You Want My Brother

For all y'all knitters who weren't mackin' on my brother prior to this,† direct your attention to the following story:

Brother went to Reykjavik last week.‡

Brother and Hans and I met§ at the Tilted Kilt¶ to watch the glory that is the first day of March Madness.#

Brother brought me a present:




Which contained this:




The story behind the Lopi: Brother says it seems itchy, that they probably joke in Iceland that it's itchy wool.% He said I may never want to knit it into anything, but he figures it'd be cool to have genuine Icelandic wool carted from Iceland in my stash.††

Take a moment for that to sink in.

[SUMMARY: *boggle*]

A man, a NON-KNITTING man, who has embraced the actuality, the conceptuality and the psychology of a knitter's stash.

I think this is a real lesson for us all: what we're really looking for is a man with an older sister who knits.

[SUMMARY: And my thermos... and this lamp...]





He also brought me this box full of bath products from Blue Lagoon, one of the most popular tourist destinations in Iceland.

[SUMMARY: Yes, that is a punchline.]

Apparently, it's a hot springs, a giant pool with mineral properties that will make you live forever if you bathe in it and drink it.

Only it's not natural.‡‡

It's the output of a geothermic power plant nearby. The mineral tailings form a sludge that sits at the bottom of the pool and in conveniently-placed sludge tubs all around the pool. People get in the water and scoop up the sludge and slather it all over themselves.

"So did you feel all glowy? Ten years younger?" I asked.

"No, you feel stupid. You look around at everybody else and you say, 'Yeah, you all did it too.' "

[SUMMARY: Stupidity in numbers.]

Are you jealous? If you didn't want my new stash enhancement, surely you wish you could get your hands on my sludge.§§

Or my brother.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Those of you who were might want to look away before you're blinded.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): They were going to go to Cuba, but then it got too dangerous.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): We call it "business lunch."

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Sort of like Hooters with more obvious boobs and more TiVis to give it a greater illusion of sports barness.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Trademark.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Has anyone out there in Blogland knit with this stuff? It doesn't seem *terribly* scratchy, but if you have firsthand knowledge, I'd love to hear about it.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Bonus points to brother for using the word "stash" correctly in casual conversation.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Not in the coming-out-of-the-rocks sense that we're used to in the Rocky Mountain West at least.

§§FOOTNOTE (ssludge!): That's what she said!

Google is a Harsh Mistress

Mom and Dad used to play S&M† and Kings in the Corner, vicious little card games that led to lots of trash talking and certain bragging rights.

Dad and the Peach have been playing Kings in the Corner, but Dad wants to branch into S&M.‡

"Didn't you say you found the rules online a couple of years ago?" he asked.

"Yeah, through the magic of Google," said I.

[SUMMARY: This is not subtle foreshadowing.§]

*************

From: "Dad"
To: "Marin"
Sent: Thursday, January 28, 2010
9:08:43 PM GMT -07:00 US/Canada Mountain
Subject: S & M

Daughter,
I googled "S & M", "Sadism & Masochism" , then put "card game" behind each... went through about a dozen pages of sex topics¶ without finding anything about the game.
Help?
dad

*************

[SUMMARY: You knew it was coming, but you still laughed.#]

I had to remind him it stands for "Spite & Malice."


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Stop it. That's my DAD you're sniggering at.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Enough! I don't laugh at your father's predilections. Of course, if you blog about them, I might.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): But you're going to laugh when you get to the punchline anyway.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I know we're not talking about my Dad's weirdities, but does anyone else think there's a sitcom moment in the fact that he apparently continued to browse through dozens of sex sites before he called for help?

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Told you so.

@RANDOM ADDITIONAL FOOTNOTE (atted): What do you suppose this post will do to *my* Google searchability?

I Kid You Not

I call this piece "Stress in Repose on Wazamba Tube Adrift a Field of Rampant Spreadsheets"

We have a monthly department meeting here in the Land of Big Oil.† To entice people to fail to skip it, there is birthday cake and a raffle.

The raffle usually consists of four gift cards to Starbucks, Jamba Juice, etc., and one coveted "get two free vacation hours" certificate.‡

Yesterday, they cleaned out the prize closet and gave everybody something with the company logo on it. There were many soccer-themed stress balls and apparently a more limited number of tape measure/levels.

Coincidentally, there are many women and only a more limited number of men in the department.

So the women got the balls and the men got the measuring devices.

Forty-two-year-old me bit twelve-year-old me's tongue really hard to stem the flow of inappropriate jokes.§

There are no such restrictions on you.¶


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Well, medium-sized oil.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I won one of those a couple of months ago. They made me trade for a Starbucks card.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): The only thing the little angel on my shoulder let me say was, "We are all now eligible for the St. Mary Stress Soccer League." It was funnier in person.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Kim? Can I lob you a softball? OH! That's what she said!

Sylvia's Last Stand

Sylvia's House of Fuzzy Crack is no more. The last truck took its last load this morning.

Posh will forever be the place I found knitters. People to knit with. Social knitting. Competitive knitting. Supportive knitting. Showing off knitting.




Women who can always be counted on to ooh and aah over Nathan's package.†

[SUMMARY: It's fibrelicious!‡]

Posh will forever be the place I learned about mail order chickens§ from Marybeth.




Without Posh, I might still be knitting endless scarves every football season¶... and endless baby blankets in the spaces in between.

I might never have met Bonnie# or Kate†† or Leslie...




...or (gods forbid) Genius Sarah. Who would hit me on the arm and say, "I have a question," all the way through baseball playoffs and untangle my yarn for me when I got too eager and couldn't wait until I got home to winder and swift and muddled it all up at Drunken Knitting?




Or Meg. Meg of the Mini Cooper and the motorcycle and the intense, funny intelligence. Or Heather, whose baby shower continued my knack for walking in on big, happy Posh parties.




Or Leslie, self-professed skincare whore and funny, erudite knitting writer.




Or Natalie, who makes me spit wine out my nose laughing.




Or Liza-Spelled-Lisa who accidentally got married, then accidentally adopted a second child.




Or Rosie who loves perfume, or Ligia who is an Capital-E-Educator and lives around the corner from me.




[SUMMARY: These are the people in my neighbourhood.‡‡]

It's the end of a soft, many-plied, colourful, beautiful era.

XOXOXOXO, Sylvia. It'll be sad knowing I can't just drop by on a random Friday afternoon.

See you around.

[SUMMARY: *sniffle*]

Don't ask how much I spent at the moving sale.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Oh, look what I did. Now he feels violated and I feel twelve. heheheheheh

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): And I'm not just talking about Nathan's package.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Thus continues the Summer of the Chickens. By the way, Marybeth says the chickens would, indeed, look fetching in sweater vests, but if we want to knit them we have to do it fast -- and I'm guessing not get too attached to the results -- because the chicks have already doubled in size.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): College boyfriends, high school friends, roommates... nobody was safe from the annual football scarf, twelve feet long, double-thick and ten inches wide. heheheheh. Sorry... had a moment.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Who is new, but noteworthy and has, in fact, cut her hair since this photo (just in case you see her around town).

