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.

Remember --

November 10, 1975

35 years ago today

The Edmund Fitzgerald sank in a sudden squall on Lake Superior, around 17 miles from Whitefish Bay.  It sank quickly, no distress signals reported, carrying all 29 aboard to their frigid deaths.  When the wreck was found, it was discovered to be as above:  broken in two.

The song (everyone knows the song) says that Lake Superior "never gives up her dead" - the fact is, that's a fact.  The water is so cold that the usual bacteria who cause disintegration and the creation of gases which cause the corpse to float are absent.  Lake Superior keeps her dead.

I mark this date - as a lover of Lake Superior and as a woman whose family (or part of it) made its living on the lake and witnessed her beauty and her fury.

A fact which brings tears to my eyes:  every year the light at Split Rock (no longer in regular use)  is illuminated on November 10th, to remember and honor the crew of the Edmund Fitzgerald.

One day I will be there to see it.