WiP Wednesday: Christmas in July

For months, I’ve been saying that I wanted to cross-stitch new Christmas stockings for the family. K has a stocking her mom made for her when she was little, but my stocking is plain red fake fur (although my dad did recently send me my childhood stocking), and Little Miss doesn’t have one yet. So, when JoAnn Fabrics sent me an email about their “Christmas in July” sale, I went for it. I ordered three stocking kits, all featuring Santa. I’ve started on the one for Little Miss. It’s a Dimensions pattern, called “Checking His List”.

So far, I’ve finished Santa’s belt and a bit of the jacket. I have a long way to go.

Something Else

There will, at some point, be knitting content on this blog again. In the meantime, I leave you with something I saw at the County Fair.

All the way on the end, there. The Krispy Kreme Chicken Sandwich. Why? Not to mention the Fresh Veggie Combo, all of which is deep-fried.

In Memoriam

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Tigra Louise (photo taken October 15, 2004)

April, 1990. After some seven years of asking for a cat, my mother took me to a no-kill shelter outside Chicago. I was 14 years old and knew exactly what I wanted. I wanted a snow white kitten, and I had already picked out a name: Tigra, pronounced TEE-gra. (The Louise part came later.) There was a white cat at the shelter that day. It was lying in the litter pan, looking listless. In the same cage, sitting right up at the front, was a calico kitten with big green eyes. She was eight weeks old. We took her home in a cardboard carrier that she fought getting into by putting all four paws on the edges of the box, cartoon-style.

When she was six months old, the night before my first day of high school, she ran out the front door. I called her name. I shook the box of food. I searched everywhere I could think of. She came home three days later with a gash in her neck. She recovered.

She moved to Florida with my parents and sisters while I went away to college, but she was always my cat. After I graduated, she and I moved into a small Chicago apartment for a year, then she came back downstate with me for grad school. In 2002, she spent most of 6 days in her pink plastic carrier as my mom and I drove a Penske truck to California.

She never really liked having her picture taken. In most of the pictures I have, she’s looking away from the camera.

She got older. She started losing weight, and her kidneys started to fail. We set her up in her own room, away from the dog and the other cat, who didn’t understand why she didn’t want to play. And she got sicker. She got so very thin, about half the weight she was in that picture at the top of the entry. I took her outside for supervised time in the backyard, and I felt my heart break a little each time she stumbled in the grass. On Monday, we took her to the vet for the last time, and we did the only thing we could do to keep her from suffering any more. In the end, she was in my arms.

She was sixteen years and eight months old, and I miss her more than I can say.

On the Metro

from the hills to the chills it’s a quick fall down
it’s a great big city, it’s a real small town

~Jude, “Out of L.A.”

I will talk about some knitting on this knitting blog, eventually. But first, I have to talk about Los Angeles. Specifically, I have to talk about public transit in Los Angeles.

Hey, I can hear you laughing. But L.A. does, in fact, have public transit. It has a subway system called the Metro.

I don’t take the Metro very often. For the most part, it doesn’t actually go where I need to go. But when I need to go downtown, it works just fine.

The last time I took it, I was in such a good mood that I gave a homeless lady my 75 cents change from buying my ticket. Today, I was not in such a good mood. Last night, I found and charged my iPod specifically to make myself less approachable.

It didn’t work.

While I was buying my second ticket of the day, a clearly unwell man crowded me at the machine, and when I didn’t talk to him, he poked me in the arm. I think he was a little surprised when I responded with “Do not touch me.”

Let’s talk about that machine for a moment, and why I needed two tickets.

I’ve taken public transit in several cities. New York. London. Paris. Chicago. In Chicago, I took it a lot, because I lived there for a little over a year. I had a MetroCard, which I regularly stuck into a machine to add money for the next few weeks’ worth of rides. Every time I got on the bus or went through the turnstile for the El, I ran the card through a machine.

The Metro has no turnstiles. It also has no MetroCard or anything similar, which makes sense, since there’s nowhere to scan such a thing. Instead, if you take the Metro regularly, you can purchase monthly passes. If you take the Metro every once in a while, like me, you have to stop at the station and purchase a ticket from a machine. Tickets are $1.25 each way, with a Day Pass costing $3, so you can’t even get a round-trip ticket. If you are caught on the Metro without a valid ticket, it’s a $250 fine.

I have never been asked to show my ticket. And, yet, I buy one every single time I take the Metro. And, more often than not, I get approached while at the ticket machine.

This is a very weird system. And I haven’t even mentioned the part where you can buy tokens elsewhere for slightly less than $1.25 each – tokens that you still have to put in the machine to buy a ticket when you get there.

Still, it’s less frustrating (and less expensive) than driving downtown and parking for the day. And considerably more conducive to knitting.

Busy Like A… Busy Thing

Two months. Yikes.

In my defense, I have been busy. No, not busy knitting. Busy working on this:

I know, it’s a little fuzzy. But it’s a baby, I swear. See, there’s the head, and the ribs, and an arm, and a leg. Really.

We also went on our Big Alaska Adventure, and I’ve been working. What I haven’t been doing is knitting, hence the big silence around here.

It seems silly to complain about the heat when the rest of the country seems to be having triple-digit temperatures, too, but, really, it’s hot. How am I supposed to knit when it’s hot?

Excuse me, I think the baby needs a Slushee.

Mysteries

Friday was my day off, so, of course, I spent it at a workshop on Cataloging and Classification. Because that’s just the sort of Partyin’ Librarian I am. The workshop was interesting, and I got to spend some time on the UCLA campus, where they have a potato tree.

Wanna see a close-up? Sure, you do!

See? Potatoes!

I showed people in the workshop that picture (in the little preview window on the camera). They thought it was a joke. But I bet I’m not only one who went home and looked it up and discovered that it’s a Kigelia pinnata, better known as a “Sausage Tree”. I still say potato.

UCLA is a place of many wonders.

The workshop itself was held in a gorgeous reading room lined with bookcases.

What can I say? I love a bookcase that requires a ladder.

And then I looked up.

I realize that this is probably an architectural choice, some sort of deconstructionist approach, but, to me, it just looks they got confused about where the ceiling would go and decided to leave it out.

I also worked on the second Jaywalker sock during the break (when I wasn’t taking pictures of odd vegetation). But, of course, I didn’t think to get a picture of that.

Photo Friday: What’s For Dinner

I’d never even heard of Carne Asada before I moved to Southern California. It’s cooking here on the grill we got with a gift card from K’s coworkers for the wedding. We usually have it with Spanish rice and peas.

Yummy yummy yummy.