Music For Hobbies, Music As Hobby

I've been out of touch with the classical music world ever since I graduated college, and the only classical CD I've bought this year has been Beethoven's Missa Solemnis, but back in the day I loved to listen to chamber music on the Saint Paul Sunday Morning radio program.

As I was doing some sewing a few weeks ago, I thought, "Why not see when that program is broadcast so you can start listening again?" They've dropped "Morning"--it's just Saint Paul Sunday now--and even better, you can stream all the programs online. Which is how I discovered that vocal group Anonymous 4, the experts on early music, had branched out into American shape-note, folk, and gospel songs. In 2004. Yes, out of touch.

But the happy news is that I now have a bunch of free music to catch up on, and whatever Anonymous 4 sings is magical. (Here's that 2004 broadcast.) Every program gives you all kinds of good stuff to listen to, with enough background discussion with the host to jog your memory (if you, say, got a degree in all this) or teach you something new.

Also: Happy Veterans Day to all the veterans out there!

Tuesday Project Roundup: It's Flannel Season

This was a fun, free weekend project: I'd made this skirt before, using a pattern by a designer/blogger that I follow that was published in last year's Stitch magazine. I had the right yardage of this plaid on the project shelf, abandoned from another project, so when I saw the designer's plaid version, I had to make one, too. (She matched up her plaids better than I did, but I bet her fabric wasn't woven crooked.)
Cat and cat food are not included with this skirt.

Happy Birthday, Carl Sagan

Today Carl Sagan would have been 75 years old. You can read about him on Wikipedia (did you know that "a Sagan has been defined as a humorous unit of measurement equal to at least four billion"?), watch all of the Cosmos series on Hulu, or watch the "re-mix" below, which was up on kottke.org last month. Despite the Auto-Tune, it's meant in a spirit of love, not mockery, and I bet Sagan would have liked it.

Friday Unrelated Information

1. Funny! And alarmingly true to life! The Emotional Hokey-Pokey.

2. I can't tell if this iPod speaker is a real product or a joke ("It looks frightening and it IS frightening"?), but I always click links that say, "Wall of sound."

3. The Where the Wild Things Are movie is at Brewvies now, starting tonight. I might have to put that on the agenda tomorrow if I can get all the final gardening done.

Science Or Science Fiction?

On BLDGBLOG, I read a long and fascinating interview yesterday with one of the engineers on the Yucca Mountain project. The interview is matter-of-fact, not political, but it's really interesting. I learned that Yucca Mountain is being built to a standard of a MILLION YEARS, which brings up all sorts of issues: How do you even label something for that kind of future? As the interviewee says,

We have looked very closely at what WIPP is doing—the Waste Isolation Pilot Plant in New Mexico. They did a study with futurists and other people—sociologists and language specialists. They decided to come up with markers in seven languages, basically like a Rosetta Stone, with the idea that there will always be someone in the world who studies ancient languages, even 10,000 years from now, someone who will be able to resurrect what the meanings of these stelae are. They will basically say, “This is not a place of honor, don’t dig here, this is not good material,” etc.

[...] Of course, there’s also a little bit of fun involved here: what is the dominant species going to be in 10,000 years? And can you really mark something for a million years? What we have looked at, basically, is marking things for at least 10,000 years—and hopefully it will last even longer. And if this information is important to whatever societies are around at that time, if they have any intelligence at all, they will renew these monuments.

I love it when science seems more like science fiction, like the Large Hadron Collider going back in time to prevent itself from ever being made. Doesn't the modern-day Rosetta Stone sound a good construct for a sci-fi story?

(I was also struck by this engineer's optimism--because I have my doubts about whether anything will be around in 10,000 years.)

Secret Parent Wisdom

So remember the new bird feeder from last week that the birds weren't going near? It was a topic of discussion on Sunday's visit to my parents. My dad asked me if the feeder had any glass, and I said yes, two sides of the feeder's rectangle were glass. Then he speculated that maybe the birds were getting a reflection when they approached the feeder, which was scaring them off.

Monday morning I filled the feeder up completely, thus blocking all the glass with seed. And now, on Wednesday, there have been at least three different brave birds eating from it, and a lot more doing a fly-by to check it out!

