Last night, in a state of sleep deprivation which Sighkey assures me could lead to psychosis, I went ahead with my Fair Isle swatch socks. As you see, and as I see now that I am more rested, I used a slightly different pattern for the second sock than I had for the first. Notice my use of the word "slightly," as though it were hardly noticeable. I may take it out. I may leave it, too. I wasn't that wild about the pattern I used for the instep on the first sock, actually, so I may take the opportunity to try a different one on the second sock, and pretend that it was all intentional. After all, that self-striping sock yarn turns out not-quite-matching socks. Dweezy spearheaded it with his socks of two different hand-dyed colors. Let's see, I have blamed it on other people, suggested that it is a small difference that hardly matters, and come up with a cover story in case anyone notices-- have I left anything out? Ah, yes -- I will always wear these on Saturdays, with blue jeans. No one will see them anyway. Or of course I could do the Right Thing and frog it.

At work, I am still creating enticing vistas. I have finished the whole woodland glade-ripe berries thing and have moved on to seaside grottos filled with shells -- architectura, murex, and conch gleaming pinkly in the sea spray. 

No, really, I finished language arts and moved on to teacher resources. I would of course prefer to be doing glades and grottos, but God saw fit not to entrust that task to me, so I am enjoying what I have to work with.

Since I know that by Friday the cumulative sleep-deprivation makes me bad-tempered, I tried hard to be sweet and kind and light-hearted to all. But there were some tough ones. There was a woman who stood there and broke a teaching clock right in front of me and then snuck out without paying for it while I was with another customer. And the kindergarten teacher who carried on at length about how important it was that the shape materials use the term "rhombus." Most of the books and posters about shapes say "diamond," an affront which we have to hear about daily. Finally, I asked her why. "It's on the benchmarks!" she said, aghast. "Yes, I know," I said, "but in daily life, that's not the term people use. When would a kindergartner ever have the opportunity to use the term 'rhombus' in real life?"

I was right, of course, but it was unkind. At least she was someone I know fairly well. I know that she will not hold it against me, or even go home and question her entire life's work.

I have a day off today. I think I will -- after grocery shopping and housecleaning -- go to visit my son-in-law's grandmother. She wanted some hat patterns, and I have a nice book of them that I doubt I will use again. I just have to find the book.

I am finding Tattoo Blues a slow read. There are plenty of environmental and economics lessons in this book, though so far no mystery. My attention was caught this morning by a discussion of globalization, because yesterday as part of the Lenten study I am doing,  I took this Globalization Quiz:  http://unpac.ca/economy/globalization/1.html I did very badly on it. How much do you know about globalization? I thought I was reasonably well up on it, but I only got about half the questions right. I was talking with #1 son about it as I drove him to school, and had used the phrase "economic colonization," so when the same phrase popped up in Tattoo Blues, I noticed it. It was right after the main character vomits up a sea slug margarita.

The Chamber Singers met last night, after our winter hiatus, to look over the music for the spring concert. We are doing Bach's very beautiful "Christ Lag in Todesbanden," and Dudley Buck's early-Hollywood sounding "Christ the Victor." I had never heard either before, but both will be fun to sing. My solo is "The Ascension," from the Buck piece, and the concert is on the Feast of the Ascension. It's only one page and never goes higher than a C, so I do not expect to suffer over it. I have never paid much attention to the Feast of the Ascension, but a concert seems as good a way as any to commemorate it. One of the basses, a math prof, pointed out that this year it will be on 05/05/05.

Here is a link to the Bach, as I know you have been wishing for a music link. http://www.bach-cantatas.com/Mus/BWV4-Mus.htm A little cantata now and then is good for your spirit.

So, having had rehearsals the last two evenings, and gotten up before 4:30 a.m. for the past five days, I am reaching utter exhastion. This is just what Fridays are going to be like for a while. It is the reason for the rambling and disjointed nature of this post.

