Blessings of the Lares

"Lah-rees":  figures of gods specific to an individual household;  minor deities whose purpose is the guardianship of the household and the residents (both human and animal) who dwell within.

This is my collection of Lares, the protectors of my household.  I sometimes think I can hear them conversing;  it sounds like they're discussing how you go about applying for a transfer.  "She's an awful lot of trouble for a little old lady";  "wouldn't it be nice to have just an ordinary little bubbe to look after?"  "I mean, she does knit and drink tea and all that old-lady stuff, but she's just not ordinary..."

 

The "altar" at the back is an antique piece that belonged to the Husband's grandmother;  the frosted "candles" actually light up, but the plug needs replacing.  It was in his boyhood bedroom and was one of the first things I noticed the first time I visited the Long Island home he'd grown up in.

 

The dark figure to the left is a maternal figure of clay, replica of a mother (goddess?) from Cahokia, ancient native civilization in what is now Illinois.  Next to her is Anubis, then the Bear Mother Goddess (more below) and the small Bastet, ancient Egyptian Cat Goddess.  To Bast's right -- is the reason for this entry, again "more below".

 

 

This is my best and favorite - Ursa Mater, the Great Mother.  This is a tiny figure, and was a gift from the Husband.

The Mother and Her Cub are separate figures, and are as endearing a representation as I've seen.  Bears are very good mothers in nature, although it must be noted that they are believers in "tough love", and there are films of mother bears knocking their little ones head-over-heels with a smart clap of the paw when they're doing something that could easily result in the little ones putting themselves in harm's way.  As a symbol of protection and wisdom and so on, the Bear is certainly among the finest of representations of the Goddess.


But this little figure is even more delightful.  She has the moon and stars on Her chest - and when you set the little Cub off to the side, the essence of Her maternity becomes clear:

In the recessed place where the Cub fits, there are six paps, providers of the nourishment which are the essence of Motherhood, symoblizing the fact that the Mother is the provider of those elements necessary for growth, knowledge and even physical nourishment.  This funny primitive little figure represents for me the Feminine aspects of the Creator, if you will, and it gives me real pleasure.

The Lares provided comfort and security to the families under their protection.  Oh, the great Gods and Goddesses were present, of course, and their temples were places of mysticism and beauty.  The ruins still standing in Rome, in Greece and Egypt still look to be places of awe.   But the Lares are like home folks.  It might be necessary to prepare grand offerings for the Gods -- Lares would be content to sit around and share a pizza.

So where is all this going?  Well, my sentimentality is, among family and friends, legendary.  I cry over schmalzy commercials, I'm moved to tears by the quiet in a forest or the sound of the waves splashing at the shore of Lake Superior.  And if I'm given a gift by a friend, I cherish it. 

There are layers of sentimentality.  While I do cherish every single gift, there are some that go beyond that.  The little Ursa Mater, as well as being a perfect representation of my idea of the All-Mother, was a gift from my husband.   Because of that She is even dearer to me.

I really have felt that my cozy little funny little nest is under protection because of these, my household Lares.  But I recently received another figure to add to my "collection", my Lares, one whose story is as ancient as those I could call "my people", and whose protection is equal to - or greater than - any of the others.

 



 

He is taller than the Bear Mother - She comes about to his shoulder.  Otherwise he  is of similar dimensions.  He, too, is a figure made of clay and could be described as "primitive".  A simple creature, simple face, and his most distinctive feature is the word - in Hebrew characters - on his chest.

 

He came in the mail, having been sent on from Ohio.  He is as precious to me as my Bear Mother, and like Her, is a symbol not only of strength and protection but of sentimental affection.  What is he, this funny little guy?  He is a Golem.

 

The definition of a golem is a figure, amorphous, made of clay.  The stories about golems are generally frightening, as golems can be likened to zombies, though they never had actual human life.  They were made usually to hold off enemies or the like, and Isaac Bashevis Singer describes the golem tales as "the very essence of Jewish folklore". 

 

But THIS Golem, the Golem of Prague, was made (it is said) in the 16th century by a particularly holy Rebbe Judah, the chief rabbi of the city of Prague.   Under the rule of Rudolf II, Holy Roman Emperor, the Jews were ordered killed or expelled from the city.  So Rebbe Judah made his golem, and it was very effective in protecting Jews who came under harm's way.  But golems have no soul, and in time it became indiscriminate, killing not only gentiles but some Jews as well, and the Emperor begged the rabbi to stop his golem.  He did so, and the empty clay shell was allegedly stored in the attic of an ancient synagogue in Prague, where rumor says it remains to this day.

 

The word on the Golem's chest is the Hebrew word for TRUTH (emet), and placing those three letters on the chest or forehead of the golem activates it to do your will.  The danger, of course, lies in the lack of control of this soul-less creature.  In order to stop him, one must erase the right-hand most character, the aleph (Hebrew is read right-to-left, so that is the first letter of "truth").  That changes the word to met which is the Hebrew word for "death" - and the golem becomes just an inanimate lump of clay.

 

There are many stories, movies, even comic books and "X-Files" episodes about golems.  But this one, the Golem of Prague, was actually instrumental in saving the Jews from the anti-Semitic torture in the 16th century.

 

Now - my  little figure of the Golem of Prague, is a strong symbol of protection, to be sure.  But here's the rest of the story:  he was actually made in Prague!  This little clay figure, gift to me from  dear young friends, was obtained when they were visiting in Prague recently!  They stopped at museums and saw the old Jewish part of city, and they thought of me and brought away this dramatic, beautiful little figure.  He returned to London with them and they sent him on to their folks in Ohio who sent him along to me.

The Golem - any golem, makes highly interesting reading, and along with the very comforting protection I find my gift Bohemian Golem stirring around in the inspiration part of my mind.  Perhaps I should add to the body of wonderful stories about golems?

Snowbound!

We were warned for days.  Gary (my favorite weatherman) showed us all the fancy Doppler thingies, the streaks and lines and curves.  The charts and maps.  He showed us where it was coming from, how long it would stay, what would happen.  He said it might be 6" - 8" of snow.

Then he showed us the same stuff (or so it looked to me) and said we might get 8" - 12" of snow.  There were updates through the day which I caught on the teevee or FaceBook or MSN page.  The final analysis?  Looked like we might get around 18" of snow.   All the newscasters met this news with expressions of amazement, awe, astonishment.

Uhm....people, it's December.  And it's Wisconsin.  Look at a map of the United States - they call this part the "Upper Midwest", and we're really close to Canada.  We get winter here.  In the winter we get snow. 

But there is a distinct advantage to all this advance warning.  Our Noble Governor declared it a Snow Emergency or Frozen Disaster or Snowmageddon or whatever.  Schools were closed (it was only two days and then comes Christmas holiday anyhow so I doubt if any Highly Significant Lessons were going to be presented).  The Government closed.  (!)  The University actually cancelled finals, although I think what they really did is make kids take them on their own computers from whatever is "home" this semester.

The main message was this:  Don't.  Go.  Out.  Don't drive.  Stay home.

Two reasons for this, both sound:  1.  That way no one is in the way of the plows, who are out chugging along scraping and clearing fit to be tied (bless their hearts).  2.  This is the first major snow, and on the occasion of the first major snow every driver in Wisconsin becomes a natural-born-and-raised HAWAIIAN who has never seen the white stuff falling from the sky and has no concept of "icy streets".  Furthermore, none of us has ever driven a horseless carriage before.  Dangerous combination.  Luckily after a couple of days the first plowing has cleared the major thoroughfares and the Brain Cheese has been reactivated and everyone becomes Wisconsin drivers again.


 Now, I don't know about other parts of the country, but we in Wisconsin know exactly how to prepare for this kind of Snow Emergency (and the advance warning was helpful).  We make sure to lay in enough food.  (Two-day snow emergency?  Get enough beer and brats and cheese and stuff for at least a month.  Watching it snow is a powerful appetitezer.)  Sort out the yarn and prepare 32 knitting projects;  put each in a bag with the appropriate needles and directions.  (Snow emergencies might wind up lasting longer than forecast.) 

Pile up the books.  You want at least three or four that you haven't read - and perhaps a dozen that you have, but might as well read again.  After all, the Gummint has said we're not to go out.  Sure, they're saying it's going to last two days but it wouldn't be the first time what they say and what actually happens don't match up.

