September 2011


I started a lovely sweater recipe that I found on someone’s blog (no really, I don’t know them at all) but it was for a vintage size, this weekend.  It was to be knit out of bulky yarn, that thick stuff that looks like skinny rope, or macrame` stuff.  It’s knit up quickly, given that I started it Saturday evening and it is now Monday evening.  My sad is not my pretty, soft, thick yarn or the speed of the project or my very obvious skill, my sad is that I took matters of sizing into my own hands, and now a lovely thing that ought to brush my hip bones is. . . looking like it will not.  Midway through one shouldery piece, which is at the top of the entire back of the thing that I’ve completed thus far, I have realized the sad truth.  this sweater will not work unless I undo the whole shebang and start again, this time being a good student and actually following the recipe.

(I say recipe because I can never seem to remember the word “pattern” in time to use it, and really they’re very similar in meaning.  I’ve given myself slack on this one, you should follow my good lead and do so, as well.  No, do it.  Go on, give me slack.  I’ll know when you do.  Ah, thank you.  Very kind.  Gracious, even.  Wise, benevolent, some would say.)

I have to rewind the yarn, and tug out all the soft, lovely stitches that I made using comically oversized needles that made such a nice clacky sound when I would hit a nice rhythm.  I am not great at rewinding yarn.  I make it too tight.  Also I wanted to wear my new sweater this week, and that is looking like less of a possibility.  I plan to dramatically sigh myself to sleep tonight, the better to impress upon Nick the desolation I feel.

Tonight, for (I think) the first time, Nick and I cooked together.  AND IT WAS AMAZING.  We used a mulligatawny recipe from The Pioneer Woman that used chicken, onions, and apples with curry and cream.  We worked together, people!  I chopped things, and Nikolai stirred things, and we both measured things, and after an altercation about rice, we arrived at a new favorite curry soupy thing.  This is big for Nikolai, because he doesn’t really like soups as are soups.  He likes chilis, chowders, and other thick things.

I’m just busy being amazed that we shared a kitchen and cooked a dish together, because as previously noted, we have issues in the kitchen.  He can cook up great things alone, I can whip up deliciousness solo, but we’ve not often shared and made a thing together.  BUT TONIGHT IT WORKED OH MAN.  Rejoice with me, my chillens.  Er, friendends.  Okay, like my three readers ever. I DON’T EVEN CARE WE COOKED TOGETHER.

 

 

Also curry is delicious.  That is all.

Taking a wild hair, Dad and I made plans about a month in advance to visit his side of the family in Idaho over Labor Day weekend.  I decided to take a couple days off work, Friday and Tuesday, to make it a nice extended weekend of happiness and nostalgia.  Of course Nikolai was on the trip as well.  I wanted to show him off to the family and get their approval, and I wanted him to see my people and love them.

We left after work Thursday night, stopping in Pendleton for delicious pizza which we ate precariously in the car.  My cousin Panda tagged along, as she is of that side of the family and wanted to go home, so to speak.  I mean, her husband and all live over here in OR, but her brother and stuff are back in ID, and she grew up there so it’s a kind of home but she keeps all her clothes with her husband and cat, so I think she does call that place home. . . I really like to ramble nonsensically.  READ IT ALL.

Nothing of much import happened, except I got to drive to spell Dad who’d been awake and functioning since save-me-Jesus thirty that morning.  Well, and we got to stop 1 of our marvelous journey roughly 3am PST.

It was a cabin in the mountains, the spectacular, gorgeous mountains.  Grandma’s rustic, wonderful cabin built by the generation before me, only recently got a phone line and electricity via the gas generator out in the shed.  It smelled just the same.  The carpet was the same under my toes.  the curtains that count as doors for the two rooms upstairs were just as they’ve always been.  I spent so much time those two days there just stopping, looking around with a goofy grin, and taking huge deep breaths as if I could pull the essence of the place into my heart via my lungs (yes, I have taken anatomy and some things do too pass from heart to lungs so there) and take it away with me.

While we were there, my dad hacked up a few trees that had come down last winter, and we stacked the wood in the woodshed to cure.  Obviously.  I had a vague memory of grandma from previous trips deep in my childhood attempting to get us all to help her with a similar task, and us grandkids being simply dreadful help.  This time, the chainsaw didn’t work on the first day like we had expected so Panda and I pouted because we had been excited to carry and stack wood.  I suppose that’s a good a sign as any that I may in fact be a grownup.

On Sunday we drove down the mountain to grandpa’s house.  I am delighted to report that he and his wife too, smelled the same.  I confess that my biggest concern in eventually losing my grandparents is that I will not be able to smell them anymore.  Do you know what I mean?  That perfectly him or her smell that meant sleepovers and summer vacation and treats for breakfast and a big hug, no longer able to be found.  ANYWAY NOW THAT WE’RE ALL DEPRESSED.  there was napping, and showering, and seeing Nikolai’s Friend that lives nearby and, true to form, I walked through a patch of goat heads ( a weed, btw) wearing flipflops and got one in my foot and about six in my shoes.  Ah, just like always.

Monday saw us going to a gun range with the Friend and popping little metal targets with little metal bullets. I’m not half bad, as long as the target is perfectly still and it’s a very low caliber gun and someone coaches me the whole time.  So, you know, watch out n stuff.  After that, and a little cleanup, there was a party at my aunt’s house.  Apparently, in describing the event to Nikolai, I had implied that there would be a large crowd of at least fifty people and all of them would be watching him with a jaundiced eye.  Oops.  There were about 25, counting small children, and all were delighted to see him and talk to him.  The night ended with kickball that got renamed Chrisball, after the cousin in-law that changed the rules whenever he got bored.  My aunt was laughing too hard to tag people out, so she may not have been the most efficient third baseman.  I got scraped up from second and third base, mostly because they were trees and it was easier to evade the baseman by running around behind them.

I got to see almost all my Idaho family, got to introduce Nikolai around, and got to hug them all again, and it’s been a few years.  I don’t think I’ll wait as long, next time.