I have not knitted at all since Sunday. I have been too tired for Fair Isle. So, in addition to buying freezer paper and fabric glue for my quilting adventure, I believe I will buy some heavy cotton yarn to knit a bath mat. I have been wanting a new one for a while, and Simple Knits for Sophisticated Living has a handsome pattern. The picture at right, Alma-Tadema's "Silver Favorites," is the print I have in that bathroom. Gray fixtures, pink and gray-blue wallpaper, faux marble counters. I'm thinking cobalt blue. The pattern is simple enough for half-awake knitting.

By tomorrow, I should be rested enough to finish that second sock.

.

This naughty knitting blogger  (http://woollywarbler.typepad.com/) is making something extremely cool and amazing and does not say where the pattern comes from, what yarn she is using, or anything else which will allow me to think about making it myself. Actually, I had never visited her blog before. It may be that she has described the object in excrutiating detail so many times that her regular readers are saying, "Quit bragging about your Italian yarns already!" Or, indeed, that the information is there somewhere and I am too inept to find it. But it reminds me to identify stuff.

Chanthaboune recommends that we call our Alsatian (does anyone else think of German Shepherd dogs when they read that?) "Georges, the Troll of Justice and Peace." This would make up for the fact that I can't find any actual facts about the guy. I think it highly unlikely that he was really a troll. It seems almost certain that a troll in the family would have caused comment. But being known as Georges, the Troll of Justice and Peace will be his just desserts for never bothering to write letters.

In fact, I think I have solved the troll mystery, as I have discovered that a greffier was a recording clerk for a juge d'instruction. I think the difficult old handwriting misled me. As soon as I determine just what a juge d'instruction was, I will know what Georges did for a living, which is always a good start.

Here is an automatic translation of a site explaining the work of the juge d'instruction: "Before their examination by the repressive jurisdictions of judgement, the criminal businesses and certain correctional businesses are the subject of an instruction, still called legal information."

 I love automatic translations. It is so easy to imagine the repressive jurisdictions and the criminal businesses mixing it up with the trolls. Later, it explains that the juge d'instruction would "undertake all researches for the manifestation of the truth." I wish I had a job description like that.

La Tenora -- an expert quilter of my acquaintance --  said I should go ahead and try the Celtic Cross quilt according to the directions they give. "They" in this case would be the Three Swans Studio, a Canadian outfit that specializes in designs for this type of quilt. It involves freezer paper, fabric glue, and tweezers, so I am hesitant, but she seemed to think it was a cool and clever new idea. I may try a little tiny example piece first, just so I don't commit myself to a horrible process with lots of fabric already bought and cut. Everyone can always use a new pincushion or something, right? Maybe a quilted cell-phone cozy?

...Umm, you don't think I really own a cell phone, do you?

While cooling down on the treadmill, I found in the ads in the back of the Simithsonian the following website: http://deadmentellnotales.com/locker.shtml

They boasted that they had the best selection of music, games, and glow-in-the-dark boxers. Smitten by this description, I came home and checked it out.  I quickly discovered that they offer "Humorous Pirate Luncheon Napkins." "Sure," I smirked, "you have to distinguish them from your serious pirate luncheon napkins." And indeed, just an inch or two later I found that they do have more serious pirate luncheon napkins, presumably for your more serious pirate luncheons.

Since #2 son's birthday falls on International Talk Like a Pirate Day, I obviously must have humorous pirate tableware, at the very least, and possibly skull and crossbones gummy snacks as well. What are the chances that I will remember this until September? It is possible that I ought to go ahead and place an order with these folks, and then hide it, decorated perhaps with their tasteful "Aargh! Get your hands off my booty!" magnet.

When we are not using humorous pirate tableware, we often use Great-Great-Grandmother's Blue Willow dishes. On family history day this week I set out on the next person on the Ahnentafel, an Alsatian guy. A kind person in Alsace went to Strasbourg for me a couple of years ago in search of this person's antecedents, with only limited success. At about the same time that my American forebears were carrying this china west to provide a semblance of civilization in their pioneer homes, the Alsatians were being passed back and forth between France and Germany, with the occasional invasion to spice things up. The Americans considerately strewed their paths with letters, legal documents, and wills detailing their religious and political views. The Alsatians could hardly manage birth records. And their birth records, like the one at right, offer me information such as the fact that my ancestor was a Greffin de Justice de Paix (if I am interpreting the handwriting correctly). Googling "greffin" netted me the information that a Greffin was a troll.  A troll in the office of a Justice of the Peace, I guess. So I suppose I will never know very much about him.

