1--L---P+----1----@10--2----+----3----- R 1997 Beeson Banner 1 January 1997 Nobody came to my New Year's Day party, which was a relief, as I didn't want to go riding. It was odd, though, as both the ride line and the newsletter announced it, and the day was sunny and clear, though cold. Instead of making cocoa, I put the syrup into a pint jar to eat on ice cream. Washed the cocoa pan out with milk, and after I saw Dave licking his chops, I found the pan empty. 2 January 1997 Something went wrong with my plan to have a cold baked potato as a pre-breakfast snack. When I took the potato out of the little oven, it was hot! I'd turned the toaster to "keep warm" a few minutes before serving, so it was no more than shriveled up, and brown all the way through. But if I'd left it hot enough to smoke, I'd have smelled it before bedtime. Reminds me that we need a new smoke alarm. I'm going shopping today; must put it on the list. Hardware stores? Dave thought a supper of leftovers was great -- before putting the left-over boneless pork chop into the fridge, I crushed it into the gravy. I re-heated the gravy and served it with baked Prince Edward Island potatoes, leftover chicken-and-turkey dressing, and frozen corn. I thought block corn would be as good as IQF corn after I'd whapped it on the counter and put it into a bag, but it has a strong flavor of cardboard box. This time I'll buy more veggies before I'm clear out, so I won't have to take second-best. Now that was brilliant. Dave is off today, but he has an appointment with a doctor. I figured that after a leisurely breakfast, I'd go buy flannel and order Christmas Angels at the Book House. (I'd heard on the Internet that it has the best of the readily-available explanations of cluny tatting.) So I got directly into my shopping clothes when I got up, put on an apron, made pancakes, read both newspapers, waved bye-bye to Dave, organized my shopping list, replaced last year's datebook with a 1997 datebook, in the process organizing the coupons and cards stashed therein, topped off my supply of checks, made out a withdrawal slip for cash and tucked it into the datebook folder, filled a bottle with starch solution to sustain me through the expedition, put my gloves into my coat pocket, made sure my keys were dangling from the clip on my purse, glanced outside to see whether I needed to clean snow off the windshield -- and remembered that we left Dave's car at New Salem Garage last night. He is driving mine. I can remember when I'd dash upstairs and change into my cycling suit when something like this happened. I think I'll change into my dish-washing suit -- after checking my e-mail and seeing whether there's anything new in alt.sewing. 4 January 1997 Grump, grump, grump. Decided to return my book to the library, changed clothes, gathered up my stuff, got into the Jeep -- and remembered that Dave had left it in four-wheel drive. Yesterday, I drove all the way to Stuyvesant Plaza and back with it in that condition, and I'm not interested in doing that any more, not unless something catches fire. (Speaking of which, 2350 just went by. Haven't heard any traffic on the scanner, though.) Dave says that all I have to do is move the lever, but he forgot to tell me where the release is, and I can't find any mention of how to shift in the manual, only when -- it looks as though all you have to do is move it, like a gear-shift lever, but if so, somebody sneaked in during the night and welded it; on the last attempt, I put both hands on it and left the door open so I could put my back into it, and it does not move. 5 January 1997 Dave couldn't get the lever to move either, but he took it for a drive and came back with it shifted. I told him, "You realize, of course, that this means I won't ever shift into four-wheel drive unless I'm actually stuck." He pointed out that it was better to be unable to get out of four-wheel than to be unable to get in. One does have to be moving in order to move the lever. Heaving it takes more force than I'd ever dare to exert while I'm supposed to be not running into things. Dianne Sala's sister has died, and the auxiliary is turning out at 6:00; the boys meet at the same time and place in full-dress uniforms. The only non-sparkling dress I have is unrelieved black, which, I feel, would be as bad as going to a wedding in white. And my wool stockings are also black -- guess it's nylon hose tonight. Thought I'd tuck my yellow-print silk scarf into the neck, but the only scarf I could find is black and white. Luckily, it's cold enough to keep my shawl on, but not so cold that I have to wear my red jacket. I'm wearing Mom's brown tweed poncho this time, not the hand-knit alpaca Dave's folks brought me from South America. I'll take my red coat in case the other girls are wearing theirs, but, though a uniform of sorts, it's not exactly full dress. 6 January 1997 Such a lot of fuss getting dressed to walk into a church and right back out again. I was glad I'd buttoned my shawl all the way down when I saw that Diane's dress was exactly like mine, except that hers has a side-seam pocket. Kay saved me from great embarrassment by whispering that my slip was hanging out about four inches; can't imagine why I didn't look in the full-length mirror when dressing. I had arrived early enough to have time to duck into the ladies' room and put my slip into my purse. (That little bag is bigger than it looks; I already had an enormous ball of yarn in there, but the slip didn't bulge noticeably.) Eschewed the scarf in favor of my Ring of Tatters pin, which looks glorious at the neck of my black dress. Also looks like mourning jewelry, but nobody saw it. Perhaps I mentioned joining a British-based international lace guild. Got the pin air mail recently, with a note telling me to expect the newsletter etc. in about three months. (I gave it a rather low priority, and ordered everything by surface mail. May regret that if the book picks up; might be some stuff in the literature that I could use in the bibliography.) The pin is a simple black pointed oval, with a silver rim, and a centered silver-wire design that suggests a ring-shaped tatted medallion. Looked like an eye on the shoulder of my vest, but lost that appearance when centered. Took me a couple of days to realize that the shape of the pin represents a tatting shuttle. I do believe it is the best membership pin I've ever seen; the symbolism is succinct and complete. It's a bit larger than the usual lapel pin -- about the same area as the square Arachne pin -- but not so large that you'd hesitate to wear it on a suit. The only flaw is that it's so pretty that no-one will ever ask why I am wearing it. Decided to drop my book off at the library on the way to the grocery today. Remembered that I'd left it on the glove chest, turned around at the high school, scared the fur off poor little Rascal by coming up the driveway while he was sneaking around in front of the house -- he's been an unusually well-fed stray ever since Margie died, and thinks every word addressed to him is "Shoo!" -- came in, went to the sink and drank a glass of water, having failed to tank up enough after my nap. When I got to the place where the road branches left to the library and right to the market, I realized that the book I want to return was still on the glove chest. 7 January 1997 Still haven't returned "Lace: Its History and Identification". I'd better check the due date. This isn't the best "Boy, have you got a wrong number!" junk mail I've received, but it's worth reporting: "For the woman who thinks there's something missing from women's magazines -- SPORTS!" Since I don't read either women's magazines or sports magazines, Conde Nast's flyer went un-unfolded to the "recycling" box. Which I forgot to carry out today. I refrained on purpose last Tuesday, because of the weather, so it's piling up. Headline news: the mail came before we'd shut up for the night. Now that the Christmas mail and the January bills are delivered, and the sun is setting later, perhaps he will make a habit of coming before dark. (This is mail that got to the post office yesterday, and was packed into the route-man's car early this morning.) 