Let's Go Fly a Kite

Arabis' first kite. Excuse the crappy camera phone photo.

Happy Birthday

Three years ago, at 10:35 PM, my beautiful daughter was removed from my body and held above the surgical drape on my abdomen. I remember crying and speaking to her, whispering into her ear in Armenian, because that was the first language I wanted her to hear. I whispered her gypsy name to her: the name that will never be used, that only I spoke, she heard, and the earth knows.

It's so hard to believe that three years are past. I can't imagine what my life would've been like without her upbeat energy and goofy smile.

I love you, my heart. Many, many happy returns of the day.

This Is Not A Knitting Blog (But It Plays One on the Internet)

My mother had a big health scare recently, which resulted in the serious neglect of this blog. Not to go into too much detail, she was three weeks in hospital and three weeks staying with me, so that I could give her daily antibiotic infusion therapy (trained by the in-home nursing staff) and aid in her recovery. She is back at her home and doing better now, so I am making tentative forays into the vast territory that is the internet.

While my mother was in residence, I didn't knit at all. There was no time. From sunup until far past sundown I was on my feet and working non-stop, tending to her and Arabis. And for the three weeks prior to that, while she was in hospital, the needles lay quiet as well. Now that my life has wound back to its normal levels of insanity, I cast on an adorable pattern for Arabis late last month: Emma's Unmentionables from the newest Knitty.

I have found it to be a refreshingly easy and straightforward knit. One error in the pattern, when you attach the legs to the body, but that was easily spotted and remedied. I began casting on the first lace ruffle one night at midnight which I know is never a good idea. On a whim, I reread the pattern the following morning. While the pattern calls for the body of the work to be done on a US 5 needle, the lace is to be worked on a US 6. Very subtle difference that I didn’t even notice on first reading. So I knit the lace as loosely as possible and it looks fine.

Before grafting the crotch stitches, the final step of the pattern, I tried the garment on Arabis and when I took it off her she had a fit.

“Mine, Mommy! Mine, mine, mine!! Want to wear!!”

In record time the stitches were grafted and she wore these for three days before I hid them to wash.

I have, of course, started a second pair, of which is about 75% done. This pair is in a lovely wisteria color, using the suggested yarn and the larger sized needles for the lace. I'm in love with this pattern and the compliments I've gotten on the finished garment have been wonderful.

Here's a link to my project page for all you Ravelry nuts out there. I really need to make a pair of these in black. They'd be a hit with the goth toddler crowd.


Pattern: Emma's Unmentionables from Knitty
Needle: US 5 (3.75mm) circulars 16 inch and 20 inch, two US 5(3.75mm) double pointed needles
Yarn: TLC Cotton Plus Solid in Kiwi (3643), 3 skeins
Size: 4T

Totland: Where the Fun Never Ends

So on our foray out to walk amongst the people, the Minion and I go to Totland. You folks remember Totland, right? Home of the Berkeley (S)Mothers. We go to Totland because the Minion has requested it: "Wan' go PLAAAAAAY! Wan' go SWIIIIING! Wan' go TA-LAAAAND!"

The Minion is a swinging fool. She swings for 25 minutes. I know, because I had this feeling and checked the time a few minutes into our foray. From that time to the end, when she finally consented to be removed, was 25 minutes. I can feel it in my shoulders, the repetitive motion of pushing a 32 pound toddler as high as she can, non-stop. At the top of the back-swing just before the descent, she likes to throw her head back and yell "Upside-down, Mommy! Upside-down!"

Because it is her favorite thing.

We are making more inroads with the "big" swings, but they are slow. Our conversations tend to be something like this:

ME: Do you want to use the big swings today?
ARABIS: Um...okay, mommy.
ME: Be sure to hold on.
ARABIS: Um...okay, mommy.
ME: And sweetheart,
ARABIS: Yes, mommy?
ME: Be sure to tell me when you want to get off, okay? Don't just jump off.
ARABIS: Okay, mommy.

I know we're in for it. So she swings and I stand half behind and half next to her, reminding her every few swings to tell me when she's all done. She smiles that beatific smile she has and replies in the affirmative. The next minute she has flung herself from the swing and flies through the air, landing on her hands and knees.

"All done, Mommy!

St. Valentine's Day

Tomorrow is Saint Valentine's day,
All in the morning betime,
And I a maid at your window,
To be your Valentine.

Then up he rose, and donn'd his clothes,
And dupp'd the chamber door,
Let in the maid, that out a maid
Never departed more.

William Shakespeare
Hamlet
Act IV, Scene V

The Tiger

Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And water'd heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?

Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

William Blake

Delirium Kisses, Fever Dreams

For those of you that don't know, not only do I talk in my sleep but I sing.

Really.

From my mother's amazement at my childhood nocturnal ramblings to my first roommate in college incredulously informing me that I sang the entirety of "The Perfect Nanny" from Mary Poppins the first night in my dorm.

It's nothing new.

Today has been spent mostly dozing on the couch, while Mojo and Arabis went about their day around me. At one point, I began to sing:

"Birds gotta swim!
And fish gotta fly!
I gotta love one man 'til he dies.
Can't help lovin' that man o' mine!"

