new artsy photographer on the rise

Here is a photo taken by DollinkGranddaughter LBPS.

When: June 2009 (LBPS was 22 months old at the time)
Subject: Grappa
Camera: G-Ma (aka MiNo)'s Canon Digital SLR

No computer image manipulation, save for size reduction for blog.

plucked from the plethora ...

... of 'Michael' articles and videos offered up by the media these last few days ...
this one by TIME music critic Josh Tyrangiel comes closest (thus far) to expressing some of my own reflections on
Michael Jackson: Performer Extraordinaire.

For me, over and above the weirdness he lived - the music truly defines the man.

Included in this video are snippets of my fave MJ tunes.
Those with a beat that 'You can't not move to'.

Crank the speakers.
Get a grooooooove on.

So much of Michael Jackson's music is magic that flows through to the core.
I dare ya to steady your booty.

Photo of young MJ from this website:
- Also check out the photos of young female celebs.
Appreciate that celebrity is
more often than not - cultivated from 'just us normal folk'-

musical interlude

Ode to Betty Crocker's Chiffon Pie

Sorry for the poor pie pic, but I was in a bit of a hurry to get this baby sliced!

Yesterday, I made a Lime Chiffon Pie.
Clearly, doing so was a step in the opposite direction of my current return to better-eating-and-exercising-for-health program.

Five steps forward, three steps back. A reasonable forward and back motion considering the challenging times. (liken it to the status of our personal finances...).
Ahem and Amen.

Anyways.
Armed with a recipe for Citrus Chiffon Pie from my Betty Crocker ** cookbook, and four fragrant limes, I assembled the ingredients to make a frothy tangy and a wee bit sugary pie.

To my thinking, 'chiffon' is Pie Lite, and this I maintained as rationale for making a dessert with just two people in mind to eat it. This was my first attempt at a true chiffon pie. Not one of the Cool-Whip + Jell-o Instant Mix variety - though that combo of chemicals does yield a convincingly tasty (albeit too sweet) version of the real deal. Nope - my chiffon pie will be made from scratch or not at all.

~ Citrus Chiffon Pie ~
from the Betty Crocker Picture Cookbook
1/2 c. sugar
1 envelope unflavored gelatin
2/3 c. water
1/3 c. (fresh-squeezed) lemon, orange or lime juice
4 egg yolks, slightly beaten
1 T. grated lemon, orange or lime rind
4 egg whites
1/2 tsp. cream of tartar
1/2 c. sugar

Blend sugar, gelatin, water, sugar and eggs yolks in saucepan. Cook over medium heat, stirring constantly, until it boils. Add rind. Place pan in cold water, cool until mixture mounds slightly when dropped from a spoon. Fold into a Meringue of egg whites, cream of tartar and sugar. Pile into a cooled baked pie shell. Chill several hours until set. Serve with a generous amount of whipped cream.
P.S. If you aren't adverse to the idea, a teeny
tiny drop of green food coloring can
be added during the mixing. I dipped the very tip of a
toothpick into green food coloring and that
was just enough for a visual hint o' lime.

Some folks shy away from uncooked meringue (you can substitute pasteurized dried egg white), but I am OK-fine with it. I have little fear of the traditional Caesar salad made with raw egg, and have consumed my share of the Original Orange Julius (remember those?) drinks with raw egg added for extra protein. The eggs I used for this pie were washed/scrubbed after they were laid by a duck - by the name of Mavis. (No, Mavis didn't wash the eggs - her owner did). In the future, I'll be using egg white substitute for this pie - so no one freaks out about eating uncooked egg white. OK? OK.

** The Betty Crocker New Picture Cookbook (1961, 5 - ring binder edition).
(consider this a temporary link ` until the book sells for $325)

Walking down Memory Lane with Betty C....

On many a Saturday morn in the 1950's and 60's, my Mom and I could be found boarding the Powell-Mason cable car for a ride downtown. We'd spend the day browsing department stores, always with a stop for lunch at the JC Penney cafeteria (chicken pot pie!) or Woolworth's lunch counter. Mom and I weren't shopaholics, therefore never went on crazy shopping sprees, but there would always be a few sensible and/or novel, purchases made by day's end.

At age 12 or so, I was developing an interest in the alchemy of food. Particularly fascinating was the notion that certain combinations of flour, liquid, leavening and flavors - mixed, then baked in the oven - would result in a variety of yummy things to eat. We didn't bake in our home, but I did learn something of cooking and baking 'American-style' by way of junior high school Home Economics.

Not only educational, but lots of fun - were the hours I spent in Home Ec class kitchenettes. It was like playing house. Each mini kitchen was equipped with a small sink, refrigerator, stove and oven. There was a table and four chairs. Shelves of plates, drawers full of utensils.

