First Day of Many

Yesterday was one of those days you dread - the first of the season, in fact. Those days when it's too warm and too muggy and you're praying for a thunderstorm to come along and wash everything clean. We had storms predicted for our area and I was anxious for one to conjure itself up and give us some relief.

I'd just cleaned a winter's worth of grime from the plastic chairs that sit on my balcony - a necessity since I was wearing white slacks. I took the current book I'm reading, When Will There Be Good News? by Kate Atkinson, outside with me to sit for a spell.

Outside the air was thick with humidity despite the strong breeze that was blowing. My hair was pinned up at the back of my head. Loose tendrils of hair snaked around my neck, sweat slicked and sticking to my skin. I was barefoot and I propped up my feet on another chair.

I'd brought a cocktail with me. Not much of one - just a glass crammed with ice and two fingers of Martini Bianco and then filled to the top with Sprite Zero. A bit sweet but I told myself the lemony flavor would be refreshing and therefore displace some of the sweetness. The glass stood sweating on a flower cart and occasionally I'd have to fan away a bee before taking a drink. Tipsy bees.

Below me on the street I could hear the fountains gushing and the occasional sounds of splashing and laughing from little ones as they walked by and were unable to resist dipping their hands in. I had on sunglasses but they weren't very necessary. The sun would blaze and then duck behind thick, gray clouds and back out again. The breeze pushed the clouds farther and farther to the east but as of yet wouldn't build up to be a proper raincloud.

So I sat. And I read. I'd squint when the sun would catch the corner of my eye and I'd be happy when a strong breeze would cool the sweat on my neck. And I waited for the thunderstorm that never came.

Flaming Lips

It's a bit sad to me when I get a gift that I thought I really, really wanted and end up not enjoying so much. All that effort and expense that someone put out to get me what I asked for and in the end it sits on a shelf, unappreciated and unloved. This doesn't happen terribly often but when it does I actually feel sorry for the shunned object.

Fletcher the iPod in no way fits into this category. I love him. He is with me at all times. Not only can I tote around with me so much more music than I could when I used Bixente the iPod but now I can carry with me podcasts. Until now podcasts had to be enjoyed by me while I sat at my computer and often I wouldn't bother with them because it's hard to write when someone's chatting in my ear. Now when I'm doing chores or running errands I'm as likely, if not more, to be listening to a podcast as I am listening to music. Podcasts fit my love of hearing stories and learning an amazing amount of trivia.

Last week I heard on the This American Life podcast a fascinating story of a boy who, nearly 100 years ago, went missing in a swamp in Louisiana and was later found. Two families claimed this boy to be theirs but the wealthier family ended up with the boy. Later the descendents did research to find who this boy really belonged to. As I shopped for groceries I was completely hooked into that tale. HowStuffWorks.com has a bunch of podcasts that keep me entertained and I've learned all sorts of trivia about redheads, going over Niagra Fall in a barrel, the Jefferson Bible, the Spanish Inquisition, medieval torture devices, moonshine and so on as I clean the toilet or go fetch bread at the bakery. National Public Radio has a treasure trove of podcasts. There are podcasts about books, movies, music, politics, food and my favorite is Wait, Wait...Don't Tell Me - an on air game show about the previous week's news events. And it's the one that caused me a bit of trouble tonight.

Tonight as I listened to the latest episode of Wait, Wait... I was making Spanish rice for supper and in my distraction I seem to have spooned in way too much cayenne pepper. The first bite wasn't so bad but as I ate more my mouth began to burn to the point where I'm surprised that my tongue and palate aren't blistered. My eyelids were sweating.

Maybe I should email HowStuffWorks.com and suggest they do a podcast about how hot peppers work.

Jumping Through Hoops

Waking up to a cloudless, sunshiny sky when I was expecting snow or at least some sort of depressing overcast nonsense had me up and ready to head out the door in record time. Why hang around home when you can go shopping for stuff you're not going to buy?

First though my husband needed to call the guy at the medical supply shop. B's been trying to get a new push wheelchair since....I don't know. Like October or November. Go dig back in my archives if you really want to know because I'm sure I mentioned it when we first started the process. Here's how the process goes. Mr. Medical Supply comes over and finds a push wheelchair that will suit B's needs - in other words one that will comfortably accommodate his 6'4" long body and will fold up so I don't have a big ass wheelchair cluttering up our flat. I already have one of those, thanks, and don't need another. Then B gets a prescription for the wheelchair from the doctor, gives it to Mr. Medical Supply who then gives it to the insurance company with some paperwork. The insurance company says yes or no or asks for more information, Mr. Medical Supply gives it to them, they approve it, chair is ordered, delivered and the old push wheelchair we have that's currently in my way because it's so ancient it will no longer fold up is taken away. I get that there's going to be lag time but shit fire, we're halfway through February now. I sent the prescription to Mr. Medical Supply long ago - I think it was even before the Christmas market opened. We waited for a couple weeks and then B called Mr. Medical Supply to ask for an update. He asked how old B's current push chair is because the insurance company asked why B needed this specific wheelchair and how old his current one was. B told Mr. Medical that he'd had the push chair since around 1991 or 1992. And then we waited. We waited over Christmas and we waited over January and when we were staring down the middle of February B decided to call Mr. Medical again.