Mojo has to pop in," Artemis? Are you awake?"

"Birds gotta swim!
And fish gotta fly!
I gotta love one man 'til I KILL HIM!
Can't help lovin' that man o' mine!"

"Art!" says Mojo laughing. "You're singing about killing me!"

"No, no! I don't want to kill you! You're taking good care of me. I like you. I don't want to kill you." I pause and then continue, "In fact, I need to embroider you a little tiny vest and hat. To show you how much I love you."

"Are you trying to say that I'm your minion?"

"No. You're the father of the minion. But when you really love someone, you embroider them little tiny vests and hats."

And with that I retreated into deep sleep. All this was related to me with great glee upon waking.

The vests and hats are reference to another dream of about a year ago wherein I was sobbing aloud and quite distressed, muttering how "Someone must have loved them very much to embroider all those hats and vests but now she's dead and they're ALL ALONE!!!!!!"

We figured out that one was about the flying monkeys from The Wizard of Oz.

Then there was the time I gleefully informed him that I was "On a mission from Frog" and that we had to find "Mr Fabulous," obviously channeling Kermit and the Blues Brothers together.

My brain is a frightening place to live when I'm healthy. When I'm sick, it becomes an E ticket ride!

Braaaaaiiiiiins

"Hmmmm, juice, Mommy. Good juice. Yummy, yummy juice!"

"What are you drinking, Arabis?"

"Juice!"

Er...no...that's not juice. That's the remains of your father's Turkish Coffee milkshake from last night that was almost full and is now...empty. Yeah. A two year old wired on Turkish Coffee, because anything with a straw in it is "juice."

I've already declared today a "pajama day" because I don't want to bother getting dressed. When is the feeling of being exhausted every going to go away? Perhaps it just never does. It's one of those things they don't tell you about being a parent, because if you knew it's possible the species would never propagate.

I do love my daughter. Even though she thinks eggs are "balls, mommy, balls!" that don't bounce. "Ball broke, mommy!"

I'm not getting sick. No way, no how. Not. Getting. Sick.

"I love you, Mommy."

Yeah, sweetie. I love you too. That's what this is all about.

"Tattoo? Have tattoo, please?"



Gods, help me! This is going to be a looong day.

Day Thirty

I don't know what it is, but it ain't art (said with a heavy Brooklyn accent).

All is well, and all is well, and all shall be well.

Neil Gaiman, American Gods

Post 29

Crazy day with no chance to write and now having to relinquish the computer to Mojo to work on his book.

Here it is. My scintillating life.

Goodbye

There are things it's hard to let go:
The turn of a head
a look
the sound of a laugh

So the shock of seeing is tempered by a misleading familiarity
Despite the years, I smiled
Despite the years, I wanted to embrace you

That is my own foolish nature
I soften as I age
as the gray in my hair curls
as my daughter grows tall
This is what comes of laughing every day
a hope for the future and a sense of forgiveness
of myself and of you

Because what I remember is your laughter

So I smiled and opened my heart

It missed, you know
That dagger flung so casually
Shattered at my feet
The bitterness that you have become
Dissipated like fog before a breeze

Some women deny their power
Some women revel in being what men desire
Some women live to punish those that hurt them
never acknowledging the hurt they themselves inflicted

It feels like an undeclared war
that should be over
Not nurtured and cherished
I feel a chill from unexpected corners and realize that other doors have closed
blown shut by the winds of your influence

You've grown hard and brittle

I watched you across the room like a stranger who captures your attention
because they remind you of another
But it was clear you were unknown to me
The unfamiliar you in a form so like yet unlike
I felt like I could reach out and settle you gently in the palm of my hand
a fragile figurine
a walking voodoo doll cursing only herself

I say goodbye and go through the doors already open
The ones opening daily

There is a hole in my heart shaped like you
That no other can fill
It gets smaller with time
I'll always miss you and mourn a lost reconciliation
But I'll never lower myself to you

I love you
I mourn you
I walk forward

Day 27

My girl is refusing to sleep. She is restless and ornery. I am tired and preoccupied.

This is my post.

No Time

Four hours spent in the kitchen cleaning up after three days of Mojo and Arabis playing bachelor father.

Five loads of laundry...and I'm still not done.

"'Time, time,' said old King Tut,
'Is something I ain't got anything but.'"

Don Marquis, from Archy and Mehitabel

Survived

Three day weekend at opening of Dickens Fair is safely past. My daughter and my mate have hardly seen me and both clamour for my attention, so off I go to them.

And to bed. Ah, sweet bed. Bed is the friend I never get to spend enough time with.

Blah

Beyond tired. Beyond brains. Beyond logic.

Got filmed today for a local news station, doing my Peggotty bit with David Copperfield. I'm damned if I can remember what show it's for, but they were out doing a bit on the Dickens Fair and it's always fun to be color.

It's good work, but it is exhausting. I walk more miles within that one building and talk to more people during this five week period than I do all year. But it's home.

So very, very tired. One more day until this weekend is over...