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Who talks more than I do and gets captioned in the footnotes for it.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Y'know... my *spiritual* neighbourhood. The family you choose. The next-door neighbours of my soul. People who certainly deserve better photography than I've given them here.

The Corner of Lust 'n' Love†

Or the corner of Marin 'n' Quebec.

[SUMMARY: Potayto, Potahto.‡]




Kari was out walking her boy yesterday when she came upon this Greenwood Village street sign.§

And sent me the picture.

[SUMMARY: Kari is my new best friend.]

Guess what I want for my birthday?




It's a big YouTube day, isn't it?

*************

No. 3: The Spirit of Wood - Light Source & Philippe Paparella-Paris (Part 3 in the series)

Marin says: Grapefruit and cigarette smoke.

Right around the edges, a hint of something brown sugar sweet -- fig or currant, maybe. The grapefruit burns off quickly, leaving smoke and a hint of something brown sugar-sweet.

Another light, long-lasting scent. The final amber -- or maybe sandalwood -- throes stuck around until the next day's shower.

Six Scents says: "The inspiration for this fragrance comes from Cosmic Wonder Light Source's nature oriented fahion collection. Inspired by the designers memory of a scent experienced during a walk through a eucalyptus forest, a selection of fresh green top notes were combined with fig leaves and enlightened by green grass playing with fresh cut cypress. The idea was to create a rough and natural fragrance, using a lot of essential oils with a focus on the woody notes such as vetiver and himoki."¶ - Phillippe Paparella-Paris, Perfumer

Ingredients: Green Grass,# Fig Leaves,$ Cypress, Elemi, Coriander, Cedar wood, Vetiver, Himoki, White Amber$

Hans says: It's very earthy. It smells like something I smell a lot, like... trees. Pine trees. I'm getting a lot of wood. I feel like I'm eating wood right now, chewing on bark.††


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Thus:




‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Quebec being well known as the City of Love.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): For those unfamiliar with Denverish suburbs, Greenwood Village is one of the best villages, and certainly has the best street signs.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Oh, yeah. Just like I said... grapefruit and cigarettes. *ahem*

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): The bitter end of green grass has a LOT in common with grapefruit. *ahem*

$FOOTNOTE (on the money!): Yes, I'm taking credit for fig leaves. If I don't want to wreck my midterm grade, I should probably fight for credit for "maybe sandalwood" as the closest I got to wood all day. heheheheheheh. Wood.

††FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): For all the Hansisms, Hans got the perfumer's vision much better than I did. In a snit of jealousy, I believe I will start calling him Cosmic Wonder Light Source.

There Is an Elephant in the Way

It's the moment you've been waiting for, the storm of the century, ladies and gentlemen, it's time to Lick the Pig!

Bet you never thought the day would come.†

[SUMMARY: Long time no lick.]

*************

We had a fire drill yesterday.‡

We filed in a calm and orderly manner down the stairs, then congregated in the parking lot kitty-corner from the office.§ Hans and I are fire buddies,‡ so we checked to be sure we were OK. The fire wardens for each floor wore their red Fire Warden hats‡ and checked us in on their fire warden clipboards. Then they let us back in the building.

Dude.

I've been four and I've been twelve...

[SUMMARY: I'm ten.]

*************

Speaking of school daze,¶ Brother sent me these:










Consensus is that the elephant is the funniest one.

While Brother thought the lack of humour on the part of the grading parties was noteworthy, I think "Very funny, Peter," made me laugh almost as hard as the funny Peter made to get that accolade.

[SUMMARY: Humour is subjective.]

*************

This morning, I got a parking space on the only street in downtown Denver with no meters and no time limits.#

I have a feeling I spent all my kharmic green stamps for the next three years to get that spot.

[SUMMARY: Kharma is subjective.]

*************

Did I mention I got Bronco season tickets over the weekend? Second-hardest-to-obtain season tix in the NFL?††

[SUMMARY: I may be in kharmic debt after that.]

*************

I took brother to see Leonard Cohen at Red Rocks last week.‡‡ If you get the chance, ya gotta see him. First, he has some of the best musicians I've ever seen/heard backing him up. Then, not only did he play for three-and-a-half hours, he skipped off the stage every time he left.

Skipped. A 74-year-old man.

And he's funny.

Great Leonard Cohen paraphrase:

"It’s been 14 or 15 years since I walked this stage. I was about 60 then, full of a young man’s dreams. I’ve taken a lot of Prozac since then. And Paxil, Wellbutrin,§§ Ritalin, Focalin… but I never took any of the little blue pills.

You see, I was deep in religious study at the time.

I didn’t know Prozac suppresses the libido.

I thought I had transcended desire."

[SUMMARY: Leonard Cohen would definitely understand Kharmic Green Stamps.]

*************

The tiny little Tomato Plant that Could gets stronger all the time.

Every day when I leave for work, I have separation anxiety because¶¶ I'm afraid a tornado will go through the alley or we'll have [more] hail and I'll come home to find it washed away.

[SUMMARY: Parenthood has its stresses.]

*************

Speaking of plants,¶ I planted the north forty this weekend and ended up with an honest-to-Jebus farmer's tan.

[SUMMARY: There's a little white trash in all of us.%]

*************

Speaking of weather,¶ with the current and recent levels of humidity in Denverish,## my hair has become large and unruly.

I give up. The hair is on its own.

In other weather news, I finally bought an umbrella, so it hasn't rained on my walks to and from the office in days.

[SUMMARY: This is me... this is the universe revolving around me...]

*************

And in the lick of a pig, I'm off.

*************

No. 2: Wicken 3000 - Bernhard Willhelm & Lucas Sieuzac for Six Scents (Part 2 in the series)†††

Marin says: Alcohol *flash!*

Aldehyde *flash!*

Soap *flash!*

A brief *flash!* that makes me want to quote Grains de Musc on Jean Claude Ellena,‡‡‡ then licorice and bay rum under heavy cloud cover.

This is so watery and close to the skin and disappears so fast -- even with three direct hits from the bottle.

It's inoffensive.

It's almost not there.

Six Scents says: "A light, fresh, clean scent that embodies a fusion of the elements. The idea was to create a perfume close to the elements of water and air,but with a futuristic approach.§§§ Express "the Back to nature" side of Bernhard with a pure & essential fragrance." - Lucas Sieuzac,

Perfumer Ingredients: Sea Breeze Accord, Bergamot, Water Jasmine, Sheer Musk.

