Geek out

Please excuse me while I geek out for a moment, because if you can't be a big geek on your own blog, where can you?

It seems that David Tennant is leaving Dr. Who. {sniffle} No, really, go see him in his kilt finery. Isn't he lovely? Today I read a rumor (which was really just a comment on a post on a pop culture site, so probably not true at all) that Chiwetel Ejiofor, who played the kick ass Operative in Serenity might take his place. Be still my heart.

Um. Yeah. Sorry about that. How about a picture of a cute kitty to make up for it:

Yes, Fred has pretty much taken over the dog bed.

Personal Do-Not-Play List

It's been sad song days out there on the musical interwebs. These lists reminded me of one I've been thinking about posting for a couple of months.

A few years ago my mother mentioned that she hates the song "Cathy's Clown" by the Everly Brothers. It seems, when they were teenagers, my mom and dad broke up for some amount of time and he went on a date with a girl named Cathy (for the record, my dad does not remember this. Then again, he was a teenage-boy). She has hated that song ever since, even though they got back together, got married, had kids, and divorced. I found that kind of sweet, that so many years later, a fairly innocuous song could still feel that way. I have several songs I just can't listen to, which may make me extra sensitive.

1. I'm Sorry -- John Denver. This came out the year my parents got divorced. I'll leave it at that.

2. "Something So Right" -- Paul Simon. This is on "There Goes Rhymin' Simon" and reminds me way too much of the first boy I was in love with. He was not in love with me. You know how it goes. "They've got a wall in China/A thousand miles long/To keep out the foreigners they built it strong/I've got a wall around me you can't even see/It took a little time to get next to me."

3. "And So it Goes" -- Billy Joel. The way I remember it, my then best friend played this for me around the time he started dating his now wife and the cracks in our friendship were just beginning. But now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure it was a lot earlier (the song came out in 1990), but I associate it very strongly with him and since it is about the end of a relationship, the end of our's. Not to mention, he cried when he played it, which reminds me of why I loved him. Damn that Billy Joel anyway.

4. "Wildflowers" -- Tom Petty. Same friend as above played this one for me and said it reminded him of me. That was enough to get it on this list, but then it came on while I was riding with my friend Lynn, a month or so after our friend Sue died. Lynn said she always thinks of Sue whenever she hears it. That is a double whammy.

5. "Good Luck Fire Chief" -- Brian Lillie. So no link for this one, he is an Ann Arbor singer/songwriter. When I worked in Constantine, I became very close to the fire chief, Tom. He was in his mid-50's, very funny, and so alive. I loved him dearly. He had had a heart attack 20 years before, and those troubles started again. He died a couple of days after I started a new job in Ann Arbor and I was not able to go to his funeral (something I deeply regret). Around the time Tom's heart problems began, I saw Lillie perform this song and thought it was funny because Tommy was having no luck at all. It is a goofy little tune about a zany small town (and rings fairly true, in spirit anyway), but to me it is about Tommy. This is the only one of these songs that shows up on regular basis, since I have the album of the same name on my ipod; sometimes I can hear it and remember how funny he was, most of the time I just miss him. "So good luck Fire Chief, where ever you're going/I hope you have buildings to burn."

Well, that was cheerful. How about you? Does anyone else out there have certain song that makes your heart seize up in pain?

To make it up to you, here a couple of pictures of our delightful not-so-little puppy:

Bad Tidings

I was planning to write an eloquent, yet furious rant about the state of the economy and the election and all of that, but I read that Fox is planning to remake Absolutely Fabulous.

Then my head exploded.

The Pet Situation

Whenever someone comes to our house I can tell what they are thinking: "these people are seriously lacking in canine influence." Yeah. It seems there is a good chance we will be correcting this household deficit in the near future.