8 January 1997 The card I sent with the addendum to the manuscript came back today -- guess Mr. Pulleyn is digging out from under the Christmas backlog. And Evelyn finally got the word processor we sent her -- so far, it seems to fit her. (Doesn't fit the typewriter stand, though.) She says Joe was surprised; I should have called after he didn't answer my e-mail messages. Undelivered messages are supposed to come back, but I think that Internet counts them as delivered if they make it to Compuserve. The mail came before sunset again. I expect the mailman is even happier about that than I am. 10 January 1997 Hope I get something done today -- I spent all day yesterday changing the sheets on the bed. When I couldn't get behind the bed to pull the old sheet loose, I decided it was time to pick up all the books and magazines on the floor. And remove a few quarts of dust from where they had been. Once I got the bed neat, I used it to sort out the stuff in my closet. Before trying to strip the bed, I'd checked to see whether I could wear my black dress with my other slip, and couldn't squeeze the dress back into the closet. Folded all my poncho shirts and put them in the drawer where my turtlenecks were, and removed a bunch of short-sleeved shirts that have, as yet, no resting place. Found two outgrown tops to discard; I'll stash those in my suitcase in hope of encountering a smaller relative who can use them. I should, perhaps, add my print dresses to the up-for-grabs, since I find myself considering, every time there is an occasion, that the two black dresses are all I own. (Is someone both smaller and into old- lady styles?) Discovered that I have six pairs of broadfall pants, and two more that I'm keeping as patch donors. Three of the six are denim -- one is spectacularly patched, one is inconspicuously patched (a brush-burning accident), and one pair has never been washed. I'm wearing the grey mock wool every time I leave the house, though they aren't as warm as I'd like. The thin black polywool, Frieda snagged. And the black corduroy have all the fuzz worn off a couple of spots. I hung them away months or years ago, pondering how to patch them -- I have plenty of scraps, but the stuff is so thin and soft that they aren't suited to what you'd wear visibly-patched pants for, and they wore out before they'd been washed twice. Having absent-mindedly made a knee-length poncho shirt to wear over a black cotton mock- turtleneck, I noted that the backing is sound, and pulled them out to wear, unpatched, with that shirt. Since there is no place but the poets' meeting to wear such an outr outfit, it should be a while before the thin fabric wears through. So I do need the black wool pants that I can't remember where I put the fabric to make. I was tempted to get more when I saw that Alfred's was having another clearance on wools, but settled for a piece of light yellow 100% to use for a blanket. Learned not to trust the part-nylon when I knocked my iron onto the bed. The white half-blanket I had bought at Alfred's scorched before I could react, melted onto the iron, and now has stiff brown spots that didn't lighten in the washer. I think the high wool content keeps it from being an actual fire hazard, but I don't want any more stuff around that looks like wool and melts when hot. Wore my outr outfit for the first time yesterday, and was surprised that the wide sleeves were no problem with my red coat. (The overshirt is thinner than the summer shirts, and it's permanent-press.) The corduroy is so thin and flopping that I felt as though I were wearing a skirt. Only five people showed up, which didn't include the moderator, they showed no inclination to get on with it fifteen minutes after start time, and I was afraid snow would bury my car in the parking lot, so I went home. I suspect that Elizabeth and Mike left soon after; Mike seemed to be wandering toward the back door while his wife preceded me to the two poets gossiping at the copier near the front door. It's snowing vigorously now. Perhaps I should have stopped by Supervalu for some milk -- but we just started that last gallon at breakfast, and I keep instant milk in the freezer for just such an emergency. Be hard to sell Dave on instant milk when he's been drinking up the whole milk and half- and-half that I bought for the party that didn't happen. For some time, I've noticed that there is no correlation between whether I take my nap and how I sleep that night, and thought that it meant that naps are a waste of time. Today I realized that there is a correlation between whether I had a nap yesterday, and whether I sleep for an hour or two, or stay flaked out until suppertime. 14 January 1997 The Nynex guy is up our pole again. Maybe it isn't Global's fault we've been having trouble connecting. 15 January 1997 Grump, grump, grump. I remembered my 9:30 appointment at fifteen after eleven. Now I suppose I gotta call and make another. I DON'T WANNA GO! And when I got up the guts to call, I found that I'd mislaid his card and forgotten his first name. 21 January 1997 The doctor's assistant sent me a letter & I got an appointment for next monday. Now I've got to make another appointment to get a referral slip from my "provider". &%#@! insurance. The first review of Clinton's speech said that it contained no memorable language or noble statements, but did contain lots of good intentions. He also said that Clinton kept changing it until the very last minute, then changed it some more while reading it. All in all, emblematic of the term. I managed to miss the speech itself and most of the commentary. That evening's news show concerned itself exclusively with a high-school band that had been disinvited at the last minute and, having already hired the bus and made the clothes, came anyway. 24 January 1997 I've an appointment for next monday. Hope I remember! I've already kept an appointment with Dr. Casey to get a form permitting me to see Dr. Stern. How efficient health plans are, to make two appointments out of each examination! The form is stashed in my purse. Perhaps I should add my shades. But they are paper, and easy to rumple. I devoted all of yesterday to changing the sheets on the bed -- and I've still to arrange the blankets and sweep up the dust. The old top sheet was a bit undersized, and I decided that since it already had a darn, instead of fiddling and fussing to get it on the mattress as a bottom sheet, I'd give it to Evelyn's church for bandages. So I threw it down the steps to be washed, and put the sheet I'd laid out for a top sheet on the mattress. Then I went to the linen closet and realized that, having discarded the darned sheet, I have only four sheets. One on the bed, one on the laundry table, and two in the washing machine. No sweat; I'll iron one of the wet sheets. Well first I've got to clear off the ironing board, which involved (among other chores) making three pillowcases and sewing two pockets on the nightshirt-in-progress. Still have to hem the pillowcases. Other chores intervened, and when I got to the ironing, the sheet I'd hung on the line was in better shape to iron than the one in the basket, so I ended up ironing both of them. And when you iron a soggy, heavy-muslin, king- sized sheet, you'd a heap rather iron something else on top of it first. Luckily, I had two cotton shirts, and several yards of muslin that I'd washed to make pillowcases of, but I decided that it's too thin, so I ironed it & hung it back up to await the day I make myself a shift, which may be a while because both my dresses have low necks and I want to put the same neck I use for my poncho shirts on the shift, instead of the authentic neckline. But I did photocopy the shift instructions out of Threads the last time I went to the library. Which reminds me, I've got a book at the Book House, and must get around to picking it up before I forget what to ask for. It's a tatting-pattern book that Arachne (the list) says contains cluny-tatting instructions. Since it's Dover, I chose to buy it instead of trying to find it through the library systems. Ordered from the Book house to save shipping, but now I have to go pick it up. But Alfred's Fabrics is on the same parking lot as the Book House. Anyhow, come bedtime, there were six sheets on the bed, and only one of the sheets was hemmed. I hastily heaved the proto-sheets onto the ironing board, which I'd moved into the bedroom before ironing the big stuff, and threw the ironed sheet and some blankets over the bed. And to make room to re-make the bed properly, and clear the floor for dusting, I have to take down the ironing board. I suspect that the quickest way to clear it off will be to hem the five sheets. 28 January 1997 I still haven't taken down the ironing board. Got the last new sheet hemmed before leaving for Stern's office yesterday morning, and two of them are soaking in the washer. I've gotten pretty good at pinning a half- inch hem into unwashed muslin. Would have to rethink my technique for stuff that doesn't crease like paper. The hems, by the way, were side hems, to replace selvages, because I have to use the fabric sideways to get it wide enough. I've been using the fuzzy selvages as top and bottom hems on the two finished sheets, but I'm thinking of making a patchwork false hem someday when I feel creative and there isn't much else going on. I bought another length of muslin-thin yellow wool while picking up the book I'd ordered. It matches the previous one, and is too pretty and too thin to be a blanket, so I may make a suit or dress of it someday. I wanted to replace the mislaid black wool, but none of the black pieces had labels, and I have a little burnt place on the hem of my second- best cotton denims to remind me that heat resistance isn't unnecessary. (I probably did it while burning prunings last fall.) There's been a thread on the sewing newsgroup claiming that nurses in burn wards prefer patients in cotton flannel to those wearing the fire-resistant polyester sleepwear mandated by federal law. The polyester doesn't ignite, but it does melt and stick to the kid. The last time I time-queued a message in Eudora, I noticed that the default time was neither the current time nor midnight, but used it anyway. Eudora said, "I know you need that message sent yesterday, but I can't do it until my time machine gets back from the shop." I was surprised to see that Stern looked like a perfect stranger. But then, I was blind in one eye, couldn't see out of the other, and had a lot on my mind when we last met. He says that my right eye is probably good for another fifty years, but there's a 20% chance the other eye will pull the same stunt & if it does, I'm to call right away. He remanded me to Keeler's custody; with any luck, we won't meet again. 