Blankets!!  Pile several near the couch and some extras on the bed.  The Power is notorious for disappearing.  Line up several kinds of tea and put a full kettle on the stove and a full teapot in the microwave.  (The latter may not work if the power goes out.  Long live the gas stove.)

Make sure all electronics capable of such things are battery-charged within an inch of their lives.  In my case that means my laptop, my netbook and my cell phone.  Our cell phones are a half-step down from the Jitterbug, but they do function as phones.

The most ideal, of course, is for the power lines to stay intact (they have, hereabouts).  So today I've read, knitted some while watching the teevee, napped with the cat, drunk five cups of tea, looked up some stuff on Google, fooled around on Face Book and played a few minutes  moments -- oh hell, hours of Jewel Quest.  The newsman tells me we do, in fact, have a solid 19" of fresh snow, and I'm here to tell you, it looks beautiful, falling softly as seen over the rim of a steaming mug of Earl Grey.

Sure sign of the season:  the Husband's mountain bike is safely tucked into the basement - and the skis and poles are at the ready near the back door.  That sound you're hearing?  The skis are absolutely thrumming with anticipation.

I love winter.

Never Again, Please

DISCLAIMER:  Random thoughts pertaining to latest national abomination.  Normal programming resumes soon.



I am listening to a program on the radio.   It's on NPR.  It's a memorial service.  There are apparently clergy representing every denomination in Newtown, Connecticut.  Each is giving his or her message and prayers.  I  have not heard a child chanting from the Qu'ran before. 

I'm not one of those to read every article, watch every program, look at every citation on line about this, our latest global tragedy the wanton slaughter of innocents (and  that includes the adults).   Has anyone else noticed that none of the adults lost were "old enough to die" either?

It is my opinion that the internet has created of our world a true global village.  It has removed from between us all, time and distance.  I can chat as easily with an acquaintance in Australia as I can with my friend just blocks away.  In my mind, that makes the woman stirring rice in her pot in India my neighbor just as I am the neighbor of the woman boiling maize in front of her hut in Africa.

Therefore, when children die in the Middle East or Asia or Patagonia, Iceland or Russia or Canada, I feel a deep sadness for my sisters, their mothers.   Nature's balance designates that a child is born, grows, has children of his own, advances in age and dies.  When that balance is overthrown and the child dies before the parent, it has a unique sadness.  I find it poignant - perhaps a tiny bit comforting - that the children left this earth accompanied by loving teachers.

I am not here to expound;  just to say that my heart, like the hearts of so many, finds this latest incident incomprehensible, beyond the scope of my understanding.   I need no proof of the existence of Evil. 

My prayers are not found in any book, are not repeated by any group of people, could not be identified by any traditional title.  But I implore with an earnest heart, that some small comfort come to everyone touched by sadness, whether the deep grief of the bereft or the passing woe of anyone who gasps upon hearing of the tragedy. 

It is enough.  No more.

Music, That Which Binds Souls....

HAPPY CHANUKAH!  This picture is from a few years - and five nights - ago.  The menorah was a gift from my daughter-in-law.  It's very traditional, and I like that.  (Ignore the Catholic altar behind it and the figure of the Goddess Bast and the Sacred Mother of Cahokia;  I'm an equal-opportunity worshipper here.)

I've always celebrated Chanukah, even while my home has been MY home and not my parents'.  My children and I celebrated only Chanukah, no Christmas in our home until the Splendid Husband had been with us for some time.  He said, one year, that he might like a Christmas tree.  I said I would ask my Jewish children what they thought.  Think about this;  ask anyone (ANYone!) if they'd like a fresh, fragrant fir tree in the living room all glittering with colored lights and perhaps sparkly ornaments.  Of COURSE they'd like a tree!  So ours became a blended holiday family, and with perfectly satisfactory results.  (You might have read this before;  I'm old enough that I may be repeating stories.  It's a privilege of Advanced Age;  smile and nod as though it was all new to you.  Thank you.)

So.  Music.  Specifically holiday music.  Now, even as a little child I learned Christmas carols in school, and I always sang them with great enthusiasm, they're beautiful!    Might I add that I also sang them somewhere between tunelessly and off-key.  My father was said to have a fine voice.  My mother got odd looks singing hymns and I inherited her voice.  Never slowed either of us down.

Christmas carols are melodic, romantic and beautiful.  I'm not particularly wild about the modern Christmas songs.  I apologize, Bing.  I can appreciate the appeal of "White Christmas", I just don't appreciate the song as much as, say, "Bring a Torch, Jeanette Isabella".  The Oldies station I listen to occasionally plays "All Christmas Music All the Time" from Thanksgiving on.  Bring me back my Chad and Jeremy for petessakes.

I've discovered that there are NO stations which play "All Chanukah Music All the Time" from Rosh Hashanah on.  But it's the 21st century, and I have a computer.  (Insert big grin here.)  Which means, of course, that I have  Pandora .  Now. they have a wide variety of stations which play a wide variety of Christmas music - AND one that plays Chanukah music!

The problem is, there aren't a great many Chanukah songs.  But they've managed to find enough of an assortment to play for hours.  Truth to tell, it's more a case of different artists playing or singing the same melodies, but that's fine with me.  And here's something of Huge Magnitude:  in three days of listening to my Chanukah station, I've only heard it once.  Sorry to do this to you, my friends.  I believe the term is "ear worm".  "Dreidl, dreidl, dreidl, I made it out of clay, and when it's dry and ready, then dreidl I will play."   (A few rounds of "B-I-N-G-O and Bingo was his name-o" should wipe it out.)

But here's what happened.  There have been a few melodies placed in between that are in fact old Russian klezmer songs.  "Klezmer", for those unfamiliar, is Jewish music, Yiddish music, firmly attached to the shtetls of Europe.  There's been a revival;  a klezmer band often has clarinet, accordian, fiddles,saxophones -  all sort of peasant-y loud instruments.    I've liked klezmer music for always, and we have a particularly fine klezmer band right here in town:  Yid Vicious !

Well, as I said above, it's the 21st century and I have a computer.  That means I also have access to You Tube (c'mon, I don't have to put the link for THAT.)  So I started by going there and putting in "klezmer".  What a wealth!!  Hours and hours of wonderful klezmer music - and then I found it.  On the list to the right, a mention of klezmer as "Chasidic Wedding Music".  So I looked THAT up.

And suddenly I was listening to waltzes, to hymns, to dance music that were heard in the lands of my ancestors - Lithuania, Latvia, Roumania - at various times various parts of Russian.  It awakens in me the Jewish part, the part that has blood connections to the pogroms, to the Holocaust, to Israel -- emotional connections, not necessarily political ones.   As an ethnic Jew, I'm not surprised that the music fills me as it does.

The Chasids - Chasidim - are mystics and ecstatics.  I don't know much about them, although I probably know more than non-Jews.  There is a fair-sized Chasidic community here, and they look so austere with their almost Amish-appearing clothing.  But it's they who brought dancing and wine and merriment, and it's nowhere better illustrated than the music.

When the music of the holidays stirs you, brings to mind making rosettes in the kitchen with your Norwegian grandma or when the carols remind you of making the meringue mushrooms for the buche de noel, flex those roots, revel in the winter celebration of your ancestry - and check it out on You Tube!

If you've an interest, a curiosity, to taste something new - check on You Tube for   200 Years Old Chassidic Melodies from Russia .   It's a little taste, a nosh. 

And a Merry Christmas to you!

(PS:  Just stayed up until 6:00 AM watching "Fiddler on the Roof" - I always cry at the end.  My great-grandfather, whom I never met, was called Bear Dov.  He came from an Anatevka somewhere.

The Day AFTER 12-12-12!

Over a year, can you believe it?  (That's wondering if any "you" are left....)  I'm considering this a New Start.  I actually did begin composing yesterday, (12-12-12) thinking that one should do SOMETHING unusual on such a rare day. 

Getting married was out - next May we're celebrating our 26th or 31st anniversary, depending on if you count the Normal Human wedding day or the hippie "we're hangin' together for life" day.  Having a baby is out.  Way out.  I'm probably only a few years away from great-grandchildren.

I asked if I might take lunch to my Lovely Daughter (to begin eating at 12:12 pm, of course) but she had other plans.  So I did what every little old Jewish bubbe does in the face of remarkable occurrences:  I took a nap.

