"What we do in life, echoes in eternity." Words to live by I think.

Dr. Frankenspin

2011-06-19T19:13:00.000-04:00

Dr. Frankenspin has created a monster!

Actually, Dr. Frankenspin is the love child of BadCat and Amputeehee.

A few months back, I won some beautiful fleece from Amputeehee and I promised I would learn how to spin. Then BadCat, and all the other enablers in my knitting group, decided it was a good idea for us all to have a little spin-a-thon.

Last Sunday we all overtook Margaret's back deck with pot luck and fleece and wheels and spindles and needles and yarn and dogs and cats and--need I say more.

Laurie let me try her wheel.

A little bit of that yarn was spun by me! Yipee!

Then BadKitten sat me down with a spindle and got me started. It's a new process but I've been practicing and it does get easier. I think I may prefer the wheel to the spindle but, damn it, I'm going to get good at both!

Cara and Dawn both mastered their spindles pretty quickly.

Don't they remind you of Sleeping Beauty's Fairy Godmothers?

Shannon brought a friend who is the sister of the woman who cuts my hair so I automatically loved her. If you ever need a good haircut in Westchester, let me know!

The dog ran off with BadKitten's black laceweight yarn but, after the initial shock, both she and the yarn recovered. Although she was a bit camera shy.

Please note the gorgeous cobwebby fabric she's making. It's totally cool and gorgeous. I think I may have to start calling her CoolKitten.

In other news, I'm going to redesign the blog soon. I've never been much of a brown person so I think we need a new look. Suggestions are welcome!

Following Up

2011-06-12T11:07:00.000-04:00

One--My bank is amazing. By the time I got to my local branch on Saturday morning, the bank had already resolved all the fraudulent checks on my account. Apparently their fraud department caught it, corrected it and then went home at 5 o'clock. The data just hadn't hit the big computer system when I flipped my wig on Friday night. And they hadn't called me to alert me because my profile was incomplete. When I opened the account 17 years ago, I guess they weren't quite as tech savvy as they are now.

When I was on my way, I decided I needed a little fortification so I stopped at my new favorite bakery. The owner is so nice and welcoming that I had to completely dump my tale of woe at her feet. After a cup of coffee (on the house--thank you very much) and a scrumptious lemon blueberry muffin, I was ready to go fight a battle that it turned out I had already won.

I love my banker and I love my baker.

Two--The event that I went to Thursday night was really, really nice. And it didn't feel weird at all. I think a big part of it was that it was a very different type of event than the ones that I used to throw for them. One of my colleagues presented the award to one of the honorees. This guy is just fabulous--an amazing worker, a real leader and a hell of a guy. He's an ex-felon who has completely turned his life around and he was an inspiration to everyone in the room.

The honoree that he was presenting to founded B Corporations--a new corporate structure that takes into account more outcomes than just traditional profit--and Dion talked about the fact that he made some bad choices in his life but now he's making good ones. Then, his speech linked it all together saying that B Corps allow business the option to make good choices too. When he got to the part about knowing how hard this is but also how important it is, he choked up, I started crying, everyone else started crying and then the cheering began.

I was so proud of him for having the courage to talk about his life so openly and for being so willing to share his emotions. He's a rock star and a reminder of how lucky I am to do the work that I do.

The event was at X20 which is outstandingly beautiful. Peter Kelly's food is top notch so we were all very spoiled and pampered by the end of the night. And we had a truly amazing storm come down the Hudson (the restaurant is on the Yonkers City Pier) which was dramatic and exciting.

Three--I mentioned a new blog the other day, didn't I? A little background is in order here. I was a teenager in NY in the '80s which means that I listened to WNEW. And if you listened to WNEW you knew for certain that Scott Munie was a god. I know I've complained about the lack of good radio and maybe I am overly sensitive to it because I remember really, really good radio.

I also have been known to having shockingly bad taste in music on occasion. And, dammit, I refuse to apologize for it. I love my cheesy songs and I have no problem letting my musical freak flag fly.

I was also raised Catholic and spent twelve years in Catholic school. When I was in second grade, we had to take the sacrament of Penance. Really? I was seven years old. What on earth could I have done that was so bad. Confession was a scary, dark sacrament and I was terrified. Things went from bad to worse when they decided to renovate the church. This was long before they had "face to face" confession. You were supposed to--very anonymously--go sit in a dark box and whisper your sins. My class, on the other hand, had to sit in folding chairs in the school gym. They promised that the priest wouldn't look at us but I didn't really believe them.

Naturally, I ended up on the line for Monsignor Nolan who was probably a very nice man but when I was little he scared me to death. And he had a big black Lab that went everywhere with him--including to my first confession. So there I was, scared out of my ever loving mind, wearing my Brownie uniform (beanie and all) and trying to come up with something really good that I had done wrong so that Monsignor Nolan wouldn't get mad at me for not confessing anything good.

Yeah, right, that was a really positive experience for me. And considering the fact that I remember what I was wearing, you can guess just how much it scarred me.

So in the spirit of confessing my occasionally horrible taste in music I give you my new blog.

Bless Me Scott Munie For I Have Sinned.

Be very careful. You may find yourself singing along and then you'll have to go to confession too!

I'm Going To Do My Best To Be Ladylike Here

2011-06-10T21:36:00.000-04:00

First of all, for those of you who were worried about last night, it was wonderful. I was planning to tell you all about it but then chaos ensued and I can't get my brain around anything else right now.

In the spirit of "too much information", I had a "lady's" special need to drop by my local Walgreens tonight. I got my "lady stuff", got on line, waited my turn and then swiped my card.

And it didn't work.

So the guy (of course it's always some poor teenaged boy holding the big pack of maxi pads (with wings!) in these situations) swiped it again.

And it still didn't work.

Again and again and again and again and again.

So now I have to leave said Walgreens and run to my bank to take out cash only to get a big flashing "INSUFFICIENT FUNDS" on the screen.

What the fuck!? I have plenty of money (ahem, today).

So I run home, log on and find my bank account woefully overdrawn. And there are all these random HUGE checks that have been cashed yesterday. (By the way, the first one overdrew my account. I don't know why the hell they cashed the rest of them.)

So I call. And I get some nice person in India who looks at my account and says "Why yes--these checks have been noted as potential fraud." Really--then why the hell hasn't anyone called me. Remember, these hit yesterday. They've had plenty of time to find me.

And then he says, and this is the part that killed me, "Let me check with our fraud department, sir." SIR? Are you fucking kidding me.

So he puts me on hold with some horrible music and I wait. And then he comes back and says, "I'm very sorry, sir, our fraud department is closed."

And that's when I lost it.

Big time.

Really big time.

Does fraud only happen between 9 and 5? And you already "noted that these were fraudulent" and yet you all went home for the weekend and left me with no cash.

And he said, "I'm sorry sir. You can call back tomorrow after 8 am."

And that's when I lost it even worse.

I believe that I may have used the phrase "Projectile Menstruating" and I am certain that I suggested that his goddamed fraud department might want to show up at 8 o'clock tomorrow morning at my house with a bucket and a mop because that was going to be a bigger problem than my checking account. And then I said (pretty much at the top of my lungs) "Do I really have to give you all the goddamed details of my motherless whore of a menstrual cycle to get you to stop calling me sir!?"

And there was silence.

Ladylike? Hmm, not so much. Satisfying? You bet your sweet ass it was satisfying.

In the end, my mother was home. She had some cash and I am in a much better place right now.

I'll tell you about last night (and about my new blog) tomorrow.

I Think It's Going To Be a Good Night

2011-06-09T10:00:00.000-04:00

Tonight could be a little weird for me. I'm going to the annual gala for the company that I work for.

What might make me feel a little weird is that, the first time I worked here, I was in charge of the galas. It may be just fine but it may feel a little odd to be a guest at a party I used to throw.

So I've been singing this all morning for luck.

I hope it's stuck in your head now too!

And she's back!

2011-06-07T21:59:00.000-04:00

Sorry I've been gone so long and I'm sorry this is such a random post. But life gets ahead of you sometimes and you just have to roll with it.

Let's just go to the bullet points.

1. I don't give a shit if Congressman Weiner tweeted his penis.
2. I do give a shit that it's all over the news. Come on kids. Knock it off. It's just a penis.
3. I've been knitting a lot. There's a Citron shawlette for Sissy which is going shockingly well considering it's for my sister. Usually, when I knit for her, it fights with me. I'm almost done with this and I'm almost certain it's going to burst into flames while I'm casting off.
4. If you ever hear me bitch about my job, please remind me that I get to test brownies on a regular basis.
5. I hate the heat.
6. It's hot (see #5).
7. I finally got a hair cut. I know that sounds mundane but it's been a really, really long time. I was looking like Moses (which is funny because it's true.)
8. BrattyGirl went to the prom and I managed to keep my mouth shut and not point out just how similar her dress was to her mother's dress from 1982. Different colors but very, very similar. BrattyGirl's shoes, on the other hand, were hot, hot, hot!
9. Blueberry won athlete of the year for the Hudson Valley Special Olympics. I would ramble on more about it but I get weepy. I'm ridiculously proud.
10. I got to work this morning a little bit late and was greeted by four big geese marching their nine goslings down the strip of grass next to the employee entrance. It tickled me pink.

I'm Underwhelmed

2011-04-29T19:02:00.000-04:00

No I did not get up at 4 am to watch the royal wedding. I didn't do it in 1981 and I didn't do it today.

First things first. The dress is pretty. It's really pretty. It flatters her. It's elegant. It's also a total knock off of Grace Kelly's dress. And if I read one more nasty comment about Pippa also wearing white I think I'll scream. She looked lovely. Thank God she's not wearing mauve. Or puce. Bridesmaids dresses are notoriously horrible (ask me how I know). I'm sort of glad that the future Queen of England broke with tradition and had her sister also wear white.

Next up, the commentators keep referring to how young they are. Let's do a reality check here kids. They're both 29 years old. As far as I'm concerned, that's full grown. Diana was 20 when she married. That's young.

And maybe that's why I'm underwhelmed. These two have been together for years. This wedding was no big surprise. They are every other couple who ever met, fell in love and married. Diana came out of nowhere. If you look back at some of the early photos and drew a thought bubble on her, it's very easy to imagine it saying "Oh shit, what have I gotten myself into." In many ways, she was Cinderella. Yes it was a beautiful story but there were major elements of fear in it.

But, then again, maybe that's why we were all so enchanted by Diana. It was so random that it could have been any one of us who became a princess. I was 16 in 1981. Don't think it didn't cross my mind. As we aged with her, she kept doing things that were cool and made us want to be like her. My generation were the first teenagers who had to consider HIV/AIDS in our sexual growth. That was a big deal! It was terrifying. And she dealt with it. We also didn't experience war in the way that the generation immediately before and the one immediately after us did. And yet, she brought our attention to land mines.

Yes, much of her early career as a princess was Disney-fied but at some point, she walked into Cinderella's castle and rather than finding a wicked step mother, she found Gloria Steinem in a mini skirt and a "Cunt Power" button and she became the woman that we all hope to be.

I wish Will and Kate the best. They seem like a lovely couple and it's a genuine delight to see a royal couple who seem truly in love without any of the messiness that Charles brought to the table. I'm happy for them. Yes my feelings are a little hurt that I wasn't invited but then again, I don't really look good in a hat.

And of course, I had this stuck in my head all day.

10 Things You May Not Know About Me

2011-04-04T18:49:00.000-04:00

Or maybe you do! I tend to be a bit of an open book.

The other day I accidentally bared my soul (add overly dramatic hand gesture here) to a big group of people. I told some things about myself that I hadn't gotten into with anyone else. And you know what, it was fine. I think I may have felt some sort of shame about it all but no one called me a loser or a jerk. Both friends and strangers were loving and kind.

So I decided to tell you some more things about me that you may not know.

1.    I don't leave home without perfume on. Ever. I actually keep perfume in the car in case I forget. If I don't have makeup on--no biggie.   If I forget to put my earrings on--so what. No perfume--I faint. And I wear old fashioned perfume. Either Chanel #5 or Miss Dior. And I love them. My grandmother wore Miss Dior and when I was a kid, I went Christmas shopping at Wanamaker's. Honestly, what the hell was a 10-year-old supposed to know about "gift with purchase"? In this case, it was a purchase with purchase. Dior had a special gift package that you could buy for $15 if you bought a bottle of Miss Dior perfume. It had that great houndstooth check that is the signature of their brand and it had soap and lotion and little bottles of pretty things that smelled good. The 15 bucks might as well have been $100 when it came to my budget. There was no way I could afford a bottle of perfume and the "special gift" but I wanted it for my Nanny so badly. The saleslady was SOOOOOOOO nice to me and she waited until someone bought perfume and didn't want the gift and then let me buy the gift. Lesson learned--your little act of kindness may be remembered close to 40 years later.

2. I learned how to knit from a book. It was EZ's "Knitting Without Tears" and I still have it. I was home sick and I was bored so I decided it was time. I was nine years old and I've been doing it ever since. I even tried knitting with thread and straight pins the next time I was home sick but it was way too fiddly for me.   When I was about 12 years old I pretended that I didn't know how to knit. We were visiting my grandparents in Florida and the neighbors daughter was a bit of a loon. I think she may have just gotten out of rehab or been rescued from a cult (I'm not being silly here--I remember there being some sort of big 70s issue with her) and she decided she was going to teach me how to knit. I didn't want to hurt her feelings and I sort of got the sense that she needed to make the connection with someone so I let her "teach" me how to knit. In college, I pretended that I couldn't play the piano but that was only for an easy A. I finally had to confess to the teacher that I had about six years of piano lessons under my belt because he was getting ready to send me to Julliard because he thought I was some kind of savant. I had to tell him the truth because, yes, I can read music, and yes, I can technically play the piano but I have no gift for it. He forgave me and actually ended up get me a lot of work turning pages at local classical music concerts. I went to college in the Hamptons so there were a lot of them. P.S. Remind me someday to tell you about my piano teacher and her son. Hello, Mr. Hitchcock, have I got a story for you.

