My Own Two Cents

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1. Finish Amelia this weekend. I’m on sleeve #2, which means I have the rest of that sleeve, the yoke, and finishing left.
2. Buy yarn for Christmas presents and start knitting! It’s the middle of October.
3. Start exercising again. I don’t normally talk about that kind of thing here, but it’s been months and I feel like a slug.
4. Spin the wool from the festival. I’ve been knitting and neglecting my wheel.
5. Make the banner for “Dear New England” and make that blog prettier!

Made for my recently relocated sister in law and fellow “Dear New England” blogger.

Creeps

Yesterday we went to the Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival. Despite arriving late for completely valid reasons that had nothing to do with selfishness and everything to do with the practicality of needing more yarn, we had an excellent time at the Festival (n.b. My Bay Area folks - you know the “traffic calming”? IT’S NOT WORKING. If you need to go into the city, do not drive). We saw Natalie MacMaster, Richie Havens, Gillian Welch, and Steve Earle, but missed Steve Martin and his banjo, which was a bummer.

The people watching was just as good as the music. One dude was handing out “free hugs and high fives,” then started swearing at people when they didn’t take him up on it. Frustrated that his tempting offer was repeatedly declined, he shouted “Lift your f%cking arm, people.” We were among the decliners.

There were people dancing - some with the aid of artificial stimulants, some without, and all of them really letting loose. There were kids and families and couples and teenagers and gray hairs and just about everyone you could imagine.

Pan models how some partiers looked by the end.

When we arrived, it was comfortably in the 60s. It soon became cold. But, after having lived in the Bay Area for over four years, and San Francisco itself for two, we knew to come prepared. We sat under a tree, protecting us from the wind, and under a blanket, protecting us from the cold. I was knitting.  As the air got colder and more acts left the stages, the crowds began to thin - relatively speaking. People were still streaming past us, but spaces near us cleared up and we were no longer on top of our neighbors.

Then I noticed the guy in the white hat, a hat stolen from Gilligan then decorated with buttons in order to disguise it. I don’t just mean a little flair, here. The hat must have weighed five pounds. He began to walk by us, looked at us, kind of smiled in a creepy way, and turned around to watch the stage. He remained about five feet in front of us while Phil and I whispered about the sly, appraising look we had both caught.

Then I stopped thinking about him. I had completely forgotten about him for ten minutes when he approached us, held up his iPhone, and said, “You two are too cute to not take a picture of.” We both told him no, no thanks, no go away, and everything in between. He just kept smiling and said “oh no,” continuing to hold up his iPhone. We threw the blanket off, sprang to our feet, and began yelling at him. I have no idea what Phil said, because I was too busy shouting “We said no - get the hell away from us,” but I think he may have dropped the f bomb quite a few times.

He just stood there, not reacting, smiling, and said “OK” but he didn’t leave until I yelled a final “please leave” (why did I say please? sometimes in the heat of the moment we do weird things) into his smug little face. He just sauntered away. We picked up our stuff and moved at my prompting, because I soon imagined this guy circling back following us out.

I’m going to admit something. I sometimes overreact when people get in my space. And, let me tell you, when you get into it and yell at people, they most often yell back, or are offended, or anything. This guy just smiled. And I’m pretty sure he had time to take a picture. This guy was a total creep. Even reading this over I can tell I haven’t conveyed the real “creep” feel we got from him. Some things are just instinctual.

So, If you are out on the internets and you see a picture of Phil and me huddled under a blanket, please retrieve our souls, which have been stolen from us.

That guy’s lucky Toby wasn’t there to kick his ass.

Cheeks

I learned yesterday, as we sat in traffic and watched crowds stream by us, that there is something that happens in San Francisco yearly formerly called “Love Fest” and now called “LovEvolution.” As far as I can tell, this means you get dressed up in weird or weird-sexy clothing and walk around SF disrupting traffic. Then you feel like you did something for the sake of humanity because LovEvolution is somehow a non-profit with a vague mission (I encourage you to go read about it and marvel at its meaninglessness).