Now - you may wonder what the magic mushroom has to do with any of this.  NOTHING!  But I found it during our sojourn in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan in October, and this seemed an ideal place for  it.  So I think what's called for here is a brief catchup.  I'm not going to promise to write every day, keep up perfectly, &c.  because when I make bold statements like that it's the Kiss of Doom.

So - in a word, as they say:  for two winters I suffered terrible bouts of SAD.  Clever name for malady in which you're....say it with me...SAD!  (Seasonal Affective Disorder.)  I don't know for sure if that's what it was;  suffice it to say that the first bout led me to spending four months watching Animal Planet.  I could train any canine ever bred and I think everyone in Houston has starving horses in their back yard and cockfights next door.  (I have a crush on the Houston Shelter staff, all of them.)

This winter I seem to be doing much better - but of course it's early.  (That is not a crew of lumberjacks pounding on your roof - it's me, knocking on wood, plastic-that-looks-like-wood, pseudo panelling and phony doors.) 

I succeeded in writing a 50,000 word novel in November 2011 AND November 2012.  So far no calls from Hollywood about movie rights, but I'm an optimist.  NOT holding my breath, but an optimist.

We discovered Steam Punk (google if unfamiliar) and have been having a great deal of fun.  Our only connection is the TeslaCon steampunk convention, which I've attended from the start.  This year was the third, and I'm glad to say Superhub accompanied me last year and this year and enjoyed himself greatly.  This year I joined the Suffrage Movement.  All fun - but one has a cold chill after this year's politics that the chance exists for us to need to wear our sashes again in earnest.

Still working at the Museum, which is just enough to keep our hand in but no so much that it interferes with my Program of Indolence.  I figure Procrastination and Indolence are bound to become Olympic sports before long and I intend to lead the American team.

I've been writing a little more, knitting a little less and trying to sort things out.  Perhaps, as I tremble on the lip of my 71st year of life, it's time to decide what I want to be when I grow up.

I bet I can put it off some.

Kitties are fine!  Evangeline has become a lap kitty - at least when I'm trying to work on the netbook, sitting on the couch.  Lillianeis still a paschkudnik.  The Husband is superior in all ways, and missed his calling as the Warden of a Crazy People's Place because he puts up with me.  Without complaint.

Last bit of news - we handed off the beloved '93 Toyota station wagon (with roughly 270,000 miles on it) and got a new Prius V.  That's "V" like in "vestal", NOT the Roman numeral five.  (I watch the ads.)   It's like a tardis - much bigger inside than it looks outside, and has proven sufficient for hauling all reenacting gear wherever we're going.  I like it because when you take the foot off the gas pedal it tells you you're getting "99.9 miles per gallon" and that just sounds so danged fuel efficient.

OK, no promises, but I am going to see if I can pump a little life back into this poor blog.

NOTE:  I mentioned the cats (fine);  I mentioned the sticks (not much knitting, but a couple things on the needles).  As far as the "books" go - I can recommend "If Walls Could Talk" by Lucy Worsley (fascinating history of the rooms in our homes);  I am otherwise reading a variety of things on American Spiritualism, Ella Wheeler Wilcox's poetry, various writing books and a smattering of other oddments.

BOY am I rusty and I have to remember how to put in pictures.

Wait...it's JUNE?

They say when you get older, time goes by faster.  OY!!   It's true.  Now, let's see....twelve months in a year;  four months' indolence - isn't that a quarter of  a year?  Or is it a third....hmmm...three fours are twelve, yes?  So it's a third?  I'll go with that.  ((Darn teachers were right, I should've tried harder in elementary  math -- one year my parents gave me a new chess set for getting a D in math!  It wasn't an F!)

So what happened in May, anything?  Well!  Lay-deez and gentle-mens, May was so chock-full that I should've blogged every day.  SO I need to make up for it now, and I will.  I still have to futz some with my pictures, and this may take some days, so (as I am SO fond of saying) BEAR WITH ME!!

Here's what you'll see here over the next few days:

1.  As BAD as December, January, February and March were, and April just a slight improvement, May was all-around spectacular.  I still have vestiges of the #)#**&@ tremor, but am Adjusting the Medication and (hopefully) beating it.

2.  May included our 25th Wedding Anniversary (!).  Or...29th year together if you count our four years of Shackin' Up before traditional marriage....as Her Old Man and His Old Lady -- we hippies did that, you know.  And there WILL be a whole blog about it, because while we generally go camping in a canvas wedge tent with no floor, and while we have dine on our anniversary at Taco Bell (hey hey hey here....we both LIKE Taco Bell and I still have TWO eyeball straws from there so shut up) -- this year Mr. Dearling took me to CELEBRATE our Silver Anniversary in style.  We spent a week at....ready?  Remember the wedge tent with no floor?  We spent a week at the Grand Hotel on Mackinac Island!!

Of course I took pictures.  It was perfect;  there was not one moment that we did not enjoy. It's required to "dress for dinner" so with one exception, we DID dress...as though it were 1890.  We had such fun - and being elegantly dressed reminded us that we were NOT at home and no matter how great the temptation, plate-licking was not allowed.  (See "hippies", above.)

3.  May also included my blogiversary, but being on May 11 we were still portraying 120-year-old visitors, (dare I say?) I forgot.  So I'll mention that too.  And I have a Resolution to try to pick it up now that I seem to be largely recovered (that thumping you hear is me pounding vigorously on anything resembling wood).

I'm back to work, mostly -- and a good thing, too, because we're getting ENORMOUS tour groups at the Museum -- all the kids from all over the state who cancelled because they couldn't pair it with their usual tours of the Capitol.  (We've had a protest or two, you might've seen references.)  It's still very wonky here in Wisconsin;  for petessakes.  Recall Walker ("Stalker"  "Hawker" &C &C).  Ain't going all political here - suffice it to say I love living in Madison, Wisconsin.

There's no more ice around, the weather is mild, my beloved lilac bush had flowers this year, the peonies are covered with buds (and their attending Caretaking Ants) and our backyard looks like....well, the Amazon comes to mind.

We've had the delight of attending a lovely wedding of friends, we're looking forward to a granddaughter's high school graduation, and it's very pleasant, being summer.  We have some living history events planned, and my assignment (should I choose to go) is my upcoming high school reunion in September. 

Ready for this?  It's our FIFTIETH HIGH SCHOOL REUNION!  I may go just to see who's still alive!!

So....watch this space.

Semantic Point --

I awoke this morning to the news that Osama Bin Laden has been killed, and apparently buried at sea.  My first thought?   Hope they took pictures before they "buried him at sea", or sent some DNA to CSI or wossname.

But I have a wee problem-o.  How do I feel about the whole thing?  OK, let me be clear about this:  I think he was like Hitler -- hateful, odious, no redeeming value.  He finally got what was coming to him, because I remember as clear as though it was yesterday (and it's been ten years!) how I felt when I heard the reports on the car radio on September 11, 2001, and how I felt as I watched all day on television and cried for the brothers and sisters who had died, and cried for everyone who loved all those people.  At that moment, We Americans became related -- no "six degrees of separation";  they were OUR family members.

So please read carefully, because I am relieved that such a hateful man is dead.  BUT!!  The phrases I'm hearing on television this morning:  "People all around the world are celebrating the death...."  "The news was met with delight at Ground Zero...."    "Retribution",   "Revenge" - "Joyous atmosphere...."

I'm relieved that he's gone, I hear the news with relief that a chapter has closed (and some trepidation, of course, because clearly it's not a total solution).  But there's something that jars in the reporting and it occurs to me that certain words should never be joined.  For example, "celebrate", "delight", "joyful" paired with "war" or "death".  He's gone.  GOOD!  But you know, I'm not going to raise a glass, dance in the streets or express joy.  Relief?  Yes.  Unbridled delight?  nawwww.

From the mouths of the babes:  Mr. Dearling tells me that one of his 4th grade students on tour at the museum asked him why we celebrate the 150th anniversary of the Civil War.  And when I think about it, (the CW)  I first think of the hundreds of photos taken by Matthew Brady of young men lying dead on the battlefields.  I'm sorry, I can't entirely separate that image from the realization that every one of those men (or boys) was, at one time, a swaddled infant being smiled upon by his Mama or his Meemaw (or even, perhaps, his mammy).

So let's COMMEMORATE today.  Commemorate the fact that the most Evil, Hateful, Baneful Demon of our time is no longer walking this earth.   I will commemorate his death, and I feel proud of the Navy SEALS who apparently succeeded in this.  But gee, guys - I really can't celebrate  death.