B called him last Monday. Mr. Medical said he needed to check his paperwork and would call back during the week. After no return call B called him again yesterday. Mr. Medical said he'd call between 5pm and 6pm. No call again and B called him back this morning. Mr. Medical apologized and admitted that the paperwork for this situation had been neglected but he'd heard from the insurance company and they wanted to know why B needed this specific chair and needed to know how old B's current push chair was.

Excuse me. Did I just get sucked back into time ten weeks?

B gave him the information again and Mr. Medical assured B that he'd call back during the week. I hung up the phone and went berserk. That lying SOB! Acting like he'd just heard from the insurance company and hadn't already asked B these questions. This guy has completely ignored this and I reckon if we hadn't called the paperwork would have sat on his desk until the end of time. It pisses me off no end how handicapped people are treated as if they're too stupid to know that they're being dicked around and that they're too timid to speak up for themselves and it pisses me off no end that people can't do their jobs properly. You sell medical equipment. Wouldn't you be better paid if you...oh I don't know...maybe sold some effing medical equipment to someone who's asking for it?

My idea for handling the situation was to go over Mr. Medical Supply's head and get his supervisor involved or me simply shoving my size 7 shoe up his ass. B's idea is to tell Mr. Medical Supply that B will contact the insurance company directly because if he talks to them they'll want to know why Mr. Medical hasn't already resolved this and will contact the manager thereby getting Mr. Medical's ass in a sling in a way that can't be ignored.

So then I went out into the sunshiny day and bought some white and purple tulips to celebrate the impending ass kicking of Mr. Medical Supply.

Diligent

Please pardon my absence. You didn't notice that I haven't written anything in nearly a week? Lie to me and say you did. I beg of you.

In the past week I have put aside many of my regular ways of filling my days, including writing blog entries, in favor of beginning my spring cleaning. It being only February doesn't matter. I'm slovenly and if I want things done before it actually turns summer I have to begin now. I've had my head stuck inside the oven for so long that I am considering changing my name to Sylvia Plath and I've been so intent on scrubbing the bathroom tile grout that I believe we've become best friends. I think the grout is getting me a valentine.

And the empty cardboard boxes. Oh the boxes! Those devil boxes! I can have every best intention in the world to not let them build up before taking them to the recycler but best intentions inevitably turn into "How in the hell did so many boxes get in here?".

I can't wait until the spring cleaning turns to going through my clothes closets. I know I've got some definite wardrobe gems in there.

Rumpled Dots

Events are all scattered so the reporting of them will be all dotty.

• Happy day. Package delivery lady was by here this morning. I think she's sweet on me because she brought me two books (The Hour I First Believed by Wally Lamb and When Will There Be Good News? by Kate Atkinson) and a small package from Apple. My new iPod has arrived. Introduction to him and his christening will be done on Friday.
  
  
• Goodness knows I love sock knitting but dang do I need a break from it. I'm not sick of sock knitting as much as I'm sick of knitting socks under a time pressure. I don't like having to knit something because I've said I'll do it by a certain date. And if I want to knit a scarf or blanket instead I can't do it because I have a stupid sock knit-along with penalties attached that makes me knuckle under.
  
  
• I just complained about sock knitting as though it were something of some real significance. Can you feature how I'd bitch if I had a real job with actual deadlines?
  
  
• I often think that if I lived on one of those remote islands in the North Sea or along the coast of England that I'd be fine with it. One of those places where you're a couple miles from some little town that's not as big as a spot in the road. One of those places where it's stormy fairly often and you don't see folks for maybe a couple weeks at a stretch. If I had DVDs and yarn and my laptop I believe I'd be okay not seeing anyone for a while. I feel a little anti-social saying that but honestly I think I could be one of those crazy-ass lighthouse keepers.
  
  
• Shit. I just remembered that I've got stuff in the washer than needs to be hung up. Should be nice and wrinkly by now.
  
  
• I just added ironing to my to-do list for tomorrow. Later, taters!
  