3. I love cheese but I hate cubed cheese. It's like biting soap.

4. I can handle any kind of blood and guts unless it involves snot, puke or poop. In a nutshell, if you chop your head off by accident, I could easily pick it up and carry it to the hospital for you. If your head got a runny nose on the way, I would gag, then gag some more and eventually vomit. And for some reason, there are people who find this funny.

5. I thinks it's funny when people fall. I don't know why but I always laugh. The only thing funnier to me is when I fall. When my friend Kathleen and I went to Paris for our 40th birthdays, we were walking through the Marais and I was not paying attention to where I was going and disappeared off a side walk. One minute I was there, the next I was gone. We laughed for hours (actually days). When we finally got to dinner and I staunched the bleeding from my knee, we had to explain to the people next to us why we were laughing so uncontrollably. Apparently, the French don't find falling as funny as I do. And, a bonus note for you, I am always amazed at how much damage you can do your knees without ripping your pants.

6. I can whistle through an acorn cap (or in a pinch, a bottle cap). It took me the entire summer of 1976 to learn how to do it but it was worth it. Whenever conversation lags, I find that "what's your most useless talent" is a good question to get things going again. Whistling through an acorn cap accomplishes nothing more than annoying the shit out of everyone around you. (Actually, learning how to whistle through an acorn cap is worse--I left a lot of spitty acorn caps around the house that summer.)

7. I can sing the soundtrack of Evita and Les Mis from start to finish. Please note that I didn't say I sang it well but I do know all the words.

8. I met Colleen Dewhurst when I was 16 years old. She was one of my favorite actresses and I was so excited that I started laughing. Which made her laugh. Which made me laugh harder. Which made her laugh harder. And so on and so on until we were both in a puddle on the floor. My father, who knew her from his work, thought it was hysterical and my friend who was with me was so freaked out about it that she started to cry.

9. I prefer a rainy day to a sunny day. I hate having the sun on my face. It's hot and I can't see. I think there's a bit of the Irish poet in me (or potato farmer) that appreciates the drama of the weather.   Ironically, I love a sunny day at the beach. Sunburn be damned, I just enjoy it so much. I have a weird thing about swimming alone so if I want to go in the ocean, someone has to come with me. I will occasionally swim in a lake but I have a wild fear of bony hands grabbing my ankles in a lake. I can trace that fear directly back to the movie "Let's Scare Jessica to Death" (or as my father calls it, "Let's Scare the Shit Out of Jessica". If I have to swim in a lake I will actually keep swimming until I am on the beach without ever putting my feet down. Not an attractive process so I try to avoid it on first dates.

10. At one point in my career, I was the highest paid commercial DJ on Long Island. Which really meant nothing because radio pays crapola but it was still a distinction that I relished. I don't have a pretty voice at all but I do have a very distinctive voice which apparently is valuable in radio. When I first started, I loved it because we put together our own playlists and had some control over the music (within format of course). Then computers took over and they told me what to play, in what order and what to say at every break. Bleh. It sucked. Especially when I had to play the Divinyls song "I Touch Myself" and the format said that I had to come out of the song and say "I'm Karen Tumelty and I Touch Myself".   By the way, I still know all the words to that song too.

I Can't Believe I Missed It

2011-03-31T08:42:00.001-04:00

I love Top Chef. I think it may be the only show in the history of TV that I would race home for. For whatever reason, it grabbed me day one and I've been hooked ever since.

Last night was the finale and I missed it. I just can't believe it. I was so tired yesterday (not to mention hungry--I was starving all day long). The day just got away from me. Had to get new front brakes. Meetings. Family dinner (if you're local, the food at Guardalajara is great). I laughed out loud when I got up this morning because my clothes were in a heap right in front of my front door! I decided to spend some time catching up on some home stuff but all I managed to do was return one phone call before I completely crashed. I had to cut short a perfectly lovely conversation because I just wasn't going to make it. I crawled into bed and got myself all cozy and then realized that it was Wednesday. And the finale. And I just couldn't do it. I did check this morning and my guy won (I won't spoil it if you haven't seen it yet) which is a huge relief. If he had lost, I would have blamed myself for not being there to root for him.

There has actually been some knitting going on here. I knocked out a quick gift for my office mate today. She's been working out and doing great so I whipped up this little iPod cozy for her. She bought herself a pair of lime green and black sneakers to inspire her to go the gym on schedule and I had this great bias tape that Pat (of the tomatoes) had dyed. Perfect with a big black button.

It's perfect for her!

Time to head to work. The upside of working 8 minutes from home and is I can push my mornings pretty far. If I hit the lights right, the ride is only about 5 minutes so wish me good green light karma today.

All My Jazz

2011-03-13T22:40:00.000-04:00

When I die, I want a big, Bob Fosse musical number just like the end of All That Jazz. But instead of Ben Vereeen, I want Will.i.am. And instead of Ann Reinking I want Lady Gaga.

But I do want both Ben and Ann (and John Lithgow) to make cameo appearances.

The last 20 minutes of All That Jazz may be some of the best cinema ever made. If nothing else, the love scene between Roy Scheider and the dying old woman in the hospital is probably the most romantic, erotic, loving kiss on film.

I was raised on Broadway shows. I saw Ben Vereen in Pippin when I was 8 years old. I was the only kid in my 5th grade class who could argue the pros and cons of Fosse vs. Bennett. The only show that my parents didn't take us to was Hair and I think that was not because they thought we would be shocked or damaged by the (deep breath) nudity but because they didn't want to have to deal with all of our questions in the car on the way home. What were they smoking Mommy? Why was that man naked Daddy? What's a hippie and can we tie dye my pajamas when we get home?

When I was a freshman in high school my aunt won a cruise in a raffle. And she took my sister with her. Surprisingly, I didn't really care. But it seems that everyone and their brother was worried that I might be upset by it so I was treated like a queen. Pop's station house was in the midst of the theater district so we knew a lot of theater folks growing up.

There was a wonderful wonderful named Bill Kahn who I fell truly, madly and deeply in love with when I was about 6 years old. We would often run into Bill at Gallagher's Steakhouse and he would sit me at the bar and we would have a cocktail together--a Shirley Temple (on the rocks please) for me and a martini (I think it was a martini) for him. We would nibble on cocktail peanuts and chat about things like school and learning how to read and how to add. He was a role model for me on how to be an adult with children.

And that fateful week when my sister was on a cruise, Bill took me to Broadway. He took me to MacBeth at the Circle in the Square. He took me dinner. And, be still me heart, he took me to the opening night party for Pirates of Penzance in the upstairs room at Gallagher's. With (hold your breath) that 1979 heartthrob, Rex Smith. Who took my breath away. And I met Barbara Feldon (yeah--dammit--Hello 99!). I still have the cocktail napkin with Rex's autograph on one side and Barbara's on the other.

They're both also invited to the big musical number when I die.

A Biscuit A Muffin and A Scone Walk into a Bar....

2011-03-11T21:49:00.002-05:00

There's a piece of my soul that will always exist only on the east end of Long Island. In 1987 when I graduated from college, a unique opportunity arose and I ended up staying in the Hamptons. And I loved it. I lived with three wonderful guys in beautiful homes (okay one was ugly but we still made it a beautiful home). When we split up (all for good reasons) I ended up in just about the cutest apartment in Sag Harbor that has ever existed.

When I left, I left abruptly. And that is one of the greatest regrets of my life. I left many friends behind and I left an extraordinary lifestyle behind. This was all pre-internet and pre-facebook so it wasn't as simple as it is now to stay connected. I had a wonderful way of life but I really struggled financially there.   By the time I chose to leave, I was managing a very cool restaurant from 7 am to 5 pm, running home, changing clothes, working at a radio station from 7 pm to 1 am and then working (at the very least) Friday and Saturday nights waiting tables. On the side, I was producing (and occasionally performing in) some really interesting theater.

And it was impossible to make ends meet.

I had no cable. My air conditioner sucked. And, thank you LILCO, even though I was only home for 2 hours a day and it was during daylight, my electric bill was outrageous. I had my pride and I had my ocean but I also had really cheap cat food and jug wine.

I still go back and visit but it's not the same as living there. Especially since the Amagansett Farmers Market is gone.

It wasn't what you think of as a traditional farmers market. It was a real store with real departments but it was decades ahead of its time. The focus was on local food and local vendors and/or interesting food and interesting vendors.   And you have to put this in context. It was the the 80s. Reagan was president. Everyone (except me) was making money. Sting was still weird. Charlie Sheen took our breath away in Platoon. The Twin Towers were still glittering on the NYC skyline. Bob Geldof was feeding the world and we really didn't have a lot to worry about.

If you got to the Amagansett Farmers Market at the right time on Sunday morning you could get cheddar scones. Oh the cheddar scones. They were wonderful. Herby. Cheesy. Flaky. Warm from the oven. And gone in a flash if you weren't there on time. And if you didn't get them, the week seemed so very long until you had the chance to get them again.

The years progressed.

I moved back to Westchester County. I have a nice life here.

The Amagansett Farmers Market closed (heartbreak) but a cultural movement toward local food and real farming arose (thank you Judy Wicks and Dan Barber). The internet and facebook allowed me to reconnect with some (although not all) of the people from my past who I cherished and missed.   My local farmers market is amazing (thank you Pasquale).

But I couldn't find those damn scones.

I tried the Barefoot Contessa's but they just weren't the same. She's an east end girl (suddenly I'm humming Pet Shop Boys) as well and I worship her but they just didn't cut it.

The other day I found this.

It's as close to perfection as I have found. I made them with heavy cream because my milk was spoiled so I had to bake them longer and they were a little moister than they should have been but it was like taking a step back in time flavor-wise.

I could just about smell the ocean.

Been too long!

2011-03-10T16:19:00.000-05:00

Things have just gotten crazy (in a good way this time) and I am finally settling back into some sort of a normal schedule.

I've had a whole lot to tell you all but I'm on the run so I'm going to dump a load of random things into your lap for you to play with. Kind of like dumping out your mother's jewelry box or your father's tool box when you were a little kid.

1. My new job is very cool. Today I got to drop off a big box of brownies for some hero firefighters. Sweet!
2. I felt bad that I had gotten mad at the firefighters for being late for the parade on Sunday but I don't think they actually noticed I was mad so it's not that big a deal.
3. Dead battery. Pop. Live battery. Dead battery. Nice co-workers. Live battery. Dead battery. Pop's car. Pop. Live Battery. Sam. New battery (and oil change). That pretty much sums up yesterday and today.
4. I swear I'm going to start chart C on my Metamorphosis sweater when I get home. I swear.
5. I swear I'm not going to pick up the pretty little thing I started while I was waiting for the printer and play with that instead. It's knit from Cherry Tree Hill Possum Laceweight in Wild Cherry and it's beautiful.
6. It's fun to tell people that you are going home to play with your pink possum. Because it sounds like it's dirty but it's not.
7. It's also fun to tell them that your pink possum is really fluffy. Same reason.
8. Bunch of stressy people at work today. It's amazing to me how much good an old fashioned pizza lunch can do for the soul.

Back soon. With pictures. And more BadKitten songs.

xo

The Billy Hickey Theory of Football

2011-02-06T14:50:00.000-05:00

Let me preface this by saying that I love Super Bowl Sunday. I love the parties. I love the pageantry. I love the half-time show. I love the ads. I love the fans.

But I really don't understand football.

Now don't get me wrong. I get the basics. Take the ball to the endzone--you get points. Kick it through that big tuning fork--you get points. It's the nuances and all little tiny rules that totally evade me.

Thus the Billy Hickey Theory of Football. You may be asking yourself, "Who on earth is Billy Hickey?" Well Billy is that kid that every one of us had in our neighborhood growing up. Remember that kid who ran with your group who was sort of a nerd and everyone sort of picked on him but he was OUR nerd and WE could pick on him and God help the person outside our group who tried to start with him.

I call that kid Billy Hickey.

I believe that football was created solely to make sure that Billy Hickey could never win. Picture it, if you will. A bunch of boys have a ball that is not really round any more. One of their Dad's probably ran over it in the driveway. As the dad drove away, I'm imagining he yelled out the window "you're lucky it wasn't your damn foot!" But the ball still has air in it and you can still throw it. It just doesn't really bounce any more. So they make up a game and they decide to call it football.

The plan is they split into two teams--most likely shirts and skins--and declare each end of the parking lot the "end zone". The goal is for each team to get the ball down to the opposite end of the field and into the end zone. At this point, Billy Hickey points out that this is somewhat derivative of Dungeon Dodge.

The cute boy in the group (the one that all us girls sitting on the wall watching are secretly hoping is on the skins team) makes the first rule. No Billy he says, it's not like Dungeon Dodge at all. You can throw the ball and run with it but all the guys on the other team can try to knock you down. Frankly, I think the whole knocking each other down thing is a direct result of "Cute Boy" being annoyed at Billy for using the word derivative.

But I digress.

So the boys start knocking each other down and realize that this is going to be really hard so they make another rule. You only have to get ten yards without losing the ball completely and then you get to start over again and try for another ten yards. Since this is directly related to the whole knocking down thing, they calls these "downs".

So "Cute Boy" gets the ball and makes it 2 yards. "Funny Boy" gets the ball and makes it another 2 yards. "Dumb Boy" gets the ball and makes it another 2 yards. "Smart-ass Boy" gets the ball and, lo and behold, makes it 2 more yards.