Alsace was originally inhabited by Celts, so it seems in some way fitting that I received the Celtic Cross quilt pattern on the same day that I attempted to resolve my questions about the Alsatian ancestors. Here is a picture of this lovely quilt pattern:

I am sorry to say that I am just as lost on the subject of this quilt as on the subject of my Alsatian family. I thought, when #1 son chose the pattern, that it was ordinary applique with black bias strips around the edges of the pieces. No indeed. It is to be traced onto freezer paper, ironed onto black cloth, cut up, have colored cloth inserted into the holes, fringed, glued, and stitched all on a machine. I find this a horrifying prospect. Have any of you ever tried this?

Today is Shrove Tuesday, Mardi Gras, Fat Tuesday, the day to eat up all the goodies you won't be allowed to have during Lent.

An artist friend of mine was troubled by Lent. She didn't think it was healthy to spend all that time thinking about your faults. But this is not a random guilt-fest. This is a period of forty days (to remind us of Jesus's forty days in the wilderness) for self-examination, followed by a joyful celebration. I think this particular woman fretted about her shortcomings throughout the year. How much healthier to have a limited time of self-examination set aside.

Nor is it self-loathing. People who make themselves miserable by obssessing about their flaws are generally thinking about how different they are from Cameron Diaz or the cool guy in the frat, not how different they are from Jesus. There is no spiritual benefit there.

Lent is traditionally a time for self-examination, a time to consider how we ought to improve our behavior. But there any many other things  to contemplate as well. Many people contemplate the sufferings of Christ, particular teachings of the church, or injustices in the world which we might alleviate. I have used Lenten guides focussing on Handel's Messiah, the teachings of St. Francis, and voluntary simplicity. The churches I have been visiting are studying the Lord's Prayer, sexual fidelity, and the nature of God.

"Giving something up for Lent" is the familiar sign of  the season. If you are Catholic, you have a list of things provided to you. Mainstream Protestants usually give up or take up some particular thing, as an individual choice. The Empress and I were talking about this yesterday, and we agreed that a well-chosen Lenten discipline can change your life. The Lenten disciplines are not to punish you or make you suffer, but to help you pay attention. It is hard, in the course of our busy lives, to remember to contemplate anything. If you give up caffeine, then every time during Lent that you start toward the coffee pot, wish for a cup of tea, or see someone else with a Coke, it is a reminder to pay attention to the things you have chosen to think about.

A Baptist said that he though Lent was a second chance at New Year's resolutions, but that is not the point. Sometimes we give up things we believe we would be better off without, such as caffeine or criticising others or sugar, in hopes that we will be able to continue to do without them after Lent. Sometimes we give up something we will joyfully return to at Easter, but which we will miss enough to make it a useful reminder to us. Sometimes we take things up. It is traditional to give more to charity during Lent. You might knit just for charity for those 40 days, or give up meat and donate the money thus saved to a soup kitchen.

As for Mardi Gras, it is a major celebration down here. Some people have been celebrating since Epiphany. Son-in-Law says that it is not observed at all in the Frozen North, but #2 son made a Galette des Rois for French class, and they are having a party. Then there is a parade downtown. The church is having a pancake supper. There is usually a Dixieland jazz band and a pancake race -- it was a favorite celebration when the kids were small, but my boys probably will refuse to go at all. Sigh. Tomorrow we will have ashes on our foreheads and begin the serious contemplative season of Lent. For today, laissez les bon temps rouler!

There! I have accomplished sweating in the gym. After over a year of regular exercise, and seven months regular attendance at the gym, I had reached the point where I was reading magazines on the aerobics machines, and looking up with gentle surprise when the time was up. No sore muscles, no sweat. It sort of crept up on me. I realized it when I was setting my goals for the year.

