Everybody Loves Saturday Night

direct from the ottoman empire

"Full of furniture, for some reason..."

My storage ottomans from The Company Store* arrived this morning, just as I was coming in from the farmer's market.

They are even more lovely than I expected--the fabric feels like Chinese silk (but clearly isn't) and the tufted tops are quite comfortable.

Of course, the minute I set them up by the window . . .

They're not going to stay lined up with the window. Immediately to the right is where the piano (fingers crossed) will go, which will push the ottomans off center. I now have the piano dimensions, and at 58" long it will barely fit--but it will fit--in the 59" wide slightly recessed area. And at 25" deep, it will fit--barely--up the 30" wide staircase. The only thing to consider now is how the movers will navigate the shallow turns up the stairs, but this would be why I would consult professionals.

* The name "The Company Store" always makes me start humming "Company Book."

fourteen

While I do want to acknowledge Earth Day, today has additional significance and shall be celebrated with much love, skritches, and tuna.

Scout is 14 today. When I became his person I was told that he was exactly eight weeks old; counting back, that meant he arrived in this world on this day in 1994.

When I became his person . . . I think it's a story I've told before on the blog, but perhaps it bears repeating. It's a good story, I think.

I was living in a suburb of Minneapolis with a friend and her cat, a gorgeous, fearsome hunter who would frequently leave us presents on the doorstop. Sometimes these presents would be not quite all the way dead and Alex was always compelled to take these wee suffering creatures to the nearby Humane Society for--if not rehabilitation, then compassionate disposal. We knew that many times these animals were too far gone to recover, but if there was a chance, she wanted the animals to have it.

Such was the case when, in June of 1994, I came home from work one day to find a tiny field mouse shivering near the retaining wall of the garage. I bent over it (ah, the days before digicams and blogs, otherwise this would all be recorded) and realized that its leg was broken. As I stood there, wondering what my next step would be--see, it was always Alex who found the injured animals, always Alex who took them to the Humane Society--Alex drove into the driveway. She saw what I saw, then begged me to come with her to the Humane Society and fill out the paperwork, since "they're tired of dealing with me by now, I'm sure." I agreed, and we found a shoebox and a towel and carefully packed the tiny injured mouse up, got ourselves into Alex's Jeep, and drove the five or ten minutes to the Humane Society.

The people at the counter weren't exactly representing the organization well, because they thought we were nuts. Injured bunnies are one thing, but field mice? I found their lack of compassion disturbing, but I said nothing and filled out the necessary paperwork.

On our way out, we passed by a man and a woman walking in with a kitten perched parrot-style on the man's shoulder. The adorableness of this kitten made us stop in our tracks, and we cooed at it. The woman said, with all the exhaustion of someone who just experienced catbirthing and the dispersal of a large litter, "You want him?" We looked at each other. We had, in fact, been discussing the possibility of getting a second cat. Alex asked all the important questions: sex, age, health, shots, etc. while this kitten--then named Antonio--looked right into my eyes and said, "mew."

And so, bypassing the Humane Society all together, we walked out with a kitty perched on my shoulder.

He is named Scout after To Kill a Mockingbird--Alex's idea, after I vetoed "Atticus" and she vetoed "Boo," and we decided that after neutering it wouldn't matter that a boy cat would be named after a girl character.

At 14, he's somewhere between 63 and 78 in human years, but he's still such a kitten. And after all this time, I still believe that there is little in this world more comforting or wonderful than a plump cat with the softest fur who will let you bury your face in his stomach when you need to.

everybody loves caturday, right?

Office cat says, "Go watch TV or something. I'll stand guard and make sure no work gets done."

"Perhaps you did not hear me. No work today. Back away from the laptop."

happy new year!

It's nearly 9:00 am on January 1, 2008. It's a gray, blustery, drafty morning and I should go put on socks. And get more coffee. Here's a Scout pic to hold you til I get back.

The month of December usually gets me a little down. Some years are better than others--last year was miserable because of health problems and other things, but this year was not so bad. A little depressing but I can pretty much pin that on shorter days and the usual irritation I feel about The Marketing of Christmas. It wasn't that bad, but I did realize something yesterday that I'd never put into words before--whatever slump I may be in on December 30 is totally lifted on December 31.

The whole of the year that was has 24 hours left, and it feels good to be able to put all that happened--the good, bad, and weird--behind me. To shelve it so that I can find it again when I'm feeling nostalgic. A whole new year ahead, full of mystery and promise and blank pages waiting to be filled. So much that can be done! So much to unfold! No resolution broken! I love New Year's Eve.