Hans says: Whew! There's a lot of alcohol! It smells like a gin and tonic. It's definitely very light. I like it, but it's very... it smells like, um, summer mist off a... weeping willow.¶¶¶


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): I may be overestimating your excitement over pig-licking.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Srsly.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Not the one I take pictures of all the time... the one across the street from that.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): We were.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): I'm not telling you where.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): For those of you scoring at home, the Green Bay Packers are harder. heheheheheheheh

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Jealous? Oh, please be jealous.

§§FOOTNOTE (I'm just a little confused): sp?

¶¶FOOTNOTE (staked tomotoes): Because I'm a tomato dork.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Except maybe Nathan.

##FOOTNOTE (the pounding moist): Unheard of humidity! Humidity on a grand scale! A swamp's worth of humidity!

†††FOOTNOTE (tick tick tick): That sounds so 60 Minutes, doesn't it?

‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (I tracked it down!): "...one of Jean Claude Ellena's many variations on the smell of water." And a big auxilliary slurp to Nathan for that quote.

§§§FOOTNOTE (triple take): Hey, that's what I said!

¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (three pats for Hans): And this is why we continue to keep Hans around.

The Promise of Spring*

When we got our seedlings from eBeth a month ago or so, I killed one of mine.% I knocked it over right there in eBeth's kitchen, burying its fragile leaves and delicate stem under a honking pile† of potting soil, compost and perlite.

I took it home and propped it up on a bamboo skewer,‡ but the next morning it wasn't even a green smear in the earth. So I planted a cucumber seed in its place§ and went on with my life.

[SUMMARY: To everything, turn, turn, turn...]

A couple of days later, I took my remaining six tomato plants outside to harden them.¶ Carefully following instructions,# I left them in the May sunshine for an hour then brought them in.

They were all noticably yellowed and a couple had brownish-greyish spots on them. I had burned my poor little tomatoes.†† Not fatal, as it turns out, but very sad. With all the rain we've had in Denverish lately, I couldn't take them out much, so they had a chance to recover in peace.

All but the littlest one recovered. It continued to look miserable. Alive, but miserable.

Sunday morning‡‡ I decided to take a trip to the garden center§§ for some herbs and another cucumber and I figured a good, solid beefsteak tomato would be a nice addition¶¶ to the more colourful heirlooms I already had.

I stopped to visit the plants on the way out and that tiny, spindly tomato -- a brandywine -- was more pathetic than ever. It was plastered to its bamboo stake and transluscent like wilted lettuce. I stroked it gently## and decided to get another brandywine at the garden center.

[SUMMARY: I'm both sentimental and practical.]

"After all, self," I said to myself, "if the spindly little guy makes it, you'll have that many more tomatoes to can. This can't be a bad thing."

The demon in the back of my brain was screaming, "It's going to DIE! You killed ANOTHER ONE! Are we there yet? There is NO HOPE! Can we get ice cream?"†††

Until that sickly tomato actually disappeared, I wasn't willing to give up on it. I put it out with the others Sunday for a full day of sun and fresh air. I brought it in at night and there it's stayed through a rainy Monday and Tuesday.

Today, there's a new leaf.‡‡‡ And it's standing on its own, tiny and delicate, but upright. And the leaves are growing out from the stem§§§ instead of hanging down in a most untomato-like way.

[SUMMARY: Cue the Handel! Sing out, Messiah! Hallelujah!]

As a chick who clicked her car fob at the electronic entry point on the office door *four times* before figuring out why the door wasn't unlocking,¶¶¶ I find this tale of hope and resurrection### very comforting.


*FOOTNOTE (asterisked, oddly enough): hearts and flowers... lalala...

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Well, it wasn't really mine until I wrecked it.

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Honking if you're a quarter of an inch tall and have the tensile strength of bunny fur.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): All my tiny tomato plants have tiny bamboo stakes I made out of vegetable skewers. That's very nearly ironic, isn't it?

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Which had two leaves three days later, so I like to think its tragic end wasn't for naught.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): It's like plant porn.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Apparently not carefully enough to read to the part where one should put them in dappled sunlight to start.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): The next day, there was a flurry of emails from the group of us intrepid gardeners. I wasn't the only one who burned her seedling.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): I woke up at 7 frickin' o'clock. And went back to sleep. And when I woke up, I figured it was 10:00 and I'd better get moving or I'd lose the whole day. I went to the garden center, the office supply store, the pet supply store, Home Depot and Chipotle and was home by 11:00. Did daylight savings time end Sunday? I'm pretty sure I got an extra hour. At least.

§§FOOTNOTE (tendrils): The beauty of a new hobby is the wide vistas of new shopping it spreads out before you.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (sprinkler heads): For those of you wondering what a single chick needs with six tomato plants, I will be canning. Just call me Betty Crocker.

##FOOTNOTE (trellises): Because stroking your plants is a professional gardener-approved addition to the hardening process. Heheheheheheh. Plant fluffer.

†††FOOTNOTE (stakes): My inner demon is four.

‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (oregano!): I have yet to turn it over. *rimshot*

§§§FOOTNOTE (garden twine): OK, it still looks a little like a weeping willow (weeping tomato?), but it's noticably perkier.

¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (bulbs): If any of the PTB had seen me, I believe they would have fired me on the spot. After they stopped laughing, of course.

###FOOTNOTE (row markers): Dudes, wouldn't resurrection be a SPECTACULAR add to my saintly résumé?

Horny†

When you‡ run across§ something this awesome first thing on Friday morning, you must say to yourself, "Self,% to hell with it, I'm posting a naked¶ little link," and share with those you love# so they, too, can revel in the wonders of the universe†† and the Internet that brings them to us.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Not unsafe for work -- I just make it sound that way because I am a blogtease.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): And by, "you," I mean, "I."

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Right there on Facebook, under Jax's smiling face.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): You always call yourself, "Self."

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Still not prurient.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): That would be you.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Translation: misery loves company.

Nuts & Bolts

That's what she said.†

I have something slightly funner for later, but when I got to the comments this morning, I realised I hadn't included all those knitterly particulars on the Baby Surprise Jackets.‡

And I didn't apprise Sarah of the washing instructions for hers Ben's.

[SUMMARY: Bad knitter!]

The Compass Star:

Yarn: Plymouth Yarn Cotton Kisses - light blue - 51 cotton/42 acrylic/7 nylon (machine wash, lay flat to dry), about 250 yards; less than one ball, but you couldn't quite get two sweaters out of one ball.§
Needle: US 5/3.75 mm
Size: between six months and one year¶

The NESSIL/FuSSIL# BSJ:

Yarn: Stylecraft Apache†† - thyme - acrylic (machine wash, lay flat to dry), about 185 yards; 1.5 balls.
Needle: US 5/3.75 mm
Size: also between six months and one year.

I have done my knitterly duty.

[SUMMARY: Good knitter!]

Now, do I get saint points for this, or did I lose saint points yesterday for not doing it in the first place?