I tried going more frequently and for a longer time (Frequency, Intensity, Time), but still wasn't getting that masochistic -- or, rather, healthy pleasure of slight suffering. Then I walked to work a few times. Same length of time, but I felt as though I were getting a little exercise. Still not much in the way of sweat and no sore muscles, but at least a slight sense of effort. I turned around to look at my path and noticed that it was straight uphill.

So I have added incline, added weight, added reps. I am trying to pay attention and work harder. And I think I am succeeding at last. Today, I had to breathe seriously at the wieght machines, and I was staring at the stair climber time readout waiting for it to be over when my session ended, and felt a sense of accomplishment at not having quit. Maybe I will even have sore muscles tomorrow.

This is still a long way from my fit youth. I could not possibly make it through a ballet class.  Everyone else in the gym increases the weight on the machines when they follow me (the New Year's Resolution People are gone.) I still look like someone's mom. But there is a lot of satisfaction in a good workout.

Here's the first Fair Isle sock. I have the second begun. The front of Hopkins is finished as well, and I've done the ribbing for the back. So I have the second halves of two Fair Isle projects on the needles. This was poor planning on my part. There should be one project for which you have to look at a chart or otherwise pay attention, and one which can be knitted automatically, without much thought.

It is probably this error in planning which is causing me to think about knitting the back of Hopkins in the heathery gray instead of in fretwork. Perhaps I should begin some third project, something simple and plain for when I need a break from colorwork. I have not yet received the pattern for #2 son's quilt, but intend to begin it more or less as soon as I receive it, so it would be more than usually unreasonable of me to begin another project.

I actually like to do the front of a sweater patterned and the back plain. Siv has cables on the front and the back plain. I don't know why, but I have always preferred this. Had I overcome my dislike of variegated yarn, I would certainly have done the back in it. However, the gray is not the background yarn, so it might be too strong a contrast. We'll see.

The lesson for me from my swatch-turned-sock is that Fair Isle really does look better at a smaller gauge, so I will be swatching the Highland Wool on the smallest needles possible before it becomes stiff.

If you do the Grand Plan, then this is Front Porch week, the first week of Spring Cleaning. Last time, we built a bench for the front porch and made a nice reading corner in a secluded area. There is a triangle of shady ground there, and we planted it with columbine and foamflower and creeping thyme. It was to be a lovely little secret garden, to be enjoyed by the reader. This was before I discovered that every rain turns that corner into a bog with four inches of standing water. If you are planning your garden now, you might learn from my error, and consider that a nice, weed-free patch of ground probably has some terrible flaw. This time around, I will probably just scrub down the porch and plan a couple of nice container gardens. A hanging basket of double-flowering impatiens and ferns would be pretty. For gardeners, this is Dream Time.

I enjoyed my visit with the Episcopalians. Beautiful church with stained glass windows, nice music, moving sermon. It is true that there is a great deal of Stand up! Sit Down! Chant! Chant! Chant!, but it was all very clearly marked in the bulletin. If, for anthropological purposes, say, you want to visit churches anonymously, the Episcopal church seems to be a safe one -- I felt as though I blended in with the crowd completely. No one offered me a martini. My son said people glared at him, but I feel sure that he was misinterpreting.  It was probably just a serious and austere look, suitable to a church where people bow.

Now, with all the food prepared (and contrary to LikeWowMom's impression, it isn't all sinfully decadent -- just the Possum Pie and all the chips and sodas and cookies the guys went out and bought behind my back), I am prepared to knit my way through all the football. Hope your team wins!

I will never complain about my customers again, now that I have read Blisskitty's experiences. No one has ever asked me into the bathroom to examine something and offer advice. Leonidas, also in retail, has had elderly gentlemen urinate on his strawberries. My customers may include some barmy ones, but they do not attempt to include me in their eliminations, so I am grateful.

It is Super Bowl Sunday, the number one home party day of the year. I may not watch the game, but I will be doing the cooking. #2 son requested Possum Pie, which I am making with fat-free cream cheese, pecans, and skim milk (we will not mention the remaining, highly processed ingredients). I am also making chili, guacamole, and salad, so this will be a reasonably healthy party. I read out the Super Bowl ideas from Marilu Henner's book, but #1 son said they sounded like ideas from "a bunch of women," so I do not press it. Good chili recipe, though.

