Olympic Fever!

Friends and family keep asking me, "Don't you wish you were in London right now?" Guess they don't know me very well because my idea of hell is being stuck in loud, sweaty crowds with no easy means of escape. Not to mention if you want to watch the Olympics, the best seat in the house is usually at home where you can see everything much better thanks to network cameras. I'll save London for another day. I'm content to see the sights from this side of the ocean.

I did stay up last night to watch the opening ceremonies. Well done, I thought. Not much of a surprise there as I like Danny Boyle, but I did find it odd that it overly emphasized British literature, film, and music over than sport and athleticism. I'm not going to complain, though, because the soundtrack was outstanding: the Clash, Bowie, the Sex Pistols, the Chemical Brothers, the Pet Shop Boys, Clapton, and more. We did not see Elton John or Coldplay. And I loved that when Queen came on, their music got an extra cheer from the crowd.

Speaking of queenly matters ... did you like the James Bond short? I thought it was fun. And good for the Queen for playing along, although she looked rather glum all night.

Another thing I enjoyed about Boyle's direction? The homage to Britain's sense of humor. The Brits just don't take themselves so seriously, unlike Americans. (A huge generalization, I know.)  I doubt you'd see the likes of an American director let someone like Rowan Atkinson goof around with a renowned orchestra. I mean, look how offended we get when Ricky Gervais pokes fun at Hollywood celebrities? Wait -- I guess it's the Hollywood celebrities who get offended. But I stand by my original assertion.

I loved the look of the Ralph Lauren-designed uniforms for the U.S. athletes, though I was dismayed to find out they were made in China. Grr. And while I've seen the athletic wear that Stella McCartney designed for Team UK, I wasn't thrilled with the look of the uniforms they wore at last night's opening ceremony. (Those gold patches under their arms? Yuk.) I also liked Canada's outfits -- they were simple, but really stood out.

Anyway, it was a pleasant way to spend the evening and I managed to get a good bit done on my 2012 Ravellenic Games entry, my Go America! socks:



I had to rip them back a bit after I'd discovered I'd cast on an extra stitch, but otherwise good progress. This morning I manged to add another two inches to the leg, and I suspect by the end of the weekend I'll have the heel turned. My son is down in Connecticut this weekend, so I have some extra free time.

Are you watching the Olympics over the next several weeks? Are you participating in the 2012 Ravellenic games?

Storm's a brewing

A rather impressive storm hit early this afternoon. I just wish it had dumped a bit more rain on my garden.

We sound that bad? (Friday funny)

I'm not sure how I found this video, but it's both fascinating and hilarious. Have you ever wondered what American English sounds like to a foreigner who speaks no English? I have. This video reminds me of when my younger brother and I were kids and we'd pretend to speak German or French, making up Teutonic- or ou-la-la-sounds and stringing them together. Yeah, we were short on entertainment in the day.



 

I also found this skit quite funny. I believe it's from an Australian show, but it looks like the skit takes place in London. Enjoy!

Knitting at Wimbledon

Who would have guessed that a woman quietly knitting on Wimbledon's center court could cause such a media uproar?



"A MYSTERY woman stunned tennis fans as she spent the entirety of Andy Murray's thrilling match – KNITTING," opened one article.

The Daily Mail sniped, "The woman seems more interested in her pink knitting than Andy Murray's match against Marcos Baghdatis at Wimbledon."

The Telegraph asked, "Who brings their knitting to a sports match?"

I teach my writing students to avoid opening an article with a question because the reader may offer the answer you're not wanting. As in this case. A great many knitters would answer, "We would."

When my son graduated from third grade, I brought my knitting to the ceremony, which promised to be a long drawn-out affair in a stifling hot community hall. No one really seemed to pay me much attention as I worked on my sock. I put my knitting down to clap after the speeches, which I actually listened to -- had I not had my knitting, my mind surely would have drifted to thoughts of what to make for dinner, whose calls I should return, and the work that waited for me at my desk. I snapped pictures, videos were taken, and I knit a full ten rows of my sock by the time we were released from our seats and into the refreshment area.

A couple days later we attended the school picnic. I was taking to a group of parents about the graduation ceremony, and one dad commented, "Did you see the older woman up in front knitting? Why would anyone knit in public?" Everyone tittered, and once I got over the shock of being referred to as an older woman, I admitted, "I was the one who was knitting."

The father tried to backtrack, claiming there was another woman at the ceremony knitting, but I assure you readers, I was the only one there with needles and yarn. I am certain of this because had there been another person knitting, we would have gravitated to each other afterwards to admire and fondle handiwork. You knitters know how this goes.

I wanted to lecture him that knitting isn't just an older woman pastime. Men knit. Tattooed Insane Clown Posse fangirls knit. I'm pretty sure there's an NFL player who plays with sticks and string. I wanted to tell him that knitting helps me focus: I actually listen better and process information more quickly when my hands are at work. Moreover, if you watch me knit, I rarely look down at my work. I can watch television, my son's swimming class, and read a book with nary a glance at my lap.

Instead, I said, "Did you notice how many people were checking their iPhones during the event?" I noticed, because like I said, I don't have to look down at my knitting to pay attention, so I could look around the hall. Most parents had their cell phones in hand, and many of them were typing and clicking away. Last I checked, you have to look at your iPhone to read e-mail, send a text, or surf the web.

He changed the subject. He had his Crackberry in hand at the picnic.

 

 

Deep romance?

A couple nights ago, my son and I were watching television and my attention was drawn to this commercial:



"You've got to be kidding," I said. "A cheap necklace to commemorate the sinking of a ship, which resulted in the deaths of over 1,500 people?" (The Sterlington Collection, the purveyors of this fine silverplate necklace -- and if you order now, a ring, too! -- calls them "souls aboard.")

