I created an erk version of pho last night. not too bad really. Amazing what spices blend into. Star anise, cinnamon, fennel, corriander, lime, dried scallops, fish sauce, ginger. I tweeted the erk pho and a virtual tweet fest developed over the recipe, the source and the ingredients. @saveurmag to the rescue. Sparrow the butcher, put me in the beef bone soup broth mode.

Fantasy #64, to sell my hand spun to folks that want to knit it into some goodness. I have been dying fiber, usually 2 – 4 oz bumps at a time that somehow in my imagination compliment each other in some manner. I dye, spin, ply, wash, hang to dry. Then the naming. gah. It is a process. I plan on getting at least 10 yarns up on etsy in the LuckyHeronStudios studio in the very near future.

As we walked the river sunday morning, I watched the birds flash in and out as I watched my toes in boots advance step by step. Cardinals, chickadees, robins, the first red wings, geese, swans, mallards. I will be dying up a few of the above in their honor. Just to have a place to begin. A pallet to paint from. The early spring dun color of the Mitten is splashed with bird color. The river flows fast.

Uncle John and Rose have moved their belongings to their new home above the river. Pop went to the help move while I sat with the spinners.
We went to Grange with John and Rose for dinner. It was very good dinner. The plates were licked clean.

Boomba says “lupo, izza, shoes”. Isabella is growing cheeks, and is very alert, she smiles. We skyped for 2 hours on sunday. A photo of the babyElla sleepin with one hand above her head was uploaded by Fede that almost killed this long distance Nonna.

Uncle John Chipman has had another stroke which has intensified his dementia and is now in hospital/care facility. A massive huge decision for them to make. Patti can no longer safely manage his level of care giving required. A collective sigh for their/our aging. Upon reading the emails, Pop in his silent method of dealing with things, woke up in the 3am hour to read and eat and pace. Hereditary, yes.

The left hand has new callouses on four fingers. The mandolin, her strings mark my tips. I pick out in scales up and down the neck. loosing myself in the notes.

I have very barely planned for the rehearsal dinner or the things we need for when Italy arrives in July. Tamales, a piñata, wine beer, music.

I am gearing up for the 1 year anniversary of my Mother’s passing. Her gifted amaryllis blooms its heart out as we speak as it did on the nursing wing, in her honor.

What a treat to write it all down. Have not done so in weeks, months, almost a year.

I got to thinking this through after the Pop sat on the ancient leather couch to share a moment of our eldest caught in a blue spiral binder. He read aloud a Moo journal from her sixth grade plastic seated desk. It is a rarity that we are caught just sitting, reading aloud. I was spinning, Pop was taking a break from the basement of doom where he unearthed the journal. My daughter wrote about dance, plans, her brother, her classmates, my cooking, spelling pain, the disadvantages of sitting too close to a good friend, despised plastic seated desks and the family. Positive straight forward contemplation. I am left with a smile on my face.

I have begun to knit the top down garter stitch yoke vest (short rows version) by naganasu… I am adding pleats to the front…. nice to knit.

sassymetrical is almost done. I am down to the seed stitch hem and then on to the sleeves. Knit in my hand spun, merino plied with BLF. A jewel tone of golden green curry plied with variegated magenta, blue teal golden green. I placed a 1×1 rib triangle shape in the lower center back and added a few stitches for a flounce. A note to thyself: there is a reason for an odd number of stitches.

Been listening to Sarah McLachlan all morning. Her voice wraps around you. Imagine her singing with Joni. oooooh. I really wish that I had a functioning set of speakers in my car. I miss listening on loud.

Looking for pac n plays and bouncy chairs. The boy and his maymay are soon here. I dunno how Stefano will stand not having them home for an entire month.

Spinner’s Flock meeting is tomorrow. I look forward to sitting in a room full of the like minded. I need to get more involved tho.

After flock we are going to engage in some serious decluttering of two rooms both nominated as Art Projects of Long Departed Children. Wish me luck.

Duff Liam turned a gracious 30 years old. As he so nicely pointed out his being 30 makes me old. I have known him since his first breath.

I created two curries dinners this weekend. Chicken curry with red lentil dal and cucumber raita. Lamb curry with red lentil dal and cucumber raita. Two curries without worries in one weekend. The later I hauled to Duff’s birthday celebration. I made chicken curry for sunday dinner with BDM because neither of us got any lamb curry at the party. Red lentil dal is an excellent breakfast.

I spun wool left over in my basket from Three Waters Farm, BFL that was blessedly colorful compared to the pound of brown that I spun up last week. Neen chose the brown over a green for his sweater. Need needles for said sweater.

