Pischi Days

Just Who Was Mrs. Beeton?

Mrs Beeton was the not the typical Victorian era housewife, at least not according to Masterpiece Theatres interpretation of her life, “The Secret Life of Mrs Beeton”.
I had heard the name, Mrs Beeton, mentioned now and then, mostly in the context of ancient British recipes and charming parlor conduct. I pictured her to be a old and dour matron who set the standard for womanly behavior in the mid to late 19th century. Her name has surfaced in knitting circle thank to Brenda Dayne’s pattern for wrist warmers called Mrs. Beeton’s and can be found on Knitty.
Isabella Beeton led a short but full life. Her roles were varied and included wife, mother, writer, and publisher. She was not a feminist; rather she considered the role of a woman as queen of the domestic sphere and the man as king of the public sphere. Her life fascinated me and I highly recommend the PBS presentation when its rerun.
As always, I was knitting on a sock project which put me in mind of the popular wrist warmers. When complete they are, however, not to be worn on the wrist but on the feet. This is the 2006 fall installment of the STR club. The pattern is called “Marble Arches” using “Pink Granite” merino yarn. I love the faux cables and how the colors are pooling just like in a slab of granite with heavy veining.
This sock, “Springtime in Paris” sock and a backup skein of Sundara yarn are all traveling with me to Maui in the morning. The combined flights are 9 hours each way, plenty of time to knit a sock per “leg”.

A Pair of Horcrux

"A Horcrux is defined by Rowling as a "receptacle in which a Dark wizard has hidden a fragment of his soul for the purposes of attaining immortality.
A Horcrux can be made from any normal object: Lord Voldemort used a diary, a ring, and other objects as Horcruxes. Horcruxes may be concealed for security, but if discovered are vulnerable to destruction..."

I am not sure whether my knitting these socks could be construed as "an act of violence or a supreme wrong". All I know is that I enjoyed knitting this pattern so much that I have already made two. My favorite is the original pattern using a worsted weight over 40 stitches. These pair were knit using KnitPicks memories yarn in the Cape Cod color way, 60 stitches over four 2.25 mm DPN's. They are a birthday present for my friend, Lisa. I was the foot model using the self timer and a nifty new tripod that was a present for my birthday.

Happy Mothers Day, Louise!

After 27 years of marriage and  years of raising a 16 year old, an ideal  Sunday consists of sleeping beyond 7:30 AM, coffee, lots of it, the Sunday paper in my pajamas and a waffle breakfast at my leisure. Then ... leave me alone.
I know, this sounds selfish, but I think a fair percentage of women will understand. My son and husband know the sanctity of Mother's Day and treat it accordingly.
Well, after the massive cups of coffee and the paper, I sat down in front of my iMac and watched the last of my Netflix movies, "Thelma and Louis." I know, I am a little behind in the current offerings in the theaters by a few decades. The phone rang, and my oldest friend announced her impending visit. We met when she was a teenager. I held her hand and heart through three marriages and several boyfriends. She cut my sons umbilical cord when he was born. How does this tie into Mother's Day?
She and I met when we were both hired on at a bridal shop in 1979. She was attending business school, and I was trapped in the Thelma like marriage. I was 21. She was 19. We were two girls from totally separate backgrounds made to spend our days together and run a business. She grew up and attended high school here while I was the outsider. A staunch Methodist from a good family, while I was living the '70's to the fullest. Mornings in my house consisted of identifying who  crashed on the couch after late nights of beer and backgammon and ...well ... anything was possible. Amazingly enough, we clicked, the odd couple indeed. We had our share of Thelma and Louise moments. Crazy adventures that in afterthought were just plain stupid, but boy, did we have a good time. I wouldn't trade those days for anything. She had brought her 25 year old son with her, a young man who I held as a baby. We laughed about how clueless I was about diaper changes. She was amazed that my son is a Sophomore in high-school. We are each others sons Godmothers. Time and schedules have kept us apart for the last few years. After watching the end of the movie, I thought about how strong my female friendships have been over the course of my life and I don't see her very often anymore.  My husband loves me; my son loves me, my girlfriend understands me. I hope that I'll be holding her hand for a few more years.
Happy Mother's Day

