…and here comes the letdown

Post holiday, that is.

The kiddos have gone back to school. I got up at the crack of dawn and made two batches of Tollhouse cookies to send back with them.

My daughter and I just went to the Christmas decoration place (we go to Frear’s – a little overpriced, but you know they’ll have what you need) and then to Big Lots to score some other holiday stuff. The wreath is up. I am skipping the anemic looking pine wreath with the chintzy bow this year, and replacing it with a wreath made of bells. Go, Big Lots.

I’ll put candles in the front windows upstairs and down. I got the battery operated ones that are on timers, so I don’t have to mess around with cords and run around like a chicken with my head cut off at dusk and then at bedtime, plugging and unplugging the damned things.

White mini lights will go in the front shrubbery, though not today.

I am sort of lacking in holiday spirit at the moment.

I had a great long weekend, though. Spent time with the wee ones, did a lot of cooking and some baking, saw a great movie last night (August Rush — do NOT listen to the critics on this one, and suspend your idea of reality for just a couple of hours when you go), brought in the patio furniture, and did some Christmas shopping.

Now real life returns. Bah, humbug.

But…while they were here, me and the kiddos made a holiday wish for you.

Oh, and a good portion of my weekend was spent getting my new toy (for some reason that I simply cannot fathom, my brother did not like it, and passed it on to me) up and running. Words cannot express how much I love this thing. It’s my life, in my pocket. (It’s a Palm Treo. Not only good for talking and texting, but also good for email and wiling away hours popping digital balloons.)

Oh, and I’m reading for my book club tomorrow night. We’re reading The Thirteenth Tale, and oh my…love it. I’d never heard of it before, but the cover says it was a NY Times bestseller. This book club should be good — it was conceived on Ravelry, and knitting IS allowed. My kind of book club.

I feel my mood improving already…

A post for Saratoga

I wore the usual baggy linen Flax outfit. (Note to Saratoga. The goofy expression and stance are all for you, dear. All for you.)

And managed not to set myself on fire checking the turkey.

Later the kiddos stopped over for pie and to hang out. This is their rendition of the turkey coma.

The BF wasn’t doing so well, either.

At least I’m still awake.

The daughter thinks she is going to get up at 4 AM to do Black Friday shopping. Me…no way. I’m sleeping in and then checking out my Christmas light inventory, and hopefully getting the tree up tomorrow.

Best not to let one holiday slip away before vigorously jumping into the next, you know.

And I may have to tell Typepad to take a hike if I can’t get this formatting straightened out. Blogs have pictures, no? So why the hassles in posting them?

Happy (American) Thanksgiving!

The turkey is in. The Illinois somebody-or-other very official looking turkey roasting site says a 12 lb. stuffed bird is 3 and 3/4 hours at 325. To be sure, I impaled the breast with a meat thermometer.

Thanksgiving is sounding like a rather brutal holiday, isn’t it?

And yes, I remember to turn the oven on.

If it went in at 11:20 AM, I think I’m looking at a 3PM finish time, with 1/2 hour to make the gravy and let the bird rest, which brings me to a 3:30 dinner time…BINGO. As planned.

Let’s see what really happens, shall we?

The pumpkin pie is done.

There is little knitting news to report. Last night I went upstairs to (A) get warm, and (B) take a “little nap” around 7:00 PM. I left the lights on downstairs, as well as the computer. At 7:00 AM, when I woke up, everything was the same as I had left it.

Tired much?

In the “Oh, shyt” department, I just scared myself silly hearing crackling from the kitchen. I had visions of flames and an oh-so-embarrassing holiday visit from the Greece Fire Department.

Alas, it was only the giblets crackling in a dried out pan. I cooked them for the cat. Nice of me, huh? Nothing like a little lung and a kidney or two to make a feline’s holiday perfect (purrfect?)

Then there’s the WHAT IN THE SAM HILL KIND OF BULLSHYT IS THIS? department…SNOW.

What the hell.

Though what does one expect at the end of November in Rochester?