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Yep. Still funny.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): You non-knitters may wish to avert your eyes or just tune in later when I give a brief treatise on pig sex.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): That's what she said. *beavisgiggle*

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Gauge is SUCH a subjective thing.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): I've waffled between the Not Evil Stepsister-in-law and the Future Stepsister-in-law. I kinda like the way NESSIL FuSSIL sounds when I say it out loud. Which I am. Right now. By myself in my office. If anybody asks, I'm going to tell them I'm speaking German.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Ravelry has scant information on this yarn, so I asked Google to help. Google didn't help much -- it doesn't even come up on the Stylecraft website, so... I don't know what to tell you. Discontinued, maybe? Perhaps I should go buy up all Showers of Flowers has to offer.

BSJ for Everyone!

That's what she said.†

This has been all uploaded and ready to go for over a month. Because of my understandable‡ postalphobia, I have a really hard time getting stuff to the post office to ship.

[SUMMARY: Inability to get to post office is related to blog photos. Somehow.]

BECAUSE one of these is for Sarah and her new arrival and I didn't want to post it before she got it.§




As always, the buttons are what really makes the Baby Surprise Jacket.




Then there's the one for my future stepsister-in-law, who decided not to find out the sex of the baby¶ so I went unconventional for the colours.




And got some very happy buttons to go with it.#




So for my dear friends who are new mothers, I hope you had a very happy first Mother's Day and I didn't mean you†† when I said I hate Mother's Day.

*************
Le Rivage des Syrtes (formerly PN1‡‡ or PdN1) - Patricia de Nicolaï for Parfums MDCI

Marin says: Now this has an aldehyde I can live with.

Most aldehydes are overwhelming to my delicate palate§§ and leave me thinking "Aqua Net." This one is bright and light and puts a fine synthetic net over a fruity floral.

I can't quite pick the fruit -- it's not exactly citrus, not exactly peach, not exactly mango. But it's definitely fruity. Perhaps like orange blossom, where the fruit hides in the flower. The flowers are strong and white and sweet like tropical blossoms -- maybe a dash of tuberose. And there's an edgy, slightly acrid depth that I'm starting to associate with ylang ylang.

As this dries down, everything mellows nicely, and there's a definite tinge of sweet oranges in the mix, complimented by a clean, clear tuberose. The aldehyde is nearly gone and there's a delicate golden depth -- amber -- that I find sophisticated and enchanting.

So my love affair with MDCI continues. They are so very French, to be sure, and so very well-crafted and slightly unusual.

This one is the brightest of the MDCI group so far and may be the spring/summer scent -- or one of them¶¶ -- that I've been looking for.

LuckyScent says: The top notes or [sic] orange, pineapple and galbanum combine in an unexpectedly radiant composition which fans of Nicolai will recognize as very much in her style. With the precious fruits secured as cargo, the search continues. Our hero gathers an abundance of heady florals— precious ylang, orange blossom and tuberose designed to delight any recipient of such a magnificent bouquet— and tucks them into a basket he has lined with grasses in order to protect them. Finally, the sailor’s attention turns to the most precious and rare essences– musks, incense and ambergris– eternal mementos of his exotic travels and worthy of none save the one who waits for him alone, praying for his safe return. A complex scent that evokes the bitter and the sweet, the tenderness and the wistful longing of romance.

Notes: sweet orange essence,$ pineapple, galbanum, ylang ylang,$ tuberose,$ orange blossom absolute,$ incense, ambergris,$ vanilla, musk

Hans says: Mmmm. I get, like, honey. Like a sweet honey. Like a flower honey. Honeysuckle. Call it honeysuckle. I think my talents are waning.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): This is all my cousin Joe and I say to each other. It makes Thanksgiving really, really funny (to us) and made Mother's Day bearable (to me), but I think it irritates our grandmother.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I hear you laughing.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): There's a protocol here, you know.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Which is both liberating and limiting, knitting-wise.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): If future stepnephew-in-law is half as happy as these buttons, he will have a fairytale childhood... "fairytale" in the modern-day connotation, not like Hansel and Gretel.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): For the record, FSSIL went into labour at about 1:00 Sunday morning and had the baby Sunday night. It's a boy. And Sarah had hers three weeks ago. Also a boy, but we already knew that.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Mine says "PN1" on the bottle because it was still in the working title stage when I got my set of MDCI samples. I consider this to be like my Metallica: Ride the Lightning tour shirt, which proves I got in on the ground floor. We, the uncool, clinging to the symbols of our occasional accidental hipness...

§§FOOTNOTE (tendrils and wafts and other delicate stuff): You're laughing again.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (arms thrown open): Why limit myself?

Aftermath

So the presentation went well, thanks for asking.†

Sitting down and distilling my job‡ into an accessible,§ concise,¶ entertaining# three minutes was a marvelous exercise. I'd recommend it.

If you're unfocused, it can help weed out the chafe.††

If you're feeling small, it can highlight your talents your and many, many mad skillz.‡‡

If you're bored, it can give you something to do.§§

I bet you could do it for any project¶¶ or aspect of your life.##

This has been a public service blogpost. If this had been an actual blogpost, there would have been considerably more fibre, fragrance and dick jokes. We now return you to your regularly-scheduled blog, already in progress.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Some of you did. I'm not making this up.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): The portion of it this client uses, in any case.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): No big words, many analogies, Bob the Builder references...

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): You'd never guess it here, but I am a master of concision. My high school drama teacher told me so after I distilled "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof" into four relatively brief sentences without missing a single important point.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Because I almost always think I'm funny.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Mix metaphors much?

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Because mad skillz are what you guys are all about.

§§FOOTNOTE (waves of boredom crashing on the shores of mental ingenuity): This may replace the Tom Sawyer Funeral Game as my favourite waiting-at-the-DMV activity.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (bonk bonk): Baby Surprise Jacket, I'm looking at you.

##FOOTNOTE (pounding to the rhythm of the motivational speaker): ...in a VAN, down by the RIVER...

Evolution on Easter†

Once upon a time of changing family dynamics,‡ two boys went to the Denver Museum of Nature & Science with their dad, their grandpa and their dear ol' AntiM.

Every exhibit started with a movie.§

In the Space Odyssey, there was a really boring movie with no rockets or asteroid fields or supernovas and some of the grown ups¶ in the group wondered how in the hell the museum planned to keep kids interested.




Fortunately, Dave Cuomo showed up# and saved the day with a reasonably engaging Q&A about what hurricanes and big cities and Dubai look like from space.

Then the happy family went out amongst the displays and interactive educational experiences and played to their collective hearts' content. Tallest Hairiest Nephew liked to push buttons -- any buttons -- and Dr. Doom went to the museum to shoot things.

One toy they all played with was the shooting-metal-balls-into-the-sand thingie.††




A video recorder captured all the scientific action, after which whomever was big enough and strong enough to muscle everybody else away from the controls could watch it backwards and in slow motion.

This is what it looked like when AntiM shot the ball into the sand‡‡:




What scientific lesson was to be learned from this was unclear, but it was button-pushing, shooting-stuff, video-editing fun for the whole family.