Possum Pie is the Poster Queen's recipe. It does not involve possum at all. You make a crust of chopped pecans and butter, fill it with sugared cream cheese, top that with instant chocolate pudding, and then spread Cool Whip over the whole thing. Shave a little chocolate on top. It is #2 son's idea of a perfect dessert, containing as it does plenty of sugar, plus hydrogenated palm oil and modified food starch. Ah, I wasn't going to mention the unhealthy ingredients, but I see that I have done so. I spent some time online trying to figure out ways to adapt this to make it healthier, but #2 son came along to the grocery and personally went and got the instant pudding mix and Cool Whip, presumably to ensure that I didn't replace them with organic carob powder and buttermilk or something. I will just have to let the boys eat all the Possum Pie.

I will be singing at my church and then, having made the Possum Pie and the vegetables and put the chili in the slow cooker, will head out to the Episcopal church. Both Chanthaboune and The Empress have warned me about the Episcopal church. I've never been to an Episcopalian service, but I gather that they are quite High Church, with genuflection and kneeling and occasional incense. You have to keep your wits about you not to get lost in the service. But I'll bet the music is good.

"How many Episcopalians does it take to change a light bulb?" "Two -- one to change the bulb and one to mix the martinis."

What does it say about me that I am taking my information about different denominations largely from light bulb jokes? I will attempt to distract you from that by telling you how many mezzo-sopranos it takes to change a light bulb:

"Three. One to stand on tiptoe and two to cry "It's too high for her! It's too high for her!"

The first thing to go, when a person is sleep-deprived, is not concentration, judgement, or reflexes. The first thing you lose -- and people have studied this -- is your temper.

At work we are re-arranging everything. We are moving furniture, redistributing shelves, cleaning, and unpacking. We are up on ladders, down on our hands and knees, and burrowing into boxes. We are arranging the store so that people will walk through it, irresistibly drawn to the next enchanted glade full of nymphs and luscious fruits -- or rack of test tubes and petri dishes, but the emotional effect is supposed to be the same. 

Into this fairly fraught scene comes a High Maintenance customer.

Some of our customers really need a lot of help, and I am glad to help them. And some of our customers are fun to chat with, and over time have become (or will become) friends. These people are not HMs. The HMs are the ones who want us to follow them around the store, listening to them deciding between yellow and blue pocket charts. Sometimes they want to haggle (we don't do that) or whine, but they all mostly want an audience. Some of them are lonely; they have gotten themselves into a situation in their lives where no one will listen to them except those of us who get paid to. Some are not entirely compos mentis, and the decision between yellow and blue has an importance to them that I cannot expect to grasp. I try to be kind to all of them, and to listen patiently. I debate the pros and cons of yellow and blue, or, if they appear to be stuck in a dither, I tell them firmly which color to buy, with some spurious reason ("Blue is calming.").

But yesterday was Friday, I was sleep-deprived, and I was deeply engaged in jigsaw-puzzling games into an unlikely space. I avoided the HM. I attempted to palm her off on the other workers (I never win at that game, for some reason). I got this close to saying "who cares which one you buy? You'll just return it anyway!"

I got home and cooked dinner, refused to take #1 son to a friend's house (his friend came and picked him up) and, when my husband came in two hours later and asked "What's dinner?" I answered, "Over." I also redistributed the stitches of my sock toe as though it were a heel. Fortunately, I realized what I was doing before I got too far, and finished the sock successfully. I would post a picture, but xanga is not in a picture-posting mood today.

In any case, I had intended to sleep in this morning until about 8:00 in an effort to improve my mood, but thanks to the alarm's going off at 4:16 and a blanket-hogging husband, I gave up and got out of bed at 6:30. That has helped a little. However, while I know there must be housecleaning and grocery shopping today, I hope also to manage some napping and lolling around on the couch reading and knitting.