Note to self

Hello! Came here looking for an old post my mother wanted the link to, so she could show it to someone at work. Decided to poke around, and found this in my drafts. Might as well publish it, 'cause it's still true, and I may very well need the reminder.

Originally written in November of 2016:

So, in case I forget in a few years, and anyone hears me wonder aloud whether I should try contact lenses again, and why I stopped wearing them in the first place, please:

1) Give me a slap upside the head.
2) Point me to this post.
3) Make me read the following explanation:

It's because I can't see in them! No, it's not that I got lazy and decided to just wear my glasses full time. It's because I got tired of settling for sub-par vision. Peripheral vision is great and all that, and it's lovely to not have a colored frame around your field of vision, but what the hell use is it if it bloody fades in and out? If it gets cloudy for no reason? If suddenly, after hours of OK vision in front of the computer, your eyes refuse to focus on the frickin' clock across the room, or road signs, or the head-sign of a bus (thank heavens the buses talk now, or I would've accidentally wound up in another town)? Oy.

Ahem. Seems I was a little irritated, there.

And now, back to 2020.

So how the heck is everyone? I hope you are all well. I am currently working from home (which I have dubbed the Hermitage) while helping my department cautiously plan a phased return to work. I will not be one of the folks returning right away. I can still get plenty done from home, and I am not thrilled with the idea of going back to campus as we receive an influx of people from all over the world. I don't care if we'll all be masked, I am still very nervous. So I'm waiting this out and gonna watch what happens.

My family is fine. No one has gotten sick yet (knock wood). My parents' county only had a couple of cases so far, and that was early on. My sister is working remotely, my brother-in-law's job is considered essential (he works at a lab for a pharmaceutical company), and they have all sorts of protections in place. I haven't seen much of anyone in a long time, except for occasional trips out into The World when I just want to be near(ish) to people. I'm getting groceries delivered and I have to tell you, I may never go back to doing it the other way, except maybe for specific produce needs. It's so nice to get it all done at once and not have to worry about whether I'll be able to schlepp it all home on the bus. I have pulled all the flowers out of my front patch and am growing tomatoes, cucumbers, and herbs instead -- except for two Asiatic lilies that I decided to leave where they were because a) they're established; b) they don't take up much room; and c) they're pretty. Also? They smell good.

When not working, I've been embroidering and knitting. I just started a knit-along project by Romi Hill that will hopefully end in a nice bi-color shawl made out of bamboo yarn. She's been doing weekly classes online to explain and demonstrate the various parts of the pattern, and to answer questions. People are signed up from all over. There's at least one person from Canberra in the class.

Sophie's fine. She transitioned to The Two-Legs Staying Home All the Time just fine. I think to her it's like a Christmas vacation that just hasn't ended yet. Some folks on Twitter and Instragram have posted videos of their cats being very annoyed at all the people being around all the time. I think there's at least one person I follow whose cat has decided to live in the basement until things go back to normal.

All right, I should probably get back to work. I will probably post again soon, because it's not like I don't have the time, right? 

Again, hope you're all well.

Recipe post

At my first Thanksgiving in my house, I served a braised Brussels sprouts in mustard butter that everyone liked very much. Every time that I am asked to serve it again there is a panicked scurry to remember from where I got the recipe. I usually remember I mentioned it on the blog, and then once I search I realize that I didn't post the recipe, just a link to the University of Illinois Ag Extension page. Since my state has been gutting their support to Ag Extension in recent years, I thought perhaps: a) other parts of the country might be doing the same; and b) if that's the case, this page I rely on will vanish. And so, for posterity (as well as my own convenience) I'm quoting the recipe here:

Braised Brussels Sprouts with Mustard Butter
Braising is an excellent method for cooking Brussels sprouts. Braising refers to cooking food with a small amount of liquid in a tightly covered pan.

