Les Plushies

I don't know why, but the existence of Cthulhu plushies amuses me no end. Not that I've ever read any H.P. Lovecraft (other than The Dunwich Horror). But... plushie fanny packs? I spent several hours in pursuit of this and ended up laughing until I cried because the idea was so funny. I guess it boils down the fact that Lovecraftians get no respect and provoke fits of hilarity when in their cuddly forms... and rather than getting yet another fountain pen, I find myself seized by the desire to track down an oversized Cthulhu plushie to occupy a spot next to my oversized stuffed dragon. Alternatively, I'll attempt to knit myself an oversized Cthulhu plushie.

Noms

Ice cream. Chocolate ice cream.

When the theory is more fun than the practice

I want homemade ice cream, but it's just not working.
1. Last night we dug out the ice cream maker and its accompanying instruction booklets. We have two: a Green Mountain hand-cranked one that takes advantage of brawny blacksmiths and an electric one that doesn't. Since we haven't got any brawny blacksmiths alongside the pasta in the pantry, we opted to use the electric one.
2. Examined the contents of the fridge and discovered that we. had. no. dairy. products. Can't make ice cream without dairy products of some kind, right? *sigh* Definitely hard to make ice cream without dairy products.
3. Went out to the store to acquire said dairy products and ask about rock salt. Was irritated to discover they only sell it in 25 lb bags. It's summer, which obviously means I don't need 25 lbs of rock salt to defrost the driveway. Went home without the 25 lb bag of rock salt.
4. Got home with assorted dairy substances and promptly left again to buy 25 lbs of rock salt. *sigh*
5. Spent two hours bringing 3 cups of milk, 1.5 cups of sugar, and 1 tbsp of cornstarch to a simmer, and fumed.
6. Spent the following half hour tempering the eggs and trying like hell to get them to be tempered and not scrambled. Mmph.. Successfully, at least.
7. Put the machine together and discovered the ice trays were half empty. Flat out refused to go out for a third time in pursuit of ice cream-related articles.
8. In spite of not having enough ice to go with my 25 lbs of rock salt, I got the machine going. Surprise, surprise.. the machine wasn't cold enough, so the ice cream didn't get hard. It's now in the freezer going through what the manual calls the "Home Freezer Method". I do not anticipate victory.
9. I now have an inkling as to why people buy ice cream more often than they try to make it from scratch. I also now suspect I'm not likely to attempt to make pots de creme since the process is somewhat similar.
10. I want ice cream....... meh.

Psychic Vacuum

Mom has a knack for making me chuckle--and shriek with laughter, depending on the circumstances--and managed to do so again today. We've been moving furniture and cleaning all afternoon, and while one thing was being moved, something else was bumped. This resulted in my shot glass full of sea salt falling over and some of the salt being sprinkled all over the floor.
Mom realized what had happened, looked stricken, and asked a bit hesitantly, "Is it all right? Will there be some sort of psychic disturbance?"
I told her I thought not and vacuumed up the spilled salt along with the bits of bark and ash from the wood stove--it gets EVERYWHERE even when the stove isn't in use and does it no matter how frequently you sweep and vacuum. Truth is, the salt isn't there as a barrier against things that go bump in the night (Rachael, I know you know what I mean!); it's just there to keep incense sticks from falling over and getting more ash everywhere. And since the top of the stove is now occupied by things other than my paraphernalia--except the little glass of salt-- it might be time to find a new home for it all. Mmph...
At least the vacuum won't suffer any psychic disturbances.

Rust to dust

Today was the day everyone was supposed to get together in Harper's Ferry to scatter Dr. Walker's ashes. Her wish, they said, was for it to be done where the Shenandoah and Potomac meet. This would be on Park Service land, which meant a special permit was needed. The scattering of ashes mustn't be conducted willy-nilly, or visitors to the park would find ashy remains on the keels of their canoes and kayaks, or on the soles of their shoes; the ranger who talked us through the guidelines was very careful to explain all this. He met us at the gate, and when all the party were assembled--Dr. Walker's caregiver, some of her colleagues and a few friends-- he led us down a road marked "Do Not Enter", then had us park at the train station before he led us down the hill to the riverbank.
I've never attended this kind of event before, and was uncertain of what to expect. Mom took some of the first roses from our garden, enough for each of us to put one in the river, and Dr. Walker's caregiver brought the ashes. It was disconcerting to see Dr. Walker in a cardboard box; I couldn't not think of the ashes as her, and it's still difficult to believe that she's not present in a fleshly state. Mom pointed out that she'll likely not be forgotten because all her students will remember the throaty voice imparting the intricacies of American Federal Government and her dislike of driving in snow, and that as long as there are people who remember her, she's not truly gone.
The Caregiver invited each of us to take a handful of ashes to throw in the river, and mom gave roses to those who wanted them, and the roses went into the river, too. Afterward, everyone stood by and offered some little anecdote about Dr. Walker: How they remembered her being an exotic, feline beauty in her youth, how valued she was as a colleague, how she liked to buy things in large quantities rather, how generous she was. Before we left the riverbank, a pair of Canada geese came paddling upstream against the current, which must have been a difficult task considering how fast the river is moving after all the rain we've had recently.
An omen, maybe?

Is there a noun in the house?

Mom's the only person I know who actually reads the dictionary. For fun. I'm not sure if an interest in words and etymology is inherited or if it's something you gain in the same way you get a taste for olives and goat's cheese, but I was thinking today. Without bothering to consult a dictionary, which is exactly what mom would suggest, here's what my maunderings amounted to.

1. to detain (v): detention (n)
2. to retain (v): retention (n)
3. to reprise (v): reprisal (n)
4. to deny (v): denial (n)
5. to despise (v): despisal? um.. doubtful, but it makes me laugh.
6. despicable (adv/adj): to despic? mmm.. probably not.