NOTE:  they just mentioned that he was "buried at sea" within the required 24 hours (same as Jews - there must be burial "before the sun sets" - which is interpreted as "within 24 hours"). 

Boy - these are heavy times for Emotionally-charged Aging Jewish Bubbes.....the high of watching our little William marry that lovelly girl in England, the plunging relieved/bummer that Bin Laden's gone.  Good thing Mr. Dearling keeps a good supply of tissues at hand.

It was the Worst of Times, it was the Best of Times....

"WRONG";  definition - bad; wonky; BIG mistake; erroneous; boo-boo; uh-oh; aw sh**; bigsigh.  And periodically you hear tell of something...something - that embodies all of those definitions, a tangible, physical, really-o truly-o thing that is the "wrong-ness".  This thing is not something I ever would have thought of, conceived of, no matter how hard I tried.  No, this thing was mentioned to me blithely on the telephone by my Lovely Daughter.  We were talking about programs on teevee;  we share an enjoyment of food shows, cooking shows.  We share a real taste (no pun intended...snerk) for the whole eating thing  So what was this mentioned item?

DISCLAIMER:  if you're not sitting down, do so -- if you have a dicey ticker, if you're prone to the vapours, go look at the pictures on Cute Overload for a few minutes....  Here goes:

Bacon-Wrapped MATZOH BALLS.

I am allowing you a few minutes to roll that around amongst your marbles.  See what I mean?  "That's just WRONG".  And you know, some things that appear wrong actually, surprisingly, wind up being quite nice.  THIS?    uh-huhn.  It ain't happenin'.

That's the worst...."evar".  Other bad stuff?  A new "reality" show about a woman who makes a hefty living as some sort of maternity counselor.  Rents herself out to pregnant, hugely-wealthy New York pregnant mothers.  One woman hired her to assemble a group of "talents"? to select a name for her baby.   The trailer showed a woman who was lining up the hair and makeup staff for when she comes out of Delivery.  SAY WOT????

That's enough of the negative.  Now for the  BEST!  The Decorah Eagle.  NOTE:  my link thingies might not be working.  If they aren't, PUNT.  You won't be sorry. 

Prepare for rant. 

This whole innerwebs thingie, the 'Net, sometimes simply called "on line".  As an entity it strikes me as the perfect "Little Girl with the Little Curl", quoted to me so often in my early childhood.  For those of you who are either   a) well-behaved little girls;  or) boys, naughty or nice, I repeat the wholeof the verse here.  Imagine it in a sort of sing-song-y voice:

"Once there was a little girl / who had a little curl / right in the middle of her forehead.
When she was good she was very, very good - and she was bad, she was horrid!"  I am edified to know that I was NEVER just naughty or cross as a wee girlie - I was HORRID!

Back to the internet at hand.   We all know about the Potential Evils of the Internet;  frankly, I'm just as glad that my children grew up and moved out BEFORE the Day of the Insidious Pervasive SCREEN.  On the other hand, I believe (as I may have said before) that I think World Peace can be achieved through the Internet.  Sample conversation in home somewhere in world, April 18, 2020: 

Husband:  "pack my Fierce Weaponry, Wife, I'm going off to war.
Wife:  "where?"
Husband:  "why?"
Wife:  ""do you always answer questions with another question?"
Husband:  "do I?"

{period of quiet follows as each Ponders}

Husband:  "we're fighting with the country of EastNorth Wherewickton.  South."
Wife:  NO YOU ARE NOT!!  (she turns away from her laptop and points both eyes and a grim mouth in his direction.)  He sags a little (going off to war has been popular for some centuries.  Eons, even.)

Wife continues:  "As a matter of fact, Mr. Smartypants Warrior, I am FB friends with 300 women in EastNorth Wherewickton, South AND North.  We all chat every day,  we are trading Nifty Hints about Child-Rearing and there's an active game of "Does your husband ever........??"   Furthermore, we just started a Recipe Exchange, and if you think I'm going to let you and the guys go attacking and breaking the recipe chain YOU HAVE ANOTHER THINK COMING, MISTER!"

See?  End of war.  It's in the future.  In the meantime, however, there are other opportunities which are now commonplace, but which (another of my pet sayings) wasn't even in science fiction books when I was a girl.  Limitless free knitting patterns.  INSTANT information on almost anything that might pique the curiosity.  Pictures and films from everywhere, of everything -- including the aforementoned  Iowa Eagle cam .  Me?  I relish the opportunity to sit at the edge of the nest and watch at all hours of the day and night.    I've watched for a part of every day since first seeing the eagles on my evening news show.

So on the one hand, somewhere in this world there are bacon-wrapped matzoh balls {pfeh! ptooey!} and elsewhere in the world is the ability to sit 80 feet up in an eyrie and watch the unimposing eaglets as they grow into birds like their parents.  Not something one has access to every day.

I am pleased to observe that I seem to be crawling out from the Blarg - although I do find I have to sort of build back up.  So far so good, the medication is controlling the tremors.  I'm scheduled to seee the neurologist again next week (I'm thinking I should keep scheduing regular appointments on the off-chance I may someday need a neorologist again -- she's something like the Great and Wonderful Oz).

So hopefully I will soon be completely returned to knitting and bloggng and working --  and I have some very exciting plans coming up that are pretty assured of being a Genuine Experience!

So - I'm going to watch the end of my teevee show with the madman who calls himself "an extreme fisherman" to see if he's going to have his legs ripped off by a gargantuan fish with two-foot teeth and a cranky disposition.  All's I can say is, "better him than me."

Things I've Learned....

...from watching teevee for roughly twelve hours a day, for roughly four months.

1.  That much teevee is against the Geneva Convention.  For something intended to be "entertainment", I suggest something like thumbscrews.  Brenks' Bridle.  THE RACK!!

2.  The New York SPCA officers have full police capabilities.  Which means that they can go to rescue a dog and arrest the wretched MFers who mistreated the dog.

3.  Houston has a lot of fighting cocks (eeeewww, they clip their crops and spurs to put razor-sharp long spurs on);  they also have a problem with pit bull dog fights.  BOTH are totally illegal - the Texas animal cops don't have police powers but they DO have a very intimate (so to speak) relationship with the local constabulary.  I have a streak that takes delicious satisfaction in watching the arrests of the MFers -- they're usually arrested right after the Civil Court hearing where their animals are legally transferred to the SPCA.  (I also like it when the MFers come to court to get their animals back, I mean THAT's cheeky!  "Yes, your honor, I was starving him because I only have a pony saddle and I wanted to ride him...."  OOOOHyeah.


4.  There are a LOT of starving horses in the Houston area - also goats, pigs, various fowl, miniature horses and an unending supply of dogs and cats.

5.  Animal HOARDING is a real problem everywhere, apparently  - and I've concluded that...
I AM AN ANIMAL HOARDER!  Well, ok, so I only have two cats.  But you know, I'm sort of a Theoretical Animal Hoarder.  (The truth is, as Mr. Dearling pointed out, if I bought ANYTHING in here -- kitty, puppy, boa constrictor --  Mistress Evangeline would dine upon them.  Her tolerance of Lilliane, all these years later, has remained terse.)  ...which reminds me, I have to go open the bedroom door...Lilli was put there in time-out for attacking Evi....seems she learning BAD behavior!

NOTE:  I AM aware that all the animal cop shows are showing the bad stuff...lovely healthy animals wouldn't make very good teevee.  I know the people in Houston are not meaner to their animals than anywhere else.  Probably.

Let's see - I have diagnosed myself with everything for which there are advertised medications available.  I quit wrriting them down to "ask my doctor for" after about 40.  Not only is there medication for depression - there are adjunct pills in case the ones you're using aren't enough.  WTH???    Of course, everything advertised causes moggles and rooblets and extra hair and hair loss and thoughts of suicide and murderous wrath and an incomprehensible desire to eat human brains.  No, wait - that's zombies, only four or nine medications list that one.

I've also been watching stuff like "First 48" in which real genuine scofflaws are apprehended for a huge variety of crimes, almost 99% of which are drug-related murders.  The idea is, the first three days after a Dreadful Crime is the best time to wrap it up.  Sometimes it takes more than a couple months, but that's ok, the nefarious and unruly are ultimately caught.