It's Done

My new birthday iPod has been ordered - B has just now finished the order. Up until then I've changed my mind so many times I've about stripped my gears.

The input from y'all has been most helpful and I considered it all - Dictator Princess, yours came in just in time for me to read and consider. And Katya, just for you I have mulled over getting an iTouch. I may as well give them all an equal shot for being my new music buddy.

I reckon I'll have my new iPod by the end of the week so I'll wait until it's here and ready to shuffle before the grand unveiling of which one I chose and what his new name will be. Picking what I wanted to have has been an exercise in careful decision making. I'm fairly certain I put less thought in choosing my first husband.

Bundle Up

The new year is seven days old and already we're in the throes of malaise. I'd like to go shopping - we're looking for a new TV and maybe a new laptop for me - but it's too cold to go out. Being too cold to go out is the new, all-purpose excuse for everything. Shopping? Too cold to go out. Go visit friends? Too cold to go out. Go for a walk and burn off the shitload of fried fish and bratwurst I consumed during the five weeks the Christmas market was open? Too cold to go out. Plus I need this extra layer of fish and bratwurst fat to insulate me from the cold. I'd like to use the too-cold-to-go-out excuse for things such as why the oven is scrudgy inside and why my laundry is a bit backed up but no one's buying it.

But it is terribly cold out. Overnight it gets to be -20°C which is enough to make all the news programs foam at the mouth about how Arschkalt it is outside and makes my Ukrainian neighbors laugh their asses off at our pansy-ness.

I limit myself to venturing outdoors once a day - twice if I forget to take the trash out with me the first time. I go start the car to make sure the battery doesn't freeze up. I'm not sure if this actually helps but it makes me feel useful and important. While I run the car I sit in it shivering and wishing I had a cigarette to pass the time but that would be bad and very wrong of me so I simply sit and feel my booty growing numb despite any layers of fish and bratwurst insulation. After my Toyota's engine has been invigorated I pick my way over to the bakery for the day's bread. My insane fear of slipping on the ice and dislocating my elbows - which isn't all that insane since I once watched a former workmate slip on ice and dislocate her elbow - has me walking as though I'm 110 years old and am holding an orange between my knees.

Once home I burrow in like a hedgehog and entertain myself by wiping down the condensation on the windows a dozen times a day, making various cold-day-cuisine dishes (chili! beef stew! goulash!), and watching the thermometer fall. Watching it sink by 1.7 degrees in 20 minutes as we ate supper was a high point. Conversation in my home now features topics such as speculating about how frozen the Elbe river is (I live about four blocks from the Elbe - I could just walk over and see for myself but it's too cold to go out) and congratulating myself on how my sufficiently stocking up on groceries has enabled me not to have to go out in the cold.

And it's only early January. Heaven help us.

Midpoint

I'm at that point in my Christmas preparations where I'm losing some of my enthusiasm. I liken it to when I take a road trip. I love the first part where I'm all excited about embarking my trip and I'm anticipating all the fun. I love the end where I reach my destination. However about halfway into the trip I begin to lose my initial enthusiasm. The scenery isn't catching my attention and I'm tired of nasty highway rest stops and I can't get shit on the radio that isn't Oak Ridge Boys-ish or a farm report. It passes soon enough but in the meantime it's hard not to just pull over and say "Screw it!".

I'm now down to the boring, on-the-verge-of-being-annoying Christmas shopping. The stuff I need to pick up for our doctors and B's physiotherapist and assorted extended family. I always feel quite clueless when doing this bit of shopping. I set out hoping to be inspired by seeing some sort of clever gift idea but usually end up buying something that just won't be out-and-out embarrassing to present them. Today it was shopping for our family doctor (Two silk scarves and a box of Lindt chocolates. My prediction? She'll regift the scarves but eat the chocolates.) and for B's dermatologist (A bottle of Vueve Clicquot champagne) and all I could really think about is getting home and curling up on the sofa because right now my stomach has been extra wonky. I can't even drink tea without it giving me stomach cramps. I don't have time for sofa curling though because I still need to do some gift shopping, have to get groceries, and find somewhere to store my yucca palm so I can get my Christmas tree up. I hate that yucca palm. I'd saw it in half and chuck it in the biodegradable trash bin except my MIL bought it for me for my birthday three years ago. Stupid tree. The leaves are always stabbing me.

It's just the mid-season whine mixed in with a hefty dose of stomach virus. By the time the weekend rolls around and I decorate my tree and completely plan out my Christmas baking I'll be more enthusiastic. Hope my stomach gets better soon though because for every day I have a wonky stomach I am missing an opportunity to have crispy fish as the Christmas market.

