momtourage

Improvisation

I am on too many mailing lists, and often, instead of simply unsubscribing, I immediately delete. Even the Greenmarket one, which I am probably the most inclined to read, has often suffered my heavy handed impatience.

Luckily this was not so about a month ago, when I idly opened it and read about two new great books, both of which I have since obtained and read, thanks to the wonders of the Brooklyn Library on-line hold system. Of course, the cookbook is now on my Amazon wish list. Two weeks was not enough to peruse it properly, what with recent trips and everyday life getting in the way.

The second I read, and do not need to own or read again. (I have become highly non-acquisitive in regards to non-cookbooks and indeed have a large stack awaiting redistribution at my book club meeting tomorrow night.) But it was a great book, very thoughtful and useful, and I have been recommending it to nearly everyone I see. The recipes themselves are not calling me so much, but the subjects it touches upon (freeganism, foraging, frugality, bread baking, cook-offs, consumerism, consumer waste, dinner clubs, social aspects of eating etc.) are all dear to my heart, and what's more, they might be to yours too. So I am bossily promoting it in a grass roots manner, to the point where I think the Food Coop will likely order copies, and then when I shop there I will feel proudly responsible for having led to its presence on the shelves, due to my own persuasive powers. (It will join the smoked whitefish salad, which I also lobbied heartily for/purchase often.) 

But the best thing about the book, for me personally, was the author's fearless embrace of improvisation. I consider myself a proficient cook. In fact I can handle almost anything, given a recipe. But Cathy Erway did not let lack of foreknowledge or specific ingredients stop her, often with excellent results. And I have since started checking in with her blog, which features lots of basic recipes with small twists, just what I need to pep up my own cooking. And letting go too - that has been a big missing ingredient. If I can do it with knitting, why not with cooking? I'm determined to give it a real go.

Favorite Beach

The struggle continues - and a recent visit to this beach further weakens my resolve to not be as attracted to California living as much as I am.

 

New Knit Skill

I am always on the lookout for knitting innovations. It doesn't matter if it is a skill as old as time. If I have missed it somehow, then find it and master it, I become (close to) deliriously happy.

Such was the case with FIBs, the highly interesting Fair Isle braids pictured above. I know that they are not a highly uncommon folk knitting technique; they had just been under my radar. Or maybe I wasn't ready to tackle them for various reasons, which are largely to do with inertia. (I am too embarrassed to point out how many years, exactly, after I began knitting, when I finally began to cable.)

The thing that motivated me this time was an excellent class at my local knitting store. I had just taught the first 3 of 4 Fair Isle knitting sessions, in the round. The 4th, involving the above braids and flat Fair Isle, was taught by the shop's owner. It was a frustrating experience for some of the other participants, who were not as hasty as I to abandon two handed knitting in order to make it happen faster. I won't go into minutiae, but suffice to say I could not get my head around the technique with a more elegant way of knitting, so picked up and dropped both colors of yarn using only my right hand. (And yes, I am someone who is most comfortable throwing her yarn.) This simple adaptation suddenly made all clear, and I breezed through the rest of the exercise with gusto.

Ever since, I have been thinking about ways to incorporate FIBs into a new project. And I have been thinking about an upcoming class at the same store, in April, involving Japanese knitting techniques. New cast ons! And stitch patterns! And talking about reading patterns in the books I already have! I can hardly wait to begin.

Cooking Exchange

Imagine my surprise when I found a fellow caregiver who is as passionate about cooking as I am. We met on a play date and meandered through the usual adult topics in between monitoring the children. But then 15 minutes before the scheduled end time, the topic turned to food. Both of our eyes lit up as we discovered our mutual love of all things kitcheny. Even better, we have different strengths (She is Thai, and cooks in a traditional manner. I love Thai food, but all efforts to cook it have yielded mediocre results. She wants to learn everything about baking, which is my forte.)  I swear we both had to restrain ourselves from a spontaneous hug, when the idea of a cooking exchange popped up. We have had two sessions thus far. Green curry, noodles with fish sauce, a pork salad of sorts with fresh mint and red onions. And then the baked goods below, banana chocolate chip muffins and chocolate cupcakes with an ambitious, cooked frosting. All around yumminess.