Then there's "House", which is an amazing fantasy - people come in to the hospital and Dr. House and his team perform elebenty-six tests, many of which are invasive or unpleasant, but eventually the diagnosis is made, the patient healed and all's right with the world.  Of course this all takes days and days -- and do they EV ER use the "i" word?  (Yes, "insurance") -- I think my favorite was the one where a beautiful mulatto girl was brought in with dreadful symptoms by her handsome white husband.  They were TRULY in love, a match made in heaven, only it turned out the match WAS made in heaven -- for some reason a DNA test was run (I think the husband was prepared to donate ALL his organs to save his cherished wife).  AND GUESS WOT???  Yup, they were half-siblings.  Seems White Papa had been "helping out in the garden" of his Black Neighbor.  OY VEY!!

OK, enough of the crappy news and on to something better:  namely ME, I'm better.  and tomorrow will be a red-letter day.  I get to vote (and I'd get three different disguises and vote again if I could) AND...readly for this?  My Neurology appointment (made in February) is tomorrow!!!  So far, the first muscle relaxer I got helps enough but I'm hoping for something that works a little better.  But (speaking with crossed fingers) I am gradually climbing out of the Abyss of No Knitting, No Writing &c &c and so forth.

By the way, to any and all who commented, THANK YOU!  I could say "I was so warmed...." or something.  The truth?  OK, I had a decent Ugly Cry over it all.   There isn't a cure or treatment equal to that.  Consider youselves hugged by a 4'11" woman with a case of hiccup-y cryin'.

**tick tick tick** Is this thing on?

Hmmm...maybe I really AM part bear;  all the other ursine members of the family are emerging now too!

PRIMO:  heart-deep thanks for all the lovely thoughts, prayers and nice greetings.  My current status is as follows (imagine doctor raising eyebrows and shrugging).  I've had blood tests for everything under the sun and CAN report that I do not have beri-beri or Lymes' or Mongol Trots or anything else that could be determined.  I had the alimentary x-ray deal which revealed nothing unusual.  NOTE:  My stomach is weird anyway - most people's stomachs like horizontally;  mine is sort of vertical.  Say WOT??

I also did have the heart ultrasound.   I found it intriguing, watching my heart on the monitor.  Fortunately that was fine too - the technician said, when I arrived, that it would be "just like the ultrasounds I'd had when I was pregnant".  I explained that - in the days when I was pregnant they just candled us like eggs - holding a candle behind of us.

In the meantime, I did begin to feel better.  Wouldn't you know it?  My appetite was the first thing back, so any weight I might have lost didn't stay away long.  I'm taking some prozac-oid stuff which seems to have worked on what might have been my depression -- remember, "better living through chemistry". 

HOWEVER!  My perpetual benign tremor (a slight shaking of my hands, slightly worse if I'm very tired) took advantage of my Blarg and became anything BUT benign.  I refer to it as "Jazz Hands".... it had become a veritable palsy.  Stop for a moment and think about the myriad little things you do all day that require fine-motor control.   (Eating soup;  writing with a pencil, typing (!) knitting -- imagine trying to put a nice line of tooth glue in the dentures!!)

I found myself feeling better - but literally physically inCAPABL:E of doing any of those things.  No writing with a pencil?  There goes taking notes, jotting down story ideas, marking passages in  a book - highlighting!  No knitting?  That's just foul, but I couldn't even manage garter stitch with #15 needles.
No TYPING?  Oy vey iz mere!!  Serious palsy effectively removes the possibility of typing.  (No chats, no Facebook -- no BLOG....blarg!)

To tell the truth I found it a real embarrassment too, and was happiest at occasions where I could keep my hands in my pockets or tucked into my armpits.  "Why Dale-Harriet, don't you think you should perhaps see a Neorologist?"  Matter o' fact YES!  In fact, in mid-February I called, and GOT an appointment in Neurology.  April 5th.  Having pretty much spent 2.5 months on the couch, the thought of making it a solid four months on the couch about did me in. 

So I emailed the doctor requesting a prescription for muscle relaxers.  She phoned one in and I got them -- and get this:  IT WORKS!  Mostly.  Generally.  Basically.  I'm still keeping that appointment, but I'm gradually relearning how to blog and knit and jot down notes. 

I will, ere long, set out to describe the effect of 14 hours' daily of Animal Planet;  what I have learned from Criminal Minds and the various CSIs -- and what I think of the Miami Housewives. (And Orange County wives and so on.) 

I went to the Knit-In last Saturday, and signed up and paid for a class in "beginning Victorian Knitting", which I was pretty pumped for.  I stayed for the morning session but did NOT go back after lunch, because even with the medication, lace-weight yarn and "0" needles just weren't working - however, the syllabus, samples of some eight yarns and the information on deciphering Victorian patterns are sufficient that I feel as though I got my two sous' worth.

Soooo -- after four months of downright Inability - I believe I'm on the mend.  I'm gradually getting back to work -- imagine this scenario:  there I am, with my mandatory pointing-tool (a mouse-shaped laser pointer I purloined from the cats) and jazz hands!  MIght shorten the tour, being as I'd be pointing at everything, up to and including my own shoes....  So I haven't actually been to work since the end of November either.

So at least I can finally enjoy some of my daily chazerai (Yiddish, look it up) and will report next on The Effects of Modern TeeVee on the temporarily-disabled Yenta.  Oh, and again, THANKS -- unless you've been in my position (and I earnestly hope you NEVER are!) you can only imagine what your little notes have meant to me.  Suffice it to say -- just thinking about it makes me all over verklempt!

Oh-one-one-one-one-one

....otherwise "01-11-11".  That has to be historical.  Only thing that'll be better will be in November, right?  Because that'll be "11-11-11".  Now THAT is cool.

On the "me" front - still battling the Blarg.  Able to stay awake for a few hours at a time.  Sleeping great - but I still feel like my old "me" is lying around somewhere.  I still am hoping that some combination of things will stir the Old Me into coming home.

This afternoon I'm going to talk to someone who might have some answers - and some insights.

I'm also going out for lunch shortly.  I'll order something Mr. Dearling likes so we can share it!

PS:  Evangeline....and Mr Dearling....are taking CAPITAL care of me, and Lilliane is helping too.  At the end of this I'll report on what effect 10 hours a day of "Law and Order" and "CSI" has on the human brain.

The Blarg, phase two

OK, so I went to the doctor again today.  Now - my own doctor is on vacation (if anyone ever deserves a vacation it's a good and thoughtful doctor) so I saw one of her partners.  I like my doctor a lot.  I like her partner even more.....

Turns out she's young, very friendly, and shares a whole bunch o' Points of Commonality with us: 
1.  She's an MOT  (Jewish....we refer to one another informally as "members of the tribe");
2.  She's a transplanted New Yorker - in fact, grew up on Long Island (as did Mr. Dearling);
3.  Her husband is a goy (non-Jew...NOT a derogatory term;  Mr. Dearling is also goyesha)
4.  We have some friends in common!

So I enjoyed visiting with her.  But we weren't there for tea - in fact, Mr. Dearling had a list.  So we went over everything, she took notes, ordered a couple more tests (*blood tests...see below) and changed out a  couple of prescriptions.  I've said it before - I'll say it again:  I'm a believer in Better Living Through Chemistry.  In this case....from my lips to God's ears.

So we'll see what the next couple of days hold - hopefully some improvement because as much as I love "CSI" (the original one) I'm beginning to tire of it, as I watch it all day.  This is still a Heckuva Major Drag.

Blarg.

*Blood Tests:  I have perfectly lovely large vein s in my elbows (I may have mentioned that before, too tired to go back and look - apologies, if so).  And I have no qualms, fears, problems about blood draws.  At least not by normal phlebotomists in lab coats.  Long capes, sparkling teeth - not so sure.

Insult to Injury...

Well, here I am again - STILL in the doldrums.  Not feeling much better.  ANY better.  Plus...I seem to be coming down with a cold.  Sneezing my head off.  Coughing some (repaired by honey-filled cough drops, though - at least).

Going back to doctor today - my own is off for a couple of weeks, so a different one.  Not sure what on earth the outcome will be...but let me tell you, I am entirely and thoroughly worn out, fed up, disgusted, bored and tired of The View from The Couch.

Still too weary to hold up a book;  nothing in the head to write, and I've probably knitted 75 stitches since -- oh -- December 2 or so.  (I can say that pretty precisely - I have a scarf on the needles that's 25 stitches wide.)