1 pound small, firm, bright green Brussels sprouts
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup water
2 tablespoons melted unsalted butter or margarine
2 tablespoons Dijon mustard
Salt and freshly ground black pepper

Check each head, peel off any loose or discolored leaves. Using a paring knife, cut an X through the core end of each head.
Bring sprouts, water and salt to a boil in a 2-quart saucepan over medium-high heat. Lower heat, cover and simmer. Shake pan once or twice during braising to redistribute sprouts.
Cook until just tender 8 to 10 minutes. Test by piercing with a knife tip. Drain well.
Melt butter in a large skillet of medium heat. Whisk in mustard until smooth. Cook , stirring constantly until smooth and creamy, about 30 seconds.
Add sprouts to skillet, coating well with the butter mixture. Season to taste with salt and pepper and serve. Serves 3 to 4.

[Originally from the Brussels Sprouts entry of the Vegetable Directory, University of Illinois Extension.

And yes, I need this again this year. I'm about to print it out to take it with me to my Mom's. We don't do Thanksgiving at my place any more. Mom traded with me -- now I'm in charge of Easter.

Howdy!

Hiya!

Long time, no write! How the heck is everyone?

No time to talk now, but I wanted to show you this. It's a video by Pomplamoose, who are favorites of mine for all their cover songs. This one, though? This is an original song by them, and I love it.



It's so very bouncy. Innit?

Anyway, I'll write more later. My hands have other things I need them to be doing right now. At the moment I am hip-deep in knitting a sweater (life list #12, look out!) for my Dad. Been doing it for a while, had to put it down for a bit 'cause I was having some slight vision problems (ugh. Age), and then summer came along I didn't want a lap full of wool, but I picked it up again once the heat broke, and now? I can see the light at the end of the tunnel (and no, it's not an oncoming train, thankyouverymuch)! I really do think I can get this finished, blocked, and wearable by Christmas. Woo! It's not a Christmas present, though, 'cause he already knows about it, and I prefer my presents to be surprises. Just something he can wear at Christmas. If he wants.

Another excuse reason I haven't been blogging recently is 'cause my laptop went kaflooey a while back and I haven't gotten around to replacing it yet. So there's that.

Okay. More later. Buh-bye.

DMC color changes, for my own reference...

...and I suppose also for anyone who embroiders using DMC

Just ran across the following piece of information that I *know* I will forget, courtesy of Scarlet Quince News for March 2014:

"DMC Merged Colors

"In 2005, DMC 'merged' some of their color numbers in Europe. Changes in their dye formulas caused by evolving regulations and restrictions on chemicals used in dying meant that 7 pairs of colors had become so close together as to be indistinguishable. For each pair of colors, they discontinued one of the numbers and printed both numbers on the label of the other. Up until now, all 14 separate color numbers have been available in the US, but now the new labeling is going into effect in the US. Here are the colors in question:

"

Discontinued	Substitute
504	3813
731	732
776	3326
781	782
806	3760
971	740
3773	407

"Example of new DMC labeling for merged colors Here is an example of the new labeling" [newsletter has an image of the label. Discontinued color is in parenthesis under the other color number.]

"At the moment, you may find 504 in the 504 bin, and both 3813 and 3813 (504) in the 3813 bin. If the stores are smart, they'll put some 3813 (504) in the 504 bin when all the old 504 is gone, but you may want to print this list and keep it in your wallet. We question how well the news will trickle down from DMC to local craft shops."

I know I'm gonna forget this and go crazy looking for a color that no longer exists when working an older pattern. Here's hoping I remember to look here.

Oh, that's right! I have a blog, don't I?

I've been reading over my l'il blog in recent days, and it's hit me how much I miss blogging. I think I'm gonna try easing back into it.

Mind you, this may be the final burst of activity before I decide to kill the damn thing altogether. I don't think so, though. It's occurred to me lately that this blog as been languishing since I started using Twitter more often. Perhaps I need to cut back on using that, and then I will be able to do better at this.

And no, the fact that I'm making this decision right now means I'm gonna fling myself into another NaNoBloMo thing. At the end of a solid month I'd be so sick of this I wouldn't touch it again until 2015.

So, watch this space. There might be something here tomorrow. Saturday at the latest.

All cried out (cover song)

Hullo. Been a while, I know. I have a blog post to write about going to the Maryland Sheep & Wool Festival, but until then, have a listen to this:



I found  this on Blip, when I was looking for the version by Fink. I think I like this better. He's really good, no?