Hiatus

So I suddenly realized that I haven't written anything - here - in a while. Yes, I have still been writing my shopping lists, knitting pattern notes, personal letters, and other ephemera, but not really being inspired by or thinking about this particular space.

That is partially due to the large chunk of time I have recently spent re-reading Anna Karenina for an upcoming book group meeting. And yes, I did slow it down even more by deciding that I needed to read the 'new,' much lauded Pevear/Volokhonsky translation (after obtaining and beginning to read an earlier translation, which I later realized was probably the same one I had read as a moody high school student). Was it as I remembered? Not really, memory being a vague thing and expectations having changed so much in the meantime. And it was dense, more slow going than I remembered from that former time when I gobbled up all of the Russian greats, probably at the same slow pace, but seeming much more rapid, as back then my time did not have the same value.

And it's not that I am a total Tolstoy freak, but I did, at one time, visit his estate outside of Moscow, Yasnaya Polyana. My scattered memories of plodding around his home in the heavy felt overshoes required at that time for museum and literary visits, now feel insufficient, and I wish that my older, wiser self could suddenly revisit. Due to a lack of serious intent, my main memories from that moment involve the bumpiness of the bus trip out there, a failed attempt at dramatic sadness at his grave site, and my extreme dismay at the 'fat soup' we were served at a cafe on the way back. (I had assumed the white chunks were potatoes. Nope, just plain old fat cubes. To put it more into perspective, this was a while ago - pre-Glasnost even.)

So I have been reading this book, have now finished this book, and although I experienced a familiar lassitude upon reaching the end, a feeling that it would perhaps be prudent to just start again at the beginning and give it another go, it had become such a part of, and consumed so much of my recent life. A sort of junior version from the time I read all 3 volumes of Remembrance of Things Past and felt somewhat at a (yes, deep) loss after I was through.

And I am looking forward to the discussion on Monday, which will prolong it just a bit more, which will allow me to see the effect this novel had on others.

Denial, the Yarn Stash Version

Oh dear. I had been bragging about how well I was doing, knitting up projects using only my yarn stash. Like this Wrenna top, which I adapted to a lighter weight yarn in order to use up this red stuff.

And after I was done with that, I had just enough of the remaining yarn to make a hat. I did so.

Looking back, I realize it all went downhill from there. I teach at a yarn shop occasionally. A few new and interesting yarns made themselves known to me there. Then I decided to knit a dress for myself from some pretty tweed yarn. Before I knew it, a pile had accumulated. Sure, I could pat myself on the back for knitting up a full plastic storage container of stash yarn around the holidays, but if I really wanted to be honest with myself I had to admit that I had accumulated at least that much since. The only difference was that it resided on the floor of my closet, pushed back into an out of the way enough place so that I could continue to pretend that it didn't exist.

But it does exist. I admit it!

Let the renewed attempt at stash busting begin.

Increase the Light

My walk to work takes about 35 minutes. It's a brisk stroll, slowed only by street crossings, 2 of which are incredibly busy and sometimes scary to navigate. (Bad weather, multiple lanes, people texting while driving, a combination of factors...) And in the winter it's quite a dark walk with the wan sun barely peeping over the tall buildings. I try to break it up by choosing a variety of routes. I have noticed that if I walk one particular way I will hit two 'light trees.'

And perhaps it is just some chaldron effect (though free for anyone to gaze at in open air) but I feel somehow calmed and comforted by these constantly available balls of light. (And yes, I do occasionally wonder if they are holiday lights someone has been tardy to take down. What if they disappear one day without warning? And once in a while I wonder how they are powered? And I fret about how much power they possibly use or think maybe it is some kind of solar lighting and then I wonder why I am even bothering to mull the possibilities as it is surely none of my concern.)