Seriously, first my mom saved the day with her cat knowledge, and now Dad is an amateur bird scientist. Does National Geographic have a special secret issue for parents? Or is it the fact that they have 30 years more experience than me?

Tuesday Project Roundup: How About Some Pictures On This Blog?

I have a picture of the beige cardigan, which has grown two fronts and just needs a back and trim.


And I have a picture of Toby enjoying his heater last night.

(And I have good news about the Twilight mittens: I finally blocked them and I was able to get them more of the same size, so they might not be a total loss. No picture of those, though.)

Feeling Better

When I'm sick, the first thing I do is stop drinking coffee. It just doesn't sound good, and that's kind of like a jug of wine not sounding good to Jack Kerouac (i.e., unlikely). But I got some rest and some Sudafed and October, The Worst Month In Recent Memory, is finally over, so this morning the coffee was back on.

As Dorothy Draper says, "A lot of worse things can be said of a woman than 'she gives you a good cup of coffee.'"

Friday Unrelated Information

1. Carrying over the Beatles post from last Friday, here's a flowchart of the lyrics to "Hey Jude" (click for big):
2. And because I can't get enough of iconic bands from the 60's, last night we watched Gimme Shelter. No, I don't want to dress like Mick Jagger now, but the movie has the best version of "Love in Vain." Enjoy.

I Have A Cold

Turns out that a month with travel and lots of stress not only makes you unfocused and uninspired (and wanting to spend money), it also makes you really susceptible to the common cold. I am looking forward to the afternoon off and some Chinese food for dinner. And that's all I got today.

#$%&! Snow

Yeah. It snowed. There's snow on the ground and it's cold. I happened across a blog about people who stay year-round at McMurdo station in Antarctica; the latest post is welcoming back the seasonal people, of which my uncle is one. Here's the blog: frozensouth.com. I suppose we can read it and think that it's not that cold here yet. Yet.

Tuesday Project Roundup: Ending Badly, Like All Twilght-Related Things In My Experience

I finished the "Bella" mittens, as inspired by the film Twilight, but they're kind of a flop: Because I knit the first mitten while traveling, its cables weren't even, which meant they didn't match the second mitten. The first mitten's top I had to extend to accommodate my fingers, but because of the cable length on the second one, that top worked OK--giving me mittens that are fraternal twins, not identical. But I'm not happy with my work on them, and overall, they're a little snug.

Obviously, this is all my own fault, but it's easy to blame Twilight itself. And the sort of "Was that it?" feeling I had when I finished these mittens is very, very similar to the feeling I had when I finished the book/movie. So I'm blaming Twilight.

Get With It, Birds

Last week the bird feeder I'd been using for 2.5 years here fell down somehow, which broke the glass and put it out of commission. So last weekend I comparison shopped and got a new, deluxe feeder, one that holds about a metric ton of seed and has a roof and drainage and even two baskets for suet cakes.

I thought the birds would be all over their upgraded feeder (and the suet), but no. In 8 days, no bird has landed on it. The sparrows' consternation the first two days was almost funny--while I assumed they'd get over it. Now it's just strange. I have taken to shaking all of that seed out of the feeder to the ground, where the birds will finally eat it.

I don't think I've lost any bird visitors--and the quail are really happy about all that seed on the ground--but what should I do? Just wait it out? Enter into a contest of wills with the sparrows? It says something about my mental state lately that I think that's a fine plan.

Friday Unrelated Information

1. I've had an unfocused, uninspired week, which is why the blog has suffered: I'm not interested in my latest projects and I'm only reading self-help books, so I don't even have anything good to quote here.

2. But there's always Salinger...in my opinion, Franny and Zooey IS a self-help book, just better written. Here's Zooey at the end talking about detachment, the theme of the week:
You can say the Jesus Prayer from now till doomsday, but if you don't realize that the only thing that counts in the religious life is detachment, I don't see how you'll ever even move an inch. Detachment, buddy, and only detachment. Desirelessness. "Cessation from all hankerings."

3. And finally, I wish this t-shirt used a better font, because I really love the sentiment:
"I knit so I don't kill people." Amen.

Author Trivia

Did you know that Jean-Paul Sartre was a Nobel Prize winner, and he refused it? And that the Swedish Academy said, essentially, "Well, you're still a Nobel Prize winner, even if you don't accept the award." Fun times in 1964. (Today's post courtesy of The Writer's Almanac. You can read more about why Sartre refused the award here.)