One of our friends' dogs recently had a very unintended pregnancy and had two puppies. Craig and Chrissy found a home for one, but not the other (a girl, named Buttercup. Seriously.) Len had met this puppy before, but on Saturday he spent a few hours with her and he is In Love. Even so, he told them no, we couldn't take her because my hands are full with the cats and the garden, and his hands are full with the properties and fish and chickens. Then he came home and for the next 24 hours all I heard was how adorable this puppy is and well behaved. And she doesn't beg. And when she wants pets she runs right into your legs and then asks for pets. And. And. And. I could tell he was trying to talk himself out of taking the dog and not doing very well.

Then on Sunday late afternoon he said, "how about if I call Chrissy and tell her that if they don't find someone to take the dog by next weekend, we will take her overnight to see how it goes?" After some back and forth, I agreed (foolishly). Len talked to Chrissy, then spent the rest of the evening trying to convince the cats that this is a good idea. They ignored him. I am very sure that we will have a canine house guest on Saturday night and much of Sunday. Just to see how it goes.

Roadblocks Still Holding

First of all, it isn't as though I've been having a truly bad year -- others I know have been dealing with roll over accidents, floods, house fires, illness, wrongful arrests and chipped teeth. I know quarreling cats and bad knitting don't measure up, but it is my blog so I'm going to go ahead and whine.

The cats are still at it. We got anti-anxiety drugs for Judy, but we can't get her to take the pills. The first night I stuck one in some wet food and she ate it, but she's gotten wise to that trick. She either won't eat the food at all or eats around the pill, breaking it up does no good because she can taste or smell the medicine. She acts as though we are trying to poison her. I'd be more willing to let Judy's anger play itself out, but there are two issues. One is that Judy was a little anxious and shy as a kitten, but rather than getting better she has gotten worse, so I have no reason to think she will eventually accept Fred since she doesn't now. The other big problem is that because Judy attacks her, Fred seems to have given up on the litter boxes altogether. I'm concerned if this continues much longer, Fred won't ever use the box.

Our next step is to try the Happy Kitty Pheromone Diffuser (I don't think this is the official name). This isn't an inexpensive solution (and will affect all of the cats), but maybe it will chill Judy out enough that we can give her the pills. If it doesn't work? Does anyone want a massive, foul-tempered calico? She comes with a bottle of anti-anxiety drugs and a bunch of diffusers. You'll need them.

Knitting is a mixed bag. I've restarted the Fair Isle Cardigan. The only reference I can find to this is from April, obviously I have derelict in my blogging duties since I've just started the gusset and haven't been giving you a stitch by stitch update. I don't even have a picture. You will have to trust me when I say it is pretty and I haven't (so far) screwed it up, despite my best efforts.

The Frost Flowers and Leaves continues to be problematic. I thought I fixed the problem in row 51 (missing decrease), but I can't get row 52 to work correctly. I looked at the 6th printing of Gathering of Lace to see if I could figure it out (I have the first, error-riddled, printing), but it doesn't look like the publishers (insert swearing) fixed row 51? I will need to take that row out and re-do it, I haven't worked up the energy yet.

Equinox. Betty, a reader who kindly sent an e-mail when she couldn't comment, remembered Alice Starmore's technique of sewing or tacking steeks down, and that may be a reasonable way to deal with these. I don't have the particular book in which Starmore explores this technique, but last night I was reading Handknitting with Meg Swanson (oh c'mon, you read knitting books in bed, too!), and she also discusses a couple of ways to tack down steek stitches.

But I have another problem: leaving the steek stitches aside, the number of stitches I have on the needle doesn't seem to bear any relation to the number of stitches I should have, it looks right now like I have about 10 too many for the Large and 12 too few for the XL. {sigh} I've decided to knit the sleeves to the point that they get added in and see what happens. I should be ok if I have (or can get to) a multiple of 8 (that of the color chart for that section). I think.

My head hurts. I think I'm going to crawl under my desk and take a nap.

Minor Irritations

Unlike Stef, truly minor.