The fact remains, sometimes I go a bit out of my way, ignoring the vagaries of walk signs and lingering at corners until it is safe to cross, to hit both of them in one go. I find a certain satisfaction in it. A certain satisfaction and a modicum of peace. I'll take any light I can get before summer comes.

Snow Day

Wednesday was a snow day! Which is pretty rare in NYC, unlike where I grew up in Maine where quite a few snow days were factored into our yearly schedule and even then, we tended to go over a bit. (How disappointing it was to shift the end of school date on our household calendar!)

The kids spent the morning carefully crafting snowpeople (the first time in a long time that the snow was sticky enough to do so) while I popped in and out of the kitchen, doing a much needed cookbook reorganization.

I have built up a giant collection of cookbooks over the years. You name it, vegetarian, vintage, international... though my favorites tend to remain the same. I know I need to weed out some next to never used ones, but I do find it so hard to let these things go. Likewise with my struggle today to choose clothes for a weekend clothing swap party. Truthfully, will I ever fit into those size 2 pants again? Probably not, but I'm still not quite ready to admit it to myself...

Book Related

In an attempt to save money and staunch the growth of my knitting book collection, I put two books on hold at the library, thinking it would give me more time to peruse than at the bookstore, hoping I would identify and learn certain techniques during the two weeks allotted to me. But I guess with knitting books, it just doesn't happen that way. An order has been placed and the books are now en route to my permanent collection. Oh well, at least I know exactly what I'll be getting.

 



And now that the yoga challenge has timed out (though I am keeping to an every other day schedule, which is a bit more realistic) I am free to return to voracious reading. The book club I belong to meets tonight and we will be discussing a book I read not just once but twice over the past month, one that I highly recommend.

I noticed that this particular book, A Short History of Women, struck quite a chord with readers on Amazon. People either loved it intensely or found it unreadable, a type of controversy that I always find probably means it is something worth exploring further. I wonder if this is partially due to the grimness of the subject matter, which involves a similar emptiness in the characters' lives over place and time or the fact that it imparts a sense of futility and ennui whilst and after reading.  Which I don't think is a bad thing, mind you. However, reading it the first time I was so caught up in the mood and plot and was left with such a hollow feeling myself (it is impossible not to search for similarities in one's situation) that I decided to give it another shot. I felt like I was missing something important. Well, I was; namely the craft of the writing - so beautiful and carefully constructed that I was compelled to read passages aloud. I am looking forward to discussing it tonight.

And so I turned from this much lauded (and hated!) novel to another, Chronic City. Yes, I respect this writer immensely and yes I have read all of his novels thus far, but I do find them dense and slow reading. So I am also reading a very powerful memoir I found in the Brooklyn History section of the library. Oh, and various children's books to my sons. Though I did finally admit that I actually lost Moominland Midwinter - the first library book I have ever ever lost, much to my eternal shame. Wherever could it be? We never took it out of the house so I can only conclude it has been spirited away by some Moominish character. Perhaps.

Learning Curve

Since I am home with a bad cold today, I took the opportunity to finally put the finishing touches on those very subtle Faeroe Island Mittens I was supposed to have finished and mailed off two full weeks ago. But better late then never, right? And you know how I feel about those zzzz... type projects...I felt that this project could have easily become one of those.

So here they are, in all their glory, languishing on Sam's art clothesline. Something about the blue paint and the light in his room made the mittens photograph true to color.

I have to admit, they grew on me a bit more as I neared the end of the project. I'm still not thrilled about the very very subtle color contrast. A shade or two up would have been, for me, ideal. Also, this is the last time (you can quote me) that I use alpaca yarn for a color work project. I always forget how much that stuff sheds until I work with it again. And don't even get me started on stitch definition. But at any rate, here they are, warm and cozy and most importantly done.