Then Billy gets the ball and makes it 3 yards. Whoo Hoo! Billy is excited. He has made the 10 yards. And at that point, the other team calls a time out and makes another rule. You only have four "downs" so, sorry Billy, you're outaluck!

Of course Billy agrees to this. As he picks himself up off the ground, he realizes that his ice cream money has fallen out of his pocket. "Smart-ass Boy" tries to steal one of his quarters but "Cute Boy" gives him knuckle punches until he gives Billy his quarter back. The rest of the boys raz him and call him "Quarterback" for the rest of the day.

The afternoon progresses. The game progresses (with a lot of stopping and starting) and every time Billy Hickey succeeds, there's a time out while everyone decides that, no Billy, you didn't succeed. You see, there was another rule. But good try Buddy. Maybe next time.

Oh no Billy, you're thinking of a yellow flag. That move gets a red flag--it's different.

Oh no Billy, you can't stand over their off to the side waiting for the ball. You were offsides.

Oh no Billy, when you kicked the ball, even though it went over the sidewalk, it didn't go between those two trees. Sorry, no points for you.

And so on and so on until the streetlights come on and everyone has to go home. Rather than doing his homework that night, "Dumb Boy" spends the evening writing down all of the rules which he painstakingly copies out for everyone and hands them out at school the next day.

And that's how we got Football.

Happy Super Bowl Sunday everyone. And may the best team win.

P.S. Billy Hickey went on to make millions in the tech market and he has a private box at the stadium. He flew there on his private plane with his private chef and his super model wife.

"Cute Boy" went bald; "Funny Boy" is still telling the same jokes; "Smart-ass Boy" got arrested for stealing a car and then leaving his driver's license in the glove compartment; and "Dumb Boy" turned out to be a really, really good snow plow driver. They are all watching the game together in the basement of the Dad who ran over the ball in the first place.

1,218,240 Minutes

2011-01-21T17:44:00.000-05:00

That's how long it was between full time jobs for me.

But things have finally turned for the better and can't begin to tell you how delighted and relieved I am. You know it was very hard to handle while it was happening but I think (not sure yet) that it may have been an extraordinary time.

I'm going to spend a little time reflecting on all those minutes and see what emerges. I have a feeling it will be good.

In the meantime, here's BadKitten Day 33.

Well Said

2011-01-17T18:36:00.000-05:00

This is worth reading over and over.

And it never fails to reduce me to tears.

I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation.

Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity.
But one hundred years later, the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languishing in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. So we have come here today to dramatize a shameful condition.

In a sense we have come to our nation's capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white men, would be guaranteed the unalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check which has come back marked "insufficient funds." But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. So we have come to cash this check -- a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice. We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quick sands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God's children.

It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. Those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.

But there is something that I must say to my people who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice. In the process of gaining our rightful place we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred.

We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force. The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny. They have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom. We cannot walk alone.
As we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall always march ahead. We cannot turn back. There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, "When will you be satisfied?" We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied, as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the Negro's basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their selfhood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating "For Whites Only". We cannot be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.

I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. Some of you have come from areas where your quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive.

Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed. Let us not wallow in the valley of despair.

I say to you today, my friends, so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal."

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of interposition and nullification; one day right there in Alabama, little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.

I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.

This is our hope. This is the faith that I go back to the South with. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.
This will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with a new meaning, "My country, 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim's pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring."

And if America is to be a great nation this must become true. So let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania!

Let freedom ring from the snowcapped Rockies of Colorado!

Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California!

But not only that; let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia!

Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee!

Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let freedom ring.

And when this happens, when we allow freedom to ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, "Free at last! free at last! thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"

I'm going to skip BadKitten today and offer up the video for every young person in the hope that we adults can give them a world of freedom, justice and accpetance.

No really--it's all about Christmas

2011-01-13T18:54:00.000-05:00

Okay so first I couldn't find which bag I had left my camera in. Then I couldn't find which bag the charger was in. Then I found them both and tried to get my act together but that didn't work out well at all!

So let's finish talking about Christmas, shall we? The day started out with breakfast at the inn. Which, naturally, was delicious. The start you out with a little baked treat (it was a cinnamon bun Christmas morning) and a little espresso cup of some sort of fruit smoothie. And it was a Christmas miracle--a smoothie made without banana! You see, I am violently allergic to bananas and most smoothies are made with them so I always miss out on it. Even if they say it's, oh say, a strawberry smoothie, it usually has banana in it to give it body and texture. And hives. Big ones! Emergency room ones.

Coffee, waffles, etc. etc. etc. Really, everything you could possibly want from breakfast at a beautiful little inn.

Then off to Sissy's where this was waiting for us.

See all those presents. Well that's barely half of them. The pile was HUGE. And good.

My best gift that I gave this year was my niece's new purse. It's made out of actual film from the movie Twilight. So when you hold it up to the light, you can see all the characters. It's way cool and was a huge hit!

Gifts, gifts. Eat, eat. Lounge, lounge. I lost the bet on what was in the little Lilly Pulitzer bags. I had guessed makeup bags but they were really lovely pashminas.

When it got to the point that no one could move, we decided that it was a really good idea to move. So we grabbed a folding chair, Blueberry grabbed her skates, and we marched up the hill to the pond.

BrattyGirl planted her ass in the chair.

Lucy chased a stick.

Don't you just love her sweater?

After a sufficient amount of fresh air poisoning it was back to the inn for dinner. And it was divine. I had the diver scallops and the duck. Too die for. All the desserts looked so good that I just told the waiter to pick the one that he would choose. It was an assortment of outrageous, orange concoctions. I swooned.

By 8 o'clock, we were all snuggled down and settled in for a comfortable evening. And then the phone rang. My sister had called to warn me about the blizzard. Yeah, that blizzard. Not sure if you remember the last time I drove home from VT in the snow but suffice it to say there was no way I was getting on the Taconic again. But I had until morning to worry about so I went down to the lobby to fill my ice bucket and have a glass of chardonnay. And who should I find but Pop. Or should we call him Samurai Santa.

As you would imagine happening, in a lovely little inn on Christmas night, we met some people. Really really nice people. There was a couple from England who were traveling to NYC in a few days and we gave them a list of places, off the beaten path of course, to check out. There was the couple from NH who, it turned out, were friends of friends. We got to meet our favorite inn keeper's fiance. It was heaven.

So all that said, was it Christmas? No, it wasn't. It was all brand new. There were none of our normal traditions. My dad didn't get to flirt with the pretty little waitress at our local Italian joint on Christmas Eve because we didn't go there. We didn't have prime rib and mashed potatoes because we ate at the inn.

Will it be Christmas? You bet your boots it will. The funny thing about starting new traditions is that they aren't traditions until you do them twice.

P.S. Just in case you were worried, I beat the blizzard home by about five minutes. I missed out on the first day of the Webs sale but I did get to make a little pit stop in Northhampton to pick up a bag that a friend had left at her mother-in-law's house so I did get to drive right by Webs. I had to keep reminding myself that no matter how much yarn I put in my car, it wasn't going to give my little Mazda any better traction in the snow.

And before I forget. Here's BadKitten Day 32. I really like this song and this band. Enjoy!

One One One One

2011-01-02T08:55:00.000-05:00

There's something about all the ones today that is making me feel brand new! I love New Year's Day. The world is your oyster and anything at all is possible.

I'm getting started on a new knitting project tonight. BadCat and Jeri have put together an amazing, gorgeous, mathematical lace sweater and, to date, there are over 70 of us signed up to knit it together. Since I'm starting out the year with a project called Metamorphosis, I've been thinking a lot about change and what it means.

Last year, my new year's resolution was to live my life with more generosity of spirit. I may have mentioned before that this was not a self-deprecating resolution. Rather, it was about being generous of spirit with intent rather than just as habit.

So this year, I'm going for Metamorphosis as my New Year's resolution. I am not talking about actively running around looking for things to change. I'm making a commitment to being thoughtful about change. And curious about it. I'm going to try to look at things with an eye to whether or not I should change how I react, respond and decide.

If nothing else, it should be interesting.

By the way, I know I had said the next post would be about the rest of Christmas but I couldn't find the charger for the camera and I have pictures to share. The charger has been located and the battery is charging so I promise I'll finish up the Vermont tale tomorrow.

Here's BadKitten day 31

Christmas in Vermont

2010-12-28T16:10:00.000-05:00

Traditions, like promises, are made to be broken. And then, of course, rebuilt even better! For many, many years, Christmas was spent at my parent's house. Breakfast in the morning, open presents, lounge around (maybe a little nap), too much dinner, too much wine, and then over to my cousin's for coffee and cake (she lived around the corner).

But then my sister had kids and my cousin sold the house and moved into an apartment, and her kids had kids so things changed.

For many years Christmas morning was spent at my sister's house. Then everyone went home for a while, cleaned up and prettied up and went to Granny and Pop's for dinner.

Then my sister moved from the apartment on the same street where we all lived (I was okay with the move--she's walking distance to Flying Fingers) and we started doing breakfast and presents at her house, then the break, then back to her house for dinner.

My hobby is knitting (and some other things but really, a lot of knitting). My sister's hobby is checking out the local real estate magazines everywhere she goes. Unlike knitting, it rarely (almost never) ends up with a finished product. But much like my experience with Snowshoe Farm at Rhinebeck, sometimes the stars align. Two years ago, she saw a really beautiful piece of property in Vermont in the little local real estate rag while she and her hubby were weekending at an inn. They went back to the same inn a month or so later--it was very romantic--and lo and behold, the same property had been reduced. And then it happened again. And again. And again. So they made a bid. A really, really low bid. And it was accepted. And whiz bang boom, they were the owners of 12 acres in Vermont. With a pond. Overlooking a bigger pond. And only an hour north of Webs. They threw up a cute little house up and before you could say "you're gonna want four wheel drive" we were all off to spend Christmas in Vermont.

I drove up the Taconic on Christmas Eve. It's a road that never ceases to amaze me. It was a very clear day but not the type of day that you would call crystal clear. The sky had a bid of milkiness to it that was the perfect foil for the golds, browns, greens and reds of the winter landscape. There wasn't a cloud in site so the shadows on the bare trees were crisp and fine and dramatic.

Of course I didn't manage to stop and take any pictures but I have tremendous trust in your imaginations.

I made it Manchester just as it was getting dark and paid a visit to Judith at Yarns for your Soul. It's a lovely shop with lovely things owned by a lovely woman. Judith is also from the Y.O. so you know you can count on her.

I bought this. It's Malabrigo Sock in the colorway Stonechat.

And this. This is delicious on so many levels. It is Arauncania Ruca in the color 4. And, dig this, it's 100% sugarcane. It is smooth and soft and silky and I love it. My sister is actually picking up two more skeins for me on her way home (did I mention that I have an amazing yarn family).

And this.

This may be my favorite. It's two skeins of local alpaca made especially for the shop. And please note the hang tag with the photo of the alpaca that it came from. In case you can't read upside down, his name is Hazlenut. He lives at Marlee Farm and seems quite content. Not to mention soft.

From there, on to Windham Hill Inn to check in and then up to Sissy's for dinner. When my sister and bro-in-law started staying there, my sister was tickled by the treat platter they put out every evening in the lobby. So, since Granny and Pop and I were staying there and everyone else was in the house and things had all gone full circle and I liked the way it all felt (still do as a matter of fact) I called the wonderful innkeeper Katja and she made us a beautiful treat plate to bring to the house. Of course my sister had plenty to nibble on as well. There was shrimp cocktail, and cheese and crackers (which I couldn't live without), and delicious little cocktail franks and then takeout Italian food from a great little local place. And family. And a fireplace. And wine (Pop was gracious enough to drive my car back to the inn so I could indulge). And then the coziest sleep I've had in a while.

The girls and I stuck bows on all the presents and put them under the tree. A wager was made on what was in the Lily Pulitzer shopping bags that Granny had for all the women. And Lucy the dog collapsed from fresh air poisoning.

Tomorrow I'll tell you about Christmas.

And honestly, I haven't forgotten about my blog. Life just got in the way. So here's BadKitten Day 30.

As usual, apologies for the advertisement.

Twelve Eleven Ten

2010-12-11T16:13:00.000-05:00

Yeah baby! It's my birthday! This will have to be a multi-post topic because, so far, it's been fantastic! The celebrating actually started on Wednesday with lunch at the new Japanese place in Hastings on Hudson with Debby and Jeri. Deeeelicious!

Then off to knitting group where there were presents (more about those in the present post).

Then last night a party at Pat's house (of the tomatoes) with delicious treats, delicious wine, delicious friends and, ahem, delicious brownies.

This morning it was off to the Mead House for the Fun with Fiber group where we finished the red velvet cake. (Did I mention there was red velvet cake? Really really good red velvet cake!)

From there I took myself up to Flying Fingers to buy myself a birthday gift.

It is so not me--I don't usually go for metallic--but this was outrageously beautiful so I bought it. And then I realized that, since I got it with the money my cousin gave me for my birthday, I was technically not buying it for myself. So I get to buy myself another birthday gift! Woo Hoo!

Tonight it's more time with friends and then family dinner tomorrow. And if I feel like stopping then, I will. If not, I will keep on celebrating.

And of course, in celebration of my birthday, here's BadKitten Day 29 (Hey--that's funny--we've all been joking about it being my 29th birthday).

A quick hit and run post

2010-12-10T17:47:00.001-05:00

On the way to knitting group last night something really funny happened. I was looking for a parking spot and there was a perfect spot right across the street. I was sitting in a LONG line for the traffic light so I blew a u turn and took the spot.

Then the car in front of me pulled out and the guy two cars behind me in the line did the same thing and took that spot.