31 January 1997 My default snack is a bit of leftover meat cooked up with rice or grits. (Haven't seen grits in ages, but a fairly coarse cornmeal serves.) The last time I was in Paradise, which is where I buy my rice and nuts, I saw a package of red lentils & thought that they'd cook in about the same time as brown rice, and would be a change of pace. This afternoon, noting that it was only an hour before tea-time, I put a third of a cup of lentils in two cups of boiling water, adding nothing else so I could see what they were like on their own. Fifteen minutes later, the pot contained yellow broth with some lentil skins floating in it. I tasted the skins, then added half a cube of chicken boullion and a chopped celery stalk. Put in a small onion after that was cooked, and turned off the fire. Haven't been using many onions since Dave discovered that they cause reflux. Except for chocolate, most of the stuff that hurts him was stuff that he never liked very much, and he's back to having cocoa with breakfast every morning. I think that food dislikes, in the absence of obvious cause, are your body trying to tell you something. I've been reading about rice bags on every mailing list I'm on, and some of the usenet groups. You make a cloth bag, put in whatever whole grain is handy -- usually polished rice - - warm it in the microwave, and use it for a heating pad. I was thinking about buying supermarket rice to make one when I took a second look at three pints of popcorn I was about to throw out. So I put a few grains in the microwave to verify that it's too stale to pop, then zapped a whole cup and verified that it stays warm for an hour (probably less long spread out in a bag than hunkered together in a cup). Then I raided my scrap box for some salvaged blue-jean fabric and made two bags. Puzzled over how to keep bugs out -- I don't really think that putting the corn back into the half- gallon jar is an option -- and ended up stashing them in the freezer. Will they double as cold packs? One of the girls on the knitlist made a rice bag, heated it, and draped a sick pet rat over it, wondering whether he'd sleep on it or eat it. He ate it. Guess he's feeling better. I can't imagine making a pet out of something that lives two years at the most, and is six months old when you buy it. I don't even raise annual houseplants. Yesterday, I ironed one of the new sheets that I'd just finished soaking and washing, and put it on the bed. Hope Dave doesn't think that I'm going to make a habit of sheet- ironing! I believe in ironing new stuff the first time it's washed, but not strongly enough to iron both sheets. In the sixties, I saw a machine in a laundromat that would have made quick work of ironing a king-size, heavy- muslin sheet. Alas, it wasn't safe for small children, idiots, or liberals. Red-lentil soup isn't bad, once it's seasoned up a bit. 1 February 1997 Put some pinto beans on to soak, meaning to cook them up with pork necks tomorrow. Not smoked pork necks, alas. I added a teaspoon of "sweet" rice and a tablespoon of soft wheat. I plan to put in a tablespoon of red lentils and a tablespoon of corn meal with the pork necks and celery. Light on the onion. I'll be planting fewer sets next spring than last; when Dave doesn't eat them, I rarely do either. Finished reading "Vintage Housekeeping" today. A bit of a disappointment. It was written by someone who felt the need to read it, not by someone who felt the need to write it. Also finished cutting out the smock pattern I want to test, but didn't get much else done. After raising the back of the neck and adding two tiny darts, I found that the darts ended exactly on the original seam line. Favors my hypothesis that it was cut low to clear the dowager's hump. I narrowed the front yoke by half an inch, and also plan to overlap the fronts half an inch instead of butting them. No other changes, save that I hope to use the collarband that I cut out for the previous shirt, and found too short. (It fits my neck, so I'm altering the neckline instead of the collar.) My plan is to get the yokes and collar fitting perfectly, then work on how to convert pleats into darts. Should be able to make any sort of shirt or dress once I get the pattern fitted. I still plan to buy my new jersey. Reminds me; it's way past time to write to Marthe Hesse (Flye) and ask whether she got my order. Haven't taken my bike out from under the coat hooks once this year. The more you need exercise, the less you want it -- and I can no longer ride far enough to spend more time on the bike than I spend suiting up. Cain't say the weather has been co- operative, either, though it snowed last night, and we lost a lot of ice off the driveway today. The pizza of the week is "Margarita". We had pepperoni and mushroom. And a salad with raspberry vinegarette. Dave thinks I dislike vinegarette; what I am is afraid he'll make himself sick of it and not want any more; he won't have any other sort of salad dressing unless I insist. My everyday shoes are starting to break away from the soles. Time to get a new "new" pair. I still can't remember where I hid the fuzzy black wool. Or, for that matter, either of my hem gauges. But at least it's plausible for a six-inch ruler to hide. One might well be in the cluttered sewing stand where it belongs. Well, it belongs in the little tray; if in the stand, it's fallen down among the darning wool etc. I discovered that the irritating cards in magazines are much thinner than they used to be. I had to fold one into thirds before it was stiff enough to measure the hems on my sheets. 2 February 1997 Pinto beans and pork necks make very good soup. I put in very little seasoning, just celery, chicken boullion, and a dash of vinegar. I didn't remember to throw in two baby carrots until after I'd had mine. 3 February 1997 But wheat wasn't a good idea; even soft wheat retains too much character to blend into the soup. I had minced raw onion in mine, but didn't put any onion or garlic in the pot. I do believe that a deer stopped and looked before crossing the road. On the way back from Indian Ladder with two gallons of milk, I saw a buck trotting across a corn field toward the road. I slammed on the brakes just as he passed behind a clump of sumac. He didn't come out the other side, so I released the brake and allowed the car to roll forward, planning to creep past his hiding place. After a pause long enough to evaluate my new speed, the deer emerged from hiding, crossed at a calm trot, and continued at the same gait until out of sight in the thin woods. Probably on his way to Indian Ladder. One year, I got the liver of an apple-fed deer that was shot on Indian Ladder's nuisance permit. It was delectable. 4 February 1997 Sometimes detailed register tapes are distracting. As I was punching in a cash expenditure of $16.93 for groceries, the last line on the receipt caught my eye: what is VLAS BRD BTR STA? BTR=buttermilk? But there are two cartons of buttermilk on the tape, and everything else that I remembered buying is also there in plain English. Finally I got up and looked in the fridge -- where there is a brand-new jar of Vlasic Bread and Butter Sandwich Stacker pickles. They are sliced lengthwise, and I'm wondering why nobody sold them that way before. Susan Hankins has requested an index for Crochet World -- the other two I used to index are dead. I got February done this morning. No hurry, as it must take her at least a week to get December to me, and there are only six issues in a year. Betwixt e-mail and typing manuscripts, I've got into the habit of typing "--" instead of "—". I have noticed that in playing Tetris, you get the highest scores when egregious mistakes are followed by miraculous saves. Is real life like this? 6 February 1997 Tried to index on the laptop yesterday, and found it so exhausting to have to search minutely for the cursor (not to mention that all the keys are in the wrong places, and there aren't any that I can spare to record repeated actions on) that when I got the real computer, I was too tired to do anything but read Usenet. It's hard enough just to natter for the Banner on the laptop. In natural light, the glow of the screen is so faint that if I sit up enough that I don't have to strain at the keyboard, I can't read the monitor. Not to mention that when I tried to load the Banner I found that the file had been corrupted and part of my address book had been substituted for most of it. So maybe I should dig out that knitting that I can't see except by natural light and goof off with that instead. Sunny days have been scarce of late. Dave has allowed his lust for Windows 95 to persuade him that Drive C sounds funny and ought to be replaced before it crashes. I didn't put up too much fuss, but after he carried the "tower" off to be refurbished, I remembered that Windows 95 is advertised as not running under DOS. What will that do to my word processor? We have Windows text editors and word processors on the disk, but all of them are designed to frustrate typists and writers; the editors won't let you do anything, and the processors throw in so many features that you still can't do anything. Be fun to proof this mess later on when I can see it. Grump. Dave not only looked me up in Deja News, he found that I'd miss-spelled "receive" Well, "recieve" looks just fine to me, and Free Agent doesn't have a spelling checker. I should look to see whether Agent has one; it isn't an expensive program. When I went to Falvos for steak Tuesday, I stopped at Beyond the Tollgate to buy a spool of black Metrosene thread so I could get on with the smock, and bought a seam gauge so that I'd be able to find the one I mislaid. It's made of aluminum foil and plastic instead of sheet aluminum and steel like the old one -- and I can't remember where I put it. I wonder how many it would take to fill up all the hidey-holes and force one out into the open? There was a clearance on Dual Duty @ 50c/spool. Since I wanted synthetic thread primarily so I wouldn't have to use up my irreplaceable cotton thread on a cheap synthetic -- and because all the polyesters come on spools that I'd have to re-wind -- I bought four 135-yd spools. 