The commercial is ridiculously hilarious -- from the photocopied Titanic tickets to the watery background behind the jewelry being showcased. What is romantic about a steamship filled with passengers sinking in the middle of the night in the cold north Atlantic? I think they're thinking of Leonardo Dicaprio and Kate Winslet smooching on a soundstage. And frankly, I didn't think the movie was all that romantic. I'll take a Merchant Ivory production, thank you.

Perhaps the Sterlington Collection has a long-term plan to develop jewelry to commemorate tragic events in human history. What's next? A bracelet called Waves of Desire, which honors the people who perished in the Boxing Day tsunami? Towers of Power, a faux onyx brooch that recalls the deadly September 11 attacks? Or maybe they see the romance of Pearl Harbor? Perfect, because they don't even have to think about the right fake jewel.

So yes, I will be passing on the Deep Romance necklace, matching ring, and photocopies of the doomed Titanic's last menu and a boarding pass, thus depriving my descendants of this classic heirloom. My loss could be your gain, though.

It's war

It's me versus this guy:

 



Make that "guys." Me versus lots of groundhogs.

Here are some scenes from my garden:



To the left was my squash patch. Now only two chewed down plants remain.



I thought my pepper plants would be safe ... alas, the groundhogs saved them for their main course, after the kale, lettuce, peas, and radish ...



See? The kale is gone.



Just two chewed down zucchini plants left in my container.



My tomatillo plants were doing stunningly -- until the bastards got them. That red you see on the leaves is cayenne pepper, but it isn't stopping these iron-stomached thugs.



Gratuitous cat picture. Tinkerbelle says, "I'm a lover, not a fighter."

Seriously, I'm at my wits end. The next step is a groundhog-proof fence, but I have to wait till mid-July for that, when my brother arrives for a long visit. By then, my garden will be in shreds and the fence will only be good for my year-end crop of spinach, kale, and other cool-weather veggies. I've tried all kinds of deterrents: coyote pee, human hair, the aforementioned cayenne pepper, homemade tinctures of crushed mint and citrus oil sprayed around the perimeter, dirty cat litter, and the most desperate of all attempts, boy pee-pee, aged. (I paid my son .50 for every pint jar of pee he could produce. He drank a lot of water that week, I'll tell you.)

Now, I grew up in Vermont and we had very effective ways of controlling garden varmints. But now I live in one of the most firearm-restrictive states in the U.S., with all sorts of laws and dire consequences for taking matters into my own hands. We can trap and release groundhogs, but only if we release them onto our own property. How ridiculous is that? Or we can kill them in the trap by drowning (which sounds horribly cruel) or shooting them as long as we have a special groundhog permit from the department of fish and game. But then I have to go through the rigmarole of buying a gun in Massachusetts and getting it properly licensed. Friends swear by dogs, but a dog for us is out of the question right now, not with two elderly special needs cats. I dislike killing critters, but when they're destroying food that I count on to get us through the summer and into the winter -- yes, I can tomatoes and use my garden to significantly reduce our food budget -- I don't have any qualms about humane execution.

Any suggestions beyond planting extra and letting the groundhogs have at it? Because I've done that and there's nothing left.

The Gentle Art of Knitting

When I heard/read that Jane Brocket was coming out with a knitting book, I got pretty excited. The Gentle Art of Domesticity keeps a prominent place on my livingroom bookshelf and gives me that boost I need when the house needs a little TLC.

The Gentle Art of Knitting was released in England a few months ago. I considered buying it sight unseen, but then I read some negative reader reviews of it and scratched it off my list. The complaints were that the knitting projects were too basic and not very revolutionary. (Those are my words/impressions of the reviews.) I buy very few knitting books, and only buy them for reference .

Though I'd resolved not to buy the book, I was thrilled to find a copy of it at our local library on the new titles shelf.

I spent a pleasant hour or two reading through it, sipping tea, during one of the many drenching rain storms of May. Is there anything revolutionary in the book? Why, yes, there is. As the reader reviewers noted, there aren't any patterns in here that will put Brooklyn Tweed out of business anytime soon, but what Brocket's book does brilliantly is remind knitters to focus on the process, not the product. As someone who frequently gets impatient to finish a sweater or can't wait to start some complicated cabled shawl, I appreciate this message. As soon as I put the book down, I cast on 37 stitches of red cotton and knit a simple garter stitch dishcloth. Then, I knit another, this time striping at random places with blue cotton.

It's the kind of knitting book I like to have when my handwork is giving me fits and I need to be reminded why I knit ... to create beautiful objects with care, to bond with friends (who knit), and to relax and enjoy the hours rather than wasting them idly in front of the computer or television set.

I do think I'll be getting a copy for my own bookshelf. The library's version was from England. Unlike British cookbooks, I like British knitting books to be "Americanized" with our needle sizes and dimensions in inches rather than centimeters, so I'm hoping they'll come out with a Yank version soon.

While on the domestic subject, I was futzing around the Web yesterday and found this video about how to properly fold a t-shirt, hosted by none other than Anthea Turner:

When I wasn't ironing and folding my extensive t-shirt collection, I was watching the Jubilee procession on the Thames, broadcast over CNN. My goodness, the British must be thrilled to have Piers Morgan off their island. The man DOES NOT SHUT UP. He interrupted every guest, including India Hicks, who was attempting to tell the audience what it was like to be in Princess Diana's wedding party. Morgan kept butting in with his own memories of the day, none of which were as remotely exciting as being Princess Diana's bridesmaid. I wanted to throttle him. So I ended up turning the tv off, and downed a glass of lemon barley water in honor of the Queen.

And how was your Jubilee weekend?