I drove to the yarn store in the brilliant sunshine, through a haze of salt mist and melt. I left the house with boots on but no socks. 40 degrees people not -12. By the time I got to the bridge my feet were getting cold. I have not been in a yarn store to buy needles in a long while. They were knitting mittens in the center of the store. Jillian at the head of the table leading knitters down a path of colorful lace enhanced mittens. Hellos were had and needles were chosen. How I wish I could have just sat down there and hung out for the rest of the day. The lure was huge, intoxicating.

I finished reading Behind the Scenes at the Museum by Kate Atkinson last night. I was reading the last chapters and realized that the words said, February 8th. And that February 8th was on it’s way to ending with a full moon crusing across the night time sky. A good luck moment in book reading moments. It was a book that I picked up each night, entangled layers of history and herstory.

We skyped with Moo and Giovanni, Stefano was in and out of coherence as he was glued to the Roma game. Giovanni is growing fast and now smiles on his Mother and gurrgles his commentary. I also had the pleasure of skyping with Neen at length. We talked on tortillas, the Ruins, tripe, brain, travel, culture and radishes. He is doing well, learning lots and expanding his proverbial horizons both gastronomic and historonic.

My feet rest on a mat of plastic so that my chair has the ability to go. My feet sit in uber ugly old person clogs so that I have shoes on. My feet are cold. I sit up beside a wall of windows designed and built in the late 40′s. I sit up against this wall of windows to combat monitor glare and feng shui back to the crowd no no voodoo. I can feel the cold side of my body and the warm side. My left foot is cooler than my right as is my left thigh, and tummy… I contend with this push me pull you of warm cold every work day. It is my penance. I have poo-pooed the mighty space heater for years, as inefficient and for sissies. I am now officially a sissy.

Grilled cheese sandwiches graced our plates this evening, a request made by the Pop. I sliced cheddar, taleggio and another unnamed soft goat cheese. I seared onion slices. A bit of chicken breast. I stacked things up and then buttered the other side of the bread with left over ravioli filling of ricotta, parmigiano and parsley. Grilled to oozing a golden brown.

Knitting the zoo llama sweater sleeves at lunch and after dinner. I have begun the decreases and I am glad I remembered them.

Saab has returned from the vet with a functioning drivers side door handle. I no longer have to climb across to get in. Right hand fog lamp is replaced, sunroof has been tightened. Oil has been changed. 237,000,000 plus miles.
SO okay, I forgot to mention that my seat no longer heats.

I spoke to Veda Rose, she did the inauguration, walked ten miles, watched from the Washington monument, she signed off exhausted and exhilarated.

Another day slips by. A momentus one.

I decided to make Zuppa di Garno Cuturru for Sunday dinner. I cooked after spending the entire day in and out of the range of the couch reading  and knitting cardigan sleeves (that I ripped out), petting cats and listening to the radio. I cried as the sweet chemical reaction of cut onion hit my face. I cried as I listened to the elderly african american tell his story. A story that includes me and you. I am a child of the 60′s I grew up in a city exercising its rights in racial turmoil, the burning of the Motor city, I watched the tanks lumber up and down scared, listened to the rhetoric and walked the walk of a white girl in a predominantly african american school. I was sheltered by my race but not to the extent of the masses that insisted on leaving the city of Detroit high and dry, without a tax base, their lily white tails between their legs. Either way, I am a better person from the experience. Just sayin’.

I have been reconnected with old friends via facebook. I have looked at my older face in the mirror and wondered what will come next. I have skyped with Moo and Giovanni in Rome and smiled. I have to locate a changing table and a bedtime for the boy, when he arrives he must sleep in style. I have watched the snow fall and the sun shine. Neen is in his element in Mexico, slathering his language skills with masa and pork, cilantro and chile, the hues of the town he is in will put him over his edge in the end I just know it. Returning to the states with its brown and gray and the occasional pale yellow homes will slay his aesthetic.

We watched Darjeeling Limited as we slurped our zuppa. I am reading the gurnsey potato peel pie society and behind the scenes at the museum.

I knit the sleeves to a fair thee well on the Llama sweater, and then I ripped them out to begin the shaping process again. I could not just leave them in such a sad ass state. It was not possible to sigh and keep going.

I wached the birds all day on the feeders. It was definately a laid back sort of day to be experienced on the hog. Not with out it’s quilts but traveled through anyway.

I have taken a huge break from doing so after online journaling for ten years plus. 1997-2007. What stopped me from writing….? my website just dissapeared in the midst of three family deaths and I never noticed until it was too late… The computer was stolen, knitting, spinning, unpleasant readership and ten years plus, pushed me over the edge. I have most of my entries, though I lost the last ones. The ones I wrote about three familly deaths and a wedding. I cried so much while writing them that I am sad that they are gone. Stains of my life erased.

Yesterday I saw icicles in the small stairway window through stained glass art and I felt a huge write it down surge.

