March 2007 Archives

Over winter break, Mendon and I did a whirlwind tour visiting my family. While sitting with my father and discussing the enthusiam that Grandmother B- showed for my knitting, how she had cast on a new project (at 93 years old!), and how she'd dumped her yarn stash into a bag for me to take away. Dad, pleased to hear these things, disappeared briefly and brought back this:

This is a sweater that I've seen before. It was from Dad's early years. (ie. it was knit for him when he was scrawny). We laughed at this, he tried it on. We found out that it was knit to be baggy, and that it's age wouldn't show if it could have just another inch or two in length in the body. This, I was certain, couldn't be that hard. I figure that I can just undo the bottom row, let the stitches fall up (EASY, right?), reknit the ribbing straight, and then add ribbing onto that with a different yarn, that SURELY, I could match. After all, it's just a blue sweater.

One of the issues with being a new knitter, evidentially, is the experience of learning your BOUNDARIES, girl.

From there, I found out that stitches, when ribbed, do not casually undo themselves from the bottom up. Nope. So, I had to unravel a row of stitches above the ribbing by hand, undo the kntting, reattach, reknit. I couldn't find a yarn to match (duh!), only one that is close. So, in the past few days, I've spent a lot of time (read: only about 30 minutes, because that's all I have) staring at the sweater.

And then a solution came for me:

The collar was doubled over, and there was my extra yarn for the taking (after I loosened it and took it apart, that is). To work I went.

Half-way through my work, I stumbled upon this little surprise that is something I really enjoy about my Grandmother:

The woman must love tags in her knitting. Really. I remember when I was a kid, she sent Drew and me handknit sweaters that had matching tags (mine was white, his was blue). They read, "From the Hands of Mabel B-" or something like that. They were fantastic and embroidered with (I think) teddy bears. Mendon comment on her tagging inclinations: "Well, yeah, she had FOUR boys!" Plus, we know that Uncle Spurgeon had a matching sweater (the most coveted original), so distinguishing between these two was probably a good thing to do.

Regardless, I wonder about this funny little tag. Why was it covered? Did folding the neck over bug my father? Did the collar irritate his neck (cause I sure don't enjoy turtlenecks)? Who covered it? When - it obviously wasn't right after the sweater was made- the wool that secured the collar into the inside was a different color. Was Dad secretly, adolescently annoyed with his mother's tagging habits? :) I am, yes, quite amused with this hidden finding.

At any rate, the collar is only one layer now, a crew neck, and I've found my matching (!!!) wool to with which to extend this sweater to a functional length. How lovely.

My husband is awesome. Absolutely awesome.

Why, you might ask, are you bugging us about your husband is he so awesome?

Well, I would reply, because I haven't blogged in a millenia or so because he feeds me!

Recently, I got the flu. Hard. I did not want to eat, I did not want to move, not even to go to the bathroom. He fed me. Which was quite the sacrifice for my fasting hubby. He fed me Ramen. It was perfect, and probably the only thing I could eat. Shortly after my entirely beige diet, I was joining the ranks of the fasting. The first night of breaking the fast, we were having leftovers from Mendon's daily ritual of making a new bowl food recipe. I took half of a bite, then another half, and kindly informed him that this complex foods thing was just not going to work.

So, he made me some ramen. And a salad. And then, the word was uttered: miso, and just a few days after the flu, I had quite the craving. No place in town makes miso soup. The grocery store was unaware of such a food. We tried to see if China One, our slightly shadier Chinese restaurant, would have such a thing. We asked. They said no. Then, the owner said, "do you want me to make you some? I can." And I started to glow. The possibility of my soup fix being fixed was almost too much to handle. "You two like seaweed? My mother sends me seaweed from my hometown on the coast in great big bundles (at this point, she hugs an invisible pilates ball)" She disappears into the back to make the prized stuff and kindly informs us that she will be charging us for the special house soup. Mendon balks slightly; I think what a deal we're getting seeing as I won't need to start bribing her.

This is the special moment at which Derek, her son, appears mid-chatter. He shows us his pictures, his books, his DVDs, his DVD player (nice going, kid!), his helicopter, his paper, "do you know how to make airplanes?"
"no"
and he pulls us to an open table and folds a paper airplane with the greatest of speed and dexterity. I'm sure he makes his teacher so nervous. He scolds me for being slow, and wrong. The same for Mendon. He fixes our planes and then shoots his right through the restaurant.

So, anyways, Mendon didn't do any cooking there, but tonight and last night, he was a busy bee for me. Tonight was our first night of home-made miso soup. Super fantastic.

Last night, last night dearies, was the craziest of all. I've been a little bit concerned about me getting enough calories, because a bowl of cereal and a bowl of salad 2000 calories doth not make. Not even with the pom-juice. So, when I found this naughty, naughty cinnamon roll recipe from a blog that I've been reading regularly, I begged. I oogled. I fantasized. He caved.

The recipe involves I think 2 cups of butter... I have calories to spare! Uhm, and if you couldn't guess it, the buns taste really freaking good.

Just to top off the post, here are some of my more recent creations. My favorite bowl, ever, a creamer, and an Ayyam-i-Ha candle votive for Uncle Duncan.