Once Space Odyssey ceased to capture the attention of certain short attention spanketeers,§§ they moved on to the Prehistoric Journey, more fondly known as "dinosaurs."

Of course, no self-respecting prehistoric exhibit gives you dinosaurs right off the bat. AntiM and the boys puttered through many dioramas of trilobites and the crinoids and brachiopods they lived and loved with in the Cambrian world.¶¶

They learned one very important thing:




"Well, duh," said AntiM.

"What?" asked Tallest Hairiest Nephew.

"What? Nothing!" said AntiM.

"You said, 'duh.' Duh what?"

"Where's your dad?"##

So they moved on to the dinosaur bone room††† where they were just in time to catch the dinosaur repairman‡‡‡ with that part that was ordered nearly a year ago.§§§




"Yay!" said the intrepid explorers.

They headed to the rock exhibit, where there were no good picutres to be had. Then Dr. Doom announced he was ready to go home.¶¶¶

They lunched on crackers and ham and tiny carrots and Danish puff### and lived happily ever after.

The End


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Am I going to hell for the evolution thing or bridging the worlds of science and theology through my saintly works?

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Understatement of the century.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): The dinosaur movie had a narrator with a mild speech impediment. I said, "Mawiage..." and Brother and I giggled madly.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): And I use the term loosely.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): OK, it wasn't actually Dave Cuomo, but it LOOKED like Dave Cuomo, it SOUNDED like Dave Cuomo and it even LAUGHED like Dave Cuomo. I went to college with Dave Cuomo. Turns out Dave Cuomo looks, sounds and laughs a lot like Dustin Hoffman.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): I have better pictures, but I like this one because Brother looks like a light bulb.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): That would be a video of a video, which I'm pretty sure is meta.

§§FOOTNOTE (don't get confused): Span-keteer, not spank-eteer. That's a whole other subject, which I'm pretty sure shouldn't involve my five-year-old nephew.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (bunny ears!): My version of the Cambrian world resembles Peyton Place more than the Burgess Shale.

##FOOTNOTE (pounding a dead horse): To Brother: "I get saint points for today, right?"

"I think you get saint points if you actually come back from the dead on Easter."

"Did you *see* me Friday night?"

†††FOOTNOTE (Oh, Golgotha): That would be the room where the dinosaur bones are, rather than the room where dinosaurs go to bone. Though that would be interesting too.

‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (wires are crossed): You get an appointment and they say, "Some time between ten am and five pm and you go out real quick to drop the mail off and you come back to a tag flapping on your front door that says, "Sorry we missed you"...

§§§FOOTNOTE (giddy with laughter): I crack me up.

¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (bunny hops!): Which is a little like pulling the pin from a grenade.

###FOOTNOTE (pounding the pastry): Danish puff is something that Mom used to make almost every Easter. It has almost no sugar, about a pound of butter and enough almond extract to disguise a gallon of cyanide. It's the one thing Brother requested for Easter dinner.

Damning the Saint

Brother called Friday morning to say he and The Gov and Fuzzy G and maybe Magnet† were meeting for happy hour at the Coral Room.

I thought, "Why not?"‡

I debated over whether I would have a drink or try to stay true to my own idea of Lent.

Guess how long that debate lasted.§

I believe Ben was two tables away when I shouted, "Tempranillo! Please!"

[SUMMARY: Sainthood hasn't changed me a bit.]

Actually, I had given myself an out for emergency situations: if I'd hurt someone's feelings by not having a bite of birthday cake, if someone got engaged and anything but a champagne toast would be inappropriate, if someone got pregnant and a jug of Wild Turkey seemed wholly appropriate...

For someone who gave herself that many loopholes, I think I did remarkably well.

[SUMMARY: Auto-aspiratic horn blowing.]

Anyway, wine.

Wine.

Wine.

After the old Corral, grabbed a bite at Chipotle,¶ peed twice# and headed for the Hai Bar.

Shot.

Vodka.

Vodka.

Talk turned to getting brother a little action, seeing as he's wounded and divorced and needs to get back on some horse, maybe any horse. We were right in the middle of extolling the virtues of rebound sex when what to our wondering eyes should appear but a young woman who, in the dim light of the bar, could best be described as the love child of Robert Smith and Amy Winehouse.

Black chaos of hair, eyeliner as wide as a Wyoming sky. Lanky. Gawky.

So Bruce grabbed her and said, "Have you met my friend Bill?"

She told us her name was Erica†† and she was going to see Z-Trip and we should come. This excited the young folk to no end.

The old folk sucked her vodka ice cubes and tried not to feel her grey hairs glowing in the dark.

Brother and Bruce thought Z-Trip at Beta sounded like a *fantastic* idea.‡‡ Greg was interested in going home early, but allowed as how maybe he could be talked into it. And your dear ol' AntiM shrugged and said, "Sure. I can hang."

[SUMMARY: Enthusiasm is my middle name. Some of you may think it's Elizabeth, but that E is actually for Enthusiasm.]

So we cabbed to LoDo§§ and stood in line at the club.

Once inside, Crown and ginger ensued.¶¶

I tipped the bathroom attendent $20 because it was all the cash I had and nobody is going to work my soap pump for me and not be rewarded for it.##

We ran into Erica and she and I did a brief, happy girl dance together.†††

Later that evening, a very young, very drunk young man chose me for his own. I danced with him for a moment, then tried to get him to go on his way.

"You were really mean to him," said Brother later.

"I wasn't mean. I danced with him for a minute."

"Then you said, 'Make him go away.'"

"I believe what I said was, 'Step on him.'"

"Dude, you got hit on by a 22-year-old. You should be happy."

"Yeah, that was pretty cool."

[SUMMARY: That really was pretty cool.‡‡‡]

Z-Trip was interesting. He uses songs I know§§§ much of the time, which is an important component for my DJ well-being.

Y'know, the whole DJ-as-concert thing is a little weird. I can see a good DJ at a dance club being worth a following, but *watching* someone put other people's music together is like paying a premium price for a signed, numbered photograph of Starry Night.

Weird.

[SUMMARY: Old and feeble and you kids get off my lawn!]

Ish.

*************

Incense Rosé - Tauer Perfumes

Marin says: I totally fell in love with this. I think it is the hallmark of my undistinguished scent palate that I love big, spicy things.¶¶¶

With the spices, this is a tangy rose -- like a Tropicana -- rather than the prickly velvet of an American Beauty. The woods give it a darkish depth that makes me think of an opium den. There's something camphorous in the mid-hours of the perfume that speaks patchouli, but not too high and medicinal -- tempered by woods, for sure.

The incense isn't too churchy. In fact, I'm really impressed by the way the incense, wood and rose balance each other out. Nothing every shrieks or submits, they just fit together like a snake eating its own tail.###

The scent lasts for a long time and stays true to the core of itself through most of the journey. Oh, there are moments of higher camphor and moments of deeper woods and when it all boils off, it's more resiny that it was through the rest of the trip, but that tangy, spicy rose stays the course.