Envelopes of Cute

I love to get little goodies in the mail. When I was a kid I'd get all charged up when the Christmas Seals would come in the mail for us to stick on the backs of Christmas cards. I liked the free address labels too. I even got a thrill out of the teeny tiny red pencil that would come in a solicitation for Time Magazine.

Today I was showered with treats in my mail. The first envelope was from my friend, Karen.

A few weeks ago I'd made a comment on a online forum she and I both visit that what sucked about voting absentee is that you don't get a groovy little "I voted!" sticker to wear all day long. Karen, not wanting me to miss out, offered to send me hers. Still on the wax paper and everything.



Isn't that a scream that she sent me that sticker? I collect campaign buttons (I have one for every Democratic candidate going back to Jimmy Carter) so this will fit right in with my collection. Then for an added treat she sent me this bracelet:



Karen's sister, Ginni, bravely battle breast cancer for over ten years until she ended her fight in April, 2005. For many years now Karen has worked hard to raise money for breast cancer awareness and research and this bracelet was for the Race for the Cure team in Ginni's honor. Ginni was someone who taught me bravery and dignity and strength and grace and so having this bracelet to remind me of her and to remind me of how Ginni lived makes me very happy.

My other envelope was also from America. I participate in some sock knit-alongs where I have to complete at least one pair of socks each month. In one of the knit-alongs the names of those who complete socks for that month are entered into a random drawing with knitting goodies as the prize. My obsession with slavish devotion to commitment to sock knitting paid off when I won this:



Perfect since I'd been looking for orange sock yarn. With the sock yarn were these:



Stitch markers. They're great to have so you can place one between stitches in your knitting to remind you to do something like an increase or decrease when you come around to the marker or they can demarcate pattern repeats. You didn't get that, did you? Okay. They're great because they're pretty and cute.

And that's what I've always loved best about little goodies in the mail. The cuteness of them.

Low Profile

"What's with you?" you say. "Think you can post for thirty days straight and then just duck out of sight? That's not the way it works 'round these parts, missy!".

It's just that I've been keeping myself under the radar. Catching up on the knitting I've gotten behind with. Trying to finish an excellent book that I'm enjoying but can't seem to find enough time to read. Getting my Christmas decorations up and getting this cluttered flat straightened up. Trying to figure out what to buy for B's doctors and therapists for Christmas.

And I've been trying to avoid hearing the Christmas song I hate most in the world. I don't even want to mention which song it is because that would be like summoning the devil but you'll know it when I finally do hear it. The scream rising from my throat is bound to be heard all over the world.

Non-Stop Delight

It's been such a fun-filled and pleasant day here in the Peach household. I can barely contain how full of joy I am and please, please give me the immense honor of sharing my happiness drenched day with you!

After a restless night of listening to the winds howl and the rain pound on the windows I was finally able to fall asleep somewhere around 5:00am. My neighbor's daughter, knowing instinctively that I would certainly not want to start my day with more than two hours of sleep thoughtfully awoke me at 7:00am by playing her piano. How kind it was of her to play the same eight bars of music for twenty minutes straight!

Once my sunrise concert was over I was able to once again fall asleep for another two hours. When I awoke I could see that it indeed was a lovely day outside with bright sunshine streaming through my living room windows. As I had an appointment with my hairdresser this morning I quickly showered and dressed and by the time I was ready to leave the weather had changed. Why have gorgeous sunshine outside when I could be treated to more rain? Mother Nature herself must have sent it to me personally because she knew I'd enjoy strolling in it while going to my car. And I can barely express how thrilled I was when I remembered that I'd left my umbrella in the car! Why I was shouting with glee at the very thought of it!

I had my hair colored today and I wish I had the right words to describe how absolutely tickled I was for my hairdresser to wash my hair wearing stiff rubber gloves. As she rubbed my scalp and at the same time tore hair out at the root I could only think of how fortunate I was to have such stimulating scalp massage!

The rest of the afternoon was rather uneventful. I went grocery shopping and was able to get a parking spot directly in front of the door. The store was practically empty, I found all that I was looking for in the store and didn't need to wait in line at the check out. Completely unremarkable things. Utterly boring. And then it was time for the high point of my day.

Around 5:00pm I needed to walk to the post box to mail some DVDs. If I could mail them before the post box was emptied at 6:00pm then I'd likely get new DVDs delivered on Saturday. No matter that it was again raining outside. That wouldn't be a problem at all! Why it was my fate to walk three blocks to the post box becuase I had once again left my umbrella in the car.