Until cooking class, I'd not actually prepped food using measuring cups, baking pans, rolling pins, cookie cutters. Rubber spatulas! Waxed paper. Crisco! I could hardly wait for my turn at sifting flour and wielding a rotary beater...

Well then - back to the bit about shopping with Mom.
We were perusing the book department of The Emporium on Market Street. She must have taken note at how long I lingered over the display of Betty Crocker cookbooks, for Mom asked if I was interested in having a cookbook. That cookbook. Who, me?!?

Being a public library kind of kid, I didn't own many books. I agonized over the decision, since the cookbook was less practical than underwear, pajamas or school clothes that Mom and I would typically shop for. The book was also a bit pricier than any non-essential knickknacks we might consider buying now and again.

What to do. What to do.

For want of something new as well as novel (pun intended), the cookbook won out. Mom paid, handed it to me and I walked off cradling, like a newborn babe - the bag which contained my very first cookbook, ever. Once home, I ceremoniously removed my prized possession from its bag and pulled off the shrink-wrap plastic. I then smelled the book before proceeding to flip through every slick page, taking the time to savor each recipe, drawing and photograph. Wow.

Since the acquisition of that first cookbook, there have been many added over the decades. I've got more cookbooks than any one person could use in a lifetime. So stated, in my recent Urge to Purge extraneous personal belongings, I've since gotten rid of a few. Just a few. It's hard to get rid of cookbooks!

The Betty Crocker Picture Cookbook, binder style, circa 1961 - remains a favorite.

With over 45 years of use, my very first cookbook, ever shows inevitable signs of wear and tear - emphasis on tear. It's actually fallen apart several times. The last repair was done with filament tape, which is neither acid free nor archival. This is a tough-ass cookbook. A survivor.

And now it's ready for another 45 years.

This IS fast becoming a food blog, is it not?

Bloody Beets

(great photo of beets is from this wonderful website)

Yes, I know. Another food post. You must understand, when it comes to sharing the joys of food, 'I Can't Help Myself'.

Today's food topic of choice: beets.
Fresh beets.
Earthy rough and seemingly tough-skinned beets.
Unbelievably tasty beets.
Bloody beets*.

At the beginning of the 1970's, when I was going through my first 'fresh and organic please' phase of food thought, processing and eating - a good friend and I became obsessed with fresh beets. Up until that time, my buddy and I had not tasted a fresh beet. We'd only ever experienced the rather insipid canned variety.

L and I cooked and ate together often, and one weekend we planned a simple supper of a main course salad, to be served with a loaf of crusty San Francisco sourdough bread. We'd already shopped for the bread, which was so aromatic and fresh (hot from the baker's oven) that we wisely decided to buy two loaves - one to eat while preparing dinner, one to eat with the meal.

Back in L's tiny apartment kitchen (OK, we dug into the hot bread on the way home), we happily set to work, chopping off the pretty green beet tops, washing both root and tops, then setting the big fat roots to a boil. Forty-five minutes later, after plunging the cooked roots in cold water, we were able to slip the skins off with ease. The raw leafy beet tops we'd already sliced and mixed in with organic lettuces. All other ingredients were at the ready for assembly of the salad.

The skinned beets were cool to the touch, yet let off a bit of steam upon being sliced with one of L's sharp kitchen knives. The aroma that reached our nostrils was like an earthy perfume. L and I looked at each other and smiled. Taking in the rich deep color of the beet slices, we smiled again. Both of us not only appreciated, but knew how to coordinate a meal using complementary flavours as well as combining food to create pleasing color combinations at the table. We were, to be sure, self-professed foodaholic / 'aestheticians'.

Let's see....varied greens of the lettuces and avocado, the clean yellow and white from the boiled eggs, sassy pink of shrimp meat, a sprinkling of browny green from toasted pumpkin seeds - and now a lusty red from freshly boiled beets: the salad will definitely look appetizing. To be certain that the addition of beets to our composition was not an error of judgment in flavor, we each grabbed a slice off the cutting board for a taste test.

OMG.
The firm slice of beet yielded to the tooth, yet maintained a wonderfully crisp bite. Flavor-wise...ooooooh....such a natural sweetness that defies addition of seasonings or dressing. In appearance, sliced beets offer a subtle variation in texture with their built in 'rings' - so it looked pretty too.

L and I were instantly enamoured of 'cooked beet au naturale' and decided that the sliced orbs deserved presentation in a pretty bowl of their own - separate from the salad.

The two of us sat down and proceeded to (very giddily) devour a generously sized salad with all the fixin's, fragrant crunchy sourdough bread and all four of the very large, unbelievably delicious beets.

