Trudging is my theme word this week. Yup. Trudging. My trusty Oxford Concise (I love that book so much) says that it means “to go by foot, especially labouriously” which is exactly right. This last week has been one of those weeks where you just put one foot in front of the other and get ‘er done and everything is harder than it has to be. Joe made coffee the other day and somehow forgot to put the lid on the pot. Now, this would normally be a non-event. Not putting the lid on? This should have rated very, very low on the event scale. It should have fallen somewhere in between wondering what dress Nicole Kidman wore to the Academy Awards and wondering if I should put the taupe coloured candle or the cinnamon coloured candle on the dining room table. (I opted to put three candles. I’m experimenting with accessories. I thought it might make me more likely to keep the table clear if there was pretty stuff on it. The candles were buried by our junk while I was wondering that. I’ve moved on.) In any event, the coffee maker lid turned out to be critical because the coffee won’t go into the pot unless the lid is on and so all of the grounds backed up into the filter and the reservoir and the guts of the thing and it took three people 40 minutes (during which a much greater mess was created) to figure out how to get us out of a coffee disaster. See? Trudging. On what planet does it take three people 40 minutes to get out of anything? Hell, when the planet isn’t against me like this I think I could dig out of an ice cave in less than 40 minutes. I confirmed that I’m just here to be the universes cat toy this week when after backing coffee up into the maker, cleaning the maker, running a clean cycle, running a plain water cycle and then finally successfully making a much needed cup of that most sweet brown elixir of life, I knocked the cup over with my elbow and was thus denied. See? Harder than it has to be. Maybe it’s all the snow.
Questions and Answers (and some other stuff I put in there too.)
1. My scale (which I totally adore)
is a Vector Fuzion xtr-500, (since it weighs up to 500 grams (about a pound) and yes, I believe that my brother did have to provide ID and an address when he bought it. This is because it is not just good for weighing fiber and yarn, but because it’s also good for accurate measurements of small but illicit things. (This would be why Claudia affectionately refers to hers as “a drug dealer scale”.) As far as I know, we’re the only two groups of people using them. (Wait, maybe jewellers too? )
2. I am taking a tiny break from the Bohus.
This is garter stitch in plain wool on big needles. It is all I am capable of at the moment. Don’t expect it to last, as my life and its attendant stress is sorting out pretty quickly and the need for the knitting equivalent of oatmeal should pass straightaway.
3. A note. Generally speaking, I don’t answer or deal with nasty email or comments. My mother taught me not to give attention to people for poor behaviour, so usually I just ignore it. This time though, I’m annoyed as crap and stepping up. There is someone who is sending me nasty private email correcting my spelling on the blog. I would direct this to them personally, but they are using a fake email address.
Now, I can walk away from criticism on the blog. Doesn’t bother me much. Although this is my virtual living room and I expect people to behave in the comments or my inbox the way they would in my home, I have to accept that the occasional person has poor manners and …well, not that that’s ok, but it doesn’t keep me awake nights. I even don’t mind the personal email criticizing me for everything from my choice of yarn to my politics. I even don’t mind (that’s not true. I mind a lot but I’m trying to be big about it) the very occasional email or comment that calls my ethics into question, in one way or the other. We’re all meant to be called on the carpet from time to time, it’s good for us to be accountable. (I wish that people were always respectful, but, as I have said many times, things will be different after the revolution.)
I am responding to this string of emails, the ones in which the correspondent whips out the red pen (they use a red font, actually. It’s very engaging) and corrects my spelling…because it is so wildly inaccurate that I can’t even stand it and I can’t email them back but I have to say something. I admit that my grammar can be appalling, that I perhaps use the ellipses more than most (that I do enjoy the use of parentheses a very great deal) and that I have a complete and total learning disability about it’s and its that I have somehow (goodness only knows how) managed to learn to accept and find a way to live a rich full life despite….but I am not a poor speller and I am not taking the heat on it. There is, my tenacious little emender a whole wide world outside of the one you live in, and the country I occupy has different spellings than in the country you occupy. Now, as much as I would like very much to be able to, what was it? Oh yes… “Take my head out of my ass and get a clue”, I just can’t, since…my decorous and rectifying reader, you are just plain wrong.
Usually I wouldn’t spend this much time on someone who hasn’t done their homework, but the emails were so darned mean and I’m still worked up about the coffee thing and hopped up on all that garter stitch and I will present you now with a list of words that I am actually spelling correctly. Feel free to review it at your leisure:
colour (vs your “color”)
fibre (vs fiber)
cancelled (vs canceled)
woollen (vs woolen)
labour (vs labor)
cheque (vs check)
centre (vs center)
draught (vs draft)
doughnut (vs donut)
behaviour (vs behavior)
off side (vs incorrect)
Thank you for your attention (you know who are.) To the rest of you, kindly forgive the hijacking of my own blog for these petty purposes. I couldn’t resist.