29 October 2011

at first, it was just an ugly rumor...


 ...but now, it's an inarguable fact.  Local meteorologists have threatened that at least four inches of snow will fall by tomorrow morning.  It's not all that much, but still, it is only October and this doesn't seem quite right.  What to do?




 One could sit around playing one's recently rediscovered Game of Authors found lurking in a box amidst a small collection of letters and an abacus.  Game of Authors was first produced in 1861 by GM Whipple and AA Smith of Salem, Massachusetts.  Parker Brothers produced a later version in 1897.  I've seen many different and more imaginative covers for this game including another Milton Bradley version picturing Shakespeare, (or, if you prefer, Edward de Vere).










Alternatively, one could catch up on some knitting. 



One sock is lovely, but having two is the goal, apparently...




...and they don't knit themselves.




Perhaps one might try to finish that book?

25 October 2011

swooning, and how to do it...

In an issue of the English periodical The Ladies' Magazine, dated 1764, one happily notes this intriguing advertisement:

FITS just imported from Italy; being a speedy
and efficacious method of procuring the most 
captivating and natural fainting, and will be
found particularly useful in this riotous season, 
when all ladies would be ambitious to appear
in public with a proper delicacy of nerves, which
some, from a too good constitution, have the 
misfortune to want. These Fits are sold sealed up,
in small boxes, five in each, in color and appearance
like a barley-drop, so innocent that a child of two
years old may take them with safety; each drop is 
a sure Fit of ten minutes,at the expiration of which
you are as well, if not better than before taking them;
the operation is immediate. 
To be sold at all perfumers, with printed directions. 
Price 4/- the box or 1/- a single Fit.

Or, perhaps you could just purchase one of these, a Jamieson's of Shetland Color Card, revealing, in its entirety,  the whole rich and exhilarating spectrum of Jamieson's Spindrift ...

 A 2 ply jumper weight yarn, equivalent
to 4 ply.  This yarn is traditionally
used for Fair Isle knitting.
Available in over 220 colours including
21 natural shades.  The range allows
immense design potential.
                                                 


As well as a case of the vapors,  if you are like me and blessed with an innate tendency to become helplessly spellbound by irresistible color.   Having one of these to gaze at longingly is possibly as exciting as sorting through the many dozens of colors in that colossal box of Crayolas I owned as a child and which was exclusively responsible for introducing into my vocabulary words like, "sepia", "cornflower", "magenta" and "mulberry". 










Do bear in mind that the colors reproduced here bear only the slightest resemblance to  the colors on the chart.  In order to properly appreciate their beauty you need to have the chart or the yarn in hand.  I learned how unreliable internet color reproduction is after receiving my quartet of Spindrift in preparation for my first stranded colorwork project in quite a few years, Kate Davies' superb turnip-inspired Neep Heid tam.  Neep Heid is a thoughtfully designed pattern knit in a beautiful soft grey, heathered green, and exuberant purple colorway.  These are not quite the colors that set my heart aflutter, however,  and since deciding to recreate this tam I have been obsessively trying to work out which of the lovely Jamieson skeins I can be happiest with.  Yes, I did spend many hours staring at the color charts reproduced on three websites and eventually chose colors that surprised me when they arrived.  I decided to order the chart to eliminate any future mistakes, (this is badly put - all the colors are splendid, just not what I envisioned), and now I am completely absorbed by it, not overcome by single or multiple fits but solemnly mesmerized.



My Neep Heid is going to be a Radish Heid or Meacan-Ruadh (red root) Heid.  The colors are as follows: Mooskit, Plum, Granny Smith, Tundra.  They are only adequately reproduced here.

That Plum really is the Magenta from the Crayola box and rather more spicy than I had imagined.  It is, when one compares it with a proper radish, similar but perhaps too exciting.  Granny Smith is a shade of green one would like to call verdant, but that would be silly.  I had originally ordered Chartreuse, but the Granny Smith is more...verdant.  Tundra is a bit too rusty and will probably be replaced with Mocha.  Or Birch.  Or Grouse.

03 October 2011

in praise of something real...



In those instances when I have pushed my mind out of the way and acted on an impulse, lonely, delightful or otherwise, I have been happiest.  Many enthusiasms have taken me over and when I gave way to them I learned something invaluable.  Lately, important psychic real estate has been occupied by a single insistent idea: hand-spinning the lofty fleece of sheep.  Naturally, when I learned that a spinning workshop was taking place this past weekend at the Vermont Sheep and Wool Festival I had but one thought: Carpe Diem.