[Whenever I think of Sartre, I always think of "The Jean Paul Sartre Cookbook," a satire that someone posted in the early days of the internet and my friends and I found in high school. Oh, we thought that was the cleverest thing. Satire! Sartre! Beginning French class! Good times.]

A Cartoon

Because I it's the 200th anniversary of Poe's birth this year. And I like ravens.

Tuesday Project Roundup: Some Sewing Again

As I finished this dress, it seemed like a long time since I had sewn something else. My short-term memory is really shot lately (I couldn't remember what I did Saturday night when someone asked me yesterday) so the last sewing project before the quilt was a blur, but it turns out I was right: This is the first dress since the beginning of September.


Here's a more detailed shot of the pattern, which I made in December, as well. This time I remembered to lengthen the sleeves and added a belt. The gingham makes it feel very French New-Wave to me...that, or The Womenfolk's album cover from 1964*

*I didn't even know this group existed until two weeks ago, when I was going through my dad's old (mint) vinyl looking for some new music.

Let's Talk About Shoes

Instead of talking about our feelings today, let's talk about brown shoes that aren't too high-heeled. After watching Help! Thursday night, I did some major googling to find a pair of boots like they were wearing in that clip I posted Friday. While all the ankle boots for women this season seem stuck in 1986, I found some: They're Florsheim, for men.


Sometimes I am happy to not have tiny ladylike feet, because a men's size 7 is a women's size 9. My only hesitation? A size 7 isn't available from a site that offers free shipping and returns, so I'd be gambling a little that they'd work.

What do we think about these mod boots? They'd look great with jeans, but not so much with skirts or dresses. But they're a decent price (unlike these $350 boots of magic from Sweden) and I had a pair of jodhpur boots in college that I loved. Also, I could pretend I was a Beatle.

Friday Unrelated Information

1. Check out the Letters of Note blog, which posts scans and transcripts of, well, notable letters. The variety and historical background is really fascinating.

2. I watched Help! last night and now I want the sofa, the chair, and John's boots from this clip:


3. And here's something from McSweeney's that tickled me (click through to read the other two-thirds of it):

What to Expect: The Third Decade

Keep in mind that all adults reach their developmental milestones at their own pace. It is important not to compare your adult's rate of development to that of his peers. The following list is meant only as a guideline and not as a cause for alarm.

By thirty-years-old, your adult will probably be able to...

Feed and maintain a house pet
Hold down a job
Maintain eye contact while speaking
Refrain from discussing high school
Cook a meal (three-course)
Make small talk
Forgive his family
Acknowledge other viewpoints (social)
Detect and respond to ambiguity
Finish school

I Love Stories About The Large Hadron Collider

From a NYTimes article about the latest escapades at CERN (other than terrorist physicists):

A pair of otherwise distinguished physicists have suggested that the hypothesized Higgs boson, which physicists hope to produce with the collider, might be so abhorrent to nature that its creation would ripple backward through time and stop the collider before it could make one, like a time traveler who goes back in time to kill his grandfather.

Really, what commentary do I need to add to that? Read it all here.

Get One Last Trip To The Farmers' Market In

They're winding down for the season, as is the garden. I'll make it a two-poem week and post this one about the harvest. (Now I'm going to think "human brains covered in red oilcloth" when I cut up the last tomatoes to freeze.)

Harvest

by Louise Gluck

It's autumn in the market—
not wise anymore to buy tomatoes.
They're beautiful still on the outside,
some perfectly round and red, the rare varieties
misshapen, individual, like human brains covered in red oilcloth—

Inside, they're gone. Black, moldy—
you can't take a bite without anxiety.
Here and there, among the tainted ones, a fruit
still perfect, picked before decay set in.

Instead of tomatoes, crops nobody really wants.
Pumpkins, a lot of pumpkins.
Gourds, ropes of dried chilies, braids of garlic.
The artisans weave dead flowers into wreaths;
they tie bits of colored yarn around dried lavender.
And people go on for a while buying these things
as though they thought the farmers would see to it
that things went back to normal:
the vines would go back to bearing new peas;
the first small lettuces, so fragile, so delicate, would begin
to poke out of the dirt.