Though I still, on rare occasion, partake of beets from a can and/or at a restaurant salad bar - those overcooked, squishy and relatively tasteless roots cannot compare to the royal taste treat of freshly cooked beets.

Beets: boiled, roasted, raw.
Eat 'em and weep...tears of joy.

Food post in the not too distant future:
The Sensational Savoy (cabbage).
I know y'all can hardly wait.

* L and I called each other in a panic the next day. Both of us feared (erroneously) that we might require hospitalization. From that point on, we referred to our beet eating initiation as Bloody Beets. Oh what fun!

New fave bread

I am a huge fan of BREAD - and typically adopt one type of bread or another as my current 'fave' (read: once chosen, I tend to overeat it).

My fave bread of late has been Trader Joe's Cranberry Walnut. I can sit and eat an entire loaf of this yummy bread in one sitting, and it's become more like a dessert bread for me. Delicious when mounded with gobs of soft butter, I'd say it can be downright deadly.

Not so with Mestemacher bread.
A little goes a long way to satisfy both the palate as well as the bread addiction.

A package of Mestemacher pumpernickel bread resembles a brick doorstop and weighs just about as much.
A thin slice of the bread is dense in texture, dark in color and tastes a bit sour.
Very satisfying.
Even a half slice.
I've been eating it toasted - sans butter - totally plain (can you believe?!?).

Not trying to rush through this loaf, but at the same time, am very eager to try other 'flavors'.

Mestemacher.
A healthier (?) bread alternative (?).

I hope I hope I hope.

Chinatown My Chinatown

Chinatown, My Chinatown.
Written in 1910 by a couple of white guys - who, I have no doubt - were not from Chinatown.

Taking into consideration the political-social atmosphere at the time, the words to the song probably typifies how outsiders viewed American Chinatowns. It was 1910 - to be sure, plenty of **** going on in and around the Gilded Ghettos. People didn't get it. They still don't, but that again is another post for another day.

One has to wonder if Chinatown residents were bemused and/or chagrined by the inane lyrics of 'Chinatown, My Chinatown', which, to my thinking - greatly serve to perpetuate the exotic myth of the Mysterious Orient ... more so in the early 1900's - when the enclave of Chinatown was viewed as a world very much apart.

Maybe no one paid attention to the words.
They were probably much too busy bop bopping to the catchy tune to take note.

I grew up in San Francisco's Chinatown.
We didn't live deep within the bowels of ChinatownMyChinatown, though my Mom did - back in the 20's, 30's and 40's. The rental flat of my youth was located on Mason Street (major claim to fame being that the Powell-Mason cable car line ran right in front of our building). We bordered North Beach and Nob Hill, but 'three blocks up' from Grant Avenue was Chinatown all the same.

As a kid, one of my elementary school teachers at Jean Parker School had the lot of us Chinese-American kids (our school's student population was close to 99% A.B.C.) sing the refrain of 'Chinatown My Chinatown' for a school assembly. Now, that must'a been cute...or patronizing.... or exploitative...acccch....no matter...

At home, my Mom hummed this song with her cronies for a lark. Heck, Mom and I even sang it together a few times.

So - in spite of the politically incorrect lyrics, I do hold a bit of a fond memory.
Go figure.

Now here's your chance to sing-a-long.
Go ahead - - - put that in your 'pipe' and smoke it.

P.S. .....'wing wong'......now that'sa T-A-C-K-Y.

skip skip skip to my lou

The other day I saw a (nicely dressed, tidy and fit-looking, middle-aged) man skipping down the street. It was a sight to behold. Kinda neat-o.

Children often skip, but adults tend not to. Or do they?

When was the last time you skipped (not school, not work, not TV channels, not dessert and definitely not rope). I haven't skipped like a kid in at least a decade. Maybe two. Perhaps I'll give it a go when next I'm out walking on the track and there's lots of room for me to stumble and fall...

Apparently, there are some heavy duty adult skippers out in the world.
Check out this article about the founder (of the above skipping movement).

more what's not to love...

...about wikiHow?!?

This recent wikiHow post offers super fun craftiness and is oh-so-practical:

What with rubber thongs aka flip flops aka zories selling at ridiculously high
prices, it really makes sense to try constructing them yourself - from an old yoga mat, yet.

totally hooked on ...

Cook's Illustrated
and
America's Test Kitchen.

I've been enamoured of the Cook's Illustrated mags and books for some time, and just recently became aware of the filmed cooking shows. (What rock have I been living under?!? So glad I crawled out for a looksee.) Yesterday, I viewed 'Best Baking Recipes' (2007) on DVD and am now totally hooked on the shows as well.

I've always considered myself a good cook / baker, yet there's always so much more to learn about the craft. The DVD on baking was chock full of helpful tips and info. The only problem is getting hungry as you watch. Creating food with just the right ingredients and just the right techniques: Wow and Yum. The cooking demos set my kitchen mojo afire!

