Yoke completed

I spent some time finishing my cardigan up to the yoke before we get on the plane back across the Pacific.

I will be knitting the front bands on smaller needles to help prevent drooping. After they are attached, the collar stitches are picked up and it's finished. 

Now which side do the buttonholes go on?

My purchases

We shopped on a street for toys, stationary and outdoor clothing. I didn't trust the sizing on the long underwear, but did pick up  some inexpensive made-in-Korea goodies: colored pencils, eraser, unlined spiral pad, hiking socks, gloves with electronic connection tips and a fleece bill cap with drop down ear flaps.

So close

This is a wonderfully connected, modern city but still close to the Red Horde.

Our hotel room has emergency backup supply and gas masks. Every subway platform has a cabinet with supplies, just in case.

The train and platforms has TV screen streaming a news channel. There seems to be a lot of interest in the movie "The Interview".

H

Two nights in Lugano

Lugano is a lovely place to spend two nights.

We arrived on a train from Milan, crossing into Switzerland, early Sunday afternoon. We were able to roll our bags down to the hotel, a ten minute walk.

After settling in, we walked stairs beside an abandoned funicular train downtown.

It was drizzly, but not too cold. No one was around. We found a place to have spaghetti.

The next day we went up to the campus. It was a nice walk from our hotel.

Notice the Irish pub where my husband and I had lunch.

That night the Christmas market opened. It was alive with people celebrating the season. We ate an early dinner in an enclosed sidewalk cafe where the heaters were running.

My son has been admitted to the college there. We are still waiting for other colleges. At this point, Lugano is my sentimental favorite.

Eggnog

The bottle comes out on Christmas Eve to complete the eggnog.

To loved ones near or far or missed.

At the end of the evening, the bottle returns to its high perch to age another year.

Anyone remember the Paramount Dress Shop in Flushing?

MoM used to shop the sales racks at the small town dress shop. I may have bought my prom dress there.

I hadn't thought about it for years.

I found some nice things in this store in a redone downtown mall. I

 "Creative" versus "Paramount". How times and marketing have changed.

I'll take "Creative".

I love a sale, but

It pains me every time I see this rack in my local store. What I would give to be a size medium.

A whole new meaning

Frustrated with the mildness and additives of picked peppers, my husband put up a few jars this fall. We have plans to grow lots and lots of peppers next season.

While visiting family recently, we enjoyed a brunch at a "gastropub". I spied the infusion locker off the back hall.

I think these jars, labeled "spicy", are infused vodka destined for bloody marys.

Gives a whole new meaning to picked peppers.

What you see on an airplane

This fellow spent part of the flight editing a version of "Up on the Rooftop". You know the one with Saint Nicholas and the reindeer?

He must have been on his way to a convention of colon cancer doctors.  He was in charge of the entertainment. I guess that you have to be there to get the jokes.

He got hungry and ate a salad picked up on the run from Wolfgang Puck. His doctor would approve.

My seasonal passion

I decided to really indulge in Christmas socks this year. Whenever I'm in a drugstore and am tempted to buy Russell Stover's dark chocolate coconut Christmas wreaths, I give myself permission to buy a pair of Christmas socks.

The multiple color yarn in this pair proved problematic. The yarn inside didn't stretch like the knit. The Santa face was particularly binding.

I snipped the threads and I can put them on easily now. They may not last a washing, but who cares?

Ho! Ho! Ho!

It's looking like it's permanent

I am spending some time reflecting on the goals set out in my original post.

I find that I am choosing to stay close to my family rather than commute or live apart. Thus I am unemployed. At my age, this may be permanent. There are so many quandaries and implications.

I don't miss it.

I don't have to worry about commuting. I'm snug at home when the snow flies.

I don't miss it.

I don't have to worry about staying on the good side of the department chair. He no longer controls my fate.

I don't miss it.

I don't have to worry about the semester end: giving exams, watching for cheaters, grading, calculating, double checking, rounding up only to have frantic email exchanges.

I don't miss it.

I don't have to worry about searching job ads. I don't have to package myself to what I think they want.

I don't miss it.