Fred, who is delightful in so many ways, has developed a very bad behavior: she pees and poops in inappropriate places. We think this is because she is afraid of Judy, who has not reacted well to Fred's presence. At. All. Her hiding place is next to the litter boxes. We've put another box upstairs, but the only appropriate place is also a regular Judy hideout. The really rotten bit is that she ruined my copy of Atonement, which I have not finished.

In the very minor, but what in god's name was she (whoever she is) thinking, category: someone cut her hair in our bathroom at work. There are shreds of it all over the sink and clumps on the floor. Who would do such a thing? I can imagine a moment of bang despair, wherein she just could not contain herself (I've had those moments, but have, to this date, managed to suck it up until I got to my own private bathroom at home), but to not then clean up after herself? Very rude, and kind of gross (especially because this is a very small bathroom).

My drive to work today was shockingly bad. This winter has had plenty of snow, ice, fog, sleet and rain, but never have I seen so many cars having slid into each other then off the highway. It's as though drivers randomly decided that it is no longer winter, and that is not less true just because there is snow and ice on the road. Thus, we crawled into Ann Arbor at a whopping 20 miles per hours. Slow, but very safe.

I went to find yarn yesterday and came up with this:


Once I started knitting (a Baby Surprise), I decided there is too much tan and the self-patterning yarn does not work in garter stitch (which not have been a surprise, but, well, you know. It was.) Ugh. As I was lying in bed, stressing a bit, I remember that I have a couple of very pale pastel balls of washable DK weight wool, which I could dye with kool-aid. I can't remember if I have two or three of these and I'm just feeling very indecisive about the whole baby-sweater-in-less-than-a-week endeavor. I went to another shop at lunch. Nothing. I have decided (I think) to make a pair of booties (Saartje's booties, in fact) and a wee hat (which I'll make it up as I go). Kool-aid dye tonight, knitting tomorrow. If that doesn't work, watch this space for my exploding head.

Comment Rant

Stef has pointed out that Blogger doesn't seem to allow those without Blogger accounts to attach their URL to comments they make. I finally did a bit of research and it seems the Blogger people have made a dastardly change to the Comment system. I keep trying to figure out how to explain it in a way that makes any kind of sense, but I cannot because it makes no sense. This is what Blogger says:

Blogger has removed the URL field for unauthenticated comments. Instead, we're rolling out support for OpenID, a technology for "signing" your comments with your own URL. OpenID lets you comment with the URL you want, while preventing others from impersonating you. Blog admins can turn on OpenID now on Blogger in Draft. Learn more. —

So, Blogger removed the URL field but didn't replace it with anything else. The Blog Owner (that's me, in case you are wondering), has to figure out there is a problem, find out that she has to turn something on in someplace she has never heard of (what is Blogger in Draft anyway? And why to I have to implement a "draft" of something? In my little corner of the world, that means UNFINISHED!) And then what is turned on? OpenID. I don't even know, I don't know how you sign in using it, I don't know how it works, and I can't test it since I don't have another account to use. Stupid Blogger.

I don't like having to think about my blog this much, it's supposed to be fun, not work. For you and for me.

I had a very funny How-My-Really-Stupid-Half-Blind-Cat-Outsmarted-Two-Grownup-Humans story to tell, but now I am too pissed off.

Minor Disaster Weekend

With pictures!

Len and I are going to a baby shower next weekend. I offered to bring the cake(s) because. Well. Because I'm stupid that way. I was, however, smart enough to think I should bake the cakes in advance, in case anything went wrong. And hoo-boy, did it ever!

This is supposed to be the basic yellow cake from The Cake Bible. I've made the the cake before, with not spectacular, but not disastrous results. So what happened? I hear tell there may be some children at the shower and though it would be nice to make a few cupcakes to go along with the big cakes. So I made half again as much batter. I'm sure I did the math right. I'm equally sure I overfilled the pans.

Yum. Raw batter center! The pans overflowed, dripped into the cupcakes and the bottom of the oven. Obviously, my attempt at cupcakes didn't go very well, either.