Instead, it gets dark early.
And the rains get heavier; they carry
the weight of dead leaves.

At dusk, now, an atmosphere of threat, of foreboding.
And people feel this themselves; they give a name to the season,
harvest, to put a better face on these things.

The gourds are rotting on the ground, the sweet blue grapes are finished.
A few roots, maybe, but the ground's so hard the farmers think
it isn't worth the effort to dig them out. For what?
To stand in the marketplace under a thin umbrella, in the rain, in the cold,
no customers anymore?

And then the frost comes; there's no more question of harvest.
The snow begins; the pretense of life ends.
The earth is white now; the fields shine when the moon rises.

I sit at the bedroom window, watching the snow fall.
The earth is like a mirror:
calm meeting calm, detachment meeting detachment.

What lives, lives underground.
What dies, dies without struggle.

Tuesday Project Roundup: Patterns

Today I mean patterns as in the designs formed from repeating groups of stitches, not the schematic for making an object.

There's a popcorn pattern on the beige cardigan:

And there's a horseshoe cable pattern on one finished Twilight mitten:

The cables got a little off on this one because I had to keep stopping and starting on the plane, and I had to fudge the top to make it longer to accommodate my fingers, but I'm actually kind of liking it. Maybe it will gaze at me in science class and make me flustered.

In Need Of Re-Posting

I know I put up this poem last year, in the heat of the election and seasonal change and economic apocalypse, but let's put it up again this year, for another time of transition:

"How to Like It," by Stephen Dobyns

These are the first days of fall. The wind
at evening smells of roads still to be traveled,
while the sound of leaves blowing across the lawns
is like an unsettled feeling in the blood,
the desire to get in a car and just keep driving.
A man and a dog descend their front steps.
The dog says, Let’s go downtown and get crazy drunk.
Let’s tip over all the trash cans we can find.
This is how dogs deal with the prospect of change.
But in his sense of the season, the man is struck
by the oppressiveness of his past, how his memories
which were shifting and fluid have grown more solid
until it seems he can see remembered faces
caught up among the dark places in the trees.
The dog says, Let’s pick up some girls and just
rip off their clothes. Let’s dig holes everywhere.
Above his house, the man notices wisps of cloud
crossing the face of the moon. Like in a movie,
he says to himself, a movie about a person
leaving on a journey. He looks down the street
to the hills outside of town and finds the cut
where the road heads north. He thinks of driving
on that road and the dusty smell of the car
heater, which hasn’t been used since last winter.
The dog says, Let’s go down to the diner and sniff
people’s legs. Let’s stuff ourselves on burgers.
In the man’s mind, the road is empty and dark.
Pine trees press down to the edge of the shoulder,
where the eyes of animals, fixed in his headlights,
shine like small cautions against the night.
Sometimes a passing truck makes his whole car shake.
The dog says, Let’s go to sleep. Let’s lie down
by the fire and put our tails over our noses.
But the man wants to drive all night, crossing
one state line after another, and never stop
until the sun creeps into his rearview mirror.
Then he’ll pull over and rest awhile before
starting again, and at dusk he’ll crest a hill
and there, filling a valley, will be the lights
of a city entirely new to him.
But the dog says, Let’s just go back inside.
Let’s not do anything tonight. So they
walk back up the sidewalk to the front steps.
How is it possible to want so many things
and still want nothing? The man wants to sleep
and wants to hit his head again and again
against a wall. Why is it all so difficult?
But the dog says, Let’s go make a sandwich.
Let’s make the tallest sandwich anyone’s ever seen.
And that’s what they do and that’s where the man’s
wife finds him, staring into the refrigerator
as if into the place where the answers are kept-
the ones telling why you get up in the morning
and how it is possible to sleep at night,
answers to what comes next and how to like it.

Friday Unrelated Information

1. Have you heard this? First Conde Nast shuttered Domino magazine (which I miss so much, as next year I start advance furniture buying for The House To Come), and now Gourmet will fold after November--the same Gourmet that's been around since the 40s and been home to writers such as MFK Fisher (not to mention the online cocktail gallery). Damn.