Whilst investigating the website, another lovely surprise.
The TV shows can be accessed on our local PBS station every Saturday. Click here to see if your local listings include America's Test Kitchen.

Cook's Illustrated: Another of life's Yippee Skippees.

People Photography

'White Angel Breadline' 1932. by Dorothea Lange.

People photography = people taking pictures of people.

No, not the kind of picture taking where one Lines-Up-The-Gang-All-Facing-The-Camera-And-Tells-Them-to-Say-Cheese for an 'everyone is happy happy' pic.

No, not the stiffly formal posed studio portraits...and please no - definitely not the relatively unnatural set up of 'glamour shots' either.

We're talking about real people doing real things - photographed naturally, in the candid slice-of-life style (with a purposeful nod to creative composition and mood lighting, of course). Pictures which elevate humble snapshots into works of art.

Life is, after all, living art.
Those gifted in the photography of people have the innate ability to capture something of the living art of the human condition in their picture-making. These skilled individuals are able to hold and suspend The Moment - within the framework of a two- dimensional photograph.

One possessed of that gift is Callie Shell, who recently photographed President Barack Obama's First 100 Days in office.

Artists like Callie Shell make taking pictures of people look easy.

Don't be fooled.
Achieving memorable shots of people requires patience, a discerning eye and impeccable timing. Moreover, it requires a vision. It also helps 'to be one' with the camera. It's no easy task to take photos of people which convey emotion and/or tell a story.

Here is another very gifted artist who takes brilliant photographs of people - as well as places and things (yes, do take note that this is a multiple shameless plug).

Huzzah!! for people who capture, via their cameras - mesmerizingly memorable images of people.

sock it to me

For the past few days, temps have been in the upper 80's - low 90's all around. When record highs occur in springtime, folks just don't know what to do with themselves. We just ain't ready for it.

The high or low of outside temperature largely determines what we eat, how we dress and the type of activities with which we fill our days.

When it comes to knitting, hot weather certainly takes the fun out of working up big scarves, heavy sweaters, monster totebags (to be felted!) or anything nearing the size of a blanket. Weighty woolishness touching one's arms and brushing across bared thighs is downright uncomfortable. Sweaty. Itchy.

Hot weather knitting calls for choosing cotton-y fibers and/or small projects - lightweight creations - like socks.

Before my first attempt at sock knitting, I looked upon the idea of manufacturing a pair of socks by hand as an exercise in futility. Why knit socks when you can buy a pair at Target for a couple of bucks?

Knitting socks requires the use of teeny tiny needles (usually dpn) and yards and yards of narrow gauge yarn. Cost of yarn is between $7 and $25. Not cheap!

One must keep mindful of measuring for length, be brave enough to turn a heel, produce a convincing gusset, manage toe decreases, perform the Kitchener...

There's a tremendous amount of work involved. Since socks are relatively small, the knitting moves along fairly quickly. But wait - you must knit not just one, but TWO of these things before calling it a done deal. So, multiply 'fairly quickly' x 2.

Once a pair of socks come off the needles, they undergo the acid test. Socks get put on feet, then stuck into shoes. They are walked around on. Stretched out. Feet perspire. Feet get stinky. Socks get dirty - fast. They need to be washed. Worn again. Repeated washings. Socks tend to wear out at the heel or toe. Sometimes socks get holey. Then they must be darned. Sock repair. Who darns socks anymore?

As described here, the humble sock gets some serious wearing. Perhaps more so than any other knitted garment.

Which still begs the original question: Why knit socks?

You know what - it's actually fun.

There is a tremendous feeling of accomplishment that accompanies knitting thin yarn on skinny toothpick-ish needles. For me, it's a thrill to witness a sock shape emerge miraculously from a set of 4 or 5 dpns being juggled with (my) not-always-so-capable-fingers!

As a bonus, hand-knit socks are a pleasure to wear. Super cozy.
This must be from all the LOVE knit into them.

I'm now a bona fide knitter of socks.
Knitting socks to completion = it's an act of crafty magic with sticks and string.

(yes, I knitted the socks pictured above)

See you in SockLand.
That is my destination for summer knitting.

Oooopsie!

Monuments Redux (and to be revisited if they decide to correct the error and
move it move it).

It's a bit like having 'to buy the White Album again'.

weight weight don't tell me

Hmmmmmmmm....

PDC

Pretty
Darn
Cute.

RetroPhone application for iPhone.

For those of us of an older gen who occasionally wax nostalgic for the sound (alas, it cannot duplicate the feel) of rotary dial phones, this 'retro' application appeals.

