Sunday, February 27, 2005
You are loose tea!
Congratulations, you are proper tea. You sneer at
teabags and blanch when someone suggests
microwaving water to steep your succulent
leaves in. Tea like you deserves respect. You
probably have a British accent on certain words
and use words like "sort" and
What sort of tea are you?
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Friday was the worst day in recent memory. First I had the kind of pointless e-mail chat that reaffirms one's despair at one's persistent heterosexuality (my family and and friend accept it, just deal), then the insurance company cancelled my policy because I haven't put a railing on the end of the porch where the aboveground pool was, now removed. It is WINTER and no one goes to that end of the porch, or indeed any part of the porch. I hate insurance companies and I feel I am doing a worse job of being a grownup every year.
Then I drove to Northampton to visit the daughter, who was not feeling much better than I was. I hoped to visit Helen, once again, but before I left I had to eat (a really good idea) and I had to make the fish tank power filter work again so as not to come home to braised catfish (and a fat happy betta). My companion on the road, NPR, discussed end-of-life proxy decisions (be very specific when you tell your daughter what you want), interviewed a man with the early stages of Lou Gehrig's disease, discussed Terry Schiavo _again_.
Is it too much to ask that they not headline their stories by saying "Another dramatic day in the life of a paralyzed Florida woman"? In her family's life, sure, but the whole point is that Ms. Schiavo does not have, as far as we know _she_ knows ANY kind of days, let alone dramatic ones.
After that Robin Young discussed the approaching demise (assisted, probably) of her 19-year-old Chihuahua, and a Boston Globe reporter read a column about the approaching demise (probably assisted) of his Golden Retriever, who sounded like Sarah's dog Haylie. By this time I wanted some assistance in demise myself, but the Science Friday was good until I drove out of the broadcast area and listened to The River, where idiot youth sang about cheerful sex, which I will probably never have again, and frankly if nothing else it would sort out the kink in my back.
Then I got lost in Hadley and stymied by the traffic and threw in the towel visiting Helen for the second time and I hope she still likes me.
Life got better as soon as I got to Smith, where Eleanor welcomed me and she and a bunch of people were ruining their expensively educated brains watching mindless rot -- not even anime or reality TV, which teaches us how others react under stress, but a _foreign_ production of some chick lit called Pride and Prejudice. Shocking. Because I had left my father's socks in NH, I had to get a small project, so I sneaked off to WEBS. I behaved fairly well, I think.
There I taught a nice person to spin, with a bit of luck ruining/enhancing her life. I got some discounted Wensleydale (I wish it were not being closed-out) and started a Twined Knitting sock. Since I have no pattern it will be an experiment. So far all I can tell you is it needs a huge number of stitches and I do love Wensleydale yarn.
(This is not accurate: I can tell you that you should cast on more than the canonical eight figure-8 stitches, since although TwinedKnit is lovably elastic, it is not stretchy the same way as a regular sock toe and you need to start out with about fifteen stitches or your toe will look cleverly like a stave church.)
Smith was full of friendly young women who thought I was cool because I know about comic books and offered to drive several of them to WEBS to feed their habits. Ellie and I did a little essential shopping and had an underspiced Mexican dinner, with (for me) a Margarita made of higher-shelf Tequila and Cointreau, noticeably better than the lower-priced spread. Then I slept on the spare mattress on her floor.
In the morning we took three people to WEBS -- Eleanor came for the ride, as she is well-fixed for wool, though she mentioned that she would like it if I knit her some gloves. I would love to make her some gloves, which might be finished as soon as April, but I am concerned that, in the meantime, wearing only the fingerless ones I made her for Christmas will result in frostbite that may adversely affect her typing.
Fortunately I have started one already.
Later we participated in a rather poorly designed psychological experiment, went shopping and lazed around, knitting or reading or playing the Sims. And had a tasty but not over-spiced Tibetan dinner, after which I went back to NH.
Now I am back home and Sarah
is cleaning my room because she gets upset when I am sad about insurance. She is kinder than I deserve, which is the whole thing about kindness. And we are eating the Easter candy.
At least it is sunny, though with a wind that will take your hair off.