2. It's John Lennon's birthday. He would have been 69.

3. I just learned that ravens can live up to 40 years in the wild; the average raven lifespan is between 15 to 25 years, depending on your source. (Collective noun for ravens: An unkindness.)

"A Love Of One's Fate"

Yesterday, the poem featured on The Writer's Almanac was called "Amor Fati," a phrase I didn't know. Wikipedia gave me some good stuff:
[The phrase] is used to describe an attitude in which one sees everything that happens in one's life, including suffering and loss, as good. That is, one feels that everything that happens is destiny's way of reaching its ultimate purpose, and so should be considered good.

Nietzsche used the concept and phrase a lot; Wikipedia also gave me a good quote from him:
My formula for greatness in a human being is amor fati: that one wants nothing to be different, not forward, not backward, not in all eternity. To not merely bear what is necessary, still less conceal it...but to love it.

I like this concept of amor fati. There has been a lot to deal with in my life lately and I think this is a good approach to it.

In other words...SERENITY NOW!

Serves Me Right To Complain About Private Jets

Remember my last business trip? Yeah, I'll wear all the booties you want if you don't make me fly to Orlando and back and arrive both places after midnight. Oh, the humanity.
But I'm home now. And business trips=salary. So I really shouldn't complain about this one, either.

Tuesday Project Roundup: Plane Knitting

The beige cardigan is coming along, but I decided it was too big to take with me on the plane. So I started some mittens with some leftover yarn I had and am working on those on the flights. However, they are mittens inspired by the movie Twilight.

Yes, I saw the movie. The can't-look-away-train-wreck part of me even had to go and read the book after that. I am thoroughly embarassed to be boarding the Twilight Mittens Train. But these will be plum! And will look good with my coat! And I left the first page of the pattern that shouts "Bella's Mittens" at home, so maybe no one will know.


(Top photo from the movie; bottom photo from the pattern.)

Or maybe when I'm finished, my mittens will sparkle and declare their undead love for me. We'll see.

Two Pieces Of Information With a Blues Brothers Tie-In

The first: Saturday night Mr. Isbell and I saw Inglourious Basterds at Brewvies, and a lot of the time I couldn't help but think, "Illinois Nazis. I hate Illinois Nazis."



The second: While I never had to be a juror last week, that trip to Florida I was worried about is happening tonight and tomorrow. So I'm hitting the road and Toby is currently sitting next to my overnight bag, looking worried.

Friday Unrelated Information

1. Happy birthday, Wallace Stevens (1879). I'll try to remember this quote when I'm feeling overwhelmed: "Everything is complicated; if that were not so, life and poetry and everything else would be a bore."

2. Go visit myvintagevogue.com before Conde Nast makes them take down the site for copyright infringement. Some of the dresses are so timeless:

3. I agree with this: "What we need is a word to describe 'nostalgia for things we haven’t even experienced.' Things like transistor radios, soda counters, and rabbit-eared televisions. Wes Anderson is a connoisseur of this sensation. No doubt the French have ten different words for it." (From here, a blog about the production of Where the Wild Things Are.)

Happy Tocktober!

How did it get to be Tocktober already? Before you know it, it will be Nosevember.

Wednesday Project Roundup: Cue The Richard Strauss

Done...

done...

done....

done, DONE!


Done, done, done, done, done, done, done, done.....

Why yes, the quilt is finished after nine months. It kept us warm last night. Toby approves of it. But what project will stay at the back of mind mind now? Something like this? (I'm serious; I think I like quilting.) Although maybe I'll take a few months and enjoy this one being done.

(If you're like me, now you have to go listen to the real Richard Strauss piece. Here's a video link for you.)

Let Me Distract You With Pictures Of Oktoberfest While We Wait For Quilt Pictures

The quilt didn't get a photo shoot last night but it's ready for its close up (!!!)*. So for today, check out The Big Picture's photos of Oktoberfest in Munich.

These Lowenbrau horses' harness puts the Budweiser Clydesdales' to shame:

German knights! With beer!

And did somebody say beer? That is a lot of beer.
I know we wanted to try to go to Snowbird's Oktoberfest this weekend, but the weather may not cooperate with us. I'd rather not trudge through the snow to get my beer.

*Stay tuned for a Very Special Wednesday Project Roundup tomorrow: The Quilt Reveal.

