Saturday, January 24, 2009

In which I am a girl, only not really

Just looked out the front window to see snowflakes falling, given how very dark it is already, I wonder if we will get some of that snow that I've been hearing about. I've been out running errands, and stocked up on more food for the pantry and freezer. New Seasons had oxtails, so I'm thinking about a nice rich wintertime soup.
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I love my friends. Yesterday, when I came home from work I found that sweet Elfreda had stopped by and dropped off the #11 circular needle, it was wrapped around my doorknob where I would be sure to see it. I promptly dug out the yarn cones and cast on for the mini-poncho, so as to have a "while-riding-the-bus" project. I do a lot of riding the bus...
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Yet more proof that I am not really a girl*... I was downtown at REI to see if I could pick up some socks, and to see if they had any Keens that fit my peculiar feet. (I have two pairs of dearly beloved old Keen maryjanes, the only shoes that I have ever found that are not only pain-free but actually fit the shape of my foot.) They are a discontinued style, and in the intervening time, Keens has reconfigured the last that they use for their women's shoes, probably to be more congruent with the feet of women in the USA. My shoes must be from when they first started making them, and they are anomalously wide. Like the size of wide men's shoes. (I call them my Minnie Mouse shoes) The sweet young shoe clerk hesitantly suggested that I might try the men's selection, albeit in an unusually small size (for a man). I'm going to look around and see if I can find some shop that carries Keen men's clogs, and give it a try. I'm not gender-biased about my feet.
* long ago I asked Mr Dawson why men don't see me as a woman, he replied that I do not come across as a girl, but rather more like a guy. At the time I found this both baffling and disturbing. I think what he was getting at has more to do with interpersonal flirty games (which I am hopelessly cluelessly oblivious to) than how I dress. Now I really don't care. I am a woman, whatever they think... most women seem to recognise me as a fellow female (though a stewardess once did not and said "excuse me sir, would you like a drink")...My friend Aelflaed once described me as "alarmingly competent" which is not usually seen as a particularly feminine trait in our culture.
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Tomorrow I hope to try out the new serger, which is currently ensconced in my kitchen. Must make room in the back bedroom for the future sewing table, and figure out the best way to attach it to the wall. I used my Fred Meyers gift card to buy a stud finder. I can't get the dang thing to work properly. It says that the entire wall is a stud, and so are the hollow core bedroom doors! My preference is to attach whatever supports I use to the wall studs, as sewing machines create quite a bit of vibration. I had a Bad Experience with the bracket I used for my flex-shaft. The wall anchors pulled right out of the wall; I've never had that happen before. I may just set the hollowcore door atop some suitable things to use as a sewing spot for temporary, since It would be better to not have to do a work-around when the new flooring goes in.
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Yesterday I rode my bike to the grocery store, the afternoon was cold, but clear and dry. I have a new accessory, courtesy of Aelflaed. She, remembering my plaint of a very cold head, and finding that a knitted hat she'd made came out quite excessively large, offered it to me as a bike helmet cozy. I will report that it worked splendidly. With a thin scarf over my hair, and the knit hat over my bike helmet, I pedaled off the New Seasons without freezing my noggin. Looks a bit odd, but that never stopped me yet; as the hat is deep red, I'm thinking that a few decoratively placed white dots and I can look just as spiffy as the Playmobil mushroom man. tee hee hee
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And here is an odd media bit I found. I remember my Nana reading me this poem, it was in the big red and blue book of children's poetry, and I loved it as a child for its oddness. (apparently it is by Dylan Thomas, from Under Milkwood)

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