Len peeled off the tops of the first two. Trust me, it improved their looks. I only have four (vaguely) presentable cakes because I had to dig the two others out of the pan. I also made a chocolate cake, I decided to forgo the cupcake idea and made three layers instead. They turned out so well they were too boring to pose for pictures.

And in keeping with the shower-related disaster theme, the baby sweater took a turn for the worse. First, I have to say I love the pattern (aside from four 3-color rounds per repeat, which is just mean) and I love the colors. Everything was going swimmingly (in the fantasy world where I swim well, that is), then I got to neck shaping. Which involved switching to back and forth. For some reason, I thought I was going to be able to manage neck shaping and continuing to knit in the round. I swear I read in some blog somewhere that this trick exists, and that it involves Dale of Norway. Maybe that was in the same world where I swim well?

In any case, I did decide to go with short rows rather than casting off, since they are prettier. My first mistake was that I misread the instructions. They say to cast off at the beginning of the row 2 times, which I misread as 4 times (it made sense in my head). I caught that mistake in enough time to fudge my way around it. But then I actually looked at the knitting.

So, when you knit in the round, every line in a chart is read from right to left. When you knit back and forth, one row is read right to left, the next, left to right. That is a big distinction. All of the neck stitches had to come out. You know how I said 3-color rounds are mean? They are downright sadistic when purling. I didn't take pictures, I was too depressed. I'm almost done with the neck shaping, I don't know how far I have to go, but I can almost guarantee that it will not be done for the shower.

In other, non-disaster news. I did give up on the bad book. I borrowed two books of my mother, The Amateur Marriage by Anne Tyler and Rise and Shine by Anna Quindlen. I'm finished with Rise and Shine. While this isn't her best book (I pick One True Thing*), and she certainly wanders a little far into clichés, I find myself missing the book and wishing I had more of it to read. That is a rare enough experience. I've started the Tyler book and am sinking into it.

*I hated the movie. Hated it. I was horrified by how the mother was written, Streep did a fine enough job, but that was not the character Quindlen wrote.

What Would You Do?

My boss (actually, my boss' boss) lent me a book a few weeks ago. She thought I would enjoy it because it's central theme is knitting. She's asked me about it a few times, and the book finally floated to the top of my pile. I'm not going to say what the book is (suffice it to say it is a novel) because it is complete dreck. Stupid story, badly drawn characters, clichéd, and very poorly written. I hate it. And I'm only about 20 pages in.

The issue I am having doesn't have to do with office politics, she's leaving in a few months. I find it kind of sweet that she thought of me when she read the book. I don't mind lying a little, something along the lines of, "not for me, but the knitting was sweet" (the knitting is dumb). My question is, do I have to finish the book? What if she asks me a question? What would you do?

In the meantime, I'm drowning in hot peppers. The cayenne plants gave up completely, so the peppers didn't have enough energy to turn red. I picked them all on Sunday, they will all be strung up and dried. I've probably picked three pounds of habeñeros, I have put them in salsa, dried them, frozen them and will put some into habeñero jelly, but I am running out of ideas. My sister, Krista, will be getting most of them, but I don't think even she will be able to use all of this bounty. I could sell them to the pepper spray industry, I suppose.

Alpha Cook

The scene in our kitchen almost got ugly last night. Len really wanted a dish I make, orzo pilaf. He did not mean for me to make it, since I'd been in the kitchen all day canning tomatoes and pickles. I doubted his ability, it isn't that he is a bad cook, but he has his own ideas which are weird and sometimes scary. Also, his friend, Hal (one of the best cooks I know) was over. And. Well, let's just say that Len is usually on the losing side of their Trying to Drink Each Other Under the Table contests.

So I asked him if he was sure he didn't want me to make this thing.
Him: No, no, just tell me what to do.
Me: Chop up an onion. Now garlic. Now you saute the onion until soft, then add the garlic and cook for about 30 seconds, then you will add the orzo and saute until nicely brown.
Him: So I assume the onion just gets cooked in there somehow?
Me: Are you sure you don't want me to do this?
Him: Well, I guess that would mean Hal and I could check the grill and smoke.