Toby's Great Escape

As you might guess from the title of this, Sunday was a pretty bad day. But everything ended happily so really, it was a great day.

Saturday night I went to bed with Toby sleeping on the in-progress quilt, so when I woke up once in the night and he wasn't on the bed I thought, "Oh, he's on the quilt." I woke up again at 4:30 and he still wasn't on the bed and I thought, "Where the hell is he? I'd better so check." So I get up and he's not on the quilt and he's not anywhere and I'm already getting a sinking feeling and yes: He pushed out a corner of the screen in the front window and was gone.

Well, about four hours of panic ensued--panic and lots of walking and hollering. We made a two-block radius around the apartment, I went down into Memory Grove, I made fliers and started posting them, I put up an ad on Craigslist and ksl.com, and did I mention the panic part?

I called my mom again after the flier posting and she said, "Put out some food and be sure to check really carefully in all the corners of the yard." So I started investigating the potting shed in the back parking lot here and wedged between the back of the shed and a tree trunk was a very, very scared Toby. (Isn't the wisdom of moms fantastic? How do they learn these things?) He was too scared to even meow at me, which is why we missed him in the frantic search (and it was dark), but I scooped him up and carried him back inside.

Then, of course, all he wanted to do was pace the windows (now shut) and go out again. Um, kitty? You didn't seem to be enjoying yourself. There's no food out there. Let's stay inside, OK?

Anyway. That was Sunday, but all is well now. I'd like a weekend to recover from the weekend, please.

Friday Unrelated Information

1. We had a server and internet crash at work yesterday, so I took an early lunch and went to the Gateway--where I saw the CIRCUS PARADE. I was all, "Elephants!!" but then immediately after, "Oh god, that's sad." There were also clowns riding mini bikes.

2. Don't forget to go visit the alpaca ranch this weekend for Open Barn Day (they have yarn to buy).

3. The Smithsonian has a whole bunch of old seed catalogs you can peruse online. My favorites are below.

A Poem For Thursday

In The Night Orchard

by R. T. Smith

I know, because Paul has told me
a hundred times, that the deer
gliding tonight through tangleweed
and trashwood, then bounding across
Mount Atlas Road, are after his pears.

And who could blame them?
On the threshold of autumn, the Asian
imports, more amazing than any Seckle
or indigenous apple, start to ripen.
Then a passing crow will peck one open.

That's when the whitetails who bed
and gather beyond Matson's pasture
will catch the scent and begin to stir.
It's a dry time, and they go slowly mad
for sweetness. No fence can stop them.

The farmers like Paul will admit
it starts in hunger, but how suddenly
need goes to frenzy and sheer plunder.
When the blush-gold windfalls are gone
and the low boughs are stripped

of anything resembling bounty, bucks
will rise on their hind legs and clamber
up the trunks. Last week Cecil Emore
found one strangled in a fork,
his twisted antlers tangled as if

some hunter had hung him there
to cure. We all remember what it's like,
this driven season, this delirium
for something not yet given a name,
but the world turns us practical, tames

us to yearn for milder pleasures.
For Augustine, it was actual pears
that brought him out of the shadows
and over a wall, for Eve, the secret
inside what we now say was an apple.

Others have given up safety for less,
and I wonder, catching an eight-point
buck outlined on the ridge amid spruce,
if it's this moonstruck nature that renders
the ruminants beautiful, or if we stalk

them out of envy, not for the grace
of their gliding, but for the unadorned
instinct that draws them after dark
into trespass and the need to ruin
the sweetest thing they've ever known.

Jury Duty Looms

So work is slow this week, but next week a site needs to be written and there's the potential for a trip to Florida for a new client, plus all of the other things the only writer at an agency handles. And that's all going to be a problem because I've been called for jury duty.

I'm hoping that the court will find enough jurors before my number comes up. And failing that, I'm hoping the deadline on that site is flexible. In theory, a break from the routine with lots of downtime for knitting sounds OK, but I'd be happier if I had some freelance lined up. I guess that's today's project.

Tuesday Project Roundup: Project Schedule

I don't have anything finished this week, but it's not for lack of trying. I'm adhering to a very productive crafty schedule:

On the nights when Mr. Isbell has school, I sew the quilt binding and watch my Masterpiece Theater miniseries. (He doesn't share my love for British period dramas.) I'm halfway through the binding!