Andy Tauer says: Incense rosé is a mysterious fragrance built around smoking frankincense,$ with rose$ and citrus notes, and dark balsamic resins.

First, you might find a few rose petals, from a dark and spicy rose. The natural bergamot and Clementine essential oil, together with just a hint of cardamom play there with the natural rose absolute from Bulgaria.

The fragrance is lifted by orris notes, rendering it vibrant and clear. At the same time it is dark and rich, with castor and woody notes playing on the skin.

It is the Texan cedar wood, vetiver and the balsamic, dark and mysterious notes of myrrh and patchouli$ that are all dancing with the incense. This natural frankincense, CO2 extracted Boswellia serrata, is softened by balsamic labdanum and ambrein.

Brother says@: Woody.

[It's "Incense Rosé."]

Yes, it is.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): People actually call them by these names, though their parents probably still call them Adrian, Greg and Bruce.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): If the heathens are going to party in my house of worship, shall I not join them?

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Just about as long as it takes to say "Maundy Thursday."

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Except me. One side effect of drinking is it kills my appetite. Then I'm starving the next morning -- that's my version of a hangover.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Maybe that was just me.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Erica was actually lovely, just sporting unfortunate choices in hair and makeup.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Brother and Bruce may have had more to drink than I had by that point.

§§FOOTNOTE (just turn around and go home): LoDo on a Friday night is almost always a bad idea.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (that's me, sticking my tongue out): Not a fan, it turns out. Thought you should know.

##FOOTNOTE (pound that soap!): Heheheheheh...

†††FOOTNOTE (my cross to bear): You know.... squeal, air-kiss, boobboobboobboob and away.

‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (what are those things anyway?): Even if he was really drunk.

§§§FOOTNOTE (earworms): I haven't been able to get "Take On Me" out of my head since.

¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (that's me, bob-bob-bobbing my head): Heheheheheh...

###FOOTNOTE (tic tac toe in 3D): I've wanted to use that image for weeks. Thanks for giving me this opportunity.

@FOOTNOTE (atted): This was Friday night. I thought it an appropriate review for the occasion. The occasion being, of course, Friday night.

$FOOTNOTE (on the money!): I would never have gotten Boswellia serrata, but by golly, I managed incense and rose.

Dear Friends and Family,

Nathan Branch just tweeted, and I quote: "I out-meta'd Marin! I took a screenshot of a twitter and posted it on my blog. Top that, AntiM!"




I am a danger to myself and possibly others† when double-dog dared, so I give you the uber-meta Marin challenge winner:

I tweeted from my cell phone, then took a picture of the Twitter feed on my blog with said cell phone, sent it to my online album and posted it back here on the blog.

How much more meta can you get than that?‡

Nathan, you have been served. And I believe the word you were looking for in relation to my big brass balls? Classic. Or maybe epic... yeah, epic should cover it.§


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): I'm not as smart as I look. This is *really* saying something.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): None. None more meta!

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): The trash-talking is beyond my wildest dreams. This *must* be what it feels like to have a penis.

Six Little Updates, All in a Row

Thursday, I got to that magical point†:






This, my knitting friends,‡ is the last vestiges of the mass dick warmer% phase of the Six-at-Once project.

[SUMMARY: Those who cannot do, warm.]

Over the weekend, I turned six heels§:




Soon, these will be viable, wearable socks.¶

[SUMMARY: Send in the clowns -- the circus is in full swing.]

This is SO still a knitblog.#


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Like the mystical time between dark and the first greying of dawn, this represents that goose-bumpy place where phallic becomes footie.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): And guy friends. Guys may be nominally interested in the on-beyond-dick-warmer process.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): I know I seem abnormally fixated on the phrase "dick warmer," but it's still one of the funniest things anyone has ever said. Particularly about knitting.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Wedged in around spending seven hours trying to maintain a conversation with Brother's increasingly-deaf and hearing aid-resistant grandmother. It is a testament to the ultra-simple short-row heel that I could so easily finish six heels despite the schedule constraints.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Except maybe the blue ones, which are about 3/4 of an inch shorter than the other two pairs. I hadn't thought to allow for what the different stitch patterns might do to the length. Lesson learned. But those socks may have to go to someone with smaller feet than mine. I'll keep you posted.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Just wait 'til you see the O's I'm going to F in the next couple of days and the fish I'm about to knit. And the joyful resurrection (just in time for Easter!) of the "Father's Day (2007)" Arrrgyle socks, since I just figured out how to knit intarsia in the round. Aw, yeah, boyeeee... It's gettin' knitty up in here.

Can I Get Some Glitter?

Yes. Yes, I can.

Remember a hundred years ago when I was talking about the Glam Rock swap?

I completed my mystery project, received my package, went on to live my life, invented no-run pantyhose, revolutionised modern hair care, became a spokeswoman for the plight of bookstore customers worldwide and died at the age of 102† with a smile on my face.

[SUMMARY: Dreaming out loud.]

Seriously, it's been awhile. A couple of weeks at least. But, y'know... the camera, the uploading, the same old story.

Anyway, here's my package‡:




Let's get a close-up of those stitch markers:




I don't know how glam skulls are, but they're certainly *me* and I believe that's what counts.§

How cool is this?




It has a full Bowie bio between its shiny, shiny covers.

[SUMMARY: If it has David Bowie, it must be cool.¶]

Now for the tooting-my-own-horn portion of the program.#

Remember when I showed you the needle-felted Obama Brother made? And remember how I showed you a bag of fluff and said I was going to make something glam inspired by the needle-felted Obama?

[SUMMARY: If you don't remember, I'll remind you.]

Quick side trip to the back story††: You know how there are things that follow you? Like you have some sort of pre-destined meeting‡‡ with this... thing?

F'rinstance: a month or so ago, Juno asked how close I live to North Boulder because Dawn Spencer Hurwitz, a perfumer, has her shop there. I'd never heard of DSH, but within three days of Juno's inquiry, Chandler Burr reviewed her, I saw an ad for her, Nathan may have mentioned her... it was like she was haunting me.§§

Well, I had a similar series of events surrounding Klaus Nomi. A few years ago, I got my brother "The Nomi Song" for Christmas, part of a series of odd and/or interesting gifts we have exchanged. When I got it, I was only vaguely aware of Klaus Nomi, and then only as one of the first celebrities to die of AIDS.

Brother watched the film then passed it on to me. Turns out Nomi was an artist of some merit and a character worth filing in the brain, if for nothing else, for his glam¶¶ persona.