It was a choice. Notice that I stated that in past tense. I may not be able to point to the moment it was made. I have removed myself from the job market.

My life is happier, healthier and richer in so many ways because of it.

Saw a fellow walking down the street

As I was sitting at my computer looking out the window onto the street, I saw a fellow walking down the street carrying a red folding chair bag, leading a puppy on a leash and tucked under his right arm was a kitchen sink.

What could it mean?

The playground

It is eerie to walk around the playground at night. I am all alone, but the lights are blazing.

It really isn't that late. In the summer at this time of night, it would still be light. There would be lots of people still out.

Walnut Street

I can walk on Walnut Street all year round.

Winter Concert

My son played marimbas on a percussion section feature, "Deck Them Halls", arranged by Crockarell. To get the flavor, here is another group doing it in 2007.

He played piano on "Pulse", by R. Standridge.

His years of piano lessons and recitals have a continuing impact.

He had quite a presence.

How do you peel an orange?

I am right-handed. I can't think of anything that I do with my left except for peeling an orange. I use my left thumb as a lever.

It makes me wonder how I was taught to peel an orange.

Was I taught to peel an orange?

I'm over-thinking this, eh?

I love where I live

When I sit at my desktop computer, I look out over the street. I see many things.

Today a Volvo station wagon parked in front of our house. I frowned and grumbled. Parking is dear around here, particularly with these snow banks. I know we don't own the parking in front of our house, but I guess I'm possessive.

Why are they parking there? They can have it for 24 hours, that's it, no more, then you have to move on. 

Why are they parking there? I watched as a father and pre-teen daughter got out. He lifted the back of the wagon and took out a Red Flyer sled. 

About an hour later, they were back, snow covered.  I imagine they were cold. The sled went into the back, they climbed in and the Volvo pulled out.

Do you think lunch with hot cocoa was next on the weekend agenda?

I love where I live, good access to the best sledding in the "City of the Hills".

My son driving

My son loved driving this cart around his cousin's home.

My backyard

A journey through autumn, looking out of my back door:

If you don't have flash, click through to the album.

Getting a driver's license

Growing up in suburban Michigan, I couldn't wait to get my license.

Now my son doesn't care if he ever gets one. He gets around town just fine by foot or bike. There is good bus service in the county, but he hasn't used it. His father or I drive him anywhere out of town that he needs to go.

He plans on living in an urban environment with a good public transportation system.

I panic thinking about it. How will he get to the grocery store?

Then I think back to a choice I made that MoM expressed doubts about: going to math grad school. Her response was "Where have I failed?" She saw nothing but her experience in public high school teaching. I saw a great challenge, pushing beyond where she was able to go.

And so it is with my son. We have tried to live our lives in an way that was not auto-centric. We really don't need to jump into our cars every time it snows to rush to the grocery store to buy milk, bread and snack foods. The inside joke in our family is that when it snows, you have to rush out to buy cheese doodles. My son always thought it was a made-up name until I showed him there actually it a product by that name.

My son is taking the next step. He may or may not be able to rid himself of the car culture.  But he will give it a try. I wish him well.

Walk in the snow

I bundled up and put on my reflective vest to walk downtown in an inch or two of heavy snow.

It's blooming again

The Christmas cactus is blooming for the second time since I brought it inside.
We're waiting for a winter storm. My son is predicting early dismissal today.

I had to get out

The sun was shining. I looked at the weather forecast. The next winter front was coming in.
I don't care if I was still coughing. I could bundle up.
I had to get out. Like Maria in "The Sound of Music", the hills were calling.

Shakespeare, the international brand

Following up on yesterday's post concerning the difficulty of translating a poem, the Christian Science Monitor had a great article about efforts to translate Shakespeare into Chinese.

Much more difficult that translating poetry, Shakespeare is meant to perform. There are new efforts at translating the plays.

Such is the challenge facing the translators whom the Royal Shakespeare Company (RSC) hopes to recruit to come up with fresh and catchy translations that will speak to modern Chinese audiences.
The plan, says RSC spokeswoman Liz Thompson, “is to have the writers and translators and interpreters embedded in the rehearsal room with the director and actors, watching them working on the words” as they prepare English language productions in London and Stratford-upon-Avon.