Oh, well.

Hey, details of the feast to follow! Stay tuned, don’t change that channel!

(Effing snow)

The premature holiday high

Happens every year, like clockwork. I am full of spirit and delight at Thanksgiving. Or rather, the thought of Thanksgiving. It’s the turkey I have thawing in the fridge, the promise of pumpkin pie, and my kids are coming home. Ah…that’s the ticket. My babies are coming home. I don’t know why I get so excited — after all, they have loads of family and friends they need to see this weekend, too, and my actual time with them will be somewhat limited, but I’m so excited.

So today I cleaned to the tunes of Dixieland Christmas. Went from this…

To this…
Which, to the casual observer, may not look all that much better. But, believe me. It is.

Then it was to the grocery store. I had intended to buy just a turkey breast for T-day (because it’s just the BF and I for dinner), but as I was checking out the ridiculously overpriced breasts at $2.99!!!! a pound, a very nice gentleman pointed me to the half price birds at $.49/lb. He helped me find a nice 12 lb. bird, so there you have it. A bag of bread cubes for dressing, some potatoes, the fixings for pumpkin pie, and later this week I’ll buy some brussel sprouts for a recipe from the Barefoot Contessa with bacon and golden raisins.

So the house is (sort of) clean, and plans for the holiday are underway. Part of my glee is in knowing I have a four day weekend coming up, too.

Friday was one of the saddest days I’ve ever had in my job. Everyone was so young, and every situation heartbreaking. So a four day weekend to forget it all? Bring it on.

Sir Pissy Pants, aka Harrison P. Cat is feeling… well…pissy…because I put the kabosh on going outside every fifteen minutes to see if it’s still cold. I mean, c’mon cat. Give me a break.

Knitting news brings slightly more progress on the Waves Scarf.
The color makes me want to eat it.

Which may be why I bought Clementine’s.

Then, in the spirit of upcoming holidays, I bought this little guy.
Treats! Note. It’s takes $10.00 worth of bags to fill the cannister with little Hershey bars. I resisted that expenditure, because there’s no way that candy would last until (ahem) Christmas. No freaking way.

December 1, maybe.

Maybe.

Starry Nights

A knitting group might be forming. I met M. last night at Starry Nights on University Ave.
She needed help switching colors on a scarf she’s making. I told her that while the socialization would likely be nice, she might be horribly disappointed at the teaching portion of the evening. Little did she know that switching colors means no more than picking up another piece of yarn and knitting on like nothing in particular is happening.

So we do that for a while, gossip a bit, and then discuss all the people we both work with who are knitters. My medical director is one. My boss is another. The woman at the hospital who works in my role, but for another agency, is yet another. M. has some oncologist friends who knit. So a group is forming. It might be fun. Some of us are beginners, in the truest sense of the word. Some of us a very, very accomplished. (Not me.) One of us spins (my medical director). M. and I said we’d set her up in the corner with her wheel and have her produce yarn for the rest of us. “Faster, K! Faster!” we’ll shout.

This morning on my way to work I stopped to sit with this young woman who had just somehow broadsided a school bus with such force that her car was totaled. At first glance she didn’t appear to be hurt, but with all that adrenaline sloshing around, she couldn’t really tell. At least there was no blood. And no kids were hurt. Anyway, she said she didn’t know what happened. This big yellow thing was suddenly in front of her. Holy crap, but that’s a big thing to pop up out of nowhere. And bright yellow, too. At least no one was hurt. The cop who first spoke with her was very kind and oh so gentle. I was really impressed with him. And then the rescue crew showed up and I went to work. I hope she’s okay.

My mother (read: my readership of one) said that she is disappointed when there is no new post. So for you, CKN — a post. And the requisite cat picture. Harrison P. Cat saw his way clear to re-enter the homestead when the rain started pouring down.

However, he brought came in with dirty feet. Dirty, dirty feet. Mr. Dirty Feet. Enlarge the floor picture and you’ll see. Or just skip it, because what the HELL. Who posts pictures of the floor?