Badge

It almost didn't register. Then, once she'd realized what she'd seen, Tracey almost kept walking. None of her business. Wasn't about her.

She turned back, took a few steps, changed her mind, turned around and walked away again.

She stopped, dug around in her coat pocket, and came up with a battered paper napkin. She turned back again, napkin in hand, and went right up to it. She waited until a group of pedestrians had passed by her before she got started.

"KRISTEN SUCKS."

It was scrawled in bright pink chalk on the cement top of the four-foot high brick pillar. She spit on her napkin and started to rub at it.

Why did she care? Her name wasn't Kristen. She didn't know who Kristen was. She didn't know anyone named Kristen, come to think of it. She had no idea if this had been done in anger, with malice, out of boredom. Maybe Kristen had been there when it happened, and had laughed at it.

Did that matter?

This napkin wasn't doing much good. The writing may be fading, but it was still quite legible. And the napkin was starting to fall apart. She spit on it again and rubbed harder. Dammit, this wasn't going to work. She checked her pockets for something else: another napkin, a tissue, anything. There was nothing. Better check her purse. As she was rummaging around in it, the sleeve of her black wool coat scraped across the cement, smearing the words better than the napkin had.

Okay, then.

She attacked the words with the cuff of her right sleeve.

A bearded young man passed by, brow furrowed, trying to figure out what this woman was doing. Tracey met his gaze, unconsciously jutting out her chin in defiance. He dropped his eyes and hurried past.

In a university this large, there was bound to be more than one Kristen. One of them might read this. Might think it was meant for her.

And even if the Kristen it was meant for had seen it, had been there when it was written, had laughed at it even, did that really mean she found it funny?  How many times had Tracey laughed while some joke had stabbed her right in the heart?

She rubbed harder.

God. People! The casual cruelty of the popular teen or twenty-something; the way it was taken up and amplified by their followers, in an attempt to curry favor; the gleeful, eager cruelty of the unpopular teen, siding with the popular against the even more unpopular, grateful that this time, they weren't in the one in the cross-hairs; the shoves and the threats, growled through clenched teeth, of the one nobody liked, the one determined to make someone feel worse than him. It reminded her of what she'd heard about barnyard chickens, the way the stronger would gang up on the weakest in the flock and peck the poor thing to death.

Worse than the violence (or the threat of it) were the betrayals: the ones who managed to sneak in under the radar and befriend you, only to scamper back to your tormentors and hand them weapons guaranteed to hit home.

She thanked her stars she'd been through with school before the Internet became prevalent. Things had been bad enough with 400 people in her own grade despising her for no good reason. How much worse is it now with MySpace, Facebook, text messaging, a whole Internet ready to pig-pile onto one lone person who doesn't quite fit in? It would have been enough to make her fling herself off of a roof.

Nice haircut. Who did that, and how drunk were they?

Where'd you get those jeans, Goodwill?

Brace-Face. Fatso. Four-eyes. Lardass. Geek. Brainiac. Weirdo. Freak.

Who said you could sit at this table?

That boy you like? Billy? He thinks you're disgusting.

You suck.

Snipe, snarl, sneer.

Peck, peck, peck.

Scrub, scrub, scrub.

There. It was gone. Maybe Kristen, whoever she was, would never see it. And, even if she had, she won't have to see it again.

Tracey headed off down the sidewalk, picking off friction-formed black wool pellets from her coat. She tossed the now-shredded napkin into a trash can a few blocks later. Her friends, waiting for her on a bench outside the cafe, stood up as she drew near. They greeted each other warmly, walked into the restaurant, and took off their coats.

"Hey," Laura said, grabbing Tracey's right coat sleeve. "You've got some schmutz here." She started to rub at the pink smear.

"That's all right," said Tracey, gently removing the sleeve from her friend's hands.

"It looks like chalk dust, or something." Zane said, inspecting it. "Shouldn't be too hard to get out. Let's get some water and a rag." He started to look around for someone to ask.

"No," Tracey said firmly. "Leave it."