I’m still rearranging the new digs, but I’d like you to join me here with your RSS subscriptions. So, how about some bribery prizes for loyal readers who make the trek with me?

I’ve got lovely little Lanea-made sock bags and plenty of fabric to make more, and I may even feel the urge to dig through some of my artisanal yarns if the response is big enough. Switch your RSS feeds to this new address, let me know you’ve done so in the comments, and you may win a prize. I won’t rig the results for people who comment more than once or compliment me in extravagant ways, but I may laugh so hard I shoot milk out of my nose if you’re witty enough. I’ll use a fancy random number generator to select winners from among the commenters in the fairest way I can. Let’s make the deadline for this silly contest Saturday morning, March 7th–add your comment by the time I get up on Saturday if you want a chance at a prize.

Tags: contest, etsy

I am in the process of migrating my old blog to this new space . . . I’m still alphabetizing the books, so bear with me.

How badly do I want that sign?  I want that sign, alright.  Gimme the sign, Smithsonian!  GIVE ME THE SIGN!

Scott and I ended up with an unexpected block of unplanned time and nice, clear weather last weekend, so decided to spend it on The Mall.  We visited the renovated National Museum of American History. 

Our first visit was to their lovely exhibition on book illustrations, which included a fantastic copy of William Morris’ The Wood Beyond the World and the Liber Chronicarum.  I was in bookworm heaven.  I took a number of pictures but none compare to those on the museum’s site.  Glass cases beat simple camera lenses every time.

This Turriano clockwork monk (a.k.a. creepy doll) is a one of the coolest automata I’ve seen.  A creepy one, but a cool one.  It’s in the Robot exhibition, of all places, alongside intimidating vehicles that don’t need drivers that probably blow things up on command. 

If they make me the head curator, I’m taking this and a bunch of other things and making one big steampunk exhibition.  Somebody needs to. 

Between the illustrated books and Julia Child’s kitchen, I was worried my geeky little brain would short right out.  And then we got to go see Andy Goldsworthy’s Roof. 

It’s astoundingly beautiful in person.  I’m a huge fan of Goldsworthy’s, and had wanted to go watch him and his crew build this but missed my chance.  I am a bit frustrated that you can’t get to most of the sculpture–the terrace has been closed to the public, so you can see this protrusion from the sidewalk outside and similar extensions in the lobby of the East Wing, but most of the installation is behind glass.  Stupid glass. 

I spent the rest of the weekend working, tinkering with a new original knitting pattern, and spoiling my dog.

Scott accepted a new job!  I am amazed he found something good so quickly–he got the actual offer only a few business days after leaving EvilGameCompany Inc., which may be a record for people who actually work at their jobs (as opposed to evil CEOs who seem to just swap jobs up there in the ether).  He thought about it for a while and took some other interviews while he pondered and settled on a web developer job with a big stable company. 

Tonight, we go to the Birchmere to see Jonathan Coulton, which strikes me as a damn fine way to celebrate good fortune for geeks like us.   Have a great weekend, friends. 

We spent the long wekend with dear friends in Canaan Valley, West Virginia.  We wandered around Blackwater Falls and the park surrounding it.  We’ve had unseasonably warm weather in the DC area over the last few weeks, but thankfully West Virginia is holding on to some winter. 

I flirted with birches, like I do.   They flirted back.

The world is full of intertwinings. 

I wish I could live in this wondrous little grove.

The cabin was surrounded by beautiful things as well.  This lichenous tree graces the dooryard. 

When we weren’t staring at trees or playing in the snow, we were cooking, playing tunes, and just generally having a great time. 

We were lucky enough to be in town for a Wiyos show at the Purple Fiddle.  Teddy Weber makes an astounding addition to the band, and I am itching to hear their new album.  They played many tracks from it, and their expanded sound is fantastic. 

A complete aside . . . I finished that second pair of Hedgerows a while ago and finally got around to snapping a picture.  I’m making slow progress on my hooked rug and fast progress on some very boring ribbed socks and sewing like a fiend, all the while wishing I still lived in the mountains. 

I’m all for small victories, you know.  Each finished row of knitting, each hem and button hole counts towards some vital tally in my head.  We just had a dessert party/bake-off at work, and my Almond Sarafina cake took the top prize.  I am absolutely chuffed.  I’d show you the cake, but there is no external evidence of it to be found.  I am really, really chuffed–did I mention that?  Ahhhh, almond cake. 

Tomorrow, we’re off to West Virginia with some good friends for, well, someone may ski.  I’ll read and sew and knit and cook and not worry or work much.

When in doubt, read a lot, make lists, and check things off. 

