Dropping Stitches....

Ok, so when one (not naming names here) drops stitches in a lace pattern on a shawl that one has been working on for 6 months and that now has about 500 stitches per row, one is allowed to curse, right? Because there was cursing and gnashing of teeth. Luckily, I managed to salvage the dropped stitches with some semblance of non-suckage, so the average non-knitter will hardly be able to tell, one hopes.

Oh, and I found my camera, so pictures will be forthcoming.

In other news, I am now legally able to marry my beloved--there was form filling, and then there were pancakes. I liked the pancakes better...

AND I am reading a Louise Erdrich novel. As of page 5, it is delightful and filled with intrique and all of the epic language Erdrich can muster. Regular updates, I promise...

Three Weeks

So we're down to slightly less fewer than three weeks before the wedding, and suddenly the whole project seem imminent and looming. I'm not anxious, per se, although I do have a pretty constant case of stomach butterflies. There are a few things I'm anxious about: the shawl? Not done. Ivan's ring? Maybe almost done. The vows? Being rewritten (draft! draft!). My family? Crazy. Ivan's family? See my family.

Anyway, we're going tomorrow to get our marriage license, which has me realizing that this whole thing is real and about commitment, not just a big party. There have been a lot of heart to hearts between Ivan and I lately as we've been writing our vows. We've talked about what this means to us, what we're doing and why, what our hopes are for the future... It's been good, really good.

So all is well in bride world. All is well in Al world, too--lots of phone calls, emails, and visits from old friends and lots of reconnecting with said friends. My friend from overseas is in town for a few months for my wedding and that of a mutual friend. All in all, its been a week of realizing how lucky I am to have such awesome people in my life....

Chaos!

Work has been crazy. This month's issue was slightly chaotic in going to press. The good news is that we covered a breaking story and have a newly adjusted, lovely looking newsletter. The bad news is that this process drove me nuts. But the other good news is that I have several pieces in this issue, all of which have bylines.

We also went to a wedding this weekend, which was lovely. My best friend from high school got married (and this from the other member of the nutless brownie club!), and I got to see her and her family for the first time in 8 or 10 years. It was a decent sized wedding, with traditional Jewish chair dancing (and yes, broken wine glasses) and really good food. It was a beautiful day and everything.

Our wedding planning is going well, despite a few minor hiccups (see earlier posts about the caterer). Total attendance will be 15, including Ivan and I. And I have declared that there WILL be leaves on the trees, despite the fact that the maples are already turning and the wedding's almost a month away. Oh, well...we might just get that winter wedding after all. There are (of course) a few details to iron out, but hey, at least the shawl is getting done. As soon as I track down my camera, I'll post a picture for all you knitters out there.

Ludditism

So--what happens when a luddite gets a blog? She turns "comment moderation" on without knowing what it means, then wonders why no one comments.

It is now turned off--comment away, although not, apparently while you're logged in to blogger.

Oh, as to "reading theory for fun," it's, um, more like "reading novels for fun" and the occasional theory book that looks interesting. It was just a thought--I joined a book group, too, so we shall see.

Is this weird?

Ivan and I are writing our vows, and the format is sort of "riff on something related to love and marriage, then say a few promises."

My riff takes off from something written on a gravestone.

And I'm not a gothicist.

Weird or just delightfully eccentric?

I'm in a Jam

Bad puns aside, I just wanted to make a short comment: canning is fun, mostly because as the jars sit out on the counter to cool, they pop as a vaccuum is created, creating a chorus of clicks. So now I'm sitting here, looking at bouquet possibilities, listening to my strawberry jam go "click....clickclickclick....click."

My Own Memorial

I tried to post this as a comment on Meat Cheese Bun, but the computer gods were against me...

Five years ago, I, too, was woken with news of impending doom--50 miles away, about 10 blocks from where my sister was probably getting ready to leave for work. It turns out she had left early that day, and was already out of the city limits on her way to Connecticut when the planes hit. Between my sister and I, we didn't lose about 35 people that day: people who were running late for work, people who had cancelled meetings, people who had postponed their flights.

An exodus to Connecticut followed, with people crashing in guest rooms and on couches throughout the area. We all went out for dinner for a few days: we wanted to be together doing something vaguely normal. We avoided talk of the disaster we had escaped, we avoided talking about the people we knew who we were pretty sure had passed away. We talked about the past, about our childhoods, about our travels throughout the world. We talked about sports, about the weather. When the words ran out, our eyes carried the message: we were glad to be alive and together. We were lucky, very lucky, and we knew it.

I've found over the past five years that people who lived near New York or D.C. or that Pennsylvania field had a different experience on September 11, 2001. It's a raw wound, and the scale of loss is unimaginable. Everyone, it seems, knows someone who was killed, and for many the people they lost were close friends or relatives. The skyline is different now, the site of the towers still unfinished, still gaping. There's plenty of politicking about the memorial, for good reason: I don't think that New York is really ready to mourn. The whole event is still too close, too fresh, too immediate. One needs distance to mourn, distance for words to even come close to making meaning. Five years later, that distance doesn't yet exist.

Let There Be Peaches! In February!

I have, dear readers, accomplished a small miracle: I canned peaches this weekend! Local New England peaches that will welcome me with their amber sweetness come February, when I will have subsisted on a diet of potatoes and cabbage for months on end. I feel so very accomplished!

Next up? Strawberry jam! Then canned tomatoes.

Books and Shelves

So I was standing in my bedroom this morning, hugging my sweetie goodbye when I caught sight of my bookshelf of theory (it's in the bedroom--this might be a bad idea, but that's where it is). I saw some of the titles I haven't yet read and realized that I missed reading that sort of thing. After all, who wouldn't want to read about disease, the feminist body, and masochism?

I mentioned this to Ivan and he said, "You have a blog, don't you?"

A-HA! I thought. I can use my blog to digest and discuss literary works and theory and things. There's only one question--is anybody out there reading?

Labor and Days

Ivan and I labored today. Nothing major, just finally finishing the painting in our bedroom and organizing our "work room," which has been a big ol' pile o' stuff since we moved in.

In other news, I finally wrangled a menu out of our caterer for the wedding. It only took 3 months!

Ok, I should figure out what to make for dinner--something involving kale. Maybe colcannon (is that how it's spelled? Never can tell, with the Irish).