From guys in full pink leotards to blue-haired girls in fairy wings to Betty Page look-a-likes, there were serious outfits. I feel, after at least an hour spent in study of this crowd, that it is my duty to inform you that if you are going to go to a downtown dance party celebrating love and having sex in public (I imagine), there is only one look that will be a sure crowd pleaser this year. Let your ass cheeks hang out. Whether you have to wear your underwear without benefit of the overwear, cut some jean shorts even shorter,  or roll your dress up very high, you should aim for at least five inches of butt to show. You don’t have to be a super model either - oh no. From tiny to flat to budunkadunk, any ass is OK to wave in the wind at LovEvolution.

Pan models my reaction to seeing the people going to LovEvolution.

Christmas

I’m taking on three knitting projects for Christmas and want to finish Amelia first. Wish me luck.

‘Nuff said.

Head over to “Dear New England” for my latest post: Psychic Reader.

Fresh, homemade bagels

Made from this recipe yesterday, proofed in the fridge overnight, and boiled and baked for Saturday brunch today.

The smeared with your choice of cream cheese, salmon, and capers,

or…butter.

 After a discussion with Dianna about the mysterious eggplant, I decided to dedicate a post to making this enigmatic vegetable. Eggplant isn’t so much harder than other vegetables, but if you haven’t cooked it before, it seems like it is. After all, you can’t chop it for crudites or boil it like a potato.

Preparing

Most commonly people complain about how bitter eggplant can be. All you need to do is a little prepwork, about an hour in advance of cooking, and you can have a tasty eggplant.

First, peel and slice the eggplant. Slicing is extremely important as eggplant should be not too thick, and not too thin. I’d say about 1/8 inch is perfect.

Next, toss the sliced eggplant in a bowl with coarse salt until it’s coated. put the eggplant in a strainer over a bowl, and cover it with another bowl or towel.

1 hour later, rinse the salt off. The bottom bowl should have a dark liquid in it. There’s your bitterness, bitches.

Cooking

After you’ve rinsed off the salt, pat the  eggplant dry. Preheat the oven to ~375 and grease a cookie sheet. Then, tar and feather the eggplant in this order: flour, milk, breadcrumbs. Put the eggplant in the cookie sheet in one layer, and cook about 15 minutes, or until all of the eggplant can be pierced easily by a fork.

When I am finally recognized for my beauty, invited to take part in the Miss America pageant, and asked to describe my perfect day, I might come up with something like the day I had yesterday. The basic components, boiled down, are wool, rabbits, beer, goats.

Wool and Rabbits 

Upon hearing about the California Wool and Fiber Festival, I intended to make a weekend of it and include hiking and camping into the agenda. Then I dropped the ball and didn’t book a campsite in time. Phil, being the hero he is, agreed to go with me to Booneville which is about 2 hours away, for just a day. And who is Bethro to say nay in the face of such gallantry? So, we took a day trip to the Mendocino County Fair and Apple Show, which held the fiber festival.

He even posed for me next to pumpkins in which he and I could happily abide, with room for the cats. Posing for blog pictures is one of the ways the modern husband shows his love.

All of his good will paid off. He ended up quite glad we went because of this.

An English Angora Rabbit, whose fleece is about to be sheared and then spun right in front of our eyes.

The rabbit was blown out with a machine that looked like an old school vacuum that emitted instead of took in air. Then, and here’s the kicker, put into that bag and spun instantly. No carding. We watched this presentation for over an hour, so fascinating was the process and so cute the rabbits. In fact, we took a break (did a wine tasting) and came back to see the shearing, something Phil insisted on. And why not, when we got to see that bunny go from huge fluffball to this

and then eventually this.

I sat and knit and watched and sat and knit and watched…

…and got up to touch all the fleeces every so often.

Turns out, I was essential to the California Wool and Fiber Festival because not only did rabbit-man ask me how long it took me to knit a sweater to help him demonstrate the amount of work it took to get from rabbit to Angora sweater, but someone made a  prize-winning scarf with the yarn I am using for Amelia.