It was steadily pouring rain as I fetched my umbrella out of the car and began to walk down the street. And Mother Nature, somehow knowing that I'd need some resistence exercise, sent strong gusts of wind that insured that I'd need to hold the umbrella with both hands. That tricky wind threatened to tear the umbrella from my hands a time or two and once it flipped the umbrella inside out but I laughed delightedly at the howling wind and shouted strong words to it to express exactly how I felt about it's playfulness.

Once I had deposited the DVDs in the post box I turned towards home. When crossing to the next block I had to wait for a walk signal and when a car speeded through the intersection and splashed water against my legs I shouted the same words of excitement to the driver that I had complimented the wind with.

I passed by the state opera house and city library and crossed over to the block where my apartment bulding is located. The wind and rain, obviously trying to thrill me beyond measure, was picking up as I started down the last 150 meters to my flat and as I rounded my building a particularly playful gust caught my umbrella, nearly dragging me to the ground in the process, and then proceeded to not just turn the umbrella inside out but tear the rod away from where it attached to the cloth and bent half of the umbrella ribs in half. Broken umbrella! Gusty winds! Puking rain! Oh world, envy me!

My rapture didn't end there. My hairdresser, likely knowing that I'd be drown late this afternoon, had gooed up my hair good and proper by using on it a glob of mousse the size of a baseball and after stying it, sprayed my hair with enough hairspray to create another hole in the ozone layer. Once I'd returned home from my happiness filled trip to the post box and my hair had dried to the texture of cement I could finally attempt to drag a comb through it to break apart the glued together strands and further delight my already overly stimulated scalp.

Now tell me about the best part of your day.

Favorite Part of My Day

I could see them as I walked down the street from the bakery. One was one of my neighbors who lives on one of the upper floors. She's got two little toddlers and one baby who's less than a year old. The other was a friend of hers who lives in a nearby building - she's got a baby and a little girl of about two. They were standing and chatting in front of the entrance to my building while the toddlers were wandering around them on the sidewalk.

I said hello to the ladies and let myself into the building. The front and sides of the lobby are all glass and when I bent down in front of my mailbox to empty it something caught my attention. Still bent over I lifted my eyes and saw the little girl on the other side of the glass. She was in a sweet little pink outfit, her head haloed in curly brown hair and her deep brown eyes were fixed on me. I smiled at her and she rewarded me with a big smile back. Feeling silly, I made a little face at her - wrinkling my nose a bit - and she laughed. She returned the favor and made a little face at me and then we both laughed. It went on and on back and forth, exchanges of silly faces and giggles until finally I had to straighten up before I got stuck in a permanently hunched over position. That's when I noticed the ladies, evidently attracted by the laughter, had strolled over to watch me and my new little face-making friend in action.

I gave them a little smile that said "You caught me," and they gave me back a little smile that said "Ohhhh yeah,". And then I gave them a little sheepish wave, another wave to my curly haired friend and scooted myself into the elevator.

East, West, Home's Best

Renate called this afternoon. I immediately started praying that she wouldn't asked to speak to me because I absolutely will not speak to anyone on the phone in German unless I have no other choice. It makes me nervous to do so, therefore I avoid it. However she seemed content to speak with B and it's likely she figured that I was around listening anyway since he has to use a speakerphone.

Renate said she was sorry she couldn't get up with me for another visit before she left town (she works as a caregiver for an elderly woman in Frankfurt - she's on duty 24 hours a day for two or three weeks at a stretch and then she switches with another caregiver and has off two or three weeks which is when she's back here in town). I like her fine and all but not seeing her again so soon didn't break my heart any.

She also mentioned that when she's back here she'll call and maybe she and I can meet up somewhere and hang out. Perhaps have lunch together. Do some girlfriend stuff because she knows I must be dying to get out of our flat for a few hours.

Actually I'm not.

When I was a kid I couldn't wait to get out of the house. I stayed gone as much as I could get away with. I would much rather play at a friend's house than be at home. Growing up in my home could best be described as chaotic and hectic and I really needed to be somewhere else that wasn't so oppressive.

Now I have my own home and I have become a true homebody. I love being at home. Don't get me wrong - I have no problem going out. I'm not one of those folks who avoids going outside - I simply prefer to be home most of the time. I like my flat. I like being with my husband. I miss him when I'm not with him. There are two big reasons I have been able to spend the last eleven years of my life with a homebound person without us constantly fighting and either of us going crazy. The first is that I adore my husband beyond reason and I'd rather be with him than any other person in the world. We never get sick of each other. The other reason is that I simply like being at home.

Cabin fever? I don't really get it. I do need to get outside long enough to get some fresh air and some sunshine on my face if there is some but I don't particularly need to go somewhere. I'm very content to be in my flat and take care of things there, knit, read, talk with B, watch movies together. Go ahead and drop me on one of those little villages on an island in the North Sea. If I can still get broadband internet access and my DVR works, I'll be fine.