On the nights when we're both home, I usually knit. I'm almost to the point where I start the fancy stitch pattern on the beige vest.

And on the weekends, when we're not going to car races or open barn days, I've been working on a fall dress with that black gingham.
So statistically, I should really have something to show soon.

Happy Fall

190 years and three days ago, John Keats wrote his "Ode to Autumn," and, while the astronomical equinox isn't until tomorrow, it's a nice way to start the week. Here's the first stanza; you can read the rest of it here.

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness

Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun

Conspiring with him how to load and bless

With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;

To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,

And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;

To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells

With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,

And still more, later flowers for the bees,

Until they think warm days will never cease,

For Summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.

Friday Unrelated Information

1. Big events this weekend: My brother's birthday AND a race at Miller Motorsports Park. I got him tickets, too, so we can all watch the Rolex Grand Am series and think about him being 33. I think owning three lawn tractors by 33 was a goal of his, and he has accomplished it. Happy birthday!

2. Remember when I learned about Alan Turing last year? The UK has finally apologized for prosecuting him for homosexuality, forcing estrogen implants on him, and essentially driving him to suicide. Nice apology; shame he's dead and can't accept it.

3. Here is a gallery of some vintage Porsche posters to peruse. I like this one:

State Fair Tonight

I never did enter anything in the fair this year; nothing seemed worth the leaving work early and registering it with all the crafty fair ladies and leaving early again to pick it up afterward.

But I still want to go, and my brother gave us free tickets (courtesy of John Deere), so tonight is fair night. I haven't checked the schedule for any events we want to see, but maybe we'll catch some draft horse pulls. And eat some funnel cake.

Wednesday Project Roundup: One Step Forward, One Project Back

So I start hand-sewing the binding on the quilt tonight (while watching the Masterpiece Theater Little Dorrit, inspired by Kara). I know I've been talking about the steps involved in this for nine months now, but this is seriously the last one. The LAST ONE!

But with all progress comes some un-progress: I stopped working on the turquoise sweater for now. The more I worked on it the more I realized I wouldn't wear that style of pattern, and the more I saw the yarn the more I thought it was a spring color. (Pantone tells me that it is, too.)

Instead, I'm working on this, in beige. Beige is always in season.

(From the Interweave Knits magazine, in lieu of anything elaborately cabled, because I still can't decide.)

Tuesday Project Roundup Will Return Tomorrow

It's being bumped so I can wish Mr. Isbell a happy birthday today instead. Happy birthday, hon!

(This birthday, say it with lolcats.)

The 20th Century Has Been Good To Me

I can vote, I can work full-time, and I didn't have four kids by the time I was 25. The Writer's Almaac tells me that today is the birthday of Margaret Sanger, in 1879, who is responsible for that third one. Emphases are mine in the quote below:

Margaret Sanger was born into a working-class Irish family. Her mother died when she was 50, after 18 pregnancies. Margaret went to New York City, became a nurse, got married, and gave birth to three kids. As a nurse, she worked in the maternity ward on the Lower East Side, and many of her patients were poor, some of them living on the streets. They seemed old to her by the time they were 35, and many of them ended up in the hospital from self-induced abortions, which often killed them. Margaret nursed one mother back to health after she gave herself an abortion, and heard the woman beg the doctor for some protection against another pregnancy; the doctor told the woman to make her husband sleep outside. That woman died six months later, after a botched abortion, and Margaret Sanger gave up nursing, convinced that she needed to work for a more systematic change.

We can all be glad Margaret did work for change, went to prison in 1916 for opening a birth-control clinic, and in 1921 started what would become Planned Parenthood. Thank you, Margaret.

Friday Unrelated Information

1. If you'd like something to read, I found a Malcolm Gladwell article about advertising, the rise of feminism, two women copywriters, and the birth of the focus group. It's good stuff, although if you ARE a woman copywriter who likes the Mad Men era you'll really like it. True Colors: Hair Dye and the Hidden History of Postwar America.

2. This weekend is the Great Basin Fiber Arts Fair, held at Wheeler Farm. The alpaca ranch will be there--check out their new blog to see how you could win an alpaca mat.