They Call Me Naughty Lola: Personal Ads from the London Review of Books by David Rose
This is a silly little book, but pretty entertaining.  In short, David Rose started a lonely hearts (a.k.a. singles) column in the LRB, and the brainy, witty people who read the LRB make a big goofy game out of writing strange personal ads.  They're not all great, but some of them are real gems.  It's a good between-books distraction. 

A Woman's Words: Emer and Female Speech in the Ulster Cycle by Joanne Findon
This is a good, interesting, scholarly work about Emer's speech acts in the myths of the Ulster Cycle.  The author melds Speech Act theory and Feminist theory to illuminate Emer's unusual role in Irish myth as a powerful yet peaceful female character.  I enjoyed the book a great deal, but I am one of those people who likes to read good literary criticism, so, well, I would.

World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War by Max Brooks
I decided this one wasn't worth finishing.  The book is written as a series of interviews with survivors from a zombie apocalypse.  The thing just wasn't believable.  I felt like Brooks had to write in circles around his plot rather than actually engage with it.  Meh. 

Kitchen Confidential by Anthony Bourdain
I am an unabashed Bourdain fan.  He's no Proust, but he is witty and intensely honest.   I love his frankness, particularly about his frailties in the kitchen and in life.  Also, I thank Bourdain for reminding me that I really was right not to go to cooking school, because,  hot damn! I do not want to work in a  restaurant kitchen. 

My husband was laid off last week, so I’ve been a bit distracted.  I’m working a bunch of extra hours and trying to make lots of wonderful little bags for my Etsy shop just to earn a bit extra.  He’s already had a couple of interviews, so we’re not terribly worried.  But still, with the state of the national economy, unemployment is a stressful thing to contemplate.

This is perhaps my favorite blogosphere tradition, because it celebrates poetry and Imbolc, a holiday I cherish.  It is also my Mom’s birthday, which makes for a nice little trinity.

I’m a poet as well as a knitter: particularly a poet who translates out of crazy moon languages into English.  I’m obsessed with Nuala Ní Dhomhnaill and have gushed about her here, and on Eating Poetry while we were still at table (sigh).  So here’s some more Nuala, translated by the wonderful Paul Muldoon this time around.

I Fall in Love

I fall in love, in the fall of every year,
with the smattering of rain on my windshield
and the pale and wan light toppling over the sheer
edge of my field
of vision, with leaves strewn in my way,
with the bracket-fungus screwed to a rotten log:
I fall in love with bog and cold clay
and what they hold in store for me and you, my dear.

I fall in love with all that’s going off:
with blackened spuds rotting in their beds, with
Brussels sprouts nipped in the bud
by a blast of frost, rat-eaten artichokes, and,
like so many unpicked locks,
the tares and cockles buried in shifting sand;
it’s as if I fall in love a little with death itself.

For it’s neither the fall nor the coming to in spring —
neither shrug of the shoulders nor sudden foray
down that boring ‘little road of the King’ —
but something else that makes me wary:
how I throw off the snowy sheet and icy quilt
made of feathers from some flock
of Otherworldly birds, how readily I am beguiled
by a sunny smile, how he offers me a wing.

I got a raise, what with my shockingly professional gig as a web monkey, er, Lead Web Coordinator.  Is that not the most PC title you have ever heard for a Master Spider? I mean, really, do I get a baton AND nice juicy flies too?

Right, where was I . . .  I don’t need yarn, really, but I did want a little treat mixed in with the very mature things I need like new glasses and a decent omelet pan.  In my ongoing quest to stick to wonderful, artisinal yarns whenever possible, I looked to Finland.  And look what appeared on my front porch!  Riihivilla makes my heart flutter.  The madder-dyed yarn is one of the loveliest things I’ve ever seen.

I’m also making another pair of Jane’s wonderful Hedgerow socks.  This yarn is some particularly springy (color and texture) custom loveliness from Spirit Trail, and I adore it.  Jen really knows how to work with green.  (Man, that sock bag needs some love).  I’ve been spending a lot of time with Jane’s pattern recently, and even more time with Jen’s yarns, and most of that time has been secret.  I  can hardly wait to tell you what’s up, but I will wait just a little bit longer.

I’ve contacted a local quilter who will quilt the linen top for me, and I was shocked (SHOCKED!) by how affordable her service is.  Now I need to pick backing and binding fabrics and batting and wait patiently in the queue.

Tonight we went to Ikea, because the books are demanding better living conditions, and because I want an actual bed already.  This quilt deserves an actual bed, not just a nice mattress and box spring on the floor.  Between the asparagus planted in our garden, the Real Job, and the actual bed-frame we will assemble this weekend, I am feeling downright adult.  I hope that doesn’t mean I have to give up knee socks and The Ramones . . .