Having sat up long enough to write this, I'm plumb worn out and will take to my chaise for a nap.

I'll try to report back after the visit to La Medecine....

Guess Where I Am?

WHAT I am is -- not inclined to complain.  I'm generally philosophical;  no point complaining as a rule, it doesn't change or improve anything.  (The stuck-in-traffic theory:  you can stew and swear or knit and read....no one's going anywhere either way.)

OK, so where am I?  In....in....I'm in the DOLDRUMS!  According to some branch of Wikipedia:

Colloquially, to be in the doldrums, said especially of a person, is to be listless, despondent, inactive, stagnant, in a slump.

(Note that I put in in BLUE, get it?)

Here's the problem.  NOTE:  in spite of what I said, I fear I am about to launch into a full-bore COMPLAINT.  I mean it to be a unique, unusual, rare, not-to-be-repeated experience.

I arrived in the Doldrums around the first of the month (this one, December).   No energy, no spunk, no get-up-and-go.  (Can't resist:  "my get-up-and-go...got-up-and-went.")  Anyway, after several days of this -- well, a couple of weeks, I went to see la docteure.  Now, having wonky thyroid (can't recall if it's too little or too much) I do take medication and I thought that must be it.  Or anemia - I've had anemia in the past and napped a lot. 

So the Kind and Friendly Vampire was solicited and I contributed copious amounts of blood.  (Actually?  I have perfectly dreamy veins in my elbows - if there was a competition judged by lab techs I'd win the Golden Vein for sure!)

Good News:  all tests came back "within normal limits".
Bad News:  all tests came back "within normal limits."

I'm continuing to be a pretty good representation of peanut butter.  Warm caramel.  Warm Jell-o.  So it was  back to La Docteure.  Step Two:  yesterday I had a Gastrointestinal Imaging Experience.

Arrived at the Clinic at 1:30, per intructions (Mr Dearling came along - bless him, he didn't think I should have to spend TWO HOURS of boredom alone!)  "Two HOURS?" you say in amazement.  Why yes - because over the course of time between arrival and the x-ray (yes, I know, they're not x-rays anymore...I'm old, I use quaint language.  Withal.) I had to sip ("not gulp" said the droll lab tech who gave it to me) four 8 oz paper cups of -- stuff.  'It's ice-cold", she said, "it's not bad."  She assured me it wasn't minty (some things are NOT improved by being minty) and admitted that she'd had to taste it when they were in school -- seems to me that she said something about "punishment".

It wasn't all that bad, actually.  It WAS, as she assured me, "watered-down barium".  It had a vaguely citric flavor.  I had to sip it ("the better to coat the linings") over the two hours.  Now, the truth is, I actually didn't finish all four cups.  I got three down -- but I rarely drink that much of ANYTHING.  Except maybe an icy-cold frothy glass of milk with something chonkles.

So the time came.  Let me tell you, it was a lovely test for someone with no NRG:  I laid on a table at a comfortable angle with a pillow and a comfortable pillow under my knees.  I could easily have dozed off - the test itself consisted of the table sliding back and forth through a great scientific-looking hoop.  When inside the hoop, a pleasant female (robotic) voice said "Breathe in - hold it - breathe" a couple of times.

However - although I'll be interested to hear the report, I am NOT sure what my stomach might have to do with doldrums or ennui or weariness or wossname.

Next step:  middle of next month (!) a cardiac ulstrasound(!)  I'm further not sure why my heart would make me tired - but we'll see.

Here's the deal though:  what I HAVE been doing is spending days (WHOLE days) and often nights on the couch.  Flat.  Plotzed.  Resting.  Napping.  Lazing.  Sleeping.  Spending maybe an hour vertical, online, after which I need a nap.

What I have NOT been doing is:  working, knitting, reading, writing....and I've had to miss SEVERAL events upon which I had my heart set:  I missed my Writers' Group meeting (never did that before and was bummed majorly);  a Solstice celebration, a house party, several programs for the Museum....including a storytelling gig today.

I managed a very nice Christmas Eve morning Icelandic breakfast  and enjoyed (enormously) the company of my beloved Youngest Son (with his cherished bride, three stunning daughters and clever darling son) and my Lovely (and very helpful) Daughter.  Mr. Dearling does our Christmas Day cooking and we hosted my beloved Elder Son (with his cherished bride and two adorable sons) and the still-Lovely and more-helpful Daughter!   We also spent Christmas evening with specially dear friends,, pere et fils, as they say, in extraordinary conversation and company...although we left at 10:00, rather earlier than in previous years -- and I pretty much slept for the next elebenty-thirteen hours but it was worth it.

So.  One possibility remains:  DEPRESSION!  Now, I'm just not sad - I haven't been, I don't know why it would come on suddenly.  Mr. Dearling says depression can be a chemical imbalance and not "a case of the sads";  I think he's right.)  What I am is suffering from is a profound case of BLARG.  (Thanks, James, for the best word EVAR!)  Yep, I have the blarg.  

Now - here's one thing:  it's about to be a New Year, rife with New Beginnings, &c &c.   I AM going out New Year's Eve in my hoops and furbelows, (as Mrs. First Mayor's Wife) with Mr. Dearling (as Madison's First Mayor) to ride around the Square in a festive trolley, pointing out sights of interest in OUR (1857) Madison.     I reckon I'll nap a while afterward -- maybe a week or so .  But I don't like keeping missing out on stuff, it's infuriating.  It's making me sad.  It's...yeah, depressing.

So that's where I am, and I am looking forward to a) finding out WTF?? and b) so what do we do about it now?  and c) enuff is enuff.

Two other side points:  I'm chilly most of the time (but that's not really new;  it's my thin Mediterranean North-Dakotan blood);  and I have no appetite.  That last?  That's the weirdest of all.  And of course eating next to nothing doesn't promote high energy either.  I don't remember EVAR having no appetite....except right after my father died -- and after Willie's funeral.  (THAT was a missed opportunity....but Lovely Daughter said it would be rude to ask for a doggy bag at a funeral.)   Truthfully?  Somewhat worrisome.

Soooo....Chanukah continues --

The order in which I set out to list my gifts -- my treasures -- was changed.  My intention to list something each of the days of Chanukah was also changed.  I will, therefore, connect the two:

Date Two (also Three, Four, Five....) my treasured gift is:  Good Health.  Now, I don't necessarily mean robust and hearty chest-pounding, mountain-climbing, horseback-riding health.  No....in fact, I mean simply no aches, no pains, no nonsense.  Why did this move to the top of my list?  It was gone.  I was - well, it didn't even have the dignity of "sick".  

This didn't have the drama or dignity of the darkened room, Mr Dearling whispering quietly, keeping the kitties quiet, taking messages, having the doctor in once a day.....

It didn't have the excitement of ambulances with flashing lights and all those scenes from "House" -- people coming in and out, puzzling about whatever mystical malady has turned me green and purple....

In other words:  I had {drumroll} The Crud.  for five days.  I had zero energy.  Strength enough to hobble to the bif and then back to the sofa and my coverlet.  and Evangeline.  In the last few days I've eaten two soft-boiled eggs, a bowl of soup...perhaps two cups of tea.  And I'm not hungry.  (Re-read that....it's true!)

I'm a little better today, which is a good thing.  In a couple of hours I'm presenting one of my Senior Outreach Programs (at the Senior Center....I am not the senior.  Although ... nevermind.)  Please to reserve comments to later.  It's the program on the Metis - the rich blending of Native and French (and French-Canadian) cultures and lives during the Fur Trade.  I'm counting on my muse, the Goddess Adrenaline, to get me through (she always does).  And when I've finished - back home to rest.  But!!  Tonight I feel confident that my Chanukah present will be a return to plain old feelin' ok!

Now then - as a few days have gone by, here are some other things I consider gifts of value, which I relish: 

My Legacy from my Dad:  this may be one of my favorite possessions ever.  It has two parts:  first, a love of reading.  A huge delight in the printed word, an appetite for a wide variety of stories, an appreciation for "literature".     I have uncounted hours of contentment lost in the depths of one story or another;  I've relished plays (and majored in Drama). 