And this time, for the first time that Michael and I have been together, he did not have to work. We were able to spend the whole day and night together. Much of the day was spent cleaning. Out with the old! I made a couple batches of cookies. In with the new! Our heat/hot water went out again but was fixed in time to shower before heading out to dinner. (That second batch of cookies was made primarily so I could turn the oven on and warm at least half the apartment.)

We stayed in Brooklyn for the evening festivities--originally I'd thought we would go into Manhattan, but after reading a couple favorable reviews of a nearby restaurant that opened in June and seeing that they had a 4-course prix fixe menu for New Year's and it was very reasonably priced, I suggested that we go there. Michael surveyed the menu and pronounced it acceptable, so plans were made. It was nice to be able to just walk to dinner.

The restaurant, Epoca, is fabulous (for those living in the area, it's on Fulton just past S. Oxford). The space is lovely, and the food was amazing. I had a lobster salad with various citrusy fruits, halibut risotto that was just melty, a red snapper dish with mandarin orange slices in some kind of sherry sauce, the taste of which was surprising--in a good way.  Dessert was an incredible panne cotte with strawberries and blueberries and some kind of crystallized ginger (maybe?) that I couldn't finish even though it was so good. The place was packed and it was clear that a lot of the people there were regulars, so it all felt very homey and warm. The best part was that as most people were done eating by 11:30 or so, the tables in the middle of the restaurant got pushed to the side, and people started dancing. It was a strange mix of music, reminiscent of an 80s Bar/Bat Mitzvah party, but we did ring out 2007 to Prince's "I Would Die 4 U." Rockin'.

Epoca was also holding a post-midnight raffle (first prize was a bicycle and a bottle of Prosecco. Second and third prizes were gift certificates for the restaurant, and a bottle of Prosecco. I liked the odds of nabbing a bottle of Prosecco) but sad to say we got really tired (and Michael does have to work today) and left before it was held. We walked back to the apartment, past all the folks hanging out on stoops, talking quietly as they smoked, past the other restaurants open extra late because of the holiday. Nothing raucous. Everything seemed mellow and quiet and peaceful. A perfect way to start the year.

camera moment i wish i'd captured

Scout just jumped up on my desk, en route to windowsill, and started grooming a hank of Fleece Artist Country Mohair that's been sitting here for a few weeks. "What a weirdo," I was about to type, before I remembered my yarn-smelling proclivities. At least Scout's behavior is instinctual. I have no such excuse.

(Not that I can smell anything right now, as my nose is currently fighting off the third or fourth version of the cold I can't seem to shake.)

I've only just got around to taking pictures of the yarn for Ravelry, and I am now facing a decision.

I bought them from The Point at least a year ago, probably more. I had no idea what I was going to do with them then, and since I've been on Ravelry I have toyed with the idea of putting it up for sale/trade. It's pretty yarn

but if I haven't used it yet, will I? And it's also kinda scratchy. Though it would probably soften with washing. And the halo is beautiful. And the colors are watery and muted, with just that flash of light green. But will I use it?

I did a brief pattern search and learned that the yarn is now discontinued, which means two things: a) I wouldn't have to deeply discount it if I wanted to sell it, and b) now I don't want to sell it.

Does it work that way for you, too? You're kinda on the fence about something and then you learn it's somewhat rare, and so it becomes more valuable to you?

 

For now I am keeping it. In fact, the more I look at it the more inclined I am to just wind it up and start knitting with it. Two hanks = 400m/437 yds. Gauge is listed at 3 sts/in. It seems destined for Scarf City. I thought about other patterns, but I don't want a hat, or mittens, or socks from this yarn. It could be a pillow, but this yarn isn't really giving off a home decor vibe. I think it wants to be worn, wants me to trust it past its initial scratchiness.

So I have a couple initial ideas for what kind of scarf this yarn could turn into, but maybe there's a pattern I've overlooked. What do you think? What should I make with this yarn?

not earning his keep

We have a squatter. It is small, grey, furry, and sends many hardened New Yorkers into paroxysms (omg, that is such a kickass Scrabble word). No, I said small. Would I be this calm if it weren't?

Twice now--twice--I have sat upon this couch in the living room, and watched as a small grey furry streak zipped from the hallway of our building under the front door bangzoom! to behind the TV, all while Mr. Fierce next to me yawned, stretched, and went back to sleep.