Less Postage, More Yarn

I signed up for a swap, Knitters Treat Exchange.  I am not much of a swapper but this one required that one only acquire items on a list and package them and ship the lot off. Easy enough. I further surprised  myself by also signing up for the Hurricane Sock Party, where actual knitting takes place but I digress.
My Treat partner, Terri,  lives in Australia and I received a package from her on Friday. Upon examining the box, I noticed the amount she spent on postage. $30.00 Australian which converts into $24.82 give or take a few pennies. To me that amount translates into a skein of pretty good sock yarn. My giftee lives in Canada and I have to say that when all was packed and at the post office, my tab for postage probably added up to the same amount. Among the Media Mail rate for printed matter, shouldn't there be a fiber rate? In reading all the blogs in my RSS feed there must be thousand of swaps with hundreds of participants each. I'm not sure where I'm going with this other than that I would rather spend the money on another item for my box and pay a little less postage.
Anyway, my box contains a lovely skein of sock yarn called "Grace", an Australian knitting magazine, a bar of Frangipani soap and lip balm, some hibiscus tea, note cards and a bar of chocolate, which I promptly ate. Thanks you from the bottom of my heart. I love receiving packages in the mail, especially from overseas.
My poor girl, Kate, is hopefully still receiving packages from down here. My postal clerk, upon learning that I had left off the return address (I wanted to leave some mystery as I was sending a series of packages) was appalled and didn't I realize that in these troubled times, Canada would question mail crossing its borders without a return address, especially from Florida. Well, no, I try to keep happy thoughts when sending brightly colored, sticked packages addressed in the Curlz font. Of course, only the last packages postal clerk noticed. So, I can only hope that all my mail arrives intact and I promise the USPS that I will dutifully place a return address on all further packages.

April Showers Bring May Flowers

The Dahlia you brought to our isle
Your praises for ever shall speak:
Mid gardens as sweet as your smile,
And colour as bright as your cheek.

The mail brought more stash to my doorstep. The next installment of Sundara's fabulous yarn was delivered. The color way is called Dahlia. The Dahlia is the official flower of San Francisco.
Here is the flip side of the Springtime in Paris sock that I'm knitting for my Hurricane Swap partner. Can you recognize little Eiffel Towers running up the foot? As for the size, her feet are a bit larger than mine. I wear a size 6 1/2 shoe. These seem really big.
We had some much needed rain today and since the STR color way is called Downpour, I thought that a photo shoot along the damp fence appropriate.

Of May Days and Pink Shoes

I'm not sure that the birthday ritual is that significant to women of a "certain age." I realize that some still want to celebrate with big parties and all the hoopla. As I got older, I always preferred to let it slip by as unnoticed as possible. This year was the most traumatic and unnoticed by all but a few select individuals. I turned 49 on the first of May.

I have to preface this story with saying that I was adopted, my birth was not something that was celebrated but an event that was best  forgotten by my biological family. I think that small cloud has always invisibly hovered over my head. My adopted, all German, family celebrated the birthday with merrymaking, jubilation and lots of food and socialization. I grew up in Germany where they fete themselves the with the all the lavishness that a birthday deserves, even the most modest affairs begin with the family coming for "Kaffee" and then the festivities spill into the evening with more food and friends coming by with flowers, wine, or small gifts. There was no pressure on friends to host the occasion. You were responsible for your own party.

I found out that living in "Amerika" means that hosting your own bash was a little forward, maybe too narcissistic even egotistical. You are at the mercy of your family or your friends to instigate a celebration. I picked my 16 year old son up at his bakery job. He presented me with a ToGo cup with "Happy Birthday" in highlighter pen across the lid. As I entered the gym on that morning, I swiped my card, and presto, a small tune emitted from the computer and an electronic voice said, "Happy Birthday." The reception staff turned their heads, and chorused the same sentiment then turned back to their work. After that, to work and nary a mention was made. My boss whispered a "Happy Birthday" in passing. She had extended a dinner invitation, which I gratefully accepted. When, after being asked what I wanted for supper, I replied with "rib eye", she let me know that my husband eschewed red meat and that wouldn't be fair. Wait a minute, whose birthday is this anyway? I got my plate of rib eye. I have decided that this is the last year of miserable birthdays. I will be 50 in 2008 and have decided to go home and celebrate properly. If you read self pity into this entry, there's plenty! Unfortunately the situation was of my own doing.

As of today, I will pledge that, like Scrooge,  "I will honor birthdays in my heart, and try to keep them all the year." In honor of Olga's birthday, I am mimicking her birthday photo. The beads are a gift from my coworker, Connie.