3. Here's a picture of Hemingway kicking a can, from here.

Things You Learn In Your Morning Internet Reading

My trusty sources, The Writers Almanac and Coudal Partners, tell me that today is poet Mary Oliver's birthday (there's a nice poem from her about being seventy at the top of the page) and pointed me to a post about "micro-poems" that would translate well to Twitter. That post containted this Mexican proverb:

Cada quien puede hacer de sus calzones un palote
“Anyone is entitled to make a kite out of his pants.”

So let's just all ponder that today.

Wednesday Project Roundup: Some Fall Projects

I feel as if I completely squandered my four day weekend, but at least I got some sewing done. Here's that double gauze blouse:

I made this pattern last year as a dress, but the double gauze was a new experience. It was kind of like working with Kleenex, in that the layers would stick to each other and there's no drape to the finished shirt whatsoever. I think it will look OK with jeans, though. I'll channel my inner hippy.

And here's that paisley Liberty of London print from the fall projects pile:
This I finished before the weekend but it got bumped for quilt photos last week. I've made this pattern before, too, so it came together quickly. I like working with these busy small prints--it keeps things interesting while you're finishing seams. (I realize that this one also looks kind of hippy-ish. I guess I should just embrace that.)

Tuesday Project Roundup Has Been Rescheduled For Wednesday

Monday was a holiday so now I'm going to be off a day all week. Since today feels like Monday, let's push the roundup to Wednesday since that will only feel like Tuesday. (Also, I'll be able to take some pictures of the projects tonight.)

OK. Back to work, I guess.

Friday Unrelated Information

1. I need to decide on an elaborate cabled sweater to make soon if I'm going to accomplish Thing 22 on the 29 Things. The latest Interweave Knits magazine had a cardigan that I know I would wear a lot, but is it cabley enough?

2. Check out this crosswalk sign hack:

3. And speaking of high fives, I took today off from work so I get a four-day weekend. That's pretty great, too.

Food-Related Things I Learned Last Night

I was searching the Gourmet.com archives for a plum cake recipe that used ingredients I had, got distracted by their Cocktails of the Decade, 1940-2000 gallery (awesome), and noticed a cocktail called the Phoebe Snow. I knew the Phoebe Snow was a train, and that Utah Phillips wrote a song about it (her?), but I didn't know the backstory: Both the cocktail and the train were named for
a character created for a railroad advertising campaign that ran from the 1880s into the middle of the 20th century. The original Phoebe Snow was a young woman whose white dress remained pristine while riding the train because it ran on anthracite rather than normal, sooty coal.

Both Wikipedia and Utah Phillips back that up. Cool.

(Here's Phoebe, courtesy of Wikipedia.)

Then I moved on the The Joy of Cooking, still looking for a plum cake recipe, and I finally decided to look up "cockaigne." Many recipes in there are called "Chocolate Cake Cockainge" or "Christmas Fruitcake Cockaigne" and while I've been reading the cookbook since I was about ten, I've never bothered to find out what it means. (In my head, I had decided it meant "with nuts;" I don't know why.)

As it turns out, in medieval times "cockaigne" was a mythical land of plenty to peasants, kind of like the Big Rock Candy Mountain was to hobos. The Joy of Cooking authors had a country house named that, so all the "Recipe Cockaignes" were really just their house specialites--no nuts involved. Apparently this was in the forward to the cookbook the entire time. Thanks, Wikipedia!

(I did finally make "Plum Cake Cockaigne," but I always forget how much sugar plums need. It's a little tart.)

Busy Wednesday

It is Wednesday, right? Somehow I ended up with a re-scheduled doctor's appointment in the middle of a day filled with meetings and projects that are demanding more creativity than I think I can muster at this point.

So let's watch this video of a cat washing a fennec fox:



There. Now I feel better.

Tuesday Project Roundup: Quilted

I wonder if all these "in progress" quilt posts will spoil the final reveal, but I'm just so pleased with any step forward that I can't not show it. The latest step forward is, of course, the quilting. Like the Velveteen Rabbit, it's a Real Quilt now. Behold the even machine stitching:


And look how it looks like a real quilt all folded up:
The only step left is to finish the raw edges with some binding. I hope to at least start that over the long weekend.