I drove to Tunbridge, Vermont to take a class with Patty Blomgren, a spinner from East Dummerston.  The class was designed for beginners - no experience necessary, nor do you need to own sheep! - which was good, as I have neither.  It was my first encounter with a spinning wheel, apart from Walter Crane's illustrations for the tale of the forlorn miller's daughter and that capitalist imp, Rumpelstiltskin.  Patty urged us to "start treadling and don't stop", which meant removing our shoes and continually pumping the treadle - the thing that makes the wheel spin - and it's not as easy as you might imagine. 

Trial and error time. Eventually, I got it, I could make the thing spin.  I challenged myself to keep the movement consistent, to create smooth, unhesitating revolutions of the wheel.  Eight workshop participants made eight wheels twirl in fluid rotation while Patty laid out an immense Shetland fleece and explained how, when shopping for shorn wool, one ought to be on the qui vive for stray tags of sheep poo and undesirable accumulations of  "vegetable matter".   The class was only three hours long, so the business of cleaning the fleece was covered fairly quickly, but I will say that having read a bit about this painstaking process which rids the fleece of dirt, dye, manure, sheep dip, grease, vegetation and sheep sweat,  I know it requires an elegant and  respectful solemnity and for me, there is something irresistibly counter-culture about that.  Unfashionable as I may be,  I despair of the carelessness that is the byproduct of our moment's manic hyper-acceleration.  The meticulous nature of this process necessarily resists that warp speed imperative.

By the end of the day you will be putting yarn onto the bobbin, admiring your first skein of yarn and leaving with the confidence to continue spinning on your own!  Whatever you say, Patty.  The end of the day was beginning to loom so we were provided with prepared fleece and given general instruction on how to turn it into yarn.  Like every other thing worth doing, it is only learned by doing it badly then doing it slightly less badly until you finally do it a little less badly than that.  Someone new entered the room, a tall man.  He sat down next to me.  If you yearn to experience the kind of compressed focus that reduces every exterior detail to muddy imprecision, or a form of concentrated energy so powerful that you should really be able to  forge diamonds with it,  hand-spinning is the thing.  I think he said something about the yarn I was spinning, how it looked like ... yarn.  This much I remember: I was in a trance and I said, "I'm in a trance, I don't know what I'm doing, I'm just doing it".  I don't know what I'm doing, I'm just doing it.  Right now, having produced, in a trance, nearly 61 yards of perfectly knittable, albeit occasionally slubby yarn from the lofty wool of a Romney sheep, I can think of no better counsel than that.  There is an unmatched pleasure in not knowing what you are doing, but pressing on anyway. 






24 August 2011

ghosts of gone birds...



You may know that delightful Thomas Hood poem that ends,

No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,
No comfortable feel in any member--
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,
No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds,
November!


Fair enough, but I like November, and if it were November and I found myself fortunate enough to be in London, I would immediately make a point of visiting the Ghosts of Gone Birds exhibit sponsored by Birdlife International, a coalition of conservation organizations whose aim is to promote the conservation of birds and their habitats.  The multimedia art exhibit focuses on the artistic resurrection of extinct bird species through the collaborative efforts of more than 80 artists.  The project's aim is to raise awareness for BirdLife International's Preventing Extinctions Programme.   Birdlife's current statistics show an alarming increase in bird extinction: over the last 30 years, 21 species have disappeared and 190 have been classified as critically endangered.

The London exhibit will be on view the 2nd through the 23rd of November.  For those who can't get to London - take heart; the event's organizers have hopes for an international tour.

You can read the Guardian article about the exhibit here.

As for that joyfully affirming poem...


November

by Thomas Hood
(1799 - 1845)

No sun--no moon!
No morn--no noon!
No dawn--no dusk--no proper time of day--
No sky--no earthly view--
No distance looking blue--

No road--no street--
No "t'other side the way"--
No end to any Row--
No indications where the Crescents go--

No top to any steeple--
No recognitions of familiar people--
No courtesies for showing 'em--
No knowing 'em!

No mail--no post--
No news from any foreign coast--
No park--no ring--no afternoon gentility--
No company--no nobility--

No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,
No comfortable feel in any member--
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,
No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds,
November!

04 August 2011

August reading list...


Certainly an eclectic mix.  Tom Wolfe's The Painted Word has been recommended to me; I may read that next.







Last weekend, I went to this fantastic exhibit on view until mid-October at the New Britain Museum of American Art.  I have now become intrigued by the woodblock prints of Blanche Lazzell.  She's not an artist I'm familiar with.  At first glance, I didn't care for these prints and dismissed them as quaint.  Looking at them more thoughtfully, I'm drawn to her candy colored houses and their rakish rooflines. 