I don't own an iPhone, but wouldn't it be fun to someday try the feature out on someone else's iPhone (hint hint).

The other thing I miss about an old style telephone is the perfect fit-to-your-face design of the handset. I especially appreciate the ear-hugging design of the listening section. The cupped design of the ear piece helps to block out distracting outside noises. To me, the curved shape of a tradtional handset also feels more natural, unlike the flat panels of cell phones. The old handset design also allows for a nice firm grip.

Some time ago, I was given one of these nifty accessories (in spicy orange color) for my basic clamshell cell. It plugs into the headphone jack of the phone. Works like a charm. Fun to use. It even sports a coiled cord to play with whilst talking.

In addition, the YubzTalk is PDC in its own right.

Carry-On Baggage

Perhaps because of my own tendency to carry under eye 'bags' (more when fatigued, but there nonetheless), I find myself very fondly drawn to actors/ actresses who also sport a bit of natural under eye puffage.

Folks like:
Stephen Rea (pictured above)
Greta Scacchi
Greg Kinnear
Jenna Elfman ...
...and others...

Problem, what problem?!?

BOOM in gun sales

What's wrong with this picture?!?

More guns = more gunfire = more deaths resulting from gunfire.

Yes?
No?

What is the ultimate purpose for a gun but to kill something or somebody?
What's that? 'Target practice?' Give me a ******* break!
Anyone stupid enough to justify gun ownership is stupid enough to fire a gun at some living thing so that it lives no longer. I don't get it, it scares me and I want it to stop.

DUH and OMG

P.S. Started this post in the morning before spending the day out. Upon arrival home - a phone call from a friend, telling me that traffic is stopped on the nearby interstate - something going on regarding a man in possession of a gun, with his wife and his kids in tow....

postscript to UP and DOWN

a chance of
SNOW
in
the
forecast
for
tomorrow.
Hee
Hee

UP and DOWN

Not that there aren't a slew of other topics to speak of today, but I'm totally feelin'
the week's weather report:

Temps today in the immediate vicinity = a high of 70º - 79º **
Blue skies and abundant sunshine. Light winds. Pretty springtime colors. Bulbs a-bloomin' and newly leafed-out trees....ahhhhhh......rebirth.

Tomorrow and the next day, things will turn around for a bit -
with the return of cold, grey skies and rain. Also good. We live in a drought state, so any last-of-the-season-precipitation is always welcome.

Come Friday = rain will cease, temps will drop about 30 degrees - high of 49º - 63º

The weekend forecast = warming up to sunny sunshine and blue skies once again.

Unpredictable is not altogether unpleasant when applied to the weather.
It's expected round these parts with the change of season, and I rather like it.

Unpredictable is not so good in describing the recent ups and downs of my moods, however.
That, my dear - is the damnable shits.

(**NOTE: I went down the hill to run errands today, and the temps reached a steady high of 83º - downright summery - not quite ready for that just yet....)

waaaay down deep in the delta southern blueZ

Recently rented on DVD:
'The Last of the Mississippi Jukes' (2003)

Southern blueZy jazzy soulful.
See it very very very soon.

Thoughts from director Robert Mugge on the making of the film - can be found here.

No. 1

The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency books.
For extra added excitement, the TV series ~ available now on HBO.

The books are a delight to read, and the new series - absolutely charming.

Thank you, Alexander McCall Smith - for the books.
Thank you, BBC - for the show.
Thank you, S. Africa - for red bush tea.

Because of Mma. Precious Ramotswe, I got started on drinking bush tea.
With a splash of milk, Rooibos has become my favourite.

b, b & b

Bewitched
Bothered
&
Bewildered

This afternoon, whilst sewing, I listened to a variety of music on my (ancient/ outdated/ going on the blink but still working if I press the right buttons) iPod.

Bluegrass, rock n' roll, alternative, classical, opera...
Then on comes Rosemary Clooney crooning 'Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered'. Besides having a catchy melody, the lyrics to this song never fail to crack me up:

Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered   
-by Rodgers and Hart
from the musical 'Pal Joey'

VERSE

After one whole quart of brandy
Like a daisy I awake
With no Bromo Seltzer handy,
I don't even shake.

Men are not a new sensation;
I've done pretty well, I think.
But this half-pint imitation
Put me on the blink

REFRAIN

I'm wild again
Beguiled again
A simpering, whimpering child again
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I

Couldn't sleep
And wouldn't sleep
Until I could sleep where I shouldn't sleep
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I

Lost my heart but what of it?
My mistake I agree.
he's a laugh, but I like it
because the laugh's on me.

A pill he is
But still he is
All mine and I'll keep him until he is
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered
Like me.