Hello. My name is Lee and I am an alpha cook. I'd like to think I am not as bad as my sister, who's own daughter says, "she wants to do everything herself, then you have to tell her how good it is." I did let him chop the onion, after all. And he did fine.

Judy and Gwen do not question my position in the kitchen. As long as I don't disturb their nap.

It Burns!

This is how I spent my weekend:

Honey Pickled Jalapenos. Or Pickled Honeyed Jalapenos. Or something. I did a few tiny jars of these last years and they are heavenly, especially in grilled cheese sandwiches. These jars represent 3 or 4 pounds of peppers, hours of slicing and every single empty half pint and quarter pint jar I had.

They are also a perfect example of how I am a complete moron (the first such example from this summer involved a very nasty sunburn). Hot peppers = HOT. That heat is due to an insidious oil, which, if you don't wear the recommended protective gear, HURTS. A lot. For hours. Luckily, I wasn't stupid enough to rub my eyes -- I once had a boyfriend who, while canning Hungarian hot peppers rubbed his contact lensed eyes. He managed to get the lenses out, washed them, then put them back in a couple of days later. Idiot.

And I'm drowning in tomatoes. At last count, I'm at 11 or 12 pounds of Sweet 100s. Yikes!

I also have Amish Paste tomatoes making a big showing and the Beefsteak are starting to ripen.

When I start really melting down, remind me to re-read this quote from my grandmother's (unpublished) memoir of homesteading in Northern Idaho ("Dee" is her mother): "From the produce of the garden and the woods, Dee canned seven or eight hundred quarts of fruit and vegetables each year, besides jams, jellies, and pickles. Even venison and elk went into the Mason jars. She preferred the neck of an elk for her incomparable mincemeat." I could argue that I have a full time job and longish commute, but Grandma continues with everything else her mother has to do: cooking, baking, cleaning, educating her two eldest children, and substitute teaching in town. For a variety of reasons, her husband was rarely home, thus maintenance of the household fell to Dee. Times were certainly different, I think it is very useful to remind myself that everything I do, every jar I drop into boiling water, is a choice. Dee did it out of necessity.

Several people (Stef, Valerie, and my sister-in-law) have recommended the Barbara Kingsolver book. I will get to it, I promise, but the metaphorical stack on my night table is threatening to topple over and kill me in the night.

Surfacing..

I'm coming up for air to report that my head did not explode. Saturday night was pretty shaky, I can't say there weren't a few exhausted tears. There was, perhaps, a threat (or three) on the boyfriend's well being. But we made it through and fun was had by most.

The babies turned a year old. They are as pretty as ever and awfully happy (which is a good thing, since they spent the first 6 months of their lives awfully unhappy, in a colicky sort of way).

My parents, grandparents and aunt came to our very clean home for lunch on Sunday. I was much less stressed out by the time they got there, so I was able to relax and enjoy their company. It turns out, my dad has bought a 1963 Morgan and is very excited about it; he and Len bonded over cars.

I'm sad to say, the only way we were able to get the house clean and food made on time was to skip Keith's debut with the honky tonk band. I didn't get to see him in his fetching, yet silly, borrowed boots. Or is it silly, yet fetching? Word is, they didn't get home until 2:00 in the morning. *Cough* Probably for the best that we didn't go.

In knitting news (but no pictures), I've finished the knitting for the Obnoxious Flower Sweater, but haven't started sewing it up yet. I've also started the Lace Handkerchief from Knitting Around the World. Yes, in cobweb with 0000 needles. Clearly, the stress and the heat and humidity have affected me in very bad ways. I'll try for pictures tonight, but I have to get five pounds of beans in the freezer before they go bad.

Overwhelmed

My parents, grandparents and an aunt* are coming to our house on Sunday for lunch. So grown up. So freaked out. I would be less stressed out if the grandparents and aunt had been there before, but they haven't, so I really want to show the house at it's very best. Unfortunately, this has been the summer of no vacuuming.