I was gathering up my stuff so the driver who took the spot in front of me and I were getting out of our cars at the same time.

It went like this.

Me: Copy cat!

Him: I thought of it first.

Me: Yeah, well I did it first.

Both of us had a big pause.

Then he looked at me and said,

"Yeah, well my car's bigger."

I laughed all the way up the block.

Here's BadKitten Day 28.

It's nice to be nice to the nice.

2010-12-08T22:18:00.000-05:00

Some people were really nice to me today. I'm just going to dwell on that for a while. For a while I felt better than I've felt for a long, long time.

BadKitten Day 27.

P.S. Does anyone want a kitten. I know of a bunch of real cuties that need homes.

I Yam What I Yam

2010-12-06T20:37:00.000-05:00

Sorry--I couldn't help the pun.

I did the math and this year marked the 23rd Thanksgiving dinner that I've cooked. Although not necessarily on the Thursday. When I graduated from college, I moved into a house in East Hampton with three guys. Yeah, my Mom was thrilled. But they were truly wonderful men and to this day, I hold all other men to their standards. We moved in on Memorial Day weekend. We had a great Fourth of July party (we had the perfect lawn for it), on Labor Day we had a big bunch of friends over for a barbecue. But, then (minor chord), along came Thanksgiving. It was our first real family holiday--and we were a family--that we weren't going to be spending together.

So the Sunday before Thanksgiving we made a feast. We invited a few friends over and ate until we were stuffed. And then we had pie. And then the next year, on the same Sunday, we invited more friends. And the next year there were more friends. And so on. And so on.

And we had rules.

1. I cooked.
2. We all ate one table.
3. Real plates, glasses, silverware, etc.
4. Everyone was welcome. The door was open.

And it was good.

The last year we had it, just before we all moved on our separate ways, we had 85 people. We borrowed tables and cloths and all the things we needed from people's parents and aunts and the VFW. The table actually wound through the house from the dining room, through the living room, down the hall and then spiraled around the TV room.

So, if you haven't gotten the picture yet, I love Thanksgiving. To me, it is a generous, welcoming holiday with no other baggage attached to it. There are no gifts, no obligations, no worries. And really, cooking for it is really easy. Basically, you stick a turkey in the oven and you boil water.

Unless you're me.

If you're me, you give yourself a theme every year. Last year, all the side dishes were from Silver Palate cookbooks. They are my absolute favorites, and sadly, one of the authors had died. The year before that, my theme was sweet and savory in the same dish.

This year, the theme was "the pantry". I went really simple this year with some hopped up pantry basics. Corn (but with leeks--holy crap it's so good), peas (but with prosciutto and onions), simple roasted brussels sprouts.

I think the simplicity of the meal this year was really driven by the fact that November 25th was a completely loaded day. If you've been a reader for a while, you know that I lost a good friend last year. He died the night before Thanksgiving so, my big celebration day, was the anniversary of his death (someday remind me to tell you about Halloween).

Every year, there is at least one recipe that is my own creation, and this year I decided that it would be in honor of him. He was a smart, Southern man who loved a good glass of bourbon. So that was my inspiration.

And here you have it.

Peel five pounds of yams and cut them in chunks,.
Peel one nice onion and cut in in chunks.

Dump them in your big pot, cover them with water, throw in a good handful of salt and set them on a high flame. When you poke them with a fork and they fall off the fork, they're done. Drain them and put them all (yams and onion) back in the pot. Add two cans of sweet potatoes in light syrup (drained please) and half a can of pumpkin puree (leftover from pumpkin cheesecake) into the pot. Give it a good pinch of ground ginger and about 1/2 a teaspoon of ground cloves, a stick of unsalted butter and about a cup or so of heavy cream. Whip it up with your hand mixer until it is smooth as silk.

Now take your big skillet and toss in a bag full of chopped pecans. Put them over a high flame and toast them just until the kitchen starts to smell like pecans. Drop them in a little bowl and put the pan back on the flame. Start melting another stick of unsalted butter. Add about 3/4 cup of brown suger and swirl, swirl, swirl. Don't stir it. Just swirl it. And don't walk away from it. As soon as your kitchen smells like Willie Wonka has just arrived, you're carmel is golden and you're a little afraid that the sugar is going to burst into flames, turn the stove off and add 3/4 cup heavy cream. It's going to bubble up like mad but that's a good thing. Add in a 1/4 cup (or so, ahem) of bourbon. Turn the flame back on, grab your wisk and melt all the carmel into the cream and bourbon. Add a little tiny pinch of salt along with the toasted pecans. Let it simmer for a few minutes until it gets a little thick. You'll know when it's just right. Take it off the flame and let it cool a little.

Spread half the yams into your big pyrex dish and smooth it was a spatula. Pour the caramel and nuts over the yams and then top with the rest of the potatoes.

At this point, you can put it in the fridge until you are ready to finish it. I made it the day before and it held up great.

When it's about a half an hour before you're going to serve, put the dish in the oven at about 300 or 350 and warm it gently. Five minutes before you're ready, drizzle the top of the potatoes with some more bourbon (added fire power) and put a scattering of mini marshmallows on top. Pop it under the broiler and watch it like a hawk. As soon as the marshmallows catch fire, it's ready.

And it's delicious.

Almost as good as BadKitten Day 26. I refuse to fight with YouTube so I'm just giving you a link.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0jgrCKhxE1s

Really, you're kidding, right.

2010-12-04T18:09:00.000-05:00

So I wrote the post the other night and today I sat down at the computer (which has been on since then) and discovered that I never hit Post. I hit Preview. Sure. But Post? That just seemed to be out of the question.

Did any of you ever watch the show "The Young Ones" in the 80s. It was a British comedy about four guys sharing an apartment. There was Neil--the hippie, Vivian--the punk, Rick--the people's poet and Mike--the lady's man. And it was hilarious.

One of my favorite episodes was the one where they FINALLY decide to do their laundry. And Neil, poor stoned Neil, was putting the laundry in the washer and the washer keeps spitting it out because it is so damn dirty that it refuses to wash it. Neil, in turn, goes running looking for help from Vivian all the while yelling "Vivian--technofear!". (Earlier in the episode an animated sock refuses to get into the laundry bag saying "I'm not going in that bag--it smells in there" which is kind of funny to me because the post I had written for you was about socks.)

Anyway, now I know how Neil felt. TECHNOFEAR!

Here's BadKitten for you. I'll get my act together sometime soon.

Dag Nab It

2010-12-01T18:12:00.000-05:00

I would like to blame technology or the weather or that woman from EZPass but, I have a feeling that this time, I have no one to blame but myself. Let's just say that lately I have had a profound inability to follow directions.

Which would explain why I've had to start Joy's socks three times.

And why there's been no daily BadKitten.

I hosted Thanksgiving (more about that another time) and did my annual take-all-the-paper-off-my-desk-and-stick-it-in-a-laundry-basket-in-my-bedroom. I thought (maybe I shouldn't use the word thought because obviously, I wasn't thinking clearly) that I had preset my posts. You see, the BadKitten list is in the laundry basket.

But I clearly didn't so I've left you all hanging. This is almost like the day the music died.

BadKitten will return tomorrow--with a vengence!

There has been knitting going on her in the Y.O. I may have lost my mind but I cast on this today in a really, really fuzzy mohair. There's no turning back on this yarn. Pray for me.

I'm Shocked! Shocked I Tell You!

2010-11-20T00:18:00.000-05:00

Netflix does not have the Leif Garrett movie Skateboard. Or the Linda Blair movie Born Innocent.

Really--what's a child of my generation supposed to do. They both had "parental advisory" warnings before they came on channel 7 at 9 pm on a Sunday sometime in the late 70s. And now that I'm actually old enough to watch them--I can't get the damn things on DVD. And, just in case you were curious, the VHS with Korean subtitles is not as good as the original.

I did do a little google search a while back and found that the bitch with the toilet brush in Born Innocent now designs high end hand bags. Good for her! Proof that anyone can get beyond their prison experience.

I think I'm just going to have to let this go and see what BadKitten has for us tonight.

I Think This is Hilarious

2010-11-18T22:32:00.000-05:00

Mostly because I LOATHE Neil Young. It may have something to do with my fourth grade music teacher who made us all sing The Needle and the Damage Done for an assembly. Fer chrissakes--we were nine years old. And we were wearing plaid. And I had on one of those cross over ties with the mother of pearl snap. And I was standing--in height order which meant I was in the way back--singing a stoner song about heroin addiction for the entire school. Needless to say, she (and her leather vest, long hair and Indian arm band) only lasted for half the year. And, by the way, thank you very much Miss Hippy Dippy music teacher. For the other half of the year we had a really odd music teacher who taught us music theory--very relevant for a fourth grader--and ruined all the fun of music class for us. I'm surprised that we didn't all pool our trick-or-treat-for-Unicef money and buy some smack to get through that class.

Or maybe it had something to do with the boss I had a few years ago. Good God, the man was a tool. I threw a fabulous fundraising party for the organization that he was in charge of and--get this--I booked Grand Master Flash as our DJ. The man is an icon. He is absolutely THE definitive NY DJ of all time and, honestly, if he was spinning at your house on Thanksgiving, the turkey carcass would be up dancing. But the day before the party, my tool (did I mention that he was a tool) of a boss called me into his office where he told me that he had made up a playlist for Grand Master Flash. Including--you guessed it--some Neil Young. Yeah. Okay. I'll get right on that. Nothing like a really nasal depressing song to get this party started.

So anyway, this made me laugh.

And while we're at it, let's check out BadKitten Day 23. This is an awesome song.

And Then There Were Three

2010-11-17T21:07:00.001-05:00

Babycat died this morning. She died at home, very comfortably in her little nest. I knew she was going. She stopped eating about a week and a half ago and she stopped grooming herself about the same time.

But damn. It was still really sad. I was petting her and talking to her while she went and it really really sucked.

So let me tell you a little bit about this lovely little cat.

First of all, her name wasn't originally Babycat. It was Zelda. But I lived in a great apartment in Sag Harbor. It was half of the second floor of a converted Victorian house. So I had nine gorgeous windows that wrapped around from my kitchen to my bedroom (which sat on top of the porch roof).

I had my sister's cat (long story) whose real name was Tish but she had been bounced around so many times that everyone always said "how is that orange cat"? Well that orange cat hated living alone. She licked all the fur off her belly and legs and the vet told me that I had to get her a kitten because she needed a baby to take care of.

So I dropped "that orange cat" off at home and went to work. At the time, I was working for the East Hampton Star and one of my coworkers said "Hey--one of the partners in my husband's architectural firm has a houseful of kittens who will be ready for adoption in a week" so off I went. It was Saturday of Memorial Day weekend and I drove out to Hampton Bays to check out these kittens.

And they all looked exactly alike. Almost like the Baldwin boys.

But one of them was just as gray and fluffy as the rest of them but the tip of her tail was as white as white can be. So I picked her. And she rode home in my lap. (I actually stopped and did a radio remote on the way home but that is a whole other lifetime and I don't really feel like getting into it right now. Suffice it to say--she was famous on the radio for five minutes).

So we went home to the great apartment with the nine windows and the older cat who just wanted to love her. And then her life got even better.

You see, my downstairs neighbor was a Japanese ex-sumo wrestler who was working as a sushi chef in town. And he fell in love with her. And, like a good little kitten, she fell in love with him.

Every night, she would wait in the kitchen window for him to come home and she would follow him from window to window and, when he got to the front door, I would have to let her run down the stairs to meet him. Of course, he would have little treats for her.

They were best friends. But his English stunk. So as they did their window walk every night, he would chat to her in Japanese and call her Babycat.

And that is how she got her name.

Of course, at that point, it seemed to make a lot of sense to start calling the orange cat, Orangecat. And when I adopted a really tiny cat I named her Tinycat. So now, all of my cats have --cat names. Sadly, it's a little like the Ramones now. All of the originals are gone. I have three cats left--Heatherthecat, Maxthecat and Smokeythecat. But they all had established names when I got them so all the original cat cats are gone.

Let's get back to Babycat.

She was a good girl. She really liked people, especially children, and was a very friendly but undemanding cat. About six years ago, she went deaf and got scared and moved into the linen closet for three years. I called the vet and they said as long as she is happy, leave her alone. My neighbor--who hates cats but is the best next door neighbor you could ever ask for--came over when I got stuck in DC in a blizzard and actually got her out of the closet for about five minutes.

She was as happy as I could make her in the closet but I knew it wasn't ideal. There was someone in my life for a while who actually got her out of the closet and helped her live as a deaf cat in a hearing cat world. I will always be grateful to that person. It was very special and kind.

A few weeks ago, she stopped eating and stopped grooming herself.

And this morning she died.

She was a really good cat.

Here's BadKitten Day 22

BadKitten Day 21--ish

2010-11-13T21:37:00.000-05:00

BadKitten Day 20

2010-11-09T20:56:00.000-05:00

BadKitten--Almost at the halfway point

2010-11-08T17:52:00.000-05:00

I was planning on a longer post tonight but I'm on the run. Have to answer a few emails and then scram out of the door for book club. We read The Help this month and we all know how I feel about that book so it should be really great.

I do feel the need to apologize for the hit and run (and might I add very poorly written) posts lately but life has been busy busy busy and lots of fun (for the most part). Hopefully we'll be back to normal soon.

I really like today's choice from BadKitten. It's a cool song but I had a really hard time finding a version that I could share on YouTube. Sometimes they won't let you embed the official video so you have to go scrambling through the rest of the unofficial ones trying to find one that will work. We're going a little multicultural today.

P.S. I've been asked if I choose the song from the list each day but, honestly, I'm just going in the order that BadKitten gave them to me. Although I will admit that the Lily Allen song a few weeks back was shockingly appropriate for the day.