Seen a lot
I mean I lot
But now I'm like sweet seventeen a lot
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I

I'll sing to him
Each spring to him
And worship the trousers that cling to him
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I

When he talks he is seeking
Words to get off his chest.
Horizontally speaking
He's at his very best.

Vexed again
Perplexed again
Thank God I can't be over-sexed again
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I



(Reprise at the end of the show)

Wise at last
My eyes at last
Are cutting you down to your size at last
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered no more

Burned a lot
But learned a lot
And now you are broke, though you earned a lot
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered no more

Couldn't eat
Was dyspeptic
Life was so hard to bear;
Now my heart's antiseptic
Since you moved out of there

Romance-Finis
Your chance-finis
Those ants that invaded my pants-finis
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered no more.

I do love Rosemary Clooney's rendition, but here it is done by Ella (albeit a 'cleaned up version' ...


P.S. My mommy loved this song.

So so sewing

Today I've set aside some time for: sewing.

My plan is to whip myself up some simple summer-ish tops, dresses and skirts on Ye Olde Sewing Machine. This is the machine I rarely touch anymore, save for an occasional mending job or to sew up straight seams for curtains or pillows.

Once upon a time I sewed all my clothes, all my mom's dresses, dress shirts for the husband, blouses and dresses for both my DollinkDaughters. I even tackled a very complicated pair of men's slacks designed by Calvin Klein for Vogue patterns. It turned out near-perfect. HubbyDear even wore it.
I made slipcovers for our sofas, pillows, curtains, tablecloths, placemats, napkins galore. Quilts. Dolls and dollclothes. Stuffed animals. Tote bags. Hats. Et cetera.

If it could be sewn, I sewed it. The more intricate the pattern, the better.

Then came a time when I had more disposable income and less leisure hours available for sewing. Storebought clothing was a quicker wardrobe fix and oftentimes cheaper (think Ross Stores) than sewing my own.

Years have passed.
Leisure time has returned to my lifestyle, and saving a few pence on clothes is again preferable to shopping readymade. Truth be known, I have also come to dread shopping for and trying on clothes in those cramped, brightly lit store dressing rooms - with the show-all the-flaws mirrors. Shades of the SaggyBaggyElephant. Ahem.

In the past, sewing was a fun activity for me. Then I reached the point when I tired of it, even got to hating it, to which a friend of mine once quipped, 'Hatin' every stitch'.

That was then and this is now.
I says to myself, I says - before my abilities as a seamstress falls completely by the wayside, why not get going again with the sewing by whipping up some quick n' easy garments for summer wear. A practical move - tap into my dormant sewing skills, use up some stashed fabric and utilize those sewing supplies. Or move them on to someone who is might be more keen on the craft.

In addtion, what with all the knitting completed in the last year or so, I have a plethora of knitted accessories with nothing in the closet to 'go with' - another sound reason to pull out the machine, give it a dusting off and start seaming again.

At this writing, I've chosen a pattern, and am now trying to determine my new pattern size (differs from readymade clothing size, it seems). Some yardage remains from my old fabric stash which will be used for the first test garments. If these first tries are successful, it MAY re-new my once upon a time passion for sewing. The operative word in that sentence is MAY.

At this time, it's looking like I MAY go back to 'Hatin' Every Stitch'.

For I am already NOT enjoying the steps it takes to set up a sewing project:
the laying out of the pattern and fabric, the pressing of same, the pinning, the cutting, the looking for matching thread, zipper, fasteners, elastic. The realization that I need to run out and buy more interfacing before proceeding. Setting up the machine, threading the bobbin, the constant bumping into the ironing board in the middle of the kitchen. Even with some preliminary measurements, the hope upon hope that the finished item will actually fit....and that I will wear it...

All this before the physical act of sitting down to the machine to make the first stitches...

Egads. I will keep you posted.

'mo classic motown - for your listening pleasure

Gefilte turtle

Gefilte fish > gefilte turtle > geh-fel-tah turtle > Go felt a turtle.

OK - so it's a dumb play on words. I enjoy playing with words. In that dumb way.

Another thing I have a good time with is felting.
If we're looking to use the correct term to describe the phenomenon of shrinking-animal-fiber-in-hot-water-and-with-agitation, let's say: fulling.

Fulling is the technique of taking a large piece of knitted fabric and manipulating the fiber in such a way that it condenses, tightens and SHRINKS. Think of what happens to your favourite expensive cashmere sweater after being inadvertently washed in hot water in the washing machine, and you'll understand fulling. A larger piece of knitted fabric gets made smaller. Sometimes much smaller.

Typically accomplished in a washer, fulling can also be done, manually, in the kitchen sink - so long as it is filled with the hottest water and you're willing to plunge your hands into it and agitate the fabric into shrinky submission (wearing dishwashing gloves helps to cut down on the burned hands factor). You can even 'full' in a rubber dishpan.