Maybe we could plan a trip to see the Chinese production due in 2016 of the "Merchant of Venice" on the 400th anniversary of Shakespeare's death?

A une Damoyselle malade

Radiolab did a show on translations. One segment was on Douglas Hofstadter's 1998 book,  Le Ton Beau de Marot, where he seeks to translate a poem by Clément Marot. It is an ode urging a sick princess to get well. As a visual learner, I sought out the original text and found this site useful.

A une Damoyselle malade

Ma mignonne
Je vous donne
Le bon jour;
Le séjour
C’est prison.
Guérison
Recouvrez,
Puis ouvrez
Votre porte
Et qu’on sorte
Vitement,
Car Clément
Le vous mande.
Va, friande
De ta bouche,
Qui se couche
En danger
Pour manger
Confitures;
Si tu dures
Trop malade,
Couleur fade
Tu prendras,
Et perdras
L’embonpoint.
Dieu te doint
Santé bonne,
Ma mignonne.

While I'm not eating my jellied toast in bed, I am seeking to get well.

The pieces merge

After returning home, I'm overwhelmed with unpacking, laundry, grocery shopping and car repair issues.

My plants need lots of watering. I'm eating oatmeal to make up while I was away.  I forced myself to get out and record a walk downtown yesterday which I did not want to do.

I'm fasting this morning before routine blood work.

I'm fighting jet lag and a cold.

I've done three rows on the yoke of my cardigan. I messed up on the pattern for the body because I didn't used the fishernet stitch on the sleeves. I ripped it out several places. I think I'm on the right track now.

One of my needle points cracked where it screws onto the cable so I had to visit April at my local yarn shop to order a replacement.

Until I can get a new one, I'll have to swap the points as I turn each row.

I haven't wanted to write. So this will have to do.

One hundred and three

That's how many posts I've published. I missed the big 1-0-0 while traveling.

I'm trying to say something witty about 103.
Yes, it's a prime number which means it can't be broken down into smaller number factors.
I really can't think of anything in my jet-lagged fog.
Anyone care to contribute? This doesn't have to be a monologue.
That's what I thought.
So another day.
Talking to myself.

The light up the hill

Now that the leaves have fallen, we can see our uphill neighbors and the light in their window.

Death and ...

Every year at this time we get tax bills on empty land inherited from my husband's parents. We keep this land as a legacy for our son. When we are really concerned about our financial security, we say that we can retire there. We can put up a house, grow some vegetables, maybe have a few chickens. The thought never stays long, but it works as a plan B or C or D.

We get three bills because the land is split into three parcels totaling about 16 acres. Taxes on all three are less than $76. The amount seems obscenely low. It really isn't the amount of taxes or that we don't have a say in voting on the taxes. Each year I look and see 24 taxing authorities or special levies detailed. I'm happy paying $1.56 (on the 10 acre plot) to support the local libraries, but the minutia drives me nuts.

So I decided to try to understand it. I haven't really done a good pie chart since first week in basic stats class last spring. Why not?

I researched the entries and categorized them. "Schools" is the largest category. That's a good thing. I agree taxes should support schools. Then "Community" includes the airport, various community centers, a park and the agricultural coliseum complex. I imagine that's the county fairgrounds, but they can't possibly call it what it really is.

The other category that requires explanation is "Health/Environment" which includes the hospital district and mosquito spraying. There is also something called "Forest Acres". I'm not quite sure if that is a park or nature preserve. We spent about $1 towards support of it. On further consideration, I think this is a state tax based on the fact that the empty land isn't cleared for agriculture.

Looking at the chart. I'm not dissatisfied at how my taxes are spent. I will get online and direct my bank to cut three checks to send to the Sheriff who is also the tax collector.

Keeping track

The cardigan sleeves are coming along. It's easy to keep track of the pattern which repeats every four rows, except with the honeycomb which repeats and shifts after four rows.

The problem I'm having is to remember to increase every inch at the sides of the underarm section.

It's like playing a four-four march with every seventh beat you yell "Yeah!".