4:00 -- Dave will have something to play with tonight: his new radio just came. When the doorbell rang, I was halfway through attaching a collar to my new shirt, with only sleeves and side seams to go. It was only a pile of pieces with the pattern pinned on this morning. Despite all the time I frittered away on the laptop in the morning, I've also pre-shrunk the yarn I unplied and plied a few days ago. I had a ball of three-ply yarn that wasn't enough to make another stripe, and it would look odd to combine three and two in one four- row stripe, so I peeled out one of the plies, using a shawl pin and a dowel with a small cup- hook on the end as spindles. Later I plied the single, in the process re-discovering a few things known to our paleolithic ancestors. The experience left me tempted to get a proper spindle and buy two more cones of Greylock 3/12 yarn, for matching socks and sweaters. If I did that, I might want to learn to spin, and that's expensive nowadays. Supposed to be great meditation, but so is knitting, and knitting is cheap -- if you don't go in for yarn collecting. 7 February 1997 Finished the shirt, and found the neck so tight that pulling it on is a struggle. Didn't notice any difficulty before sewing the collar on. On a brighter note, I forgot to sew the neck darts, and it fits just fine -- must have eased it onto the neckband. And lowering the center front of the yoke to make the placket longer will also give me a start on working out the darted version. I found a large scrap of blue chambray in my stash, -- a grayish blue- shirt blue -- and plan to make a garden shirt. I'm wearing the new shirt today, and aside from being a bear to get on and off, it's a perfectly satisfactory slopping-around-the- house shirt. The front of the hem is an inch shorter than the back, but I have to pose carefully to notice. Got a scare yesterday. I was writing a letter with the laptop, and the screen suddenly went blank. Thought I'd put it in a funny mode -- I could tell the writing was still there if I looked real close -- but exiting the program didn't help, nor did turning the machine off and on. Decided the monitor had died. Dave fiddled with it, changed the battery -- finally noticed that the brightness and contrast were turned clear down. My fingers were nowhere near the little wheels, and they're recessed to prevent just such a contretemps anyhow. So I'm back in business, but I can't remember what I wanted to say in the letter. I suppose I should find a bit of paper, re- draft the front yoke, and get that blue chambray off the living-room floor. 9 February 1997 Back in business! Finally got part of the new system working. I had the Banner in the laptop all this time, but I can't see the screen by natural light, so I could write only at night. I ought to be outside during this brief episode of sun. I've got the shirt cut out except the linings for the yokes, which I have to piece. Was inclined at first to cut halves with seam allowances -- which is what I did for the front, half of which just happened to be precisely one seam allowance narrower than a long strip left beside whatever I made from this before. (I think it was a shirt for Dave.) But I think it will be easier to piece rectangles, then cut them on the fold. Later: cutting completed, I read Usenet for a while -- and noticed another irritating "feature" in '95 -- when you shrink something to an icon, or expand an icon, it displays an annoying fluttering intended to suggest that the window flies from where it was to the new location. Them programmers has too much time on their hands. Tremendous backlog of e-mail. It's all mailing list, but substantial amounts are in the lists that have a high percentage of posts that are worth reading. 10 February 1997 I've just discovered that PCW-Write now experiences a long, long wait between "finished printing" and the time the printer finally begins to move, just like Windows programs. Spent a scary while there thinking that it wasn't going to print at all. When I need to print the Banner, I'll try going in through the DOS prompt, and if that doesn't speed it up, I'll exit to DOS -- which is somehow possible even though Windows 95 doesn't run under DOS. Maybe that should be "switch to DOS." Poor Dave didn't realized that part of the price of the new system was several weeks of grouchy, short-tempered wife. At first I thought that I was impatient because it was the first time that there was absolutely nothing for me in the change -- but this morning I realized that all the other times we changed systems, we kept the old system going until everything had been transferred and tweaked, and was running correctly on the new one. This time we demolished everything and are starting from scratch. We did keep all the old files on tape, but the newer tape was corrupted, I don't know where on the tapes to look for things, and a lot of the stuff no longer works. Dave tells me there is no use resurrecting X-tree because the new system uses 16-byte names that would foul it up, and I can't get my old icons back because we'd have to take the whole progman.exe file, which would louse up the new system. There's an off-chance I can buy icons somewhere. Somewhere. It took ages to find the least-objectionable icons when I had two sets to choose from. It appears that I took only one from "moreicons.dll", which is the set remaining. And that one looks funny in the new system; it didn't used to have a navy- blue square behind it. And there's a lot of stuff I kept on the desktop to remind me that it existed, such as the letter from Bill Dunn that I've been meaning to finish proofreading and copy into the Banner. Hope I can read it with the new system; I was foolish enough to punch it into Word just because that program was running when I decided to do it. There's a reader on one of the fiber lists who thinks that she can preserve her collection of antique needlework 'zines by copying them onto a compact disk! I hope she prints the disk onto acid-free paper before disk-readers disappear. On the good side, I've realized that some of the things I used to do with X-tree Gold can be done with PC-Write, so it doesn't matter as much that I can't read the cryptic symbols and shadows-on-gray type in "Explorer," and there isn't any manual. (We did get a bound collection of printed sheets with the word "manual" -- just looked; though they are trying to pass the thing off as a manual, they didn't lay themselves open to suits by having the chutzpah to use that word on the cover. The only reason to keep the book is that it is our only proof that we paid for the software. So I think I'll move it up to the obsolete- documentation shelf. Less wear on the certificate glued to the front. (Those things are supposed to be inside the back cover.) Oooh, it's nice to have my keys where they belong. When using the laptop, I discovered that I don't know which keys I hit, only where they are. 13 February 1997 The new system runs benchmarks like greased lightning, but it's a lot slower than 3.1 at actually running programs. Then Dave increased the resolution of the screen, which made it easier on over-forty eyes, but made the machine even slower -- I'm often not sure it's working at all. I don't think I can stand any more improvements. Up and volunteered for clean-up at the fish fry tomorrow, then realized that it starts about the time I'll wake up from my afternoon nap. I've got about three days of stuff I want to do, and only the morning to do it in. At least I don't have to cook supper! Dave got the airline tickets today. I still have a letter I need to copy out of the laptop and print out and mail. Hope the power doesn't fail before I remember to do it! 16 February 1997 This is the way of a man: he eats, and wipes his hands on his place mat, and says "Why did you put my napkin under my plate?" 20 February 1997 Noticed today that a large number of files are missing from directory Zjoy, and some of them haven't been archived. Living dangerously: I'm going to try to print out the Banner. It worked! And I have plenty of time to fold the previous batch while waiting for '95 to get around to sending the next batch to the printer:-) I've discovered that the "lost" icons are in a new progman.exe file; '95 won't offer them to you, but if you type in their name, it will let you have them. There's a third file that pops up if you make a mistake typing. I wonder what else is hiding on the disk? So I'm tediously replacing a bunch of file cabinets with yellow typewriters. I'm also thinking that it's taking an awful long time to get used to having the "expand to maximum" button right next to the "close window" button. If there's any change, it's getting worse. 