Felting with barbed needles is something else altogether.
The video is a bit long, but it does show that a cute 3-D object can be needle felted in just under 11 minutes. Pretty cooooool, but take care not to pokey da fingahs.

This weekend I finally finished a U.F.O. (UnFinishedObject) - a tote bag - which I began some months ago:

Here is the knitted tote before fulling.
The shoe is photographed alongside
to indicate the rather large size of the pre-fulled knitted bag.

With this project, I fulled and even managed to add a bit of needle felting.
Here is the finished tote:

The bag did shrink, yet it's still an ample sized tote.
The loosely knitted fabric is now wool felt - dense and thick. The green rectangle in first photo above was first fulled and then cut into pieces to become the turtle. A bit of needle felting technique was employed to attach legs and tail to the body and to add brighter green roving for the eyes.

Here's a closer look at the little guy, who sports embroidered french knot pupils.

Sorry the photos aren't clearer...
this is the best I could do whilst in something of a hurry to publish this post.
Translation: Haste Due to Haven't Posted in Quite a While Guilt.

Hmmmmmm. Gefilte = deboned fish, ground into a paste.
If you think about it (OK, this is a stretch...) 'to gefilte' isn't really so dissimilar 'to full' or 'to felt'. Deboned and paste-like maneuverable. Hmmmmmmm.

P.S. Turtles are considered lucky symbols.
Luck would have it that I actually completed another knitted project - rather than leave it around for years, hidden in the back of the closet, tossed in a plain brown paper bag.

FUN at the airport

I can remember when it was FUN to go to the airport.
Yes, FUN.

Spending time in any airport these days is more often a source of irritation and inconvenience rather than pleasure. That stated, 'fun' and 'airport' are a tad incongruous in the same sentence. Just about unimaginable, really, in the prevailing climate of fear and paranoia which defines the once-upon-a-time-friendlier-travel-via-the skies.

In what seems to have been simpler, more innocent days - fun could be had at the airport.

As a kid, with family-of-origin, then later as a young adult with friends - going to San Francisco International Airport to while away an hour or more was a form of - can you believe - entertainment.

Back then, the drive from North Beach/ Chinatown to South SF didn't take long. Airport parking was easy (and free?). Once parked, we 'airport party types' would slip inside to the bright lights and bustle of the terminals. There, the atmosphere was always palpably thick with the heady anticipation of people on the move.

There were no security checkpoints.
No areas restricted to ticketed passengers only.
No recorded admonishments over the public address system to 'stay with your personal belongings - or else'.

Visitors could roam the public areas of the airport at will. One was not made to feel like a criminal in an enormous holding cell.

Free to enjoy the sights and sounds of a huge international airport, the lot of us would first peruse the various eateries for a snack. Through the big picture windows, we could see planes land and pull up to the gates, watch people deplane and others board. We would buy magazines. Lounge around on airport chairs. Read. Do more people watching. Stroll. We'd take time to chat with each other. Use the (relatively) clean, modern toilet facilities. Enjoy the temperature controlled climate of the vast interior spaces. Nap.

Done with all of the above, we'd get back in the car and head for home.

When I was a kid, my family was strapped for cash and had no extra funds to fly off on vacations. Weekend car trips satisfied, for a day, any wanderlust built up in my parents from the grueling work week before. We kids just went along for the ride, wherever Dad ended up driving us. Sometimes, it was to the airport.

Going to the airport rarely meant there were there friends or family 'flying in for a visit' who needed to be picked up. There were few, if any, legit reasons for us to be at the airport - save for the sheer joy of hanging out there.

Back then, did we know what we were missing by not actually doing any airplane travel? You betcha. We watched travelogues on TV! We kids knew there were foreign lands with jungles and deserts, wild animals and small villages on high mountains populated by fascinating people...

An aside: Dad traveled the world for years as a seaman. He saw and experienced wild and crazy things on many continents. Perhaps his wanderlust was not so satisfied during those day trips in the car with the family. It might very well have been his pipe dream to get back on the international travel circuit that so often brought us to the airport...

No matter that we were never actual frequent fliers, for it was exciting enough to be in mental transport mode and pretend we were off on adventures to exotic destinations.

We took numerous flights of fantasy. Anywhere and everywhere.
When one is daydreaming, anything is possible.

As adults, we're now able to fly hither and yon 'for real'.
We've taken flight for both vacation and business. Some of us have traveled beyond the wildest dreams of our youth, and have actually spent waaaaaaay too much time in airports all over the world.