Renate will call again in a couple weeks and I'm sure I'll meet up with her for a little mall prowling or to have lunch together and I'll be happy to do that. And without a doubt I will be looking for the earliest opportunity to get back home.

Too Comfortable Seating

Two friends of ours, Renate and Helga, came over this afternoon for coffee and cake. Helga's son was in the same rehabilitation hospital with B after their respective accidents and Renate is the mother of our friend, Tina. And Tina is married to Helga's younger son, Ingo. Following all that?

I completely overlooked it when they arrived a half hour earlier than I had expected them. Yesterday Helga had told us that she was meeting Renate at 2pm at the market square and then they'd walk on up to our flat. I figured I had at least until 2:15pm before they arrived. Instead they caught me at 1:45pm with the table not yet set and the coffee not made. No problem - I just got things ready as they talked with B.

We were having a pleasant visit together and eventually the conversation turned to a discussion of how Renate is very disgusted with Gerd. She took over his old flat when Gerd moved in with my MIL and there's some bad blood between them - too long to explain here and frankly it's something that likely would cause you to go in search of two aspirin and a Bloody Mary with which to wash them down. Suffice it to say it was interesting, dishy gossip.

Around 4:00pm Helga's sister came by to go home with Helga and before leaving she sat with us to have a drink and to chat for about a half hour. Finally they got up and asked Renate if she was leaving with them and Renate replied "Oh I'll stay around for a while if they'll have me.".

I thought she was just being amusing. Instead Renate was dead serious.

It was only 4:30pm and I figured she'd hang out another fifteen minutes or so. Suddenly I began to get sleepy and was having to stifle yawns. Renate stayed longer and I was mentally begging for her to go. I picked up my knitting to work on as we chatted, hoping it would send a subtle message. It didn't. I was now hiding yawns with my hand and my contribution to the conversation was restricted to a lot of "Ja. Ja. Uh huh. Ja". That's one thing about Renate - you don't have to worry about any dead spots in the conversation. She'll gladly do all the talking and if you let her she'll answer herself as well.

I like Renate. She's a little quirky but likeable. In that way she's like Gerd - not a bad person, just quirky with some quirks being more tolerable than others.

It got later and finally I was on the verge of open yawning but, as I was not raised by wolves, I resisted. I finally began to panic when in conversation Renate mentioned that she liked to watch on Mondays Who Wants to be a Millionaire? and when B said he did too she replied "Oh good! Then I won't have to watch it by myself tonight!". And I'm 99% sure she wasn't kidding.

I knew that if I was getting tired of this visit that B must really be suffering but, frankly, I suck at hinting that people should just go home. Luckily B has a ready made excuse - he's handicapped. Finally just before 6:00pm he said, in a very casual way I might add, "I must be getting very tired. My legs are starting to get bad spasms.". Renate, thankfully, picked up the meaning and said she would head on home.

Four hours and fifteen minutes. Renate was here for coffee and cake for four hours and fifteen minutes. I hate to sound all anti-social but damn! Unless you're someone I only see once every three years, a four hour and fifteen minute coffee and cake visit from you is too long. I sure as hell wouldn't inflict myself upon someone for that long unless it were planned head of time and I'd traveled from a distant city to make the visit. I didn't spend that long at my siblings' respective wedding recptions. Hell, I didn't spent that much time at my own wedding receptions. Either of them.

A year ago when I was back home in Mississippi and my girlfriends came to visit me for a weekend, we all went to visit my mother at the care facility where she lives. In my mother's room is her bed, her recliner and one wingback chair so we had to find seating for all of us as best we could. My mother apologized that she no long had her couch but it wouldn't fit in her room. "And anyway", she added, "if you have a couch, folks just sit on down to visit and you can't get rid of them!".

At the time my friends all laughed heartily at her comment and I chuckled along in that "Oh that wacky mama of mine! Miss Virginia will just say anything that pops in her mind!" way, but now I'm beginning to see her point.

Looky!

Socks. But then you were already expecting that, weren't you?



Gratuitous yarny talk:

Pattern: Spring Forward
Yarn: Gedifra Socks Color
Colorway: 7059

I always try to include the gratuitous yarny talk even if a vast majority of y'all don't give a crap about what pattern the socks are or what yarn I used. Still if I didn't do it it would feel funny. The world may go out of balance if I didn't tell y'all all the little details. It's been rumored that the current economic crisis in America may have been caused by a knitting blogger not giving project details. Do not piss off the gods o' fiber arts!