Torpedo and Studio, 1920



 
Roofs, 1919

21 July 2011

now we are Eight...


Today, Foo Foo turns eight. She has lived with me for four years. She is a smart and beautiful purebred Maine Coon with a documented provenance, so to speak, and last year I received her papers from her former human mum. I was thrilled to learn her birthdate and her original name, Peconic Quwtie Pie, and decided to send out birthday announcements to a few cat-loving friends and acquaintances. As is typical of Maine Coons, she is determined to have her own way. Last year, the birthday girl chose to spend the better part of her special day asleep on a porch with her head in a shoe. This year's celebrations may be similarly low-key.

For those not familiar with this breed, the Maine Coon is frequently referred to as a "gentle giant".   At around 16 pounds, Foof is a mighty big girl, but to consider her gentle, one must pass helplessly into a dimly lit realm of myth. I learned very quickly that, darling as she is, she can also be bossy, saucy, possessive, and unpredictable. Any thing that you might have, a book, for example, an article of clothing, your keys, becomes hers on a whim and once hers, it is not surrendered graciously. Because her behavior is adamantly contrary to the sweet geniality associated with Maine Coons, I became curious.  That led me to genetics.

Here's a color version of the Beastie:


As you can see, she's patched, or blotched, with ginger and grey. Her papers identify her as a "Patched Tabby with White", which is another way of saying she's a Tortoiseshell or Torbie.  Although her paws and ruff are white, technically, she doesn't have enough white to be called a Calico which should be at least half white. As many vet techs and veterinarians, shelter workers and loving owners can attest, Foof and those cats whose coats are similar to hers are infamously known as Naughty Torties.

Sometimes it's called "Tortitude".   I was actually speechless when her veterinarian, a delightful woman of  thoughtful tact and diplomacy, said Foof had "the Demon Gene", a characterization that seemed rather too colorful.   I will certainly admit that her behavior can be ... difficult, at times, but I adore her no less for it.  To me, she is perfect.  In fact, as my perception of her is mired in some thick aspic of love and affection,  I think it only enhances her many charms.  I'm not alone.  A visit to the tortie page of a cat behavior website confirms this with comments like,

"She's a holy terror at the vet's"

or,

"She has strong "preferences" about how things should be done, such as the perfect drip speed for the bathtub faucet. But she is never mean--she's just an independent thinker."

or this,

"I have to admit she does have a bit of tortitude, but it doesn't help that I spoil her. She can be very bi-polar at times. One minute she's purring as you pet her; the next minute she's biting your hand for no apparent reason."


Notice the common theme here: "she".  Torties and calicos are normally females.  Here's where a rudimentary genetics lesson is useful.   Females have two X chromosomes, males have one X and one Y chromosome.   Coat color is a sex-linked trait associated with the X chromosome so females inherit two color genes, one from each parent.  Males inherit only one.  The feline color genes that occupy the X chromosome are identified as either orange, "O" or not-orange, "o".   If the female cat inherits only one "O" gene, the non-orange "o"  patches will be expressed as some shade of black and her coat has tortoiseshell coloration. The predominant whiteness of calicos is  known as "piebalding".  It is caused by a white spotting gene which results in large patches of unpigmented fur.  Messybeast  is a UK based site with lots of good information about feline genetics and many other cat-related topics.   For a clear and entertaining explanation about coat color and the story of the genetically anomalous calico male named George, seek out the picturesquely titled, Cats Are Not Peas by Laura  Gould.

But what about the tortie reputation for difficult behavior?  Is there a connection between coat color and temperament or is this just a byproduct of accrued human prejudice?  My research so far has been  intriguing.   Numerous studies have demonstrated a link between coat color and temperament in cats, dogs, foxes, mink, rats, deermice, and fallow deer.  The association does not imply that coat color is responsible for behavior but rather that hormones and neurotransmitters involved in the way an animal experiences stress are closely connected to pigment production.  Investigate this site for a more thorough explanation.

Since we know the year but not the exact date of Bob's birthday, I'm choosing to honor him today as well.  He is in the initial stages of Chronic Renal Failure, the kidney disease all too common in cats.  He is being treated with a product called Rubenal, more familiarly known as medicinal rhubarb root. He is feeling much better.



A postscript: Foof's eight happy cat years equal 48 human years.  Bob's age is twice that: 96.

Update:  September 2012 findings from a new study on feline genetics reveal that cheetahs and domestic tabbies share a mutation responsible for blotched coat patterns.