Enjoy.

What a Wonderful Day.

2010-11-07T20:08:00.000-05:00

Yesterday two of my neighbors got married--to each other. And it was wonderful. On Friday night, I picked up the groom's sister, brother in law and niece at the airport. Cocktail Party in a Box was a huge hit! Although I do think that they may have thought I was a bit of a loon when I opened the bottle of sparkling cider on the barricade in short term parking at Laguardia.

It was an afternoon wedding with a desperately elegant cocktail party and dinner. I think I can speak for every woman there when I say that the party made us feel like Katharine Hepburn. It was that kind of cool. We will not discuss the arrival of the police or Sarah Palin's slutty older sister. Just know that we had a great time.

When I got home, I found this waiting for me at my front door.

Really--can a day get any better.

Of course it can--if it's BadKitten day 18.

Cocktail Party in a Box

2010-11-05T18:29:00.000-04:00

I have the absolute pleasure of picking up wedding guests at the airport tonight. The wedding is tomorrow and it's going to be wonderful so I am just delighted to be able to help people get there. Of course, there will be some celebrating going on at the hotel tonight so I thought it would be a good idea to start the party in the car as soon as they arrive.

I give you, Cocktail Party in a Box!

A nice tupperware, cheddar, crackers, grapes, a little shrimp cocktail, some sparkling cider and a CD of good cocktail party music and voila! It's a party!

Of course airlines are unpredictable so I'll also have my knitting bag in case I have to wait. Although I do love the online flight status check thingy that all the airlines have now. You can actually look at the map and see where the plane is. Tres cool.

But wait, before I go galavanting around, here's BadKitten Day 17.

I Heart Green Day BadKitten Day 16

2010-11-04T21:57:00.000-04:00

I love love love love love this song. I love a lot of things right now but I really truly madly deeply love this song.

Hmmm...not sure what happened

2010-11-03T19:43:00.002-04:00

Let's try this again. BadKitten Day 15 Thank you Margret for being on top of it!

BadKitten Day 14

2010-10-31T21:34:00.000-04:00

Happy Halloween!!!! And it's Bratty Girl's 17th birthday. Really really good cake.

BadKitten Day 13 1/2

2010-10-30T14:56:00.003-04:00

I have no idea what happened yesterday. It just got away from me. Mea Culpa!

So then...

2010-10-28T18:09:00.002-04:00

They took my EZ Pass away.

And just so you know, the cop who takes the E-Z Pass from you (and demands $3) does not appreciate it when you do the whole "Charlie, they took my thumb" scene from The Pope of Greenwich Village. (P.S. That scene absolutely rocked my world when I was 15. My sister had just gotten her driver's license and we went to the movies and saw that and I still haven't gotten over it.)

So they give you this little brown card that says you either have to go into the EZ Pass office with the card or mail the card into them to get your EZ Pass back. As the mail-in directions were pretty vague and I have to pick up a friend up at Laguardia tomorrow, I decided to go over to the EZ Pass office. In the rain.

I only mentioned the rain for effect--as if going to the EZ Pass office isn't a terrible enough thought, I had to point out that the whole day was dreary.

So when I got to the EZ Pass office, the first thing I saw was a sign on the door that the staff was "dressing down for diabetes awareness". What? I don't get it. Wearing pink for Breast Cancer--sure, I get that. Perhaps dressing down because they each donated a formal work outfit to Dress For Succesz--kind of a cool idea. But dressing down for diabetes--hmmm. Maybe I'm thick but it made no sense to me.

So I go up to the window staffed by a woman in an orange tank top (which made me think of Tang which is probably not good for a diabetic) and she said, "What's your account number?" So I said, "I don't know." So she said "What's your tag number?" So I said, "I don't know, some cop took it away." So she said, "You need to have your statement with you." So I said, "But the card that the cop gave me only said that I had to bring this card. Here, look. It says it right here." So she said, "How do you think I'm going to look up your account?" So I said, "Can you use my social security number?" So she said, "We don't keep that information." So I said, "How about my driver's license or my license plate." She just rolled her eyes and sucked her teeth (niiiice). "So I said, look the cop said to bring this card in and the card just said to bring this card in so how was I supposed to know that I had to bring a statement." So she said "The cop doesn't know what you have to bring in." So I said, "But he told me what I was supposed to bring in. How was I supposed to know that he was lying to my face? Like a dog. Was I just supposed to pull that out of thin air?" So she rolled her eyes again. So I said, "Look, there has to be a way that you can look up my account!"

So she said, "What's your phone number?"

And she pulled up my account. (In the rain.)

But wait, it get's better. (In the rain.)

So she says, "You have $25 on your account and the new tag is going to cost you $10 so you'll have $15 on your account. You can't use it until after noon tomorrow; out of state, you have to wait until after noon the next day."

So I said, "Why do I have to pay for a tag that you took away from me." So she said, "You just put the $25 on the account the morning you were trying to use it." So I said, "Yeah, and your phone system said "You have $25 available on your account. Thank you for calling EZ Pass."" So she said, "Well the computer doesn't know." So I said, "Some computer somewhere knew because otherwise how would the liar cop know to take my tag." So she said, "When you deposit a check in the bank, do you expect to be able to use the money right away." So I said, "You're not the bank. You're EZ Pass. When I go the bank and deposit a check, it's someone else's money until it clears. And it doesn't show up in my balance. I get that. But when I go to the A&P and pay with my money--like I paid you with my money--they let me take my groceries home with me. They don't make me wait until noon the next day until I can pick my groceries up. And if I make a pasta salad and try to take it out of state before two days have passed, they don't take it away from me at the GWB."

So she rolls her eyes again, hands me a slip of paper and says "Pick up your new tag at window 14."

That was yesterday.

You don't even want to know about today.

BadKitten Day 12 seems quite appropriate.

I Heart Matlock

2010-10-27T22:03:00.000-04:00

I'm not ashamed to say that I love Matlock. I love him long time. And tonight has been an extraordinary array of 80s superstars--Linda Purl (twice), Parker Stevenson, Audra Linley, Desi Arnaz, Jr., Jimmy Baio, Greg Evigan. I'm in heaven.

Here's BadKitten Day 11.

BadKitten Day 10

2010-10-27T00:57:00.002-04:00

Okay so I'm a little late. I was napping.

Just Barely Made It

2010-10-25T23:50:00.000-04:00

It's almost midnight but I'm getting this in right under the wire.

BadKitten--Day 9.

I Don't Want Obama Beans Up My Nose

2010-10-24T20:56:00.000-04:00

I am overwhelmed by the people around me.

First things first, you must check out Nathan Spewman. I don't care what your politics are. This shit is hysterical and makes a really good point (especially Part 2). And the women who made this are my friends.

I am in such a state of TV bliss right now because Fox and Cablevision are fighting. Like bratty little children. And I can live a Glenn Beck free life until they work it out. It's awesome.

And BadKitten gave me this for today. It's so beautiful.

With Friends Like These, Who Needs Friends

2010-10-23T21:11:00.000-04:00

I spent the day yesterday at the SVN conference. Honestly, I would have loved to have spent the whole weekend but, damn girl, it's expensive. I haven't been in a few years (is the whole I'm broke thing getting redundant? Too bad if it is--I'm broke!) and I was slightly nervous about seeing my friends.

It's funny--it's a place that I always feel profoundly loved but I'm always a little nervous walking in. In the perfect moment of serendipity and joy, the first person who reached out to me and dragged me into a conversation was my friend Mike.

I have to tell you a little bit about Mike. This is a man who knows how to be kind and make you feel really really good about yourself. He's the best drug I've ever taken.

At my first SVN conference--many, many moons ago--like many others I didn't know what the hell to think of the group. But after the first night I was hooked. At my second conference, in Santa Monica CA, I met Keith and Charles from Housing Works. And we were instant friends. So for the next several years we spent the first night of every conference together having fun and catching up and goofing off and drinking and dancing way too much. And it was wonderful.

On April 5, 2004 Keith died. And it just about broke my heart. But the thing is, I knew Keith would die. So I had an array of snapshots that I kept in my head of him. Every time I saw him, I intentionally took a little picture with my brain and stashed it away.

Two weeks after Keith's death, I went off to the SVN conference. I knew there would be a wonderful memorial for him there but I hadn't really thought the whole thing out ahead of time. I walked into the first session, the first night--where I had always been with Keith--and sucked my breath in. I didn't know where to sit. I didn't know who to sit with. I didn't know what to do. But Mike and our other friend Jerry were waiting for me. The were standing in the back, poised for action and as I walked into the room and realized my shock, they put their arms around me and we watched the first speaker of the conference in a wonderful huge warm safe hug. I know this is not something that you normally expect at a business conference but, dude, this is how we roll and it's such a better way of doing business. I don't know if they planned it and, frankly, I don't care. It worked for me and whether it was planned or spontaneous--it was tremendous.

So this year, I walked in, joined Mike's group when he waved me over and was immediately sucked into the stories that were being told (it was a breakout group). About 10 minutes into it, I felt something warm and smooth on my thigh. It was a perfect oval white stone that Mike had found on the beach that morning. And it felt really really really really good. So I left there. And I stroked it. And enjoyed the feeling of nature while we talked about business problems. That's the kind of balance that I think we could use more of--nature and work together--perfection.

We all know that I love when worlds collide. I recently got a message on Ravelry from Nancy I had some yarn that she needed. It's been in my stash for years (I think I bought it at a sidewalk sale at Katonah Yarns) and she asked how much I would like for it. I really have absolutely no idea how much I paid for it but it was certainly way less than the sticker price.

So I just asked her to make a donation to Housing Works in memory of Keith.

Can we talk about Generosity of Spirit? Nancy made an outstandingly generous financial contribution. It was way more that the yarn was worth. It was more than a lot of people's budgets for Rhinebeck. It was more than I could ever have expected and I am so so so grateful to her for carrying on the spirit of kindness and sharing that these crazy SVN friends of mine have inspired me with.

I only know Nancy through a short period of Ravelry messages but I know she is patient (it took me forever to get my act together and get the yarn to her), I know she has a sense of humor and I know that, even though I don't know her in real life, I love her. She--like Mike, Jerry, Charles, Keith and so many others, have made my life better. I was always annoyed by the whole "You complete me" thing from Jerry McGuire. I am already complete. I much prefer "You raised the bar for me. You expanded me. You made my life larger and better and so very much prettier."

Which in a funny way, leads into BadKitten Day 7.

Amazing Day and BadKitten Day 6

2010-10-22T23:03:00.002-04:00

Just got home from a wonderful conference but am too pooped and euphoric to write a cohesive blog post. I'll tell you all about it tomorrow.

OldDog--NewMusic--OldMusic--BadKitten

2010-10-21T21:43:00.000-04:00

My part of the deal was that I was supposed to make BadKitten a CD of great music from my generation. I think I mentioned that I forgot to bring it with me last week so I haven't been able to blog the playlist yet. For now, it's 13 songs. I think I'll go to 40 and when we finish 40 Days of BadKitten, we'll do 40 Days for BadKitten.

So my plan was to pick a bunch of songs from my (ahem--I'm not that old) generation that she probably hadn't heard. I spent a lovely hour just scrolling up and down my iTunes and picking out some gems.

I give you, BadKitten Vol. 1

Planet Rock, Afrika Bambaata & Soul Sonic Force. Arguably the first rap song. But I will win any argument to prove that this is definitely the first commercial rap song. It's a great beat and the beginning of an amazing movement in music.

Life on Mars?, David Bowie. I'm a huge Bowie fan. I'll save the story of the bus ride from Maine (and back) to see him at Madison Square Garden. This is such a stunning song. Bowie's voice is at his richest and you can't help but open your heart to this song.

Maria, Blondie. A late in career song for her but I just love it. She is now, always has been and always will be the coolest chick in Rock and Roll (Chrissie Hynde be damned).

Hip Hop Hooray, Naughty By Nature. It's just fun.

I Got You, Split Enz. Greg Honoshowski gave me this album for my 16th birthday. It was "laser etched" and had all these cool 80's iridescent shapes etched into the vinyl. It was just about the coolest damn thing I had ever seen. And this is a great song.

Tempted, Squeeze. Probably in the top two favorite bands of all time for me. You can't help but love them. They're like that kid that everyone had in their neighborhood who, at first, you weren't sure if they were really cool or really weird. And then you found out that they were really cool.

Red Shoes, Elvis Costello. If you are not truly, madly and deeply in love with Elvis Costello then there is something wrong with you. When I read Eat, Pray, Love, I thought that my version would be Eat, Squeeze, Elvis Costello. But that's just me.

I Confess, The English Beat. A definitive 80s band. These guys were amazing. I saw them open for Squeeze (big surprise) at Nassau Coliseum the night before Thanksgiving in my junior year of high school. Hell No--we're not naming years here. Suffice it to say, it was a long time ago. Stray Cats and REM were also on the bill that night. Ahhh--the 80s.

Me, Myself and I, DeLaSoul. Probably the nicest group of all time. And playful. And thoughtful. You just can't talk about music without talking about DeLaSoul.

The last two sort of go together. I love punk music and I love country music. Mary Gauthier, Your Sister Cried is a true, pure, old school country song. It harkens back to Patsy Klein and early mountain music. But it has a roughness and a true spirit to it that has such a punk feel to me. And let's stop for a minute and look at John Doe and the Sadies. John was 1/2 of the punk group X. They were amazing. As his career evolved, he has taken on country music with a purity and a rawness that takes (as I mentioned in the previous sentence) my breath away. His version of Help Me Make it Though the Night takes my breath away and brings me to tears.