The other half of this legacy - was that I believe I have inherited some of his skill with words both in speaking and in writing.  Daddy had what we called his "Speaking Voice" -  and he was a public speaker in great demand.  And I'm only now consciously working on utliziing the skills he left me for writing....it's all part and parcel, the gift of reading, writing, speaking.  With such a gift, I have never known boredom, I have passed time pleasantly.  I've awakened at night with inspiration for stories - and in fact - a little secret:  Mr Dearling and I first shared a mutual love of reading aloud and being read to, and it's led to my contentment.

Now - if I don't look over my notes, my gift of taking pleasure in public speaking won't be enough!!!

More later -- as Chanukah draws to a close.

Happy (earlier than usual) Chanukah!

Happy Chanukah!  Or Hannukah, or Hanukkah.  For my part:  "Chanukah".   Traditionally (at least here in America), celebrants receive one gift each night of the festival;  in our family, they increased in some way each night. until the  eighth night, when they got a "real" present.  The earlier ones might qualify as "stocking stuffers" and I might be wrong (you'd have to ask them) but I think they enjoyed it that way.


The first night was always a new Dreidl and a bag of chocolate coins.  We would then play wild games of cutthroat Dreidl, usually using dried beans for counters while enjoying the traditional potato pancakes with sour cream and applesauce.  I tried to make one night's gift about food:  a pint of ice cream with a jar of topping, nuts, maraschino cherries -- and permission to eat it all at once if they wanted to.  As I recall, the seventh night was always a book.  Today every grandchild gets a book for each occasion too.  (And they'll continue to - I don't do e-books or that kinda #$@)*.

So here's my plan:  each day of Chanukah, I'm going to describe a gift I have.  And my intention is to save the best for last.  Now, these are presents I already have, and enjoy, and I'm going to enjoy describing them a LOT.  You know how, when you're a kid and a new friend from school comes over and you get to show 'em all the cool stuff in your room? Yeah, it's like that.  So here goes:

First day of Chanukah:  KNITTING.  I have the gift of knitting.  I learned to knit from my mother, years and years ago.   I don't remember the teaching; I do remember a stunning dress with a matching sweater she knitted  for herself out of ivory-colored yarn shot through with gold.  She bought gold-and pearled braid for the sweater (it was a cardigan) and she bought a gold belt to wear with it, and it - and she - was exquisite! 

I knitted periodically - until a few years ago, when it All Came Back.  For the last few years it's increased from "Gee, this is fun" to "I am TOTALLY addicted, a perpetual knitter, and...wait!  Was that a yarn shop?"  I now have a S.A.B.L.E. stash.  (That's "Stash Acquisition Beyond Life Expectancy", otherwise known as "if I never bought another skein...like THAT's going to happen...I couldn't knit it all up before I die").

I am what is known as a PROCESS KNITTER.  I knit perpetually unless I'm writing fiction or blogging or ...OK, you got me...on Farmville or Frontierville or some other Facebook timesuck.  BUT!  other than that I knit all the time.  I knit riding in the car (not if I am driving, but when I perfect that, all bets are off);  I knit in meetings, while reading, at movies.  I knit while visiting.  I knit while watching the teevee or listening to the radio. 

Believe it or not - one time I was sitting on the couch watching teevee and knitting plain ol' stockinette, in the round (see "toque", below) and I dozed off...and woke up a few stitches further along, and they were FINE!!  I knit voyageurs' toques (see below, as I said above), shawls, scarves, socks, mittens, fingerless nitts, caps.  I knit cool little felted bowls.  And as a process knitter, when I finish a project and it REALLY IS SOMETHING! I'm delighted.  Because I b'lieve I'd knit even if it didn't become something.  I always have a lovely cotton dishrag on needles set aside for if I have nothing else available.




Now then, TOQUES.  Toques (a French-Canadian name, not used in France) are the knitted caps, usually red, seen in all the depictions of voyageurs and fur traders in the 18th century.  This is how they start, on three DPNs.  There are increases - and then just plain old knitting knitting knitting knitting, to the point where you decrease.  Now - there was a sailing ship that sank in icy Canadian waters in the mid-18th century, and almost everything on it was preserved.  It was carefully raised and the stuff was recorded, photographed, documented and published in a book.  (My good luck!)   Among the things found was a genuine, certified voyageurs' toque, incomplete but enough that I can point to it as provenance for the historic accuracy of the toques I knit.  I make them for a few reasons:  1)  they're easy;  2)  they're fun for me;  3)  they're popular among living history reenactors;  4)  they're easy;  5)  they're fun for me....wait, I'm repeating myself.  Lastly, but no kind of leastly:  oftentimes I get paid for 'em.  And when I DO knit them on request by voyageurs or traders, I send them with a "wool care" sheet; a monograph about the historical use of toques;  a sheet about Ste Anne, patroness and protector of the French-Canadian voyageurs -- and I pin to it a Ste Anne's medallion (with an 18th century-style straight pin).

So on this first day of Chanukah I enjoy my gift of knitting - which has brought with it also a Community, a group of dear friends, on Ravelry and at my LYS;  I am a member of a MOVEMENT of modern knitters;  I am one of a long line of women (imagine us all holding hands) that stretches back to some girl on the shore of the Nile putting together fishing nets - and the Virgin Mary who was painted knitting a little baby shirt on double-point needles.  (She was a Jewish mother, of course she'd knit him a sensible little sweater!)

As it is now sundown, I am going to light TWO candles on my menorah.  DISCLAIMER:  I have a shiny silver menorah with lovely flame-shaped blue-and-white bulbs. Yep, it's electric.  For the cats, you know.  (My sons asks what's the Hebrew way to say "Blessed art Thou, oh Lord our God, King of the Universe, who commands us to plug in the Chanukah lights".  I have no idea....but I figure He made cats so He knows all about it and sympathizes.   Tomorrow?   Second day of Chanukah.

A LOVELY Time....

....was had by all!  My grumpy is gone (long gone);  as is usually the case, all was well and ended well.  Our Thanksgiving table had four, not twelve - but...(all together now) more for the rest of us!  And oh, my dear ones, there WAS.  Everything was as delicious as always - I am a fan of the Typical Repast:  roast turkey, dressing, wild rice with sausage, corn pudding, cranberry sauce, gravy.

NOTE:  Regarding cranberry sauce.  Every year we have BOTH kinds (and you know what they are, I'm sure),   There's the sort of whole-berry type;  there's the jelled type.  Since a wee girlie, my Lovely Daughter has expressed a determined preference for the jelled kind - you have to be able to see the round lines around it from the can.  Might I add, this suits me, as I like both kinds, and as long as we HAVE both kinds, there is (all together again)   more for the rest of us!   There's something about the blending of flavors of Thanksgiving that's just so satisfying!

As usual, Mr Dearling did the bulk of the cooking.  The man has a Gift with turkey.   Furthermore, we had the genuine pleasure of sharing our table with Molly Bee , who is a special knitty friend of mine and Lovely Daughter's. She's of an age with Lovely Daughter - I consider her my "other daughter by another mother".  She endeared herself to us more (if possible) by bringing along a Nantucket Cranberry Pie.  Let me say this about that:  OH YUMMM-OH!  (Lest we come up short after the meal, she also brought along her lovely apple dumplings, and Lovely Daughter came bearing her annual delicious pecan pie.)  Only the fact that I am a Jewish Bubbeh, and therefore aware that one should have a meal BEFORE dessert prevented my throwing tradition to the wind and just downright having dessert first.

So...as I did not do this before, and as it's never too late to be all over verklempt:  My many blessings are foremost in my mind every day, not just at Thanksgiving, but the fact that I have arrived at this point in my life, this age, and find myself comfortable, secure, safe, healthy, and surrounded by cherished friends and beloved family is something worth mentioning at Thanksgiving time.

Mr Dearling exercised his annual prerogative by asking us each to name something for which we are thankful - OTHER THAN the usual family, friends, health &c &c.  Because those things are always at the top of the list, that was something of a challenge - but it occurred to me that I'm just awfully tickled to be able to share my love of history at the museum, and moreso, that I'm able to put on fun costumes and go speechify at senior centers around town.  Having the fun and privilege and joy of that just tickles me pink.

I'm awfully pleased that I live in these days of innerwebs and can google and twitter and all that (can you imagine the effect of saying "I'm not sure what kind of person he is, I'll just go google him up"  in 1950?  I can!)  And of course, I'm most earnestly grateful that my station in life and my own little nest are such that I can share my existence with my two kitties (WARNING:  verklempt alert).  It's no accident that the first word on the title of this blog is "CATS".  I feel as though a pet (in general) and cats (specifically) are the Soul of  a home, and my kitties?  Well - my cats are really my darling treasures...especially my Evangeline, my stout black kitty.