He has a new cat food called Harmony Farm. It’s (predictably) expensive, more expensive than Iams. But he seems to really like it, and as far as the human nose vs. cat food — this is not bad stuff. You can get it at Wegmans.
Note to CKN. Sleep tight and don’t let the bedbugs bite!

What? I just got up.

I seem to be spending my life, since the time change, sleeping.

I spent years battling insomnia, and now, when I have things to do, damn it, all I want to do is sleep.

It’s all this darkness. Tell me why I did not notice this last year. I feel like I’m living in Alaska. There’s like two hours of daylight here. I wake up in the dark, drive to work in the wee hours, and drive home in the dead of night. And I work a normal eight hour day. What the…

In knitting news, which this blog is, after all, about –

1) The Adirondack socks are making me wish for new bifocals.

2) I couldn’t resist the pull of the Malibrigo. Or the lure of cables. Put the two together and you have smooshy soft cuddly warm squishy schmoo to bury your nose in on a cold winter day.

3) All this cabling and squinting made me hungry for a quick fix. And some glitz. This is one of those sparkly, furry little numbers knit length-wise, which somehow makes it less of a novelty yarn scarf and more of a perfectly nice scarf to wear with black pants and a long white blouse. But that’s just me.

Then what blog post is complete without a Harrison P. Cat update…tonight he’s sleeping…

(Yawn.) And so am I.

I guess summer’s over

Nice of me to notice.

Hell, it’s freezing out there. Even the cat politely declined the opportunity to go outside for a quick scamper.

My bed was warm, the Mozart on my iPod alarm clock thingy was lovely, and until the “Cooties” song from Hairspray came on (rather unexpectedly — I think iPod thingy was sending me a message — “move the hell out of bed!”), I stretched and yawned and contemplated another life totally different from this one.

One that did not include work, of course.

Yes, indeed. I want to stay home and knit today.

But, there’s a meeting this morning, and a heavy duty discharge plan for tomorrow to be finalized, and all the other bits of foolishness I deal with, so off I go.

Of note. Lord and Taylor has coats that are different from the average bears. Also of note. Today they are 40% off and I have a 20% coupon in my bag. It’s a roadtrip to Eastview after work! Hope I can find something in wool that doesn’t look like everyone else’s coat, but also doesn’t look like something from Battlestar Gallactica. No, I’m not fussy.

Oh, if anyone cares, I want these for Christmas. Oh Brother, where art thou?

Do You Think

I could wear my Embossed Leaves socks

with these?

I’d wear the socks over black tights with a long black skirt.

C’mon. It’s doable, no?

Disoriented in the dark

Daylight Savings Time. Beh. Benjamin Franklin, I read, “invented” Daylight Savings Time to save candles. George W. fiddled with the time change this year to do something or other for us, but I haven’t figured out just what yet. Maybe we’ll save a few candles this winter. Who knows.

George W. Let me get it out of my system right here and now. Truly and honestly, W. the only president in my 48 years that I’ve laughed at just so damn much. Republicans, in general, I’m not fond of. But I can tolerate them, and most of the time, just roll my eyes when they talk. George. Now that’s another story. I damn near fall on the floor in hysteria when he opens his mouth, bumps into walls, takes another drink, etc. I just cannot believe, cannot frigging fathom, a world gone so damned mad that this guy is allowed to hold the presidency. We are the laughing stock of the planet. It’s beyond mortifying.

To keep myself sane, I continue knitting. At least that I can control. Somewhat.

The Adirondack Silky sock is made from the Embossed Leaves pattern on page 30 of Interweaves Favorite Socks. It’s a gorgeous pattern, and very easy to follow. Once one deals with the issues of knitting with thick thread and wooden sticks the thickness of fork tines, that is.

I’m on row 12 of 16 of the first leaf repeat.

In cat news, there is none. Harrison spent the weekend chasing mice and sleeping, and tonight appears to be wiped out.

Much like his human is.