Follow Through

With much hesitation and largely due to peer pressure (the friend I had gone to the yoga workshop with on Friday was determined to go back) I did, once again, find myself at Golden Bridge on Sunday evening. Plus I do hate to just abandon something once I start it (admitting defeat), and I had, after all, paid for both sessions in advance(cheapness). Then I found out that the broken capillaries in my hands weren't life threatening or even that big of a deal so I couldn't use a health excuse. So there you go, and there I was, luckily in the back of the room this time where I felt I could let myself take it easy if need be.

But the need really didn't arise, unless you count the 5 plus minutes of Paripurna Navasana during which I had to come up and down to collect myself several times. In comparison to the vigorous routing out of negative energy from 2009 in the first session, this one was positively meditative. Which was extra good due to the fact that my legs still ached from the 54 frog 'jumps' I had done two days earlier. Also, I like chanting and there was a lot of that, though my feeling about chanting is similar to my feeling about religious recitation - that it is always more satisfying to do in Sanskrit/Hebrew/some language that is not English. Oddly, (to me) English was pretty pervasive. And to be frankly judgmental, I just don't like the Long Time Sunshine that is sung at the end of every class. There is a flatness and earnestness to it that is not to my taste. Still, at the end of the class I felt at peace, and went straight home to take the large dose of Vitamin C recommended by Gurmukh, though I skipped the soothing shower as I didn't want my splashings to wake up the kids.

The next day I did yoga for 30 minutes and I thought my god, that was way too short. I guess the step down from 3 hours was a bit abrupt. And the more I think about it, the more I feel my exploration of this type of yoga is incomplete. There is a Kundalini yoga studio in my neighborhood. I suppose I will find my way over there before too long.

Too Far?

I have said it before. When I am in reading mode, I read exclusively and voraciously. When I knit, I am productive like nobody's busy. And now it seems that when I take up yoga in a serious way, I maybe push my body too far.

I say too far, because I noticed what I think are tiny burst blood vessels on my hands yesterday. And I think it may be due to all of the hand motions - clapping and shaking and raising - that I did in a Friday night, 3 hour long yoga workshop. That's probably not a good thing.

To back up a bit, I have long been interested in Kundalini yoga. At least interested enough to take one class at my local yoga clothing shop (in addition to selling comfy clothing they also offer occasional, inexpensive classes). I also briefly fantasized about doing a Kundalini weekend at Kripalu and checked in several times with the class schedule at Golden Bridge. (But never actually made it there.) So when a friend told me she was doing a weekend workshop with Gurmukh and asked if I wanted to join, I said why not. On Friday we found ourselves in a packed room, waiting for the workshop to begin. Then it did begin, and went on and on and on. Now, I knew that one repeats actions for an extended amount of time in this type of yoga. You just don't get into a pose and hold it, deepening into yourself. Nor do you flow into another pose, as in vinyasa yoga. To provide a better picture: Let's say you raise your arms, shoulder height straight out. Now bring them into a goalpost shape, hands raised, palms flat to the outer walls of the room. Now repeat this action at a pretty rapid pace for at least 4 minutes. You are probably chanting or singing at the same time too - which is somewhat of a welcome and trance inducing distraction, but then what happens to the breath?

And that is what I found myself worrying about often. I am most familiar with yoga that emphasizes the breath as life force. And maybe it was because I am a novice to this practice, but I often found myself not breathing or out of breath or trying to imagine how I could fit my breath into the practice in a comfortable manner. That said, there was a lot of collective energy to experience, which is something I normally don't feel in other practices. So there were things that I observed/experienced that I would want to find again, and other things that nagged away at me, and made me wonder if I was really getting the benefits I should from this practice.

Suffice to say, I am still mulling it over. And hey, an extended workshop format is probably not the way to jump into anything physically demanding. I spent some time yesterday doing restorative yoga, because I needed to and in preparation for the continuation of the workshop tonight. But can I do it? Is it even physically possible? I will see how the day progresses and then decide.