If we found ourselves in the Middle Ages, Evangeline and I would surely be hunted down as witches, because she IS my Familiar, my companion, -- in fact, although in "His Dark Materials" the characters' daemons are the opposite sex, Evangeline IS my "daemon".   I've always loved my kitties, but she and I share a bond I haven't enjoyed with other pets.

DISCLAIMER:  our wee brown tabby, Lilliane, is a sweet darling too (albeit she is a genuine certifiable paschkudnik) but she is very pointedly "her Da's cat".  She snuggles with me sometimes, and sits near me sometimes, but she clearly, unequivocally, most assuredly owns Mr Dearling.  She can bend him to her will (example:  leaving the clean clothes in the laundry basket for hours because she's sleeping on them) with just a strong gaze from her big green eyes.  So don't be thinking she's all ignored and stuff.  She's not.

You know, being unhappy over social mishaps (such as I was dealing with on Thanksgiving Day) really is, after the first flush, a conscious decision.  I'm over it - that was SO last week!  And anyone with the embarrassment of riches such as I am blessed with is in no position to hold on to grumpy.

So now the Holiday Season is officially on - let the merriment begin!

Yup...

...sadness and disappointment now becoming relief and anger. 

Two Rants

I am preparing my Thanksgiving message - be forewarned.  I get maudlin, verklempt, sappy, soppy and cloying.  I fairly REVEL in it;  chalk it up to my being OLD ENOUGH that I have a lot for which I am eye-wateringly grateful.

But first....

Rant #1: I am outraged and appalled at the whole TSA thing.    You get a choice of being seen (virtually) nekkid by someone who is "scanning" or being groped by someone else.  It' s been in the news a lot lately.  Now, I wouldn't even have a problem with the Nekkid Scan so much if it were simply that the images vanished instantly the minute you walked out.  I'd even go along with the ability to take a photo IF -- IF -- there was something clearly dangerous that warranted using the image.

But no, I understand there are nekkid scans of people (allegedly either laughable, ugly or "hot") that HAVE made their way out of the airports and onto the innerwebs.  Even if there's no way to actually identify the victim...erhm....subject, I draw the line there.  The story I read (and no, sadly, I don't have the documention which means this is "hearsay" or by legal definition, "bullshit") said that the TSA had no way to figure out who was stealing the images and posting them on the innerwebs.  Shucks.

HOWEVER - that being said, I hope no one tries pulling some kind of a scene during this Thanksgiving holiday travel scene.  I've read about the boycott or "opt-out" or what will you and the hippie-rebel-outraged-old-lady part of me shouts "RIGHT ON, BRUTHAH!!"  But the old-grandma part of me thinks of all the other old grandmas whose families might be so delayed by something like this that whole family holidays are uprooted, spoiled, cancelled.   What's the right thing to do? Damned if I know.  Looks like a lose-lose to me.  For my part?  I b'lieve I may just avoid flying anywhere any more.  Fortuately, I guess, my life is such that travel of any part is not urgent, and we sort of like seeing the sights when we go anywhere.  Furthermore, if god meant us to fly, she'd have given us wings and big mammary muscles.  Shaddup.

Rant #2:  Everyone knows that the use of tobacco carries with it the potential for certain health hazards.  That has been made abundantly clear - and in case somehow someone missed it, there are dire warnings on cigarette packs.  Non-smokers don't see them, probably don't care, and are thus unaffected.  SMOKERS do see them, probably care to a greater or lesser degree....and have either made up their mind, as a result, to:

a)  quit smoking, by sheer dint of athletic prowess or by emotional or chemical help;
b)  cut way back, which does reduce some of the hazards, while still being aware that the hazards are there and they're still potentially going to develop the health problems;
c)  know all that and continue to smoke, for whatever reason.

Now - I smoked for years, up to about a pack a day (in the days when I was collecting my Raleigh coupons).  Anyone know if there's any value to eleventy-bagillion Raleigh coupons?   I HAD to start smoking.  I played a character on stage who smoked.  And I was a theater person and we were cool and all sat around smoking.  I was also a writer, and a big glass ashtray was as necessary as the typewriter it sat next to.

I quit smoking - while I was pregnant, at least, and I never did smoke into my kids' faces (that I know of -- certainly not intentionally).  I knew the pleasure of a "cigarette after".  When I met Mr Dearling, he mentioned that he didn't care for smoking, that it made him quite ill.  I quit smoking in the house or car or anywhere he might be (realizing early on that if I let this one go I deserved to just be walled up and forgotten, even without the wine....five points for recognizing the allusion).  I still smoked occasionally, out with other folks or wossname.

Present status?  I feel pretty bad for people who are literally hooked on tobacco, people whose lives are interrupted by the need for a smoke, the people who can't take a four-hour flighte because they can't "step out for a cig" (whether or not they're seen nekkid first).  I feel sorry for people who lose relationships, alienate friends or risk children by the Great Need.  But by the same token, it IS A CHOICE.  Even the most hard-bitten, hard-core smokers CAN live through withdrawal;  you don't DIE without tobacco.  (And yes, you in the back muttering "they can die WITH it" under your breath, that's true - says so right on the pack).

But I still occasionally enjoy a smoke.  VERY occasionally, and since the damned things cost as much as a bottle of wine, they should be used the same way.  (That doesn't count Chocovine, which I feel inclined to enjoy a lot oftener than a cigarette...OR Absinthe, my new fave, which no one enjoys very often.)

SIDE NOTE:  I love Absinthe, it's legal again.  I love the taste (anise, which a lot of people don't like) and I love the frou-frou.  You have to put it in  a tiny glass, and then suspend a slotted silver spoon over it.  You then put a sugar cube on the spoon and VERY SLOWLY drip ice water over the sugar which dissolves down into the glass, giving the absinthe a shimmery greenish glow.  "The Green Faery".  It's dramatic, it's frou-frou, it was the talk of Paris among the intelligentsia and artistes and writers of the 19th century.  I'd probably drink it even if I didn't like it, for the drama.  Back to my rant.

OK - so smoking.  I saw a commercial for the Next Big Deterrent.  They're literally going to put pictures on the packs of dead people with their "Y"-shaped autopsy incisions crudely stitched back up (not done by anyone on CSI clearly).  Or pictures of a young man in his coffin.  Or a young woman with a nasal cannula and dismal eyes.  Or the lungs - you know the ones:  shrivelled, blackened, rotten-looking.

Now - with a reminder to those who know me (and information for those who don't):  I tend toward the irreverent.  So how did the information and illustrations of these new picture warnings affect me?

TRADING CARD PACKS!!  I hope they're on my brand, because I want them ALL!  I want a mint-condition collector set -- and I hope there's a website where they can be traded -- "I'll give you two Rotten Lungs for a mint-condition Dead Guy Inna Coffin!  I have three Autopsy Guys, anyone need an extra?  Or I'll trade all three for a Dying Girl.....

That's what they look like to me.  Just sayin'.

Count the Words....

All right, I'll accept all brickbats and tsk tsks and "man are you a crappy blogger".  Will it redeem me at all if I mention Best Intentions to Improve?  (Yes, you in the back, you probably have heard it before;  shaddup.) 

However.  Right about now I AM counting words - yes, I'm doing NaNoWriMo again.  I'm about to go off to a favorite writing spot and attempt to break 40k.  (Being a Professional Typist for all those years is paying off...a tip o' the hat to Mr. Johnson, who told me in 11th grade that I should learn typing "so that you'll have a saleable skill in case you never marry".)  Of course, I married three times, HA HA I showed HIM!  But my Chosen Profession of being a classical ballerina crashed when I learned that you had to be 5'4" for any professional company, hence the Secretarial Career.

So for the moment I'm pretty much going to be hunched over my netbook pounding.  But I have a new post begun here, and here's a teaser:  it's a Rant that will probably offend a whole bunch o' people (if they ever read it, which is unlikely, but I'll feel better).

I'm at that point in my NaNo novel where all of my characters have turned on me.  The lovely old priest seems to be some kind of wonky killer or something;  the main guy just may be worse than the priest, and next thing I know, the rabbi is going to drop a milchig fork in the drawer with the fleishig silverware.

Oy.