Then this glam swap came up and my recipient mentioned liking Klaus Nomi. Then Paris fashion week brought a Klaus Nomi reference. Then Nathan posted something that caused me to make a Klaus Nomi reference.## Then I decided to make a needle-felted Klaus Nomi, and when I explained this to the nice women at Fancy Tiger, one of them said, "That's so strange. I was just going through my iPod yesterday and re-discovered Klaus Nomi. I've been playing him a lot today."

[SUMMARY: KNMI: All Klaus Nomi, all the time.]

So, yeah. I needle-felted a Klaus Nomi.†††




[SUMMARY: Duh.]

This action appears to have exorcised Klaus Nomi's ghost. Who knew he was just hanging around waiting to be immortalised in wool so his soul could rest?


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Marin the Math Wizard would like to acknowledge that if she told you about the glam rock swap a hundred years ago, she was probably at *least* 141 when she died.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): The scarf is all glammy teal and fuschia and silver... but it looks like a Colorado Avalanche scarf to me. I'm pretty sure hockey isn't glam, so I'm pretty sure that's not what my upstream swap partner meant.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Being, as I am, the cente of my own universe.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Rule of Cool #9 (right below sunglasses and right above an Eames chair).

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): I have not yet decided if I want to continue tooting my own horn because nobody gets the job done quite like I do, or if I'm sick and tired of tooting my own horn and want an experienced horn-tooter to toot my horn for me. Wait... what were we talking about?

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): What your people call "tangent," my people call "side story." I was just channelling the Land O' Lakes chick, in case that didn't come across.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): I *really* wanted to reference the story where the wealthy Indian merchant hears that Death is coming to his house, so he gets on his horse and rides to [city in India] to cheat Death, only Death shows up at his house and when the servants tell him the merchant isn't there, Death says, "Oh, that's alright. I'll see him tomorrow. We have a meeting in [city in Inda], and the story's title is "Meeting in [city in India]," only I can't remember the name of the city and Google isn't much help in this case and if ANYBODY knows what the hell I'm talking about, please give me the title in the comments because it's driving me mad and I may not sleep until I get the answer.

§§FOOTNOTE (twisty tales): Unlike Klaus Nomi, who was always a little outside the box, Dawn Spencer Hurwitz was easy to appease -- a little VISA magic and some Mini bonding and her spirit rested.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (space age antennae?): I don't mean in the Vogue/W Magazine sense or in the 80s hair band sense. I mean in the David Bowie-Gary Giltter-Tommy Bolen sense.

##FOOTNOTE (that's me, pounding my head on the desk trying to dislodge clever thoughts): I honestly have no memory of what this footnote was going to be. Bet it was clever. And funny. ETA: GOT IT! I was going to say something about how commenting with slightly obscure references is why one files such bits away. The irony is not lost on me.

†††FOOTNOTE (hot cross Klaus): If I were a better photographer, you could see the prominent cheekbones and the sharp, slightly upturned nose.

I Am SO Sorry

But I just don't think I can leave this over on YouTube all by itself. It has to come† live at the Rickety Blog.




Um... probably not safe for work.‡ Or grandmothers.§ Or clergy.¶


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): heheheheheh

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Which is why I'm running it on a Saturday.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Then again, I don't know your grandmother. Definitely not my grandmother. Or, as we call her in our family, "Brother's grandmother."

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Do y'all know this much polite company?

Revolutionary Resolutions

Every year when January 1 rolls in, I experience resolution anxiety.

Are resolutions stupid and cheesy?†

Is it dumb to put such emphasis on one day of the year, to put all your self-improvement eggs in one icy basket, to guppy up to the lemming-like rush of the masses toward probably failure?‡

Or is it just a good bookmark, a might-as-well-start-somewhere logical starting point, a touchstone for yourself and all you hope to become?§

[SUMMARY: Attempting to mask procrastination with pretty words.]

Turns out, mostly I just like to play with myself.¶

Games, I mean.

I was waxing neurotic about all this% Saturday at not-drunken-morning-coffe-shop knitting,# and Betsy†† told me about an exotic new resolution system‡‡:

1. Take the month of January to settle down from the holidays and get into the swing of things.
2. Assess your resolution needs and actually start them on February 2 (2/2).
3. Revisit and revise as needed on 3/3, 4/4, 5/5 and so on.

I would like to say I appreciate this for its sense of balance and it's recognition of me as a work in progress. In the name of honesty, I have to say the number thing appeals to the very minute C part§§ of my OCD tendencies¶¶ and it has a sort of game-like appeal## that really speaks to my inner child.†††

[SUMMARY: Some of us need more to keep our interest than others.]

I thought I would share this with y'all, in case anybody out there is looking for a new way to view resolutions.‡‡‡

And, hey -- if you fall off the wagon, you can always re-start or drop it entirely on your revise and revisit day.

[SUMMARY: Sanctioned waffling!]

If I'm going to buy into self-help, it has to come with an escape route.

I know it's a weak blog day, but tomorrow@... to make it all better... KNITTING!


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Possibly.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Probably.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Well, yeah... that too.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I only say things like this because you expect me to. Normally, I'm a demure, clean-living, Stepford girl. Who happens to be twelve.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Not the playing with myself part, the resolutions part.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Even I don't drink before 10:00 am. Mostly.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Who doesn't have a blog and may not read blogs and would never know if I didn't give her credit. She didn't make this up and doesn't remember where she heard it, but, by golly, it isn't my idea, so I'm determined to credit someone else. Who's keeping track of my saint points? What am I up to so far?

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): New to me. Maybe only exotic to me too.

§§FOOTNOTE (all those fours make my head spin): Which mostly manifests itself in counting things. Ironic, no?

¶¶FOOTNOTE (do those look parallel to you?): I'm sure it comes as no surprise to any of you that I have a tiny little obsessive streak.

##FOOTNOTE (pound that dice popper): If they could work one of those dice popper things in, I'd never look for another way to do resolutions again.

†††FOOTNOTE (or a spinner! With an arrow!): Who needs to be distracted with number games and dice poppers to keep her from taking her clothes off and playing in the neighbour's bird bath.
‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (three track mind): I also recommend squinting and tilting your head to the left.

@FOOTNOTE (atted): Whichever version of tomorrow works for me, that is.

Girl Noises

OK, so it's a time of year when there's a lot of sappy to be had. And it's a time of year when I find I want little sap with my morning coffee.

So I got this email...

[SUMMARY: Don't judge.]

...and it's predictable. And sappy. And manipulative and trite and... I teared up a little.†

So I'm posting it here for you. I am NOT getting soft.‡ I'm not preaching.§ It's just there's snow on the ground and lots of Christmas lights and the cat spends his evenings staring into the fire and... I can't not spread the sap.

[SUMMARY: Disclaimers R Us.]

Anyway...

I remember my first Christmas adventure with Grandma. I was just a kid. I remember tearing across town on my bike to visit her on the day my big sister dropped the bomb: "There is no Santa Claus," she jeered. "Even dummies know that!"