Things were all cosy and nesty today here at Casa del Peach. Crap weather was braved in order to get the supplies to make beef stew (crap weather and beef stew - a marriage made in heaven...or at least in my kitchen) and I then spent the rest of my free time watching Twin Peaks on DVD and knitting on a scarf. I once read that in Germany Twin Peaks was pulled from TV after only a few episodes because a competing TV network revealed early who actually killed Laura Palmer. Assholery is alive and well on German television! In any case it was almost comforting in a way to find that the creepy parts of Twin Peaks still creep me out in the same way as they did the first time I watched it. Comforting like a big cup of hot cocoa on a windy, rainy afternoon. If it were served to you by a serial killer.

Scrooed and Popped Dots

Scattered, unrelated happenings ahead. Here we go.

• Hair Scroos. Ohdearlord, how did I live before I found Hair Scroos? I didn't know where to find them but read somewhere online that they can be easily be found in Germany at all drugstores. In reality it seems that what was meant was all drugstores except the first two I went to looking for them. Third time was indeed the charm and I found them at my local Müllers. As you can see by looking at picture they appear fierce and tricky but in reality they're quite easy to use. The trick is to twist the hair you wish to have pinned up and then you simply screw in the Hair Scroos at strategic points to hold up your hair instead of using conventional hairpins. And since they screw in, the pins don't fall back out. I love them. I put my hair up all the time now. I'm running around my flat looking like a prissy schoolmarm with my hair up in a cute little bun one day and a chic French twist on another day. And yes, I do resemble a compound dwelling, poligamy marriage wife wearing Holly Hobbie's wardrobe when I French braid my hair and Hair Scroo the bottom of it underneath the upper part of the braid. No crazy aerodynamic bangs though.
  
  
• Did I learn my lesson last month and get my pair-a-month socks knitalong project finished in plenty of time? No I did not. I don't even have the heels knit on them yet and here it is the 22nd. I told y'all this was going to happen!
  
  
• I need some new double pointed needles. In reality I merely want them but perhaps if I say "need" instead of "want" enough then I'll be able to justify spending a tenner (plus shipping!) on two sets of dpns. The call of nickel-plated Harmony dpns is strong and my will is weak.
  
  
• Popcorn. You irresistible little minx, you.
  
  
• I'm not ashamed to say that while cooking supper tonight I danced around the kitchen while listening to Bixente, the iPod. And I thought using wooden spoons as drumsticks was a fairly inventive touch.

Oops. Popcorn's done. Tschüss.

Creepy, But Still Soft And Fuzzy

All in all it was a pretty good weekend. Sort of crappy weather but I was in the mood to be all nestled in and snuggly.

The highlights:

• Yesterday B told my MIL that while he appreciates the help Gerd gives, he should not go behind B's back again to make appointments for him or anything else along those lines. Ask B first and then proceed - it's that simple. My MIL thought B was overreacting and insisted that Gerd did it with only good intentions. Yeah, we get that but it's not the point. My MIL is the sort of person that thinks nearly everything can be overlooked if the offender didn't mean any harm. And at the age of 74 we're probably not going to be able to change her way of thinking. Stay tuned to see if things subside in this area or if more hours of grumbling and being pissed off are in our future.
  
  
• Thank God and all his angels for the medications the doctors give my mother for her Alzheimer's disease. We spoke with her early Saturday evening and she was lucid for the entire hour we were on the phone. So many conversations with her have had her drifting off or her sort of checking out on us - she'll suddenly sound as though she's drunk (my mother does not drink at all) or is falling asleep - or she'll suddenly start talking in nothing but non sequiturs. This time she was as sharp as a tack. I know these sorts of encounters will eventually be fewer and farther in between until they stop but I'll take as many as I can for as long as I can.
  
  
• Last night B and I watched Zodiac and I'm happy to report that the story of the Zodiac killer still creeps me out no end. I remember my friends and I talking about this story back when I was maybe nine or ten years old, a couple years after the murders had stopped - this story and the Charles Manson murders - and it scared us all silly. Little kids being spooked by murders that happened a few thousands of miles away from us. It was the sort of thing we'd talk about at slumber parties and every creak of the house would make us jump with fright. But what made the Zodiac thing even creepier is that he was never caught. And I credit blame it on starting me on my true-crime story fascination.
  