Oh, and lest I forget. Here's BadKitten--Day 5

BadKitten Day 4

2010-10-20T20:22:00.000-04:00

To busy today for a full blog post but I did decide to go for the live version of this song. I still think Cheap Trick at Budokon is the best live album ever made but this is a really close second.

Dig it!

Greetings From Rhinebeck and BadKitten--Day 3

2010-10-19T17:52:00.001-04:00

Saturday morning was the kind of autumn mornings that poems are written about. The light was perfect, the trees were in full blaze and the sky was that mix of dark gray clouds and bright blue sky that only happen this time of year.

I'm not sure if they schedule the NYS Sheep and Wool Festival for the fall every year so that we can all wear our sweaters and socks and hats or if they do it because all of the colors that you see driving there are so inspiring. In the spring, the Taconic Parkway is awash in every shade of green. In October, there's green, orange, yellow, red, brown, blue, gray, purple and even little hints of pink. It's enough to take your breath away.

I found my favorite vendor in the first building I went into. Snowshoe Farm has such wonderful alpaca and Terry is so very nice that I had to buy two skeins of lilac colored yarn from her. I saw some great sock yarn but decided to wait and see what else was out there before I blew my whole budget.

And I had a very strict budget. As you know, I've been broke. So a few months ago, I started cashing in my cans and putting the little slips in an envelope in my car to save up for Rhinebeck. I stopped at the A&P on my way and cashed them in (that's half the fun--not knowing how much I had) and walked out with $53.05. Rockin! A lovely, generous woman had thrown me a $20 the other day to "buy myself something nice" so I had a total of $73.05 and I only ended up going $4.95 over. I think that's pretty impressive.

I came upon this sheep.

Hmm. Who would expect the KKK grand wizard sheep to be at Rhinebeck. We had a little talk, he and I, about the beauty of learning about others and sharing in their culture. I think I got through to him. I heard that later in the day, he and one of the llamas were trying to cut the line together to get chicken pot pie.

I almost came home with another kitten but stopped myself when I realized that there truly is such a thing as a crazy cat lady and I don't want to be one.

I stood for a while and admired the peace garden.

And I had me a nice lamb sandwich for lunch. Yum.

At the end of my tour around, I realized that the only other thing that I really wanted was that skein of sock yarn at Snowshoe Farm so I wandered back over and it was still sitting their patiently waiting for me.

I didn't find of the friends that I went there expecting to meet up with but I did run into Earthtones Girl and I met Knitgrrl who was very very cool.

On the way home, a hawk flew into my windshield which was kind of a surprise. The hawk was fine as was I and he was really quite beautiful. He may have lump or two but I'm pretty sure he survived.

And of course, we shall finish things out with BadKitten Day 3. Iron and Wine's "Boy With A Coin". Very cool song.

I Really Enjoy It When Things Come Together

2010-10-18T19:17:00.000-04:00

Several years ago, I met Kenny Loggins. It was just for a second and he was really really nice.

Several years ago, I also met my friend Mark and it feels like I only knew him for a second. He was gone way too soon.

Yesterday was his Viking Funeral and, as surprising as it may seem, Winnie the Pooh came up a lot!

And, in the most wonderfully synergistic way, this is our selection from BadKitten today. I give you Day 2 of 40 Days of BadKitten and I do believe that Mark is listening.

40 Days of BadKitten

2010-10-17T10:49:00.000-04:00

Let's start out with the fact that, for the most part, radio is dead. And I weep softly for the radio of yore. I was raised in a household with a lot (and I mean a lot of music). My dad had a kick ass stereo and he played it really loud (still does actually). And his taste in music was really eclectic (still is actually). On any given day we could be listening to The Elephant's Memory or The Student Prince or Japanese Folk Songs or Slim Whitman or Nelson Eddy and Jeanette McDonald.

And I inherited that gene from Pop. There are about 9,000 songs on my iPod of all different genres. But, at some point, they just stop.

Because radio died.

And if you are of my generation, that's where you learned about new music. We had WLIR. We had Scott Munie (I actually have a playlist on my iPod called Bless Me Scott Munie for I Have Sinned to keep all of my really embarrassing songs together. Hello? The Night Chicago Died? Oh the shame.)

So I've suffered from new music withdrawal.

A few years ago, I was at a family party and walked outside where the valet parkers were hanging out while they waited for us all to leave. I think that's probably a pretty boring job--rush rush rush when everyone arrives, sit around for hours while everyone is inside have a good time, rush rush rush when everyone leaves--so they were playing some music. As soon as I walked up they apologized for the noise and turned off their player. I said don't worry about--I like Eminem. And they looked at me like I had 10 heads. We ended up having a really great conversation about music and agreed that the next time I came out, they would have a list of 5 bands that they thought were great and I would give them a list of 5 albums that they had probably never heard of that they had to check out. The only rule--don't second guess what you think the other person would like, just share what you think is terrific.

And the list they gave me was great. It's actually still hanging on my fridge. So I started asking young people, on a regular basis, what they thought was great music right now and checking it out. I feel like I'm creating my own personal network of Music Directors.

At knitting group last week, I was talking to BadKitten and we started talking about music. So of course, I asked her to make me a list. I made her a CD of great songs from my day which, naturally, I forgot to bring last Thursday.

She showed up with a list for me on pretty blue paper written in pencil (I love pencils) and pink magic marker of, are you ready, 40 SONGS!!!

That's right, 40 SONGS!!!!!

So we are going to add a little feature to the blog for the next 40 days (I'll also be posting them on facebook) called 40 Days of BadKitten.

And in the spirit of all things good, she started me out with a bonus track.

So I give you "Prelude 12/21" and "Miss Murder" by AFI (there's a little note on the list that says they're sort of connected). Enjoy.

Sorry about the ad at the beginning of Miss Murder. It's only a few seconds long.

The Year of Living Generously--Part 2

2010-10-16T07:37:00.000-04:00

I warned you that this generosity thing was going to be multi-parter.

So the pillow wasn't the only great thing about knitting group the other night. Last week, BadKitten and I had a really fun conversation. At least I thought it was fun. Well, it turned out that she thought it was fun too because she showed up with something really cool for me. I know this is a little bit of a tease but I'm going to launch a new feature on the blog tomorrow so you'll hear all about it then.

New topic--being generous is not always easy. But I do think it's worth it and I like the way it makes me feel. And, in an odd way, I'm glad that there has been a little bit of struggle along with all the benefits of it. Because so far, each time I've ended up feeling like I did the right the thing and that was the point here, right?

Tomorrow I'm going to a memorial service for a dear friend. And a few weeks ago, I realized that another person who really cared for Mark was no longer in my life but would probably want to know about the service. At the same time, a few funny little things on the web came along (thank you facebook friends) that I thought would amuse him, so, even though I haven't seen or spoken to him in months, I forwarded them to him. Yes, I know, that's a very passive way of reaching out to someone but I really wanted to start slowly.
And I got no response. Crap. My passive approach got me no closer to letting him know about the service.

So I took a slightly less passive approach (but yes, I know, still passive) and sent a text message. I composed what I thought was a really nice message. But maybe I was too honest. I told him that I no longer had any hard feelings even though I still felt that I had some unfinished business with him. And I said that I was still seeking closure and some resolution but that I was really progressing in that and that I hoped he was well and happy. I asked if we could talk because I had a few things to tell him.

I expected to get a response to this (it's summarized above just so you can get the jist of it--it was a really nice message). I thought he was say sure and I would get to tell him about Mark's service. And I did get a response but, ironically, it was pretty snippy and he informed me that he saw no reason to talk to me.

Crap again. I should have just sent the text about Mark's service and left out anything personal because, really, my life has been so much better without this person. I just thought that, since we ended so poorly, a little kindness was in order.

And now here I was stuck with him still not knowing about the service. And I'll tell you, I really struggled with that this week. But, I knew all along that this was not about me--it was about Mark. So last night, I manned up and left a very simple message with the details. And it was hard. I'm sure my voice was shaking and I probably sounded like an idiot but I did it and guess what? I felt great when it was done.

Because I had done the right thing, even though it was difficult for me to do. More proof that generosity is the right choice.

I'm off to Rhinebeck for NYS Sheep and Wool and it's an amazingly beautiful day. I'm going to be with my people--and I'm going to relish every moment of it.

To be continued....

The Year of Living Generously--Part 1

2010-10-14T21:33:00.000-04:00

My New Year's Resolution this year was to be more generous of spirit in 2010. Now please understand, this was not a self deprecating resolution. I believe that, in general, I am quite a generous person. But this idea was something different. For me, it was about generosity of spirit with intent.

I've always felt that there is enough misery in the world and I should actively try not to contribute to it. But I never tried to actively contribute to generosity in the world. So that's what the resolution was about for me--to actively try to be nice. For the most part I'm nice (I won't say always--I've had my moments) but it has always been out of habit rather than actually deciding to be nice.

And guess what? It has turned out that acting with intent has amazing consequences. I've discovered that when you choose to act in kindness, then kindness comes back to you. In spades. Hello--I know that this is not a new idea. Karma? What? It's just been really moving for me lately. There's a reason that this post is "Part 1". There has been a whole lot of karma happening lately but there was a big incident tonight that I need to tell you about.

I went to knitting group tonight with a bag full of beautiful new yarn that Granny and Pop bought for me this weekend. (On sale--even better.) I thought I had the best treat ever.

And then Pat (of the tomatoes) showed up and dropped this in my lap.

It's a pillow. And I love it so very much. Because Pat (who by the way is an extraordinary quilter) made this for me from the button bands and collar pieces of my friend Mark's work shirts. Mark died the night before Thanksgiving in 2009 and I miss him more than you could possibly imagine. He was a brilliant thinker, a wonderful man, a good friend and a helluva lot of fun. And on Sunday, we will be gathering to sprinkle his ashes in the Hudson River. He was a boater and he profoundly loved that river so it is a wonderful new home for him.

I know the photo isn't great--the lighting in my house is very gentle in the evening--but I wish you all could see this and I wish you all had gotten to spend 5 minutes with Mark.

So Pat--who I am so proud to call my friend--used her talent and her vision to make me something beautiful out of something that was so terrible and painful.

If that's not generosity of spirit, I don't know what is.

Joy To The World

2010-10-11T16:27:00.000-04:00

Did you ever see the episode of Friends when everyone is making fun of the way Phoebe runs and she explains to them that she always runs as if she is running for the swings? Remember that wonderful feeling of running for the swings when you were a kid? You didn't care what you looked like or what you were wearing--all you new was that you were having fun.

Well that's the way my friend Joy knits. She knits like she's running for the swings. She does it purely for the fun off it. She doesn't care if she knits "right" or "wrong" (that's a conversation for another day--there's no such thing as the wrong way to knit). When she loses a stitch she makes a new one.

I have a group of friends that I gather with often to celebrate our birthdays. Last year Joy sent out an email to all of us asking us not to get her things for her birthday but rather to do something special with her or find some tools for her creativity. Oh by the way, did I mention that Joy is by far the most creative person I know? Click on the link above to see her photos. They're fabulous.

Now Joy is my oldest friend (I've know her since first grade--I do have one other friend that I've known longer but I didn't see her all through elementary school so Joy wins the oldest friend trophy) and I knew she would never knit herself socks. In fact, she had once asked me to make her a pair of socks. So I bought a sock blank, some dye and printed out the instructions and gave them to her to play with. The plan was that once it was dyed, I would knit them up. (They're on the needles now but that's a post for another day.)

Joy bought herself a lovely gift at her LYS as well. It was a kit with some straight up gorgeous yarn and a pattern for a pair of mitts with a little ruffle around the top and the bottom. I know that I said that there is no wrong way to knit but the way that Joy forms her stitches would totally screw things up if she was knitting in the round. I gave her a little lesson on other ways to knit and sent her home with some dps to practice on.

Not surprisingly, this year Joy asked me to actually knit those mitts for her as her birthday gift.

We figured out what she wanted (blue with pink trim) and I got them started. They knit up so quickly that it was almost a disappointment until I realized that if I left off the bottom ruffle, there was enough yarn to make two pairs! Woo Hoo! I was so excited, I even took them on a trip to the beach.

Aren't they adorable. And they're even cuter on.

And look how great they look on Joy! I have a feeling that she may be wearing them as mismatched pairs more often than she planned because they just look so damn cute that way.

Time Flies Like an Arrow, Fruit Flies Like a Banana

2010-10-06T21:24:00.000-04:00

Or a tomato as the case may be in my kitchen right now.

I've been house cleaning this evening, and, as I have mentioned before, I am LAZY! I am the worlds laziest housekeeper. And, dag nab it, I'll take it. I live alone so the only person who is affected by my laziness is me. And having just watched my first episode of Sister Wives, I am renewing my vows to always keep my own apartment. Holy crap these people are just nuts. I mean really. How freaking needy a man are you that you need four wives?

Sarcasm aside, this show is so profoundly degrading to women. I was at a party recently and a woman was waxing poetic about certain rap music being degrading to women and it made her worried about her daughters. And, of course I couldn't stop myself. Hmm--let's see. Some asshole singer wants to call a woman a bitch or a ho. Fine. I'm totally okay with that freedom of speech thing. But guess what? When some rap singer calls a woman a bitch or a ho, at least I have a specific person to point a finger at. The reality, as I pointed out to the women that I was talking to, is that degradation of women is an accepted social norm. And that is far more disturbing than some dumbass rap singer (not saying all rap singers are dumbasses--there are a lot of really talented men and women out there). And while we're at it, let's point out the implied racism here. I worked for a hip hop music company and was shocked when we were told by MTV that they would not play our video because it had strippers in it. Surprisingly, they had a video by a white band (okay--it was Aerosmith) loaded chock full of strippers and that was fine because it was white guys.