22 February 1997 Now I've got three pairs of stockings going at once. Didn't feel like trying to turn a heel and watch Babylon Five at the same time, so I fetched down a pair of knee socks that are half an inch too short, figuring I'd frog off the turn-down bands and knit six more rows of ribbing. Took the whole show to frog one sock! I'd used Medrith Glover's pointed edging, which guarantees a non-binding bind off by making the edge more than twice as long as a plain bind-off. It also more than doubles the number of stitches that get their fuzz tangled and have to be broken apart, not to mention that the stitches in the interiors of the triangles sometimes participated. With six socks and an afghan underway, I've nothing to do on the plane -- the afghan is way too big, the stranded socks require natural light, the blue socks hurt my hands if I work more than a few minutes at a time, and the knee socks shouldn't last long enough. Not to mention that the yarn for finishing them after I knit up what I frogged is in a one-pound hunk the size of a soccer ball. I'd best go down to Crafts Plus and try to buy some tatting cotton. Couldn't find a good source in my catalogs; since a ball lasts forever, I don't buy thread very often. Found DMC's home page and learned that they don't offer any hard thread bigger than #80 in colors. I'd rather not use Cebelia and Brilliant for tatting, for the same reasons that I do like them for crochet. I have a ball of gray cordonnette that I bought at a garage sale. Rumor has it that DMC still sells Cordonnette in colors other than white and ecru in Europe. Today's weather was beautiful -- excellent timing, for after I finished the index to Crochet World #19 (1996) last night, I vowed to deliver it to the post office by bicycle. Way past time to resume exercise; the little slope in front of the high school has grown into a hill. The trip out was very pleasant. Worth the trip back, I said to me when I was loading my bike in front of Super Valu in a light rain threatening to become a heavy rain. Ended before I got out of the village -- lucky, as I'd thoughtlessly put on the same cotton undershirt I'd worn last fall, when it was too cold to get wet. The rain hadn't made it through to the second wool shirt when it stopped, and there was still a polyester shirt before the cotton. Even if it had continued, I'd have been halfway home before it soaked through, and I was overdressed for the temperature, so working a little harder would have kept me warm enough. Got my shoes all messed up from wheel splash, and have yet to clean them. 27 February 1997 Yesterday the weather was glorious, and I rode to Indian Ladder and back in the afternoon. Fog, rain, and drizzle prevail today, and I want to go back to bed. I'm on the second edition of my butterfly pattern. I think I'll wind on some red Cebelia for the third; white shows my dirty hands too much! I thought I'd take tatting for the plane -- but I find that I can't work very long without starting to make stupid mistakes. So I'd better get a head start on the illustrations in case Lark buys Shuttle Solitaire. I've thought that a queen of hearts dressed in tatting would make an appropriate front cover, but can't quite figure out how to make lots and lots of tiny hearts. Could switch to little black clovers and call it a King of Clubs, I suppose. Perhaps a fan of aces, with heart, spade, etc. medallions? Not that the author has anything to say about the cover. 5 March 1997 Today I wash, tomorrow I pack, the next day an aeroplane I . . . tack? Gone take another crack at printing this out. Did it the day before yesterday, but I punched "ignore" for a printer error, and then went away while it printed. Also discovered, when I wanted to note how much I'd spent for lunch yesterday, that my datebook was missing. I'd left it at New Salem Garage after writing a check to pay for taking a soft tire off the rim and resealing it, Keith called Dave, Dave took it home and left it in the kitchen with a note. Ruined my shopping expedition. The datebook contained not only all my checks, but most of my cash. I did buy two balls of Cebelia before dashing off in search of datebook. 11 March 1997 We went to the Bell museum in Mentone yesterday, and stopped at Teel's for tenderloins on the way home. In the evening, we went to the Great Wall with Joe, Lois, Linda, Kathy, and Megan. Busy day. We had fried-rice cakes for breakfast this morning. Sunday night I got ready for bed & realized that we'd left our laundry bag in the Lighthouse Motel. Getting to be a habit: the summer before last, I packed everything I didn't want to carry on the plane into the car, waved bye-bye to Dave, and noticed a well- stuffed, very large bag on the bed. Alice gave me an old suitcase. When I get home, I think I'll make a new bag from the same curtains I used to make my poncho shirts and pillow-carrying case. Perhaps the splashy print won't catch my eye, but every time I do see it, I'll remember why it's that color & perhaps be a bit more nervous about it. I wonder whether I'll ever use up all those old duck curtains? The current set won't hang around after they get stained & shabby; osnaberg makes good dish towels. 12 March 1997 We are going to Pizza Hut tonight, with Dave & Jeanie. Lunch was roast beef the way Mother used to make it. Finally got my butterfly instructions finished and printed out, and wound a shuttle with a carefully-measured length of thread to see how much to tell folks to wind on. You simply can't do it the way I said to do it. I'd a heap ruther not resort to split rings; the instructions are much too long already. 13 March 1997 All packed. Somewhat to my surprise, my two suitcases are still loosely packed even though I'm sending only one dress home with Dave. His is loosely packed despite having a flight bag inside. I must have done a better job of packing than usual. I think I've found a way to salvage my butterfly instructions. Linda and Jonah dropped in this afternoon; Martha and her children are due this evening. I was saddened to learn that this year is the last time small schools will be allowed to take part in the basketball tourney, but after thinking a bit, I remembered that it was no later than the early sixties that we decided that small schools have no right to exist, so it's remarkable that it took until 1997 to decide that they have no right to play with the big boys. 22 March 1997 Back from southern Indiana. David Friday & Janet Saturday -- I'm too tired to walk, and I don't ever want any more rich food. Miles of shopping along the way, but all I bought was eight ounces of Russel Stover chocolate. No plans beyond putting Nancy in a rental car tomorrow & me in a plane the following day. Hmm -- left off in Warsaw, didn't I? I've been at Alice's almost a week. Much impressed with the bed & breakfast in Salem; I don't see how they can keep up the place on what they charged us, and everything is antique or handmade. There was even beginner-spun yarn on the spindle. But the skeins of yarn in the basket were factory made; I didn't look to see what kind, and climbed up into my bed and passed out shortly after. 24 March 1997 And we're off. Should have done more shopping. There's only a few shirts and the laundry bag in my hanger case. I probably could have done with my backpack flight bag instead of the Lady Baltimore set, if the hangers and spatulas weren't so uncompromising. (Alice had three wooden hangers of a style she doesn't like, which are perfect for the turtlenecks I wear all the time.) Remind me to describe the quilts I bought at Grandmother's sale; it's high time somebody put them back into use. With two cats in the house, I can't put anything that shouldn't be washed on the bed -- and they don't fit a king- size bed anyway. 25 March 1997 Home again, and the sore throat that has been trying to develop all week has reached the nose-blowing stage. Dave says he hopes it's the same cold he had when he came home. Had an exceptionally easy trip, with early starts and tailwinds all the way, but got home utterly spent. I expect the cold is also why the shopping trips left me sore and sleepy; I'm not that unaccustomed to walking. Dave, on the other hand, came home in a storm, and missed his connection. Six hours in Detroit, among lesser ills. I had reason to use the ice scraper in the rental car the morning I left. I hope they continue furnishing them in May! I hope it was May and not June the time I needed a scraper and didn't have one. Two of Danny's cats are in the garden, which is what started me thinking of cold weather. Snow persists only in shade, but the furnace is running. I'm too poohed to go check the outdoor thermometer. 