  
• It's been a festival of yarn here today. Remember my lovely friend, Kay, who sent me a fabulous box o' yarn a couple weeks ago? She sent more. She's crazy like that. Crazy sweet and crazy generous and she's spoiled me like crazy. This time she sent another couple balls of the Rowan Soft Tweed yarn like what was in the last shipment - yarn so lovely and soft I want to kiss it - but she also sent eight balls of Gedifra Belisana in an incredible shade of lavender. It's wonderfully soft but not kissable as it's made with a lot of kid mohair, a sure fire recipe for fuzzy lips. Then there is my knitting pal, Alicia. Alicia and I belong to the same knitting website and we belong to a group that has taken on the challenge to knit a pair of socks each month for a year. In order to keep us motivated many of us have taken on accountability partners. The rule is that if we fail to knit a pair of socks by the end of the month, we must send our accountability partner enough sock yarn to knit one pair of socks. Unfortunately Alicia had a very busy August and she failed to meet the deadline. I was willing to let her slide but, as Alicia wisely pointed out, it wouldn't be much of an incentive to keep on track if we let one another slide and not pay the penalty. And I was glad she was insistent about paying up because today I got a hank of some truly stunning hand-dyed sock yarn that she picked up at a fiber festival. And it's done in shades of purple and green. I can't tell you how much I love purple and green together, especially if it's in muted hues like this yarn is. You know normally I knit socks for others but this time, the socks I make from this yarn are going to be mine, all mine.

The days are turning colder already. I need to knit faster.

In Twitter-like Bursts

Here's all that's been going on for the past couple days:

I finished a pair of baby socks for Darling Mollie's sister's baby.
I started a new pair of baby socks for the same baby.
Second pair of baby socks required me to learn how to do a picot hem.
You don't know what a picot hem is?
I didn't either until I made it.
That was some fiddly-ass shit to do.
Turned out cute though.
Started to watch a couple movies.
Got bored with both of them and stopped watching them after twenty minutes.
Ordered new panties.
Did laundry.
And laundry.
And laundry.
And it's still not all done.
Ate four tomato sandwiches.
Not at once.
Wished my friend, Lisa, was here to give me a pedicure.
French braided my hair over and over until my arms gave out.
Found out what a Hair Scroo is.
Decided that I must have some.
Cleaned my jewelry.
Played Hearts on my computer.
Had an old lady tell me I smell good.

It's not all that happened but a good cross section of events anyway.

It's All In How You Say It.

One of my favorite lines in literature comes from To Kill a Mockingbird. It's at the beginning of the book where Harper Lee writes in the voice of the main character, Scout, of how hot Alabama summers were when Scout was growing up. Scout describes how "Ladies bathed before noon, after their three o'clock naps and by nightfall were like soft teacakes with frostings of sweat and sweet talcum.".

And that's what I love about literature. Of how it can describe a situation we're all too familiar with and make it sound so much more elegant and dainty than it may actually be.

So when you think of me now during this brief but intense heatwave I've been living with for the past three days, think of me as a soft teacake. It sounds so much better than "perspiration filmed skin and drenched-with-sweat hair".

I gotta turn off this computer that's roasting my wrists and have me a popsicle. And bring on the thunderstorms!

If It Ain't Hot, It's Depressing

One last blogging opportunity for June. One last chance for dots.

• Germany lost to Spain 1-0 in the finals of the European championships. I suppose I could say "We were robbed!" or "Spain just got lucky!" but that would be rubbish. Germany didn't play well, Spain played better and the best team of the tournament won. And coming in second ain't so bad.
  
  
• I'm digging the socks I'm knitting. I like the colorway of the yarn a lot. And the pattern? I adore it! It's the construction of the yarn I don't care for. I hate splitty yarn.
  
  
• I made a peach cobbler yesterday. B can't eat peaches because he's allergic to them but he can eat fruit like peaches or apples or cherries if they've been cooked so he gets me to make him peach cobbler. I baked it in the afternoon and the smell was driving me mad. All peachy and buttery and cinnamony. When it came out of the oven I didn't wait long enough for it to cool to a reasonable eating temperature so it was like digging in to molten lava. But a delicious, peachy molten lava. And I have the scorched tongue to prove it.
  
  
• After watching the depressing football final B and I settled down to watch Babel. Now there's a "feel good" kind of film! I vaguely knew the plot of the film and had heard many good things about it so I had been looking forward to seeing it. And now I have one question. How in the hell did I watch that whole film without saying "This is boring! Let's watch something else!"? Was there something about the character of Susan that just screamed to be played by Cate Blanchett? And at what point was anyone going to calm the hell down and employ a little logical thinking? I supposed I'm just thick but I didn't see the point of a 2 hour and 23 minute film whose only message seemed to be "People make some dumb ass decisions.", I don't give a crap about how artfully it's presented.
  
  
• A heatwave is moving in here by Thursday. Wooohooo! 37°C people - Bring. It. On! Get your tickets now to hear me bitch and complain about how miserable it is!