There is a whole lot of news to expound on. Moo carried and birthed a baby boy born December 2, 2008. I am a Nonna. Erkanonna to be precise. I have just returned from a three week adventure in Italy trying out my Nonnahood. Papa and La Mamma are adjusting and loving their boy. Me, I am still speechless. Pop is aglow with GrandPoppyhood. Moo is getting along well speaking Italian, living Italian.

Neen is boasting another 4.0 and about to leave on an abroad program south of the border. Neen is excited to speak Spanish and think Spanish and breath Spanish and perhaps dream Spanish. He is leaving with instructions from me to pay close attention to recipes, and ingredients. His host family lists the simple fact that they eat together as a family. Need I say more? Neen has been writing proposals for summer internships at Berkeley and Wisconsin and Chicago. Send him good acceptance vibes please.

Miss Beth sent us a painting of Alex. I have not cried yet but, give me some time. It will hit me one day as I come around the corner and see Daddy looking down at me. We placed him on the wall above Hugh. She sent my Ma three small paintings of Alex framed. I do not have the heart to ask about a mary painting. But I think the honor must be done.

I did not plant garlic this fall. I will regret that in mid summer. I think I have enough from this past summers harvest to last that long. Our roof is leaking. Our chimney is cleaned, but we have no firewood. Both Saab and Saturn are still running, knock wood. Gray Gray and Stripe-o are still miffed at us being gone so long and have taken to stalking the mice they can hear in the wall near the book case. Buddy the dog is still alive but barely, he still begs for vegetable scraps, so he can’t be too far gone. Can he?

I am knitting a sweater out of the last of the Zoo llama wool blend, a top down raglan cardigan. Spinning up a pound of fiber from Spinners Hill, Wool-Mohair-Silk-Alpaca, in brown with some red and orange bursts.
The sun is out bright as can be this afternoon, green glows through my geranium leaves.

A look back at January of 1998 MotherDays….

We are in the middle of spastic winter…13 degrees one day, and then 55 the next , el nino.

John was walking around in a daze this morning getting ready for the first day of school after a lengthy winter holiday. He was looking for the hair brush. We are a family of four and never have more than one brush to our collective names. Meghan bless her soul calls out “here it is, I was sleeping with it.” go figure……

GoodLuck is bestowed to those that gathered my Kwanzaa font offering, NiaShani. NiaShani went out to folks all over the world. We are off to bigger and better things, back to work, back to school, back to procrastination and normal life endurances.

aging parents are a bain this day to my existance…somebody slap me.

Things that made the Mojo List. Malls and mall parking. Not making things by hand anymore. Not taking time. not having a desk all my own. not playing music. not loosing weight. not exercising. being crabby. not being able to put a book down and play with my kids. being selfish. using up all my energy at work and coming home with none. being empty. frustrated. freaked.

John ran in and told me that he chopped the celery just like I do, I use nice juicy french knifes. I believe the kid has the makings of top chef.. He was walking through the kitchen while I was talking to gramma mary about who was gonna cook what for dinner that evening and John hollared “I’ll make the salad” Ya gotta love that. He is also these days into making scrambled eggs for himself in the morning. This past sunday he figured out that you can add vegetables to the scramble.

I just wrote my old friend lisa doughty a long letter, she has readjusted her name to Alyiah…i guess i’ll think of her now as alyiahlisa, had to trerain an old dog new tricks.

Meghan has returned from Katrina’s birthday sleep over at wheels inn, in ontario she is still asleep (it is 1:30pm) and at 3:30p she will cross the street to lizzies 13th birthday sleep over. I wonder how long they will stay up tonight.

e have settled on a new home on a ridge overlooking 4.77 acres of woods, wetlands and various humps and bumps. We will be the third owners of a home built in 1945.

Meghan is now awake and when i asked if i could make her and eggy she said ” no i want smashed potatoes.” So, i made the spoiled chaild of the universe smashed potatos.

we got some snow!

Those gals stayed up til 7:00 am at lizzies 13th birthday sleepover.

we had a Bucko dinner last night. Crab and fried chicken caesar salad and potatoe salad. yum.

Atiba and his friend Ode came to visit. We hung out and got to know Ode some.

we have had a nuthatch vsit the yard. all month.

We got some snow action here in the motor city. Winter without snow in Michigan is rather lame. We are watching some backyard art happen this winter. John John has the picnic table propped up at one end on a sawhorse with a ladder up the back and a piece of plywood at the front end completing the sledding hill. The sledders patiently scoop fresh snow on the hill and then slide all afternoon. Then they hang out under the hill in the club house. The dog used to get up on top of the picnic table to prominently display his need to come in the house. Now he has to climb up the hill, which he finally figured out how to do. So he stands on the hill with his paws on the top of the ladder and looks in.

Amen

Dinner was good.

A long weekend. A welcomed break from the daily.