27 March 1997 I'm sneezing more, but feeling less exhausted. Took Psuedoephedrine at one a.m. last night, and subsequently slept very little, but woke up feeling better -- and haven't noticed the itching in the eustachian tube that prompted me to such drastic action. The April Bikeabout came today. I was annoyed to note that the club picnic is on May 18, which is "Bike to the Museum Day." Nary an apology, either, though the May issue may explain that they had reserved the shelterhouse before they learned about the museum's plans. I might up and go to the museum event; I tried to visit the state museum when it first opened, but was unable to leave my bike within walking distance. With an event of this name, some provision surely has been made -- perhaps the bike-parking lot for state employees, which was installed several years later, will be made available to museum visitors. Returned the Banner to the main computer today. Not much else accomplished -- but I'm caught up on the laundry. Or was until I changed the bed. But I've got nine new sheets, so there's no hurry about that. 28 March 1997 I've been experimenting with my brown "sweet rice". I think that polished sweet rice could be substituted for pearl tapioca, and would be easier to cook all the way through. Haven't begun to unpack the flight bag Dave brought home, but I've disposed of my smallest bag, and all the suitcases are now upstairs. As I was looking down at Michigan, I remembered that I'd meant to pour the huge shagbark hickory nuts that Evelyn gave us into the corners of the hanger case after packing everything else. Ah, well, Alice has grandchildren to amuse, and a heavy-duty nutcracker to lend them. Today's great accomplishment: I cleaned out two of the shelves in the little pantry that some previous occupant made out of a broom closet. Found only one ant. It was swarming with ants when I got home, which appeared to be due to honey oozing out under the lids of two jars. At least the infestation subsided when I removed the jars and rinsed them in hot water. Can't keep honey from getting on the threads, so I've got one of the jars sitting in water. Emptied & washed the other. At least I found the source right away. Like to never discovered that unopened bag of brown sugar that occasioned the previous infestation. Today I discovered a way to restore a hint of feedback to the caps-lock key. Found a menu in Control Panel that makes *-lock keys beep when you turn them on, and boop when you turn them off. I was looking for the secret word that sometimes accidentally makes it possible to use the arrow keys to navigate the desktop, but found no clue to that. An "accessibility" menu will let you move the mouse pointer with the arrow keys, but that is for the truly desperate. Also found a way to get the printer fonts off my Publisher menu so that I can find the True Type fonts. There were a lot more TT fonts than I'd thought, so I printed out a sample of each. I don't know how many "Quick sly foxes" that was, but it occupies five pages in nineteen-point type. A few of them would have gone on a single line if I'd thought to use "Pack my box" instead. I looked them over and picked a substitute for Lucida Calligraphy, which mysteriously vanished when 95 was installed. The winner was Lucida Casual, with runner-ups Phyllis (a trifle too flowery) and Graphite Light (a bit too casual). I wonder whether the entire set of Lucida fonts is available somewhere? I don't recall ever seeing fonts for sale, though I've been on sites where one may download open-domain and pirated fonts. I wonder when Microsoft will think of letting you organize your fonts into categories, so that you can look at only headline fonts when designing a headline, only novelty fonts when looking for something to grab attention, etc. And I don't want their categories, but mine. Discovered today that Publisher thinks it's on a network, and won't let me re-categorize some of the clip art. The Publisher I bought didn't know about networks. I wonder whether the same code, interacting with an operating system that hadn't been written when I bought it, can really be so different. The menus not only look different, they have different stuff on them, and are organized in a different way. Dave must somehow have installed a later version when restoring the stuff that our guru erased by mistake. 31 March 1997 Sigh. A gloomy, snowed-in night like this would be perfect for surfing the net. After a flash (apparently from an incident way over on Game Farm Road), accompanied by a power glitch that caused our monoxide detector to beep, which left my heart pounding for five minutes -- I'm not sure it's back to normal yet; that is a most alarming shriek, the more so when it stops almost before it begins, and I was on the sofa right next to it, peacefully knitting the Afghan of the Century -- Dave went out into the night to check on the new computer at the firehouse, which he left plugged in and running. I turned ours off and flipped the power-strip switch, but forgot about the laptop. I suppose I should unplug it when I close this document, in case the next glitch is a surge instead of an interruption. Dave has, by the way, a brand spanking new computer to do the books on. Yesterday he was experimenting with sending it faxes from our machine, and found that he can send it files with a fax. This may allow him to work on the books here and telephone his work to the firehouse. 1 April 1997 It wasn't easy to exit, shut down, and unplug in the dark, but I managed to do it before the lights came back on. Later, they went off long enough to light some candles and one of the kerosene lamps, and they haven't been too reliable today. The monoxide detector has served a second purpose by alerting me whenever the power goes off or comes back on. Only one reasonably brief outage while the shirts were in the washer, thank goodness. Woke up to a winter wonderland. Still pretty, though the snow is falling off the trees and it has gotten cloudier. We had a new game: Whap the light pole. A small jar would make a bit of snow fall off one of the communication wires, which would twang it and make more snow fall off, which would jar the other wires, and clear off a good bit of snow. Despite the wind in the night, and several hours of sun, there are still (at 10:30) a few white cylinders on the wires. The wires are mostly back up where they belong, though. Ours that is. Heard someone on the scanner ask the dispatcher to notify NiMo, whereupon an anonymous voice said "good luck". The pole leading to Station One went down, which not only put Station one on auxiliary power, but blocked everyone on this side from getting to the firehouse, not to mention limiting the trucks to going toward 85. They had something like this in mind when they built Station Two -- on 85. Voorheesville took one of our calls on Krumkill in the evening, and the dispatcher didn't even bother to sound our tones. By the time the boys got to the firehouse and then got the engines to the call, it would have been all over. The fire police were up all night, warning people away from downed wires and closed roads. 2 April 1997 The crocusses are out from under the heavy, wet snow, little the worse for wear. Those in the northmost bed seem entirely unharmed; whether because they were less up than the others, or because it's too muddy to look closely, I'm not sure. This was a great deal like the October storm of '84, save that it's not melting as fast. A couple of other differences, for which I'm grateful: there were no leaves on any of the trees (except pines and oaks, which are accustomed to this sort of thing) -- and our section of the power grid was completely refurbished last summer, with strong new replacements for everything that might have come down under weight. Except the old transformer pole beside the firehouse. Broke off near the top from tension on the wires, apparently at a weak spot, and ripped a guy wire right out of the ground. I heard that a county truck with its wing up snagged the sagging wires, but someone better- informed said that that rumor was based on a county truck that almost made it through a distracted roadblock later in the night. I had been wondering about the subsequent state of the driver who brought down high-tension lines! But that would have broken the wires, and people would have been able to get around -- assuming that a "hot" truck didn't block the road. So far all NiMo has done is to cut the wires. The boys are in no hurry, as the secondaries crossed the primaries and blew out their whole distribution panel, so they've got to re-do the internal wiring before they can so much as use the generator. Luckily, they have lights and portable generators on some of the vehicles. After rushing into the storm to check on "his" new computer, Dave left it plugged in and running! Yesterday Dave and I hauled it across the street to the meeting hall and set it up in the lounge, and all the parts seem still to be working. This evening I asked Dave what brand the surge protector was, and he said he'd forgotten, but there were two telephones in Station One, and the one not connected through the surge protector no longer works. Late bulletins: NiMo put up a pole. Work still proceeds on the circuit-breaker box. Bob Joya came in carrying a box that proved to contain an uninterruptable power supply for the computer. I told Dave to be sure to plug it in through the surge protector, and he said "I'm planning to!" Niagara-Mohawk trucks still travel in convoys; Dave saw some parked at Smitty's at lunch time. I resumed my physical fitness program by taking a ride around the block just before supper. About two miles, I think. Did pretty well except for running out of wind on the hills -- none of them steep or long. I hope that's the lingering effect of the cold. Hard to build up lungs, because it's instinctive to think you're overdoing when you start breathing hard. 3 April 1997 Poor little Fred! When I hung the whites yesterday, I took down some stuff that belongs in the linen closet, and left it in the living room. This morning, I carried the stack upstairs and put it on the bed, where Fred was peacefully napping, and carried three pillowcases to the linen closet. When I came back for a second load, Fred gave me a startled look and f'tooped. I thought that he, unaware that now and then I need to catch up on my breathing, had taken a heavy sigh personally, Then I realized that I was picking up a washrag. He's patient when getting his face washed, but he'd a heap ruther not. Especially when the goop has