My Grandma was not the gushy kind, never had been.¶ I fled to her that day because I knew she would be straight with me. I knew Grandma always told the truth, and I knew that the truth always went down a whole lot easier when swallowed with one of her "world-famous" cinnamon buns. I knew they were world-famous, because Grandma said so. It had to be true.

Grandma was home, and the buns were still warm. Between bites, I told her everything. She was ready for me. "No Santa Claus?" she snorted.... "Ridiculous! Don't believe it. That rumor has been going around for years, and it makes me mad, plain mad!! Now, put on your coat, and let's go."

"Go? Go where, Grandma?" I asked. I hadn't even finished my Second World-famous cinnamon bun. "Where" turned out to be Kerby's General Store, the one store in town that had a little bit of just about everything.

As we walked through its doors, Grandma handed me ten dollars. That was a bundle in those days.

"Take this money," she said, "and buy something for someone who needs it. I'll wait for you in the car." Then she turned and walked out of Kerby's.

I was only eight years old. I'd often gone shopping with my mother, but never had I shopped for anything all by myself. The store seemed big and crowded, full of people scrambling to finish their Christmas shopping. For a few moments I just stood there, confused, clutching that ten-dollar bill, wondering what to buy, and who on earth to buy it for. I thought of everybody I knew: my family, my friends, my neighbors, the kids at school, the people who went to my church. I was just about thought out, when I suddenly thought of Bobby Decker. He was a kid with bad breath and messy hair, and he sat right behind me in Mrs. Pollock's grade-two class.

Bobby Decker didn't have a coat. I knew that because he never went out to recess during the winter. His mother always wrote a note, telling the teacher that he had a cough, but all we kids knew that Bobby Decker didn't have a cough; he didn't have a good coat. I fingered the ten-dollar bill with growing excitement. I would buy Bobby Decker a coat! I settled on a red corduroy one that had a hood to it. It looked real warm, and he would like that.

"Is this a Christmas present for someone?" the lady behind the counter asked kindly, as I laid my ten dollars down. "Yes, ma'am," I replied shyly. "It's for Bobby." The nice lady smiled at me, as I told her about how Bobby really needed a good winter coat. I didn't get any change, but she put the coat in a bag, smiled again, and wished me a Merry Christmas.

That evening, Grandma helped me wrap the coat (a little tag fell out of the coat, and Grandma tucked it in her Bible) in Christmas paper and ribbons and wrote, "To Bobby, From Santa Claus" on it. Grandma said that Santa always insisted on secrecy. Then she drove me over to Bobby Decker's house, explaining as we went that I was now and forever officially, one of Santa's helpers.

Grandma parked down the street from Bobby's house, and she and I crept noiselessly and hid in the bushes by his front walk. Then Grandma gave me a nudge. "All right, Santa Claus," she whispered, "get going."

I took a deep breath, dashed for his front door, threw the present down on his step, pounded his door and flew back to the safety of the bushes and Grandma. Together we waited breathlessly in the darkness for the front door to open. Finally it did, and there stood Bobby.

Fifty years haven't dimmed the thrill of those moments spent shivering, beside my Grandma, in Bobby Decker's bushes. That night, I realized that those awful rumors about Santa Claus were just what Grandma said they were, ridiculous. Santa was alive and well, and we were on his team.

I still have the Bible, with the coat tag tucked inside: $19.95.

Shut up. It's just an eyelash or something. No, I don't need a Kleenex.@

Ah, hell. Let's face it... Christmas is a little better if you can melt by the fire and count your blessings and maybe help a brother out.

[SUMMARY: Bah humbug and happy holidays.]

Here... go play with this and pretend I never got all marshmallowy over a dopey Christmas coat.

Just tell yourself I'm still trying to earn enough saint points for the 2008 campaign.#

*************

Greenbriar 1968†† - CB I Hate Perfume

Marin says: Outdoors. It smells like a fresh spring day in a bucolic location. Cold, wet grass and a touch of mud, leaves and bark, wood, pine.

Something a tiny bit sweet, but not floral -- carmel? Brown sugar? Maple? Too elusive to pin down. Maybe just a sweet wood?

There's also something salty or petroleum -- the sort of thing that usually turns out to be leather, though it may just be the pine, which frequently reads petroleum‡‡ to me.

In any case, I kinda love this. It's so lucidly evocative it's like remembering a dream or a distant memory. I can see the dirt road and the meadow and the woods and the old fence and the lush, lush green of an icy April. Fantastically unisex, too.

CB says: This scent is a memory of my Grandfather, the sawmill that he owned and the stone house where he lived.

It is blended with Sawdust,$ Fresh Cut Hay,$ Worn Leather Work Gloves,$ Pipe Tobacco$ and a healthy amount of Dirt.$ There is also a faint whiff of cotton overalls§§ covered in Axel Grease...¶¶

Hans says: A tree. Like outside. Like a leaf. Grassy! I'm still getting some... basically, if you were to mow the lawn. And mow over a really small pine tree.## Grass and pine mowed together. I really like it.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): I *said* don't judge.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): When I was 16, Ken La Pear (not quite his real name, but it was what we called him), who was a bombastic windbag that would make Rush Limbaugh look introspective, told me I was sentimental. Whether it was my personal feeling that sentimentality is weak or whether it was just because Ken said so, it pissed me off mightily. Then my best friend Jeff signed my yearbook to, "...one of the smartest, funniest, most creative, but -- above all -- sentimental people I know..." and I seethed a little quieter. It still rubs me the wrong way, though.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): For a wannabe saint, I'm remarkably unpreachy.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Vis-à-vis the sentimentality question, I like to think Grandma and I have a LOT in common.

@FOOTNOTE (atted): Besides, if you could see the effort it took me to NOT remove a bunch of exclamation points and rearrange some of the grammar and punctuation... you'd realise I haven't lost my edge at all. I'm the same do-as-I-say-not-as-I-do obsessive compulsive weirdo you've always known me to be. No sentiment here. Nuh-uh.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): It's really all very self-serving. Kim? Softball for you?

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): I figure if Nathan is nice enough to enable my perfume problem, I should be nice enough to tell him which perfume I'm actually smelling. See: yesterday's mystery perfume review.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Just around the edges. If you're skeptical now, just wait until I tell you how similar jasmine and bowling alley ashtray are.

$FOOTNOTE (on the money!): Using the magic Marin system of claiming sawdust and pipe tobacco could be mistaken for wood and conveniently ignoring the fact that I only got a tiny bit of dirt and there appear to be no pine trees involved at all... I nailed it!

§§FOOTNOTE (little ribbons of cotton): Did not get that at all. You know I'm going to be up half the night trying to smell cotton now.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (pistons in axel grease): Unfortunately, axel grease is a different smell-creature than petroleum, so I don't think I can claim that.

##FOOTNOTE (not just pounded... downright smashed): Watching this, I wished for the hundredth time you guys could see the hand motions and the little dances that accompany Hans's search for the truth.