As if it's not hard enough being a woman. We deal with the whole boob thing (my bras cost over $80 and within a few months, the underwires jump ship and pop out at the most inopportune moments--I have yet to see an $80 underwire jock strap). We deal with the whole period thing ( I'm not even going to go there). We deal with the whole we make less money than men for the same job--still--thing. I mean come on girls--some dumb singer is going to be the biggest threat in my life? I don't think so.

Anyway, I've been housecleaning. Which means I've been tidying up my studio (okay--my dining room table) and I found some wonderful things that I have yet to stash.

Look at this.

Isn't it pretty? It's loaded with silk and, although it is not a color that is flattering on me, it will be gorgeous on more than one person that I owe a hand knit gift to.

And then there's this.

I don't even want to tell you how much I paid for this Misti Alpaca Suri. It was on a ridiculous sale and cost me less than coffee at Starbucks. It's so damn soft that I can't stand the thought of putting it away until I need it. I think I'll just keep it out and stroke it for the rest of my life.

As a last thought, I was once in the bathroom at a conference with Gloria Steinem. She had just made a great speech during which she used the word cunt more than once. Shocking! As we were walking out of the restroom, I had to say to her "Oh my God, I can't wait to tell everyone I know that I was in the bathroom with Gloria Steinem."

And then I spent an hour terrified that I had said "Ladies Room" instead of "Bathroom".

Kids These Days

2010-09-30T22:16:00.000-04:00

I get very frustrated when people start to complain about "kids these days". Now you may disagree with me but I'm pretty sure that I'm right about this one. Kids are kids. They always have been. They always will be. They will take your breath away when the girls put on their first high heels and the boys put on their first tuxedos. They will inspire you to be the best person that you can be when you see their first independent act of compassion.

And they will make you shake your head in despair when they fuck up. And they will fuck up. I fucked up. You fucked up. Everyone fucked up.

So here's what's annoying me (had you caught on yet that I was annoyed). I truly resent when people hide behind a societal "kids these days" answer when young people perpetrate crimes and terrible acts of cruelty. Please don't act like this is something new. Take a look at the Leopold and Loeb murder. Rent Rebel Without A Cause. This is nothing new.

The one thing that I do think is new is the societal acceptance of a lack of accountability. The fact that you had poor parenting is not an excuse. We live in a time with really significant access to information and resources so I think we need to hold ourselves to a higher standard of accountability than any generation that came before us. (I need to add the caveat here that I understand that I am very privileged to be white, middle class and living in the U.S. I know that there are people in the world that don't have things as easy as I do. But I can only speak from my own experience here.)

A young man jumped off the George Washington Bridge this week because his roommate and the roommate's friend webcasted him having sex with another man. He was 18 years old.

Don't blame facebook. Don't blame the web. Don't blame the kid for exploring his sexuality. Don't blame society for lack of communication. Don't blame George Bush or Barack Obama. Don't blame Lindsey Lohan or Marilyn Manson.

Blame these young adults for an astounding act of cruelty. They are currently only charged with invasion of privacy. I feel that it should be upgraded to at the very least include a hate crime.

Maybe I'm so frustrated by this because they chose an act of love and passion--which, let's be real here folks, we all, as human beings crave--as the weapon of their cruelty.

I will be lighting a candle for the young man who took his own life tonight and for his family. The unfairness of their loss is almost too much to contemplate.

And I will also be lighting a candle for the legal system to hold the people who caused this terrible thing to happen to be held accountable for their actions.

They suck.

My Knitting Group

2010-09-29T19:12:00.000-04:00

also quilts! (Okay--one of my knitting groups.)

A teacher who was retiring from a local school offered us a lifetime of ties and those quilting girls jumped on it like a duck on Junebug!

I don't quilt. I barely sew. But I can open up a tie and iron the silk nicely so the really talented quilters can get to work.

They made this beautiful wall hanging that is being raffled off THIS SATURDAY to benefit the Dobbs Ferry Historical Society. Tickets are $5 each or 6 for $25. If you're interested in tickets, leave a note in the comments with your email and we'll make it happen.

There's lots of knitting go on here in the Y.O. and I promise more news soon.

A La Familia

2010-09-27T00:21:00.000-04:00

I know you're not supposed to have favorites but I do. And damn--they live very very far away. But Annie and Shesh are just about the most wonderful people you've ever met. They're my cousinsfromIreland (we always say it likes it is one word) so on a gorgeous September Saturday, I got to take a ride down to the Jersey Shore because they're here visiting.

This is where they live.

I mean really. Could you just die? I would never leave. It's just about the most beautiful place in the world.

So a crowd of us got together yesterday to hang out with them.

The picture's a little blurry but I think you get the picture. (And yes, for you regular blog readers, that's Lucy the dog in the lower left hand corner. We were at my cousin's farm and she had a ball.) (P.S. I was just proofreading and as I looked at this picture quickly, it looks like we are in Ireland--niiiiice!)

Yes, I said my cousin's farm. Which always raises the question, which kind of cousin are you? Now you need to understand, that I have a huge boatload of cousins on my father's side of the family. Not so many first cousins but when you start stretching it out, it immediately becomes overwhelming.

But guess what? I know the cousin rules. I have a chart. And once you get the chart down pat it's really easy.

So when I got home last night, I pulled out the chart and figured out the relationship. So my Grandmother (Anne) had a brother named Patrick. Patrick's daughter is Annie who married Shesh (his real name is Tommy--I have no idea why we call him Shesh) and they have three awesome kids--Mary, Hugh and John.

So Annie is my First Cousin Once Removed and her kids (who I just love) are my Second Cousins. Poor Shesh--he's just an in-law but we treat him like blood. Hugh (who I might add I hope is reading this because I don't think he as ever come to visit) got married this year and we watched the video. It was just lovely. The bride's family has a lot of great singers so, as a surprise, they all got together and sang them out of the church--so much better than that formal march you always here.

My Second Cousin John joined us for a while via Skype. That shit is just amazing.

That's Shesh with the computer and my Mom in the pink blouse. By the way, if I told you how old my Mom is you would never believe me. Proof that sunscreen and moisturizer are your best friends.

This is my niece BrattyGirl with her Third Cousin.

That cute little muffin is my Second Cousin Once Removed. Are you following this? I think I'm obsessed.

Did you catch the purple converse sneakers on SCOR (I'm going to start calling her Score to go with the acronym--I think it suits her.)

So print out the chart and do your own family. I'm thinking about taking down the big picture in my dining room, covering the wall with oak tag and doing a family tree.

It's a Great Place to Knit Socks

2010-09-23T16:45:00.000-04:00

After 44 years, I finally got called for jury duty. I actually got called in March but didn't receive the summons until after the date I was supposed to show up so they gave me a postponement until September.

And it all arrived right on time this time around. So Friday night, I called the number and, good news, I didn't have to go in. Then Monday night, I called the number and, good news, I didn't have to go in. On Tuesday night (insert minor chord here), they said I had to go in. Now honestly, I really wouldn't mind serving on an actual jury--it's just the thought of all that bureaucracy that makes me shiver.

I packed a bag (two knitting projects, two magazines, diet coke, water, a book and a sleeve of Ritz crackers) and hauled ass up to White Plains yesterday morning. I generally avoid White Plains at all costs because it's a bear to drive in. All the streets are one way and there are lots of buses and odd little traffic patterns. It's not that it scares me or confuses me--it just insults my sense of good municipal design.

But I made it through downtown to the parking garage at the library. Where I was immediately accosted by a woman in a party dress (cut down to there!) and six inch high stiletto heels. She was going to jury duty for the first time as well and didn't know what was going to happen and oh my God she was so nervous aboutit but she never gets out of the house except for work which she hates and they're mad that she's at jury duty and aren't these shoes great she got them on sale at Bloomingdales and her husband who is not really her husband but they've been together for seven years and they have a kid together and he's Albanian but she doesn't care what anyone says about Albanians because he treats her like a queen and does everything for her except marry her. Whew--all this before I even put the money in the meter.

And she didn't shut-the-f-up for the entire day. Holy crap.

So I worked on these.

They're Cookie A's Summer Socks (I think that's what they're called) in Knit Picks Stroll in Dusk. They're a fun knit and go really quickly and, honestly, you don't have to pay too much attention to the pattern so they're perfect when you're stuck with a woman with typewriter mouth.

As the day progressed, the shoes lost their charm for her when she got a big blister. She had a pair of flip flops with her (silver glitter naturally) but she didn't want to put them on because then she would look like (and I quote) a white-trash chooch. I don't know if that's how you spell chooch but I don't really need to know. I would like you to pause for a moment now and think about what I might possibly have had on my feet. Yes, they we were flip flops. Cute ones but flip flops none the less. So I looked like a white-trash chooch which I guess is kinda cool.

By the end of the day, I actually got sent to a court room, watched the first round of voir dire. Had to go back today. Got voir dired myself and then sent packing. It was a civil case and would probably have been interesting but I have an ethical problem with the law that the case was based on so I told the truth that I couldn't be fair and impartial. I also told the truth about knowing the judge's brother which she very funnily asked me if I would be able to not hold that against her.

Laughed my butt off at the guy in the eye patch who had been a private investigator in Alabama. They didn't pick him either.

Just a few things

2010-09-18T14:12:00.004-04:00

1. I'm not going to rant about anything today. Aren't you happy about that?

2. I left an ingredient out of my salad recipe. You're supposed to add 1 teaspoon of oregano to the dressing. It's been fixed on the post.

3. I am making a boat load of this salad for a party tomorrow. Burned the crap out of my thumb and made a huge mess in my little tiny kitchen but, damn, it smells good in there.

4. The blog has been quiet all week because I twisted the crap out of my right wrist last Saturday. It was more of a range of motion and weight bearing kind of injury and luckily, I could still knit. Good thing I'm a picker.

5. If your knitting group is offered ouzo, definitely accept it. But then don't complain if you have a headache the next morning and have no idea how you got that tattoo with Elizabeth Zimmerman Forever in a heart on your ass.

6. This my friend Pat.

Give her a break! She was painting her deck. She cleans up real purty!

This is what she has in her yard.

Jealous? Well you should be. There are a boat load of overripe tomatoes roasting in the oven right now (the ripe ones are too precious to roast) with tomatillos, red onion, jalapeno and garlic. There will be soup.

And the basil leaves are rinsing as I type this. There will be pesto.

Enough

2010-09-10T21:22:00.002-04:00

I've had enough. I find myself sitting here on the eve of 9/11 and I'm wondering when, if ever, is enough, enough.

I think it may finally be the time for us to learn a lesson from the people who have created so much misery. Because you know what--they don't try to be nice. And they're not nice. And guess what? They really get their point across. (I know this is a very simplistic description of all of this but bear with me--I try not to swear on the blog.)

So here's what I would like to have happen in the next few days.

1. President Obama--Please don't ask that crazy man to "listen to the good angels". Do what the rest of us normal, intelligent Americans are doing. Say--out loud, Prez, say it out loud--dude, you have every right, as an American, to do whatever the fuck you want. But as an American, I also have the right to say you are one crazy, dangerous motherfucker.

2. Charge the bastard with treason. It's a hangable crime in the US of A to put our soldiers in danger. Freedom of speech does not extend to me telling the Russians our secrets (and p.s. who the hell cares about the Russians anymore) so it shouldn't extend to people who are putting the lives of people who are putting their lives on the line for us in danger. (I need to add the caveat here that I don't believe in the death penalty--I'm just trying to make a point here.)

3. I don't need to see another 9/11 documentary. I saw it in person. I felt the glass in the air on that pristine blue skyed morning. I watched the towers from the window of my office perfectly framed by the George Washington Bridge. And I didn't open the shades in my office until April. So stop worrying about your Emmy. There were outstanding documentaries made by people who were actually there. Nine years later, you are just pandering to the pain that a lot of people live with every day. Please stop.

4. Be kind to each other tomorrow--and really, every day. Let's do a reality check here kids. For the most part, people don't hate each other over ideology. They hate each other over actions. I know it's hard but I'm willing to do my best to be kind.

So on 9/11 2010, I ask you to join me in celebrating our democracy. Celebrating our diversity. Rather than choosing tolerance, choose acceptance. And let's actually act like the Americans that we always say, so loudly, that we are.

There Will Be Socks!

2010-08-31T19:18:00.005-04:00

I have a lot of socks to make. A lot! And it's mine own fault because I have created monsters. You see, I feel compelled to prove to anyone who tells me that hand knit socks are no better than store bought that they are totally and completely wrong.

I've discovered that it's like giving a junkie their first taste of heroin. The next thing you know, they're lurking around barefoot saying things like "just one more pair, a pretty one, maybe with a little cable--and then I'll stop."

This is the basket of sock yarn that needs to get knit up relatively soon. Surprisingly, that's not even all the sock yarn that is earmarked for current knitting. Last night I was on the phone with a friend who told me she couldn't make it to an upcoming party. Rather than tell her how much I would miss seeing her, the first thing out of my mouth was "thank God! That means I don't have to finish your socks." I swear, I'm usually a much better friend.

Since I took this photo, a pair of plain gray socks have been completed.

These are my basic sock pattern knit on 60 stitches with a plain heel flap. The yarn is KnitPicks Stroll in Ash and the needles are US 2 for a gauge of 7 stitches to the inch. Although they look very boring, they were lovely to knit. You see we had several plain gray days while I was working on these and they made me feel at one with nature.

Right now there's a pair of beautiful green Trail Socks on the needles. They're almost done so I'll wait to show them to you.

I think you'll really like them.

I am holding out on the border on my SummerSwatchMe sampler until I finish a few things. By this time tomorrow, I should be picking up stitches.

P.S. It's 98 degrees in the Y.O. again and the compressor crapped out on the a/c in my car. Damn! Damn damn damn!