dried into his fur. Paper says that NiMo will restore service to the folks at the ends of the lines today. Haven't heard about Station One. Hope they've at least jury-rigged something to the extension cords that keep the batteries in the "equipment" at full charge. Doubt that they'd do it without new circuit breakers! One of the items in the load of wash was a fringe-selvage sheet, so I could resume putting yellow hems on my sheets today, but I plan to wait for two more sheets, so that I can use up the yellow fabric while I'm in sewing mode. I've been looking for the pattern for my little double-knit slippers. I got my trunk of patterns organized, and learned that I have a baby rabbit to go with the rabbit I designed in high-school home-ec class. Don't remember when I designed the baby. I made the first rabbit so I could practice embroidery on the school's new machine, but I'd done the entire neckband by hand before it got to be my turn. I hope the three little slips of paper that constitute my slipper pattern didn't get thrown out by mistake. Surely they were in a labeled fold of construction paper, which is the way I kept my patterns before I began using 9 x 12 envelopes. My oldest embroidery patterns are in 9 x 12s, each one with an india-ink tracing of an example of what goes in it, but for some reason, I used to think that sewing patterns should be in packages the size that commercial patterns come in even though one dress pattern will bulk up an envelope a lot thicker than dozens of embroidery patterns. I also still have the pattern I used to make a Barbie cape the year I bought my sleeve board. It's drawn in iron-on pencil; I don't remember having an iron-on pencil that early in my career, or making enough copies of one Barbie garment to want to iron on patterns instead of tracing around them. I think that the striped paper at the bottom is Pete's dashiki pattern. Wish I still shopped at a store that used paper bags conveniently marked at quarter-inch intervals. Evening: on the way back from my inspection tour, I noticed cat-size nests in the pine needles around the grape vine and rose bushes on the south side of the garage. I pulled one broken branch out of the pine tree, but the tips of the rest are anchored in the snow. The ground should be bare by Saturday, when I hope to coerce Dave into helping me prune. Began spring clean up by pulling a few of the Jerusalem artichoke stalks and piling them on an appropriate-looking heap of snow in the garden. Might have done some serious picking up if I'd put on a sweat shirt instead of my stiff, man-shaped red coat. Danny has more pine branches to dispose of than we do, but (I think) fewer per tree. Didn't notice any branches as big as ours, but he's also lost an entire Chinese Elm over by his shop. I think it's an an elm. I remember it rather vaguely, but it's elm-shaped (near as I can tell from the debris), and collapsing entirely is like an elm. Both of us are killing any elm seedlings that we notice! None of the trees are disfigured, nothing an electric chain saw can't fix. (Not sure I can reach all of it, though.) A branch on the small oak out back drooped alarmingly during the storm, which made an ugly notch in the outline of the tree, but it sprang up when the snow melted off it & I made a lap around the tree without seeing which branch had bent. 12 April 1997 I pruned all the small stuff off the y- shaped branch today, and piled it up. Also laid out the pound of yellow fingerling seed potatoes Johnny sent me, and covered them with mulch. It took less than half the mulch, but they are going to need another coat, and I've got a pound of Russian Banana coming. I think I'll plant the thirty Gurney sets in dirt, and save the mulch for those that come up. May have more mulch soon -- Dave has begun tinkering with the leaf grinder. He got a lot of mouse's nest out of it. Started raining after I finished the garden work. Good for the potatoes, but I probably won't go outside tomorrow. The Friends of the Voorheesville Library are meeting tomorrow afternoon. Hope I remember to attend. I've an appointment with Irani on Monday. I hope to stop at Paradise on the way back, and buy some nuts. Then on Tuesday, Dave has promised to take me to Hiro's. I'm trying to figure out how to wear both my pearls and grandma's watch, which he had cleaned and repaired as a surprise for me. He bought a gold-filled neck chain, but didn't have the brooch cleaned when he had the watch repaired; I suspect that he thought it was a pin that just happened to be kept in the same box; you can't see the hook for the watch until you turn it over. 14 April 1997 Danny's kittens -- now cats -- have resumed coming over to visit. I touched the window and everybody scampered home. They are all gray, and make a lovely group. Four or five in the combined litter, plus a few older cats. 19 April 1997 The older cats aren't all grey, and may not be all related. I saw a beautiful black tom the other day. I don't recall seeing him before, but there seemed to be no tension. But then none of the native toms happened to be around! We went to Hiro's for my birthday. The salad wasn't as easy to eat as I remembered from several years ago, but was good. We ordered -- Kaska? -- one each of pork and chicken, thin steaks battered and fried. We made frequent jokes about demanding a bun and some ketchup. The sauce on my appetizer would have been good on a tenderloin! Sort of an oriental A-1. The appetizer was a lollipop of onion-ring quarters, seasoned with pieces of chicken, fried on a skewer. Tried to talk Dave into going back for his birthday. While not exactly something you could afford do every week, it didn't cost a lot for what it was. I've made some progress in cutting up the fallen limbs with pruning shears. It's been too wet on all the days when Dave has been around to help me with the chain saw. But the bare limbs and the heaps of twigs make much less clutter. I'm still hoping that I can grind up the small stuff and use it for mulch. Dave's in Crossgates, buying rubber cleats for his golf shoes. They have added up the insurance claim for the fallen transformer. Over four thousand dollars, and that doesn't include volunteer time, or the transformer. I think I saw an exclamation mark beside the approval for buying a new surge protector. The Gurney sets came the day before yesterday. I had ordered both blue and yellow potatoes. (Patriotic salad, but I'm not sure what country!) I guess I'll have to go out and push them into the mud. Was meaning to cultivate first. 20 April 1997 Forgot that I hadn't ordered any white potatoes. Blue and Yukon Gold is good old Sugar Crick High. Colfax too, I think. I've planted yellow fingerling, Yukon Gold, and blue. I have Russian banana on back order. I planted the Gurney sets in mud yesterday, and pushed the cultivator over the garden today. I'm going to have to trim the edges with a spade again. It won't be near as much work as the last time I did it. Also took a few lackadaisical snips at the fallen limbs. Dave tinkered with the grinder some more, but thinks we're going to have to take it to Meyer. Danny is wanting to sell his grinder -- perhaps we should take him up on it. We've bought Danny's shed, but haven't made a foundation for it yet. Or even decided whether to use concrete block or treated timber. Dave says that Danny says that the shed used to be a passenger shelter at the train stop in the village. Danny has put up a "for sale" sign. At the Auxiliary meeting, Marilyn Praga said that they have sold their house, have until July to find another, and want one in Voorheesville; don't know whether they are interested in Danny's, though. Dave and Danny want to mow my Sumac trees for me. I pruned a couple more broken trees in response to that offer; the heartwood was more like pith, in the one that had heartwood. I must remember to include the brush pile out there when I clean up the pine branches. I started up the mower and pushed it back and forth over the lawn several times today. Thought that we were going to have to take it to Meyer too, but after a few laps I remembered that after starting it, you are supposed to move the lever from butterfly to rabbit. I actually got some clippings, so I expect it will be in use before long. 24 April 1997 Spotted the first violet today, a sheltered clump of narcissus is in full bloom, and a tulip is thinking about it. Progress in my climb up from blobhood: I rode to Falvo's and back yesterday, with no ill effects. But as I was huffing and puffing up the first of the two little hills on 85A, I decided that I wanted nothing to do with the two big hills on 85, so I made a U-turn at the top, and went the way I'd planned to come back. Worked out, as going through the village first meant that I could stop at the post office and buy some stamps, which we've been needing for some time. Then I got home with the steak and realized that I couldn't serve something that heavy on a drill night. We had a slice off it for breakfast. I have the onions out -- multipliers, and the sprouted onions from last year's crop. I wish I knew exactly how many feet of row the packet of oats will plant! I think I'll plant them in triple rows. The instructions are for ornamental grasses in general, and not much help. Suggests starting the plants indoors to help you tell them from weed grass, for example. The oats are a hull-less breed supposed to be good for home-made flour and meal; I thought I'd plant a little for recreational eating. I have a substantial