Once it's behind the TV, I can neither see nor hear the mouse, but maybe 10 minutes later I will hear rustling in the kitchen. It lives behind the stove, apparently. Or maybe lives outside the apartment and has recently established a pied-a-terre behind the stove.

Scout seriously cannot be bothered. He'll perk up a little at the rustling, and he even followed me to the kitchen just now to do some recon (how I know it was recon? he didn't bug me for food). He sniffed at the stove, but honestly, there's nothing he can do until the mouse slips up and shows itself. I am hoping the mouse is stupid. I mean, it has gone twice now (at least) into an apartment with a known cat. Mice are supposed to stay away from those kinds of places. How smart can it be?

The mouse doesn't bother me. As long as it doesn't show up in my food, or bed, or yarn, I'm not grossed out. I've lived in the country. Mice happen, especially as fall starts and it gets cold. It's just a mouse, and I will take a mouse over a cockroach any damn day. And Scout has in the past proved himself a worthy mouser, both in the country and this very city. It was five years ago, almost to the day, when Scout caught a mouse in my Williamsburg apartment. I was so proud that my Midwestern indoor cat could catch the Big Apple city mouse. So I know he can do it.

It's just like riding a bike, kitty...not like you ever knew how to do that, but work with me, here. Catch the damn mouse. Because if you don't, and reject the whole natural order of things, then Michael will make me get a trap for the mouse and I really don't want to do that. I am perfectly willing--maybe not happy, but willing--to dispose of your kills, because you are supposed to be a brutal vicious hunter. That's your job. It's what I rely on you for.

(That and headbumps.)

nap time

Clutter is comfy.

another day at the home office

slices

1. launching a magazine is a lot of work.

2. especially when you've got four people on permanent staff.

3. this would be why I've been blog-quiet. I've been active on the internet in fits and starts, taking pictures of yarn on Sunday but putting them up on Ravelry on Monday morning before work, writing quick notes in Facebook, filing away other things I wanted to say on the blog but never actually getting a few minutes together to write something.

4. I've been coming home at night, eating, turning on the TV, picking up my knitting and then half an hour later all I can do is lie down.

5. and I know it's not the new diet--nearly done with the first two weeks and I do have more energy during the day and I can definitely feel a change in weight. I don't have a scale because I know I'd obsess about numbers, but my clothes already fit better.

6. I'm in love with The Fratellis. Am I the only one who hears just a soupcon of Pogues in some of their songs?

7.  So the knitting, when it's getting done, is mostly on Eloise--on the second sleeve there. I also finished the granny squares for a crib blanket and arranged them thus:

I'm joining them with the darker magenta color. When I have the energy to do so.

8. earlier I picked up a sock-in-progress that's been languishing since...April? so I could work on it during a conference call. Later on, I found this:

9. lolcatspeak has taken over our house. in fact, I think Scout's the only one here who doesn't say things like "do not want!" he's far too mature for that. plus I'm convinced that if he did have a speaking voice he'd sound more like Orson Welles.

10. I'm pretty sure that the inclusion of "do not want" and "ohnoes" in my vocab is because I lack the brain power to construct complete sentences these days, thanks to #1 and #2.

11. is the number of hours I've been in front of the computer. Time to call it a day.

state of scout

This is actually in response to Anne's question from way back when.

reluctantly modeling a recently knit scarf, a thank-you gift for the shop owner below us

Scout is...well, he's OK. That's the important thing. I took him to the vet yesterday because he'd been, shall we say, starting to think outside the box. Only I don't mean "think."

It happened at least twice, possibly more, and I wanted to get him checked out for any medical reason he might all of a sudden treat the Fresh Step like a choice.

So the vet, a lovely woman, took some blood and urine samples, and the results came in today. His blood checked out completely, yay, but the urine showed a lot of blood and quite a few epitheleal cells.

Which was odd, since Scout had since stopped peeing outside the box and neither Michael nor I had noticed any blood in his urine even when he was. The vet said that this could mean that Scout had contracted a small, sterile infection and it was currently righting itself.

However. My poor kitty also has a bad tooth that needs to be pulled. I mean, really bad. It's totally gross. It doesn't seem to be causing him much pain, though, which is good. But I haven't heard how much this is going to set me back. Eep.

But he's a happy kitty still, and loving and sweet and exquisitely large. With the cutest paws in the entire 'verse.