I should have all day Saturday to prepare. I should have Len to help. However, Len is working on the outside of the house and working six days a week. And Saturday:

These two (Len's nephew, Max and niece, Madelyn) are having their first birthday party in the afternoon. And who could resist those faces?

Spending a couple of hours in Saline wouldn't be so stressful, except our friend, K. is playing in a honky tonk band that night in Ypsilanti. We find the prospect of K (in borrowed boots, no less) playing in honky tonk band pretty irresistible. Plus. Vietnamese food across the street.

All of which means I have to get the house ready during the week, while at the same time dealing with an explosion of garden produce. I've been picking a pound and a half of beans every other day, and that's only because the green beans haven't been coming in as quickly as the purple beans. Yet. And despite how disappointed K and my sister will be, I am not very sorry that the damned rabbits are eating all of the pickling cucumbers.

As though that isn't enough, I've been having a minor emotional meltdown. Nothing serious, someone from my past contacted me and I was unexpectedly reminded of a very painful time in my life. While I'm not entirely surprised, I am a little rattled.

I've been knitting, but not much and not anything interesting enough to take pictures of. So a pretty picture of a poppy will have to do. I put poppy seeds in last fall and early this spring. They started blooming after everyone else's were done and they aren't finished yet -- there were six new blooms this morning.

If you don't hear from me for a few days, it's because my head exploded. Don't worry, though. Len will clean it up.

*These relationships are more complicated, but my family takes hours to explain and I am already overwhelmed.

Bad Knitting Dream

If my dream life is any indication, I am suffering from a serious case of knitting envy: Saturday night I had a dream that we had a baby shower for one of the researchers here at work. Several of us gave her hand-knitted baby sweaters. Mine was a Baby Surprise Jacket (one of my standard baby sweaters), everyone else made fine gauge Fair Isle or cabled sweaters. The people that made those sweaters don't even knit!

My only explanation is that I am making a baby sweater for a friend of mine, and I am feeling a little guilty because I am so not on time. She had the baby two weeks ago.

Another possibility. I want to start submitting pictures to public groups on Flickr, but I am lacking self confidence.

A Confession

I am currently obsessing about beads.

I have not yet succumbed.

But I want to. Bad.

I am a dumbass.

Boneheaded

This is how last night went: I got home around 6:00 pm. Len had already sunk into the couch (it's freezing out and he has a nasty cold). I joined him. We had left over lentil soup and stale bread for dinner. We watched Antiques Roadshow, then a really interesting and depressing documentary on Jim Jones. Then we went to bed.

This morning I remembered. Yesterday was our 4th anniversary. Doh!

In other boneheadedness (this time not on my part): it was pretty foggy this morning. It wasn't so bad that you couldn't see the road in front of you, but bad enough that you really couldn't pass the guy going 45 mph in a 55 mph zone (nor was it so bad that you needed to go that slow). Not an insignificant number of people were driving without their headlights, some may have just not thought about it, but others were driving with their parking lights on. What's that about? If it's dark enough for the parking lights, isn't it dark enough for the headlights?

Comment:
Valerie - they are string heddles (DMC Cebelia, size 30 - I have a boatload of the stuff). It seems like they will hold up, but I haven't really started weaving yet. The germ of the idea came from episode 5 (Inklings) of WeaveCast. Syne Mitchell's guest, Robyn Spady, mentioned that she had used her inkle loom to weave wire. They had just enough of a discussion of how to do it (i.e. don't warp the whole loom, just use the perimeter), but not enough to make it seem indimidating. Then again, I am a bit dim. I've only thrown a couple of shots so far, it didn't go well. I'll play with it more tonight. It should be interesting. Or a big mess.

Little Electronic Gadget Woes

I know, I said I would post again a few days ago and I didn't. Mostly because I've been pretty busy trying (and failing) to get caught up at work.