The Help

2010-08-28T22:25:00.002-04:00

I swear to you, I was planning to blog about some knitting today but I just finished the book The Help and I am too consumed by it to think of anything else right now.

You see, when I was a very young child, my grandmother had "help". Her name was Inez and I called her Nezzie. And I worshiped her.

My grandmother was what would come to be known as "new money" and, I must add, it was very short term money. Which I actually admire about her. She spent her shekels on things that made her happy. She loved fast sports cars and she loved to move. I think that, in some ways, a new home was always a new beginning for her.

But this post isn't about her. It's about Nezzie.

Nezzie was the first black person I ever met. Actually, I never didn't know her. As a young child, she was always there--always a part of my life. She was my grandmother's housekeeper but to my sister and me, she was so much more. I can still hear her voice every time we pulled into Nanny's very long driveway in Pelham laughing and shouting "Lord, here come Bonnie and Clyde" (my sister and I were not criminals but we were certainly quite lively). Nezzie is one of my earliest memories and, at the most, I was just barely pushing three years old.

Most of my early memories are incidental. I remember the green rug in the study in Nanny and Poppy's house. I remember sitting on Grandpa's lap in his chair in the window in Brooklyn. I remember the hard, little, stuffed Pekingese toy dog that someone gave me as a child that I carried around everywhere (having very originally named him Pekie).

But my memories of Nezzie are like movies. And to this day, they stir all of my senses. I remember her carrying me up the stairs for a nap and sitting with me until I fell asleep, which, of course I fought because I didn't want to miss a minute of anything. I remember going to visit her and her husband Willis in Mount Vernon. The lived on the second floor of a house and there was a small gate at the top of the stairs to keep their mean little dog Brutus in the house. Brutus probably wasn't really mean. He was probably old and tired and didn't appreciate a four-year-old who wanted nothing more in the world than to play with him but I do remember him barking at me. He never even so much as nipped at me but I was pretty well convinced that he didn't really like me.

And Nezzie had a princess phone. A white one. With gold trim on it. And it didn't have a coiled plastic cord like our phone at home did--it had a long, straight, woven canvas covered cord and, to this day, I think it may be the most elegant thing I've ever seen.

And she had the kindest hands. I think that may be the one thing that I still have of Nezzie's is the lessons she taught me, without actually teaching me, about what your hands can do. They were never cold. They were always strong. And I think that they may have set a very good example for me. The only other person I know with those kind of hands is my father. So I think my own hands are the product of both nature and nurture. Like both Nezzie and Pop, I can soothe a crying baby. Calm an upset child. Rub lotion just right on the burn that Nanny had on her back from the radiation treatments after she was diagnosed with cancer. I'm proud of my hands but am also humbled by the knowledge that I learned how to use them from two of the best. And, after a really cool moment with my wonderful friend Lori a few years ago, I learned how to appreciate and acknowledge the passive satisfaction (not sure if that is the word I am looking for) of using my hands--with kindness and love--on other people. You see when you give someone a massage or scratch their back or carry them to their crib, they are experiencing an active sensation. But at the same time, your fingers--as they rub or scratch or carry--are experiencing a passive sensation that, if you pay attention to it, is quite lovely.

The thing that I remember most about Nezzie is her smell. I can smell it sitting here tonight at my computer as if she just left the room. It was an earthy smell with a little bit of cocoa butter to it. I've never, ever been able to identify any of the other elements of it. And, as a small child, I thought that that was what black people smelled like.

Now please don't think that this has anything to do with race. My mother's mother (Nanny) wore Miss Dior. So I assumed that that was what everyone's mother's mother smelled like. My father's mother (Grandma) lived in a row house in Brooklyn that always smelled vaguely of gas stove and gravy. So I assumed that that was what everyone's father's mother smelled like. I thought the song Crocodile Rock was about my sister because she was the only person I knew named Susie.

I was three years old so my universe was really limited to less than a dozen people. Several years later I learned about racism. That is my first memory of being righteously indignant but that's another story.

As all good children do, we grow up, a little bit more every day. And our world expands. And, because of Nezzie, I used to surreptitiously sniff black people. By the time I was five, Nanny and Poppy had moved to Florida and Nezzie had retired and I missed her smell. Billy Collins tells the story of the disappointments a child experiences as they grow older in his poem "On Turning 10". And learning that I may never actually smell that smell again was a tough lesson to learn as a kid.

About a dozen years ago, I was on line at a clothing store at Cross County and there, right in front of me on line, was that smell. And it was paradise. And I inhaled deeply. And grinned. And the women in front of me turned around and looked at me like I was a lunatic. But I was so taken by her smell that I told her the whole story and she started to laugh--in a good way--and we were best friends for five minutes until we took our clothes and left the store.

On the Sunday night after Thanksgiving in 1999 my Aunt Kitty died. She was Nanny's sister and lived right downstairs from me. On that Monday, I took my key and went down to her apartment to find her address book to see who needed to still be called. Aunt Kitty was old and most of her friends were gone but there, in her leather address book that she had for her whole life, were Inez and Willis. So I called to tell them that say that she had gone. Willis answered the phone and when I told him who I was, I could hear his grin through the line. He said "Hello Bonnie, how's Clyde?" and laughed.

I cautiously asked if my Nezzie was still alive and he told me yes, she was still with us, but her mind was gone. But he did promise that he would tell her that I had called and that Kitty had passed over. I hope that she remembered that way that her hands felt when she carried me up the stairs in the same way that I remember the way that my body felt being carried in her lovely hands.

And I hoped that she remembered my smell.

Lazy

2010-08-23T23:35:00.002-04:00

I am lazy! Sometimes I watch the shows Hoarders or Clean House and realize that it would be totally humiliating for any of them to come to my house because I would just have to admit that I'm not really a bad housekeeper, I'm just lazy.

Clean the bathroom vs. turn a heel. The heel will get done.

Wash the dishes or watch that episode of Law & Order that I have seen 8000 times--L&O it is.

It's a funny thing about living alone. Yes--on the upside, you don't have to deal with anyone else's crap. On the downside, you have no obligation to keep the house clean for anyone but yourself.

And I find that I weigh the value of a vacuumed rug or a shiny tub against spending time with friends, family and knitting (not to mention Chris Meloni on L&O SVU) and I'm always going to take the latter.

So my confession is done. Mea culpa mea cupla--I suck at tidying up.

Unless it involves yarn.

Right now I have a beautiful wooden box full of a boat load of different Brown Sheep yarns. They are a go-to favorite for me so they get their own box. I actually vacuumed the 18 x 24 spot on the living room rug today so the box would have a nice, tidy place to sit.

There is a lovely, Heidi-esque (not Fleis--get your minds out of the gutter--I'm talking about the blond with the grandfather) basket full of all the options for SummerSwatchMe.

And there's another really pretty green and tan woven basket full of sock yarn.

I would post some pictures but I'm too damn lazy to get up and get the camera.

Granny and Pop are Cool!

2010-08-22T23:24:00.002-04:00

Do you remember that song from the album Cheap Trick at Budokon that had the line "when I woke up mom and dad were rolling on the couch"?

I do, because I never understood why that was shocking. My parents were totally cool. In so many ways. Now don't get me wrong--they weren't hippies. They weren't all free love. They didn't smoke pot or swing but--damn--they were fun.

You see my Mom is really, really smart. Yes she's book smart but she's also street smart. Which is somewhat surprising because she doesn't come from a world that valued street smart.

And my Dad is funny. Really, really funny. In a great Jackie Mason, Shecky Green (sp?) kind of way--my dad will always crack you up.

But it get's cooler. My parents met in the early 1960s and, by anyone's rules of the time, they should never have fallen in love. My mom was a deb. My dad was a carnie. And they were both straight up gorgeous. And they found each other and totally busted the curve!

By the time I met them, my dad had become a NYC cop and my mom was a housewife.

I'm bringing this up because I'm always amazed at how things come together.

Remember when I was crocheting the other day (scroll down on the blog posts if you didn't read it--it's the curious one).

I had a minor interpretation question on the pattern so I dropped a note to the designer. And she was so lovely. And we started chatting. And her street address was on her email. And it was right down the block from Pop's station house and, don't you know it, my parents were old friends of her husband's.

Really? I'm crocheting a sun hat and find a person that my folks have known for 30 years?

I love this yarn thing. It really does bring us all together.

I'll Tell You How!

2010-08-20T16:58:00.002-04:00

I just saw a TV commercial with a very beautiful woman in her underwear saying "how do you know when you're wearing a really good bra?". She was about a 34 B and had no need for a bra--never mind a good one!

So here's how you can tell:

1. It cost more than the sum total of everything else you are wearing. Including your jewelry and whatever your parents paid for orthodonture.
2. It hurts a little.
3. It only comes in beige. And the 5 foot tall sales lady with the tape measure around her neck looks at you like you have 10 heads when you ask if it comes in red. And you realize just how easy it would be to strangle her with that damn tape measure.
4. Your left boob is no longer under your right arm.
5. You paid a surcharge to the Ironworkers Union for crafting the underwire. Which you know is going to pop out at the most inopportune moment. Which was funny--once.
6. It doubles as a catapult. (I was going to say slingshot but honesty is the best policy. Slingshot implies that it would fit in my pocket.)
7. It doesn't fold in half.
8. It was designed by McGuyver.
9. When you put it on, you find that number 2 double point that you stuck under your right boob so you wouldn't lose it while you were turning a heel. And then forgot where you put it. (Let's not talk about the good scissors.)
10. People stop staring (and pointing and laughing).
11. It has the ability to unbalance your washer and make it thump across the basement floor when it is in there by itself.
12. When you put it on, you don't have to manually line up your nipples (which you do have to do with a bad bra).
13. It has it's own alphabet. There is no double D in the alphabet song.
14. If you fall asleep in it, you dream about boa constrictors--and not in a good way.
15. When you unhook it your entire body shivers with relief.

I've decided that boobs are like corn on the cob. They're really great for a very short window of time.

10 Things That I Know For Sure

2010-08-16T18:37:00.004-04:00

1. This is the best make out song of all time. If you don't believe me, go grab a friend, put this song on and make out. You'll be a believer.

2. My friends are really amazing sock models.

This is the Trails Sock from SummerSwatchMe. The yarn is Mountain Colors Bearfoot in Eureka. Delicious.

This is the Leafling Sock from Rockin' Sock Club that I finished ages ago but hadn't taken a picture of it yet. The yarn is whatever they sent to me.

3. Art is subjective. We went a saw a performance art piece by members of the Watermill Center this weekend. One in six of us got anything out of it. But it was still gorgeous.

4. Your condoms and your double points belong in different bags. They don't travel well together.

5. I can fix my own vacuum, thank you very much.

6. Franklin is funny.

7. The corn is really good this year.

8. You know you have a good man when he remembers that you're picky about corn and if it's really good you like it plain but if it's just okay you want butter and salt and pepper.

9. It's nice to be neighborly. My neighbor just did another neighbor a solid. That's a nice thing to see.

10. Even though I was sure I had it, I do not own a copy of the soundtrack to The Big Chill on CD. I bet there are a lot of people in the world who are sure that they own it but don't. On the other hand, I was surprised to find that I have the K7 song Come Baby Come in my iTunes three times. I was going to get rid of two of them but then I decided that it would be my Rosebud and I'll let some fedoraed newspaper reporter try to figure out why, oh why, I did that once I'm dead. P.S. I've met K7. He's more like K 31/2. P.P.S. The fact that I know all the words to this song is about midway on my list of things that I'm proud that I'm ashamed of.

Slide Slide Slippety Slide

2010-08-10T22:18:00.002-04:00

I think my mother can probably identify with this video. My sister and I are less than a year apart and I'm sure that she spend a lot of time dragging one of us to the top of the slide while the other one slid to the bottom.

I, for one, love a slide. When I was a kid, we used to take these very nomadic vacations. We would just hop into that Torino (or station wagon or whatever the hell my dad happened to be driving), point the car toward the road and see what we found along the way. For the most part, it was a lot of fun.

But sometimes, it was just a little too stressful. When I was about six years old we where in the middle of Tennessee and I had just about had it. We had stopped at a McDonalds for lunch and the counter kid said to me (in perfect Tennessee Ozark English) "ya'll want yourself a piece of pickle?". Well this poor kid might as well have been speaking Farsi. I can understand the thickest brogue. I can deal with a guy from deepest Brooklyn who has no idea that the letter R exists. But I couldn't understand what this kid was saying. So naturally, I got my burger with a pickle on it and I was offended in the the way that only a six year old from Yonkers can be. I was indignant.

And the day only got worse. It was hot. Which I hate. My sister was on my side of the backseat and when I got mad we got yelled at and had to put our seat belts on (remember when that was punishment and not the law).

But then, just when I thought I wasn't going to make it, the sky opened up and the sun shone down on the most distinctive roof of all time--a Howard Johnson's Motel.

With a pool.

With a slide.

The gods smiled and the angels sang.

And I hopped out of the car with my dad and got on line behind the couple with the Jersey plates who had just finished filling out the paper work for........

THE LAST ROOM.

And I lost it. Big time.

I wept. I threw myself on the floor and all I could do was wail through my tears that "they have a slide--I want a pool with a slide--I need a pool with a slide--all I ever wanted in my whole life was to go down that slide."

If I were Theresa from the Real Housewives of NJ I would have flipped a table.

Now it's not easy to mortify my father but he scooped me up off the floor as fast as could (not an easy task as I was apoplectic) and was carrying me down the driveway back to the car.

And don't you know, here came the counter clerk chasing us down the parking lot calling us back.

It seems that the couple who got THE LAST ROOM, could totally identify with an overloaded six year old and had given us the room.

It was the best slide ever.