Another aside: At one time, I was gone so much that I got burned out on both domestic and international travel (particularly business trips) and just wanted to stay home. I haven't sworn off airports entirely though. It may soon be time again for me to fly off again to faraway places - 'desire and economy permitting'. Maybe I'll even try a tour - have never done that - always felt myself to be too cool for tour packages. However, now that I'm an older gal and don't feel like planning how to get from point A to B and then C, figuring out where to stay, schlepping or being laid bare to the elements...we shall see...

FUN at the airport is but a sweet memory from my youth and is another of life's simpler pleasures that is sadly, no more.

Sad too, is the reality that airports no longer offer much in the way of a good time. Even with the fancy designer shops, eateries, connections for internet access and thicker padding on the chairs, it just ain't the same.
Things really have changed.

Wanna know something else, though?
Staying home is rather nice too.

Image of PanAm jets circa 1960's from this website.

third time's a charm

I
just
want
to
say
that
I
really
like
using
triple-milled French soap.

What'cha readin'?

In the past few months, I've perused or am still perusing, the following titles:

A Thousand Splendid Suns (book club selection)

A Perfect Red (recommended by and on loan from a friend)

The Old Iron Road (recommended by and on loan from another friend)

The Nasty Bits (a Christmas wish list fulfillment!)

A New Earth: Awakening Your Life's Purpose (recommended by and on loan from yet another friend)

Art History for DUMMIES (library book)

The best american magazine writing 2008 (library book)

Three Cups of Tea - (this month's book club selection)

The entire set of Jane Austen novels - (a Christmas gift, via BN classics)

wallpaper PROJECTS - (soon to be released coooooool crafty book)(You may consider this a shameless plug as well)

'Too many books, not nearly enough time' rings so true for me.

I've also become the world's s-l-o-w-e-s-t reader, which frustrates me no end as I am faced with enticing titles at the public library, bookstore or the well-stocked book shelf of a friend or family member.

Worse yet, my ability to remember anything is fast going going gone.
How quickly I forget something just read.
F'rinstance: Which countries vied for the secrets of cochineal, exactly when were the Fauves creating excitement in the art realm and what the heck happened at the end of 'A Thousand Splendid Suns', anyway?

No matter.
I still enjoy the reads and the pleasurable AHA! moments derived from books.
Pity it fades so quickly from my memory though...

So - what about you?
What'cha readin'?

(image of glasses on book from http://osc3.redirection.com.ru/)

Latest food addiction!

... from Trader Joe's ...
CRANBERRY WALNUT BREAD.
thick slices.
served plain.
or buttered.
or with TJ's cranberry spread.

After the first day: toasted.
Don't forget the butter.

Oooooh, wouldn't this make gooood french toast, though?!?
Buttered, of course - and with a generous drizzle of
Trader Joe's real maple 'syrple'.

Food.
Glorious food.
Glorious Trader Joe's.

What's not to love?

came across this pic

circa 1976...
and just had to post it...

Laughter in a can

We all love a good laugh.
From quiet chuckles to loud guffaws.
Laughter is good for the heart and for the soul
Doubled over laughter, tears in eyes - is really quite the elixir for so many ills, yes?

AKA Canned Laughter AKA Laugh Track, etc. is not.

Curmudgeon post for the day: Why do some sit-coms still use canned laughter?
Don't the producers of comedy shows know we know when to enjoy a clever line? We DO know, don't we? Did we ever, do we still - need to be prompted to laugh? Has not canned laughter run its course, seen its day, done its irritating best and should now be permanently retired?

It was on TV's 'Home Improvement' that I first noted just how distracting a laugh track can be. Now if that ain't canned laughter, the audience was pumped with nitrous oxide and/or silly pills. The show is good enough without the laff prompts. Even so, I stopped watching altogether due to the excessive laugh-track-to-dialog ratio. Now I'll never know how Tim the Toolman fared out with his lovely wife Jill and their boys-to-men sons...

Earlier this week, I again attempted to view a contemporary sitcom and couldn't get through the episode for all the hardyharhar fake laughs.

There is an argument to keep Pavlovian canned laughter an integral part of the presentation of comedy shows. I suppose that's so viewers never have to wonder if the show is actually funny or not. Ya hear laughing, it must be good, right?

If laugh tracks are deemed OK for the small screen, why not for the big screen? Don't moviegoers also need help with when to giggle chuckle guffaw?
Hmmmm. Laugh tracks at the movies. Imagine that. Pretty scary.

P.S. Given my druthers, I prefer TV sitcoms utilize a studio audience during tapings. Yet what of the announcement beforehand when it is: 'Filmed before a 'Live studio audience'? Like, instead of a Dead studio audience? Don't you find that just plain silly? Doesn't it make you want to laugh out loud?

Photo: Laughing audience in a Manhattan night club,
Yale Joel (Life Magazine staff photographer), 1952.