Tomorrow promises to be a bear of a Monday. Already I have a family upset about the “accomodations” at the hospital, and another one is an absolute nightmare of a discharge plan. I keep asking for someone to print me up a bogus certificate of an MSW, because I think I would like to hang it on my wall and gaze at it on those evenings when every shred of my being has been chewed up and spit out by some of these people and their problems. I’m an RN. I deal with pain and medications and end of life stuff. To tell me I have to do the accompanying drama, too, is like telling the fireman he has to chase criminals, too. Only so much one person can do. Or…can do well. Let’s qualify that.

Enough pissing and moaning. Soon it will be time for the weekly dose of HBO porn. At first I thought Tell Me You Love Me was the biggest pile of sensationalist bullshit ever created, but now I find myself caught up in the characters. Like is that sniveling goofball with the funny mouth and the new pregnancy going to drive her sleezy little husband away with all her baby crap? Is the slutty young thing going to keep this duo-scuzzbag drama up all season? And what about the married couple who eye each other’s bodies like forbidden fruits, then go to bed and stare at the ceiling? Are they ever just going to do it again? Oh, and dear lord. Let’s not forget Jane Alexander. Do we get to watch her getting it on on the leather chair with her hubby again? Eek. Some things are best left to the imagination. They say they do the show with “props”. Like fake erect penises? Fake scrotums bouncing off of fake butt cheeks?

I wonder if my readership will go up because I just typed “scrotum” and “penises”. Ah, hell. I’m going to leave it, and see what happens to my stats.

spectacles

I went with a work friend out to Eye Openers on Monroe Ave. tonight to help her pick out new glasses. She wanted her “funky friend” to go with her. Hmmmm. Anyway, I want new glasses, too.

Hers are gorgeous. Wide on the sides like is the style now, but in a black titanium with cut-outs that look like a Frank Lloyd Wright design. They’re gorgeous. Like jewelry for her face.

I can’t wait to go back, this time for me. We’ll reverse roles, and she’ll help me pick out glasses. Maybe this time I’ll get away from the black plastic that is oh-so-reminiscent of my sixth grade self. Then I’ll buy her a drink and dinner afterwards, since that’s what we did tonight.

Such fun. I’m not a big friend person, preferring to not weigh myself down with social commitments. But I miss having a “girlfriend” or two around to talk to and do goofy stuff like this.

At work the other day, a bunch of us were talking. And you know what? I’m not the only one. None of us say we have any friends. We all work and go home to eat and sleep. Three of us sat together, soon joined by a fourth, and said the exact same thing. Really. I thought I was the only dork who had no social life. Turns out it’s an epidemic.

These women couldn’t believe that I didn’t have this wild social life. I explained to them that I am a situational extrovert. At work I am smiling and laughing and talkative, befriending the janitor and the CEO and everyone in between, but get me in a social situation where I feel the slightest bit uncomfortable, and I do a fantastic impression of a wallflower. Once I get to know you, only then am I ready for prime time.

So that’s me. A situational extrovert. Just in case you wanted to know.

Not to get all inspirational and make myself out to be a budding calendar publisher or anything, but here comes a weird kitten picture and the powerful little saying to go along with it. Sorry. Can’t resist.

No knitting content today. I got home too late to do any, and it’s nearly time for The Office. I have my priorities, you know.

Hopefully my DVR will record Gray’s at the same time. Because I don’t have enough drama in my life as a health care professional. I want some of theirs, too.

At dinner we discussed The Bachelor. Am I the only one who thinks next week’s “overnight dates” are disgusting? Why, oh why, would three perfectly nice young women agree to such a gross idea as sleeping with this weirdo, one after the other, knowingly? Ick ick and ick. Even if it is all staged, why do we want to watch it? I think it’s the gross out factor for myself. Like an traumatic injury I can’t bear to look away from.

I note the bachelor himself is no big prize. What bothers me the most, I think, is the idea that these women think so little of themselves. How else would they participate in this stunt. Whatever. It’s not my life. At least they’re getting their 15 minutes of fame.