My adorable boyfriend got this little toy for me for Christmas. There is nothing like a tiny little gadget that "all the kids" have to make me feel like a middle-aged Luddite. It is a long, convoluted tale of woe, and I shall spare you the details (most of which involve strange numbers like OS X 10.3, 10.3.4 and 10.3.9 and so on). After much confusion, getting kicked off of my dial-in service (after 4 hours of downloading fun), crashing systems, tears, ripped out hair, and the gentle prodding of my good friend K, my old iMac is now as up to date as it needs to be. Tonight I will find out if it and the iPod will be on speaking terms, or if the rift is permanent.

Judy's New Bed

It turns out, I'm not a complete moron just about knitting. I've managed to save some of my dork brain cells for weaving, too. I don't know how I should feel about that.

My stepmother's mother, Jan, found some yarn at Goodwill As Is. It's an odd, acrylic boucle in pink, blue and purple. After many strange machinations (involving a kitchen scale, a warping board and a lot of tangles. Don't ask.), I decided there is about 2600 yards/18 ozs. of this stuff. It isn't the sort of thing I would knit with -- the yarn is pretty fine and loopy -- but it seemed like weaving a shawl with it wouldn't be too hard. And it isn't. My brain, though, is not on. Also the math universe is broken.

I decided I wanted the piece to be 30 inches wide in the loom, which would allow for some draw-in, and 8 warp ends per inch. How many ends? 240 you say? Um. No. I measured that many, but ended up with way too many warp ends. Like 100 too many. In what universe does 8 x 30 = 140? My weaving room, apparently.

Luckily, the extra warp was easily separated while I wound onto the loom. Winding on, I'm happy to say, was a breeze. Which is a very good thing, because:

Oops

Yes, I had tied onto the front by this time. So I untied, pulled out the warp, untied from the back end, fixed the problem, tied back on, rewound and tied back onto the front.

This works a little better. The fabric looks nice, too. I kind of wish I had gone with a 10-dent reed, rather than the 8, but I am so not re-doing this warp. Instead I'm just beating the weft a little harder.

Blue

I turned 39 a couple of weeks ago and since then, I've been depressed. I hate admitting it, even to myself. I don't have anything against my birthday, or being 39 particularly -- I am a big fan of birthdays (even though I can't ever remember them) and I have no desire to be younger than I am. Some birthdays, though, hit me hard.

When I turned 23 I realized that time was moving forward. That had been a spectacularly awful year (I had been very much in love with someone who was very much not in love with me). There is a line in High Fidelity, "Only people of a certain disposition are frighten of being alone for the rest of their lives at the age of 26. We were of that disposition." I was 23 and very frightened. When I turned 27 I realized I was only ever going to get older. It was an odd feeling, not bad really, just odd.

This year, though. It seems to have hit me hard that my biological clock is timing out and I'm finding myself grieving. I know women have children into their 40's, and certainly that is still a possibility for me, but it isn't what I wanted. Not for myself, and not for a child. I didn't want a child to be stuck with a tired, crabby mother, especially because Len wouldn't necessarily be much of a refuge. Len would be a wonderful father in many ways, but he can be just as crabby, tired and depressed as me (but more fun, there is that).

Part of what I regret is how little control over the direction of my life I took. I let things happen, or not happen, for better and for worse. Mostly I'm happy with where I have landed: a job I don't hate, a house in the country with someone I love very much, time to knit and weave. But I can't help but feel that there has been a price to pay.

And of course. This all so petty. My mother has a close friend who's teenaged son was killed early this week. Any stupid feelings of regret I have pale in comparison to the horror she must be going through.

Under Construction

Sorry for the mess! On Friday, I decided to "upgrade" (which, right now seems a rather loose term) my blog to Blogger's new Beta version, which includes the ability to label posts. At some point you will be able to see all of the posts in which I show that I am a bit of a dumbass. Unfortunately, I didn't realize what a big change this was going to be and did it late on Friday, so left a big mess here. I'll be working on it over the course of this week.