Mud Hog

1 tbsp Bentonite clay (always use cosmetic grade clay!)
1 tsp Manuka honey (yes, you can use regular honey)
2 drops tea tree oil
unsweetened peppermint tea to make a smooth paste
10 to 15 minutes to sit, knit, read, or do a crossword puzzle

Mix all of the ingredients in a ceramic or glass bowl and stir until it's as smooth as possible; smooth on face and wait until the mask dries. Rinse with warm water and pat dry.

It helps to dissolve the honey in the tea while it's still warm, which I found out after I got started. Common sense, neh? Also found out it's quite difficult to get all the lumps out of the clay, so maybe using a small whisk might help.

Temperature Fugit

The temp dropped about 35 degrees and I'm thrilled. Yesterday it was 90, today it's about 55, which is perfect as far as I'm concerned: jeans, tank top, and tatty red cotton cardie, here I come. Now, if only it would stay between 55 and 65 until autumn.

I started working on the Fountain Pen Shawl from the Spring IK. So far, so good. Wait.. dammit, I forgot all about lifelines. *sigh* Well, at least I haven't made any mistakes yet, but since I'm only on the second repeat of the second chart, I might well be counting my chickens before they hatch.

Your fairy is called Lichen Willowfilter

She is a caster of weird dreams.

She lives in stony places and tumbling wastes.

She is only seen on midsummer's eve.

She wears heather-coloured dresses. She has delicate green coloured wings like a cicada.

Get your free fairy name here!

Froggery

Last night was frustrating. I completely forgot that after Chart C comes Chart D, which must be completed before rearranging the stitches in preparation for working the heel flap. Well. Silly me. The second Lakeside sock is now a pile of rainbow-colored spaghetti because I couldn't figure out where the rearranged stitches had originally been, and since I couldn't figure out where the rearranged stitches came from, I decided to... well.. see above. *sigh* Second Sock Syndrome stinks... maybe someday I'll be able to work myself up to restarting and actually finishing the other sock, but right now I'm a little burnt out on Lakeside.
In the meantime, I'm working on a re: view of the Kauni and will try to post it later this week.

So mom got her new laptop today. Her old one died a gruesome death and the replacement, much to her horror, was shipped from Shanghai. It was supposed to arrive tomorrow but got here four days earlier than expected, and FedHex sent it out on Friday while we were doing a bit of grocery shopping. Since no one was home to sign for it, they left us a cute little door hanger saying they'd try again on Monday.
This is Monday. Right? Right. Mom and I were both home this morning. We have a large iron doorknocker with a very authoritative voice and a very large dog with a very authoritative voice, both of whom are excellent at letting us know when someone is at the door.
Well, I went out with the dog at around noon, and when we came back to the door I discovered I hadn't seen the new little door hanger left by FedHex about two hours before I went out with the dog. I found this rather puzzling because we were both home, we have a doorknocker, and the dog usually lets us know when someone is at the door; mom was a bit put out when I showed her the note.
What does she do--indeed, what does any sensible person do--but call FedHex and let them know that 1. We were home, 2. We have a doorknocker that works at least as well as any doorbell, 3. We have a dog who barks when people come to the door. 4. The driver had our phone number and could have called to let us know she was en route, which is what UPS does if they can't find the house.
The response from FedHex was "Your doorbell must have been broken." Um. No. We don't have one! Repeat previous statements about dog and doorknocker.
Well, says FedHex, it's not our fault the package wasn't delivered. The driver, it turned out, was put off by our oh-so-scary carpenter bees, and she got close enough to the door to leave us a little hanging tag, but not close enough to use the knocker. Hmm.. very puzzling indeed since the doorknocker is obviously attached to the front door, not suspended in midair six meters away from it. Mom spent about twenty minutes extracting a satisfactory explanation and/or assurances that the driver would make another attempt to deliver the package later in the afternoon, and when the driver finally did appear, the dog barked and mom sent me outside to accept the package. She's under the impression that I have a slightly more delicate touch, and my first words to the driver were, "I'm so sorry you had such difficulty catching up with us."
No sarcasm there. Really. Really not. *ahem* She got defensive about the bees, so I pointed out that bees generally don't attack people unless they're being disturbed; I do admit, however, that the bees are pretty intimidating and do like to divebomb passersby (occasionally) while they're flying back to their burrows or out to look for floral fast food.
Bottom line: Mom will likely be cranking out a scathing blog post about bad service and an obvious lack of strong work ethic where as certain company is concerned.

The Complaints Department

1. I hate vacuuming, even when it improves the efficiency with which my desk fan circulates air. The noise is worse than accumulated dust, far as I'm concerned.
2. The German word for "fountain pen" is Füllerfeder. O.o (Addendum: It's been brought to my attention that the word is indeed as above; so then, a fullerfederhalter must be some sort of fountain pen holder.)
3. Visconti's sepia ink makes me think of hot fudge; it gets worse when it's been used to write on that creamy Moleskine paper. *sigh*
4. I hate hot weather. It's gone from 45 to 91 in two days, and I like it not.
5. It's never a good idea to put gelignite in your underwear before you go jogging--no, I can't say I've ever done so, but it just doesn't seem like a good idea to me. At. All.
6. Why aren't candy thermometers more accurate?
7. The turtle walked today with all four legs.
8. I hate stinkbugs and wish they would all go away.
9. I seem to have developed Second Sock Syndrome, which makes the likelihood of my finishing the second Lakeside sock fall to practically nill. However, since I feel I can't start the Owl Socks until I finish the second Lakeside sock, it would seem the Owl Socks will never, ever, ever be knitted.
10. I'm out of library books.

Okay... so they're not really all complaints.