Must climb the stairs to bed. Bed is good. We like bed.

One Down, Ten More to Go

This weekend is a whirlwind of activity leaving me little time to write and less energy and motivation to do so. I have walked miles today within the confines of the building housing our recreated 19th century London. I have talked to hundreds of people, dusted off my Yarmouth accent (I play Peggoty from David Copperfield), squired my young David Copperfield and reunited with the grown-up version later in the day.

And now I hear the voice of Mojo calling me from the other room, so come and sit. My friend Kathi has been driving down from Mono Lake to work as a barmaid at the Fair, so she is sitting with Mojo and Arabis. There's something about the easy camaraderie of friends you've known for so long they are family. I first met Kathi when I was 15. She threw my 21st birthday party. And here we are now.

My second call. Arabis is up far too late and I must put that child to bed. I find when father and daughter are left to their own devises, they tend to go a bit feral. It's good for them both, once in a while.

The third summons, my name echoing through the rooms. Until tomorrow.

It's That Time of Year Again

THE GREAT DICKENS CHRISTMAS FAIR!
FIVE WEEKENDS
including the FRIDAY after Thanksgiving!
Fri. Nov. 23 through
Sun. Dec. 23, 2007
In San Francisco's Cow Palace Exhibition Halls

Celebrate the Holiday Season in Victorian London!

The bustling streets of London, immortalized for all time by the mighty pen of Charles Dickens, form the living backdrop of your excursion into Christmas Past. You are a living part of a Victorian Christmas card come to life!

A Bay Area tradition for 28 holiday seasons, the Great Dickens Christmas Fair returns to the San Francisco Cow Palace Exhibition Halls for five weekends , including the Friday after Thanksgiving, from Friday, November 23 through Sunday, December 23, from 11am 'til 7pm.

Created in 1970 by Ron & Phyllis Patterson, the fair is now produced by Kevin & Leslie Patterson and Red Barn Productions, who continue the family tradition of theatrical excellence through authenticity, participation, and playfulness.

Come wander the lanes of Victorian London, as the glow of twilight settles upon the city. With the scent of pine boughs and freshly baked scones floating in the air and the sound of carolers and holiday merrymakers accompanying your stroll...

• Visit shops bedecked with Christmastime finery and filled with unique treasures.
• Stop in for a hot toddy or a pint of Boddington's at Mad Sal's Dockside Ale House, where the low-life hang out and the high-born drop in.
• Raise a champagne toast to the holidays at Fezziwig's Warehouse, the most cheerful spot in London.
• Enjoy rollicking entertainments on four stages and in the streets.
• Feast on fine foods from the British Empire and beyond.
• Rest a spell in Cuthbert's Tea House, for a sip of hot tea and cucumber sandwiches or scones.

A holiday adventure into Victorian London, celebrating with hundreds of costumed players in 90,000+ square feet of theatrically-lit music halls, pubs, dance parties and Christmas shops on winding lanes. It'’s a twilight evening in Charles Dickens'’ London Town: a city filled with lively and colorful characters from both literature and history. Enticing aromas of roasted chestnuts and hearty foods fill the air. Cries of street vendors hawking their wares ring out above the bustling crowd. Dozens of lamp-lit shops are filled to overflowing with Christmas presents.

Experience the joys of Christmas past at the Great Dickens Christmas Fair and Victorian Holiday Party!

The Night Before...

Happy Thanksgiving, everybody!

It must really be happening, because we watched Charlie Brown last night. I'm off to bed. There are pies that need baking bright and early.

Be thankful!

Well, This Could Explain A Lot

From an article by Virginia Heffernan in the New York Times Magazine:

"Sunny days! The earliest episodes of “Sesame Street” are available on digital video! Break out some Keebler products, fire up the DVD player and prepare for the exquisite pleasure-pain of top-shelf nostalgia.

Just don’t bring the children. According to an earnest warning on Volumes 1 and 2, “Sesame Street: Old School” is adults-only: “These early ‘Sesame Street’ episodes are intended for grown-ups, and may not suit the needs of today’s preschool child.”..."

Brief points:

• Dingy brownstones
• Inner city slums
• Friendship and trust across gender and age lines
• Misanthropic characters (not just Oscar, but Bert as well)
• Pipe smoking (Cookie Monster parodying Alastair Cooke)
• Poor snack habits( Cookie Monster, of course)
• Invisible friends indicating possible paranoid schizophrenia
• Suspected whole milk

How on earth did we ever turn out to be okay?

Read the whole article here.

My Girls

I go upstairs to bed last night and what do I find? My daughter and my girl cat completely entangled in a kitty pile. Arabis is half atop Izzy and Izzy has flung a paw over Arabis.

I just had to stop and watch them for a while, remembering how Izzy and her brother Wolf would wrap themselves around my huge belly during my third trimester and purr. I would pet the cats and tell that what they felt were the kicks of their newest sibling-to-be: the hairless kitty with thumbs growing within.

I gently moved Arabis (since Izzy is a tiny cat, not even seven pounds) and Izzy sleepily mewed her protest, readjusting herself and nuzzling up to her human sister.