We spent three hours at the fair and enjoyed every minute of it. It helps that we get up about two hours earlier than most Californians and enjoyed a mostly crowd-free, cool part of the day at the dusty fairgrounds. With the sun and the excitement, we were a little tired.

No napping for us, though. We went on to…

Beer and Goats

I’ve been playing up Phil’s sacrifice in driving four hours to indulge my fiber needs, but in truth, Booneville has another draw. One we discussed with enthusiasm before our little road trip.

We got to Anderson Valley Brewing Company a little after 1:00, took a look at the schedule, and decided we likely wouldn’t stick around for the tour at 3:00. Killing two hours at a visitor’s center just didn’t seem that likely. So, we each got a pint and sat in the beer garden.

Phil’s got a Poleeko Gold Pale Ale, delicious and hoppy, like much of the micro brews in California. In my glass you see Brother David’s Triple Abbey Style Ale. Originally, I was going to get a pale ale, because I likes em hoppy, but Phil talked me into the ale. You see, it has 10% ABV, and he was driving but wanted a taste. And, it was one of the best beers I’ve had recently. Sort of sweet like a barley wine, but not too sweet. It had that taste I always think of as “Christmasy” that you find in also in Pacific Coast Brewing Company’s Gray Whale Ale and Unibroue’s Fin du Monde.

Anyway, at 10% ABV you can bet I made that beer last over an hour. I was sipping (and enjoying it) at room temperature about 1/2 hour after Phil’s Poleeko Gold was a thing of the past. When the last bit finally went down the hatch, we sauntered out to the front where we had spied some…

Pygmy goats! And yes, that’s an adorable little baby there in the back. By the time we were done feeding the goats some delicious dried fodder just outside the fence, Phil’s watch read ten of 3:00.  With the fates smiling on us, we took the brewery tour, one of the better tours I’ve been on. Some things we learned:

• Not only does AVBC produce 65% of their energy with solar panels on site, they sell the old grains to local farmers for livestock feed.
• “Boontling” is an old language of Booneville that the locals used (and a select few still use) to confuse “bright lighters” or outsiders. Their beers are often named in a combo of English and Boontling. E,g, “Poleeko” is the Boontling word for “Philo,” a nearby town.
• The brewery has two small kegs that employees can use to experiment and do their own brews on when they like.
• They’re offering some new, small batch, unfiltered beers in only a few days at the brewery. But! We might be able to find them at the Toronado. Woo!

After the tour we got our tasting, and I had the Cerveza Crema (which I’d had before but the season’s almost over, so…) and Brother David’s Double. Phil had the wheat (good, but not all that wheaty) and the Barney Flats Oatmeal Stout.

All in all, by the time we left we were approaching dinner time. So we stopped in Santa Rosa, ate pub food (I had a Racer 5 as well, since I wasn’t driving), and collapsed on the couch.

Writing on a blog we call “Dear New England” with my SIL (we haven’t done any designing yet, so please excuse the spartan quality). Any other ex-patriots want to contribute? Jen, I’m looking at you.

When it was young, my romance with knitting was filled with more passion than skill. I admired every too-small hat and ill-fitting tank top like the deformed offspring of a true love match. Now that the honeymoon is over, I neglect beautiful, growing sweaters as if I’m a Valium-addicted, tennis-playing, pool boy-loving housewife.

Knitting and I need to go on a romantic getaway. Deep down, after all, I still love it. We have our good moments: at the beginning of a pattern, when a new yarn is purchased, at interesting decreases or complicated colorwork sections. Maybe if I could stop focusing on the sister sirens, sewing and spinning, I would remember that ardor and renew my vows.

For now, I’ve had about nine inches of Amelia knit for two months. I pick it up and work a row here or there, but more with a sense of duty than excitement.

When I plow through this, I want an exciting pattern to bring back the love. Suggestions? Non-knitters feel free to weigh in with garment suggestions.