plantation of potatoes; I may have to work out a way to store them after frost. Last year I just left them in the garden and dug them as needed. Could dig them up and re-bury them, I suppose. The Russian Banana are still on back order. I'm beginning to think that what I planted for fingerlings is them. Didn't keep good records, and was surprised to see that I'd ordered Yukon Gold as well as All Blue from Gurney. (Johnny doesn't have Yukon Gold?) I pushed the cultivator over the garden a few days ago, and worked up a blister on my right thumb. The following day, I moved a pile of mulch and, while cultivating that tiny patch, ripped open the blister and started another. I wore a rag the next couple of days, to remind me to be careful, so the new blister didn't develop, and the old one seems to be mostly healed. Had to trim dead skin off it yesterday, and found out why lefties complain so much about right-handed scissors. Plain- loop scissors look symmetrical, but the blades won't press together and cut when they are held in the wrong hand. 27 April 1997 No word from Meyers, who has custody of the engine from the leaf grinder. I suspect that it's sitting in line behind a pile of lawnmowers. I mowed most of the front lot today, and collected the clippings to put around the oak tree. Didn't touch the pine trees or their debris, but when coming back from leaving Dave's car at New Salem Garage so Keith can noise-hunt tomorrow, I noticed that the plum tree was budded out enough to tell which limbs were dead, and took the pruning shears out. Then I went back for the saw. Then I went back for the ladder, for a limb I couldn't comfortably reach, and climbing up to a new angle showed me a lot more limbs that had to come off. Dave went back to the house soon after I brought out the ladder. There's only one really healthy branch on the tree, but it looks a lot better without the dead stuff. Except that said dead stuff -- and one sick branch -- is cluttering the grass all around it. One of the dead limbs was a former main trunk; I'm planning to try to salvage it for making bobbins. The sawed ends are beautiful. I read on the wood-turners use.net group that I should cut it lengthwise immediately, to reduce cracking, but I have no tool for doing that. I wonder whether there's some inexpensive tool for cutting things neatly lengthwise? I can manage crosswise with a hand saw, but need some sort of emphatic guide to cut straight the full length of even the shortest bits, and everything I want to turn ought to be trimmed first. Especially that eight-inch piece of beef shank I found in the garden. I think there's some dead lilac wood I can harvest, too. I'm not looking forward to pruning the barberry again, but barberry wood is a brilliant yellow, well worth messing with little stems. Not worth the scratches, but treasure-hunting will make digging out dead wood less unpleasant. Danny dragged all his pine limbs into a pile today. I don't know whether he's planning to burn them, or wanted to make his yard look neater when buyers drop in. Seems to me the pile is awfully close to trees that he's been mowing around, so I think it's the latter. 9 May 1997 Just cut out a nightshirt, and I feel as though I've done a days' work. Thought I'd cut the piece for the back a yard and fourteen inches long, but I must have stretched it while measuring; it's only a yard twelve and a half. Luckily, I'd allowed for a four-inch hem. But I'll have to remember to tear an inch and a half off the front. 14 May 1997 At fifty-six, I have finally sown my oats! Not wild oats, though: "HULLESS OATS (Pennuda) Avena Nuda." I planted one row in the garden Monday. Hope I can tell the sprouts from orchard grass. I've got enough of the small stuff burned that I'm beginning to think I should save some for starting the big branches. Can't cut them up until Dave has time to spot me on the chain saw -- and we get clear weather, and I think of it -- but I try to remember to move them once a day so they won't kill the grass. Only three big branches left now. But I still haven't climbed up into the tree to cut off stubs. By the way, spoiled Eucerin is great for taking off pine tar. Just rub it in, then wipe it off with a paper towel; leaves the skin clean and smooth and smelling faintly of pine. Still haven't gotten the russian potatoes that were supposed to be sent in April. I think it's time to declare that row available. No signs of life in the potato bed so far. I'm tempted to dig one of the sets up to see what's going on. I've been buying potatoes a few at a time from Indian Ladder, partly because potatoes don't keep well at this time of year, and partly because I don't want to have a whole sack left when ours start to produce. But I don't think I want any more "Chef" potatoes. They are so big that I peeled just one and it was twice too much, and there are a lot of discolored spots to cut out. I've pretty much given up on the leaf grinder; the last time I burned, I started pulling pieces that are too big to use as is out of the piles of mulch. The needles make a rather smoky fire, so I've continued cutting the tips off the branches that I burn. Been getting more careless about it, though. Don't know what I'll do with the pile of jerusalem-artichoke stalks. Last year I started harvesting clippings off the rank grass that clogs my mower, hoping to rob it of nitrogen. This spring, there is a yellow streak across the field just there -- perhaps it is working. I think that Lawrence put lawn fertilizer on it when he owned it; the boundary of the rank grass is almost definite and quite straight. Exhausting time changing the sheets today. Had a freshly-washed old blanket, so decided to wash one of the three blankets that compose my mattress pad. So I shook all three of them, one king-size; dust never did stop coming out. Put on one of the yellow-hemmed sheets for the first time, then after shaking the thin blanket and the heavier one, threw them down the stairs too and got clean blankets out, and shook the wrinkles out of them. When I get a bit feebler we'll have to switch to twin beds just so I can lift the bedding. On the other hand, when getting the clean thick blanket off the bottom of the pile, I FOUND MY FUZZY WOOL! I'd pawed through the stack several times, but the wool had been wrapped in an old sweater I'd been using to keep cat hair off the blankets, so I hadn't seen it, and it had been lying on a thick, king-sized blanket, so I hadn't noticed the extra bulk. But that was the very blanket I got out to replace the one I threw down the stairs. Which wasn't really dirty enough to wash, but it's a mattress-pad blanket I'd put on the bed by mistake, and I like them freshly- laundered when I put them next to the mattress. Could have thrown down another dusty blanket instead, of course, but I've just now thought of it. Besides, I think that I had the top sheet on before I decided that I was fed up with that ragged old blanket. Haven't measured the wool to see whether there's enough for a pair of pants. Making warm britches has lost its urgency, somehow. I pressed a couple of seams on the nightshirt this afternoon. And started another yellow-hemmed sheet. The first end used up the pre-made hem strips, but there's a couple more yards of the fabric. There'll be more than one piecing seam per sheet from here on in. 15 May 1997 The last batch of skimmed milk I bought is defective -- after it sat in the fridge for a while, about an inch of cream rose to the top. I don't think Dave ordinarily drinks a whole quart with his breakfast. TaDah! Harold of New Salem Small Engines called -- the grinder engine is ready. Hope I get Dave and a clear day on Saturday. I couldn't start that engine even when it was new. Dave has an appointment to play golf on Saturday. Grump. I'm going to the museum on Sunday, unless I forget -- or can't figure out how to get there. You can't park a car in Albany, and I can't ride a bike that far. Now we've got to take the lawnmower in. I keep finding oil on the deck. I washed two loads of blankets today. 17 May 1997 Dave got the grinder assembled yesterday, and test-fired it, but it was cold and windy today, so I didn't try it out. I've decided not to go to the State Museum tomorrow. It would be really strenuous to get there -- and the show starts half an hour before naptime. Dave had a ball at the golf course. I spent most of my time reading Usenet. Did cast on the mate to the sock I carry in my purse, and start a fire under all but one of the big branches -- which I hope burn through soon, as the ends of some are in the garlic and onions. Since the weather is cold, wet, and windy, I didn't go back to see whether it took. I did go out and carry in the pile of brush pruned off the sumac trees, and used some to feed the fire. If I had some way to cut wood lengthwise, I might try to salvage some of the bigger pieces of sumac. Between the pith and the sapwood, there's some olive-green wood that might be worth messing with. I intended to harvest some grass clippings to put another layer on the mulch, but it started raining when I carted out the equipment, so I put it away and started the fire instead. 18 May 1997 Got most of the field mowed before running out of gas. Told Dave I'd saved a patch to test-drive Danny's riding mower, but it has battery trouble & won't be ready for a week. I didn't find any oil on the deck this time. Checked, and there's enough on the dipstick. The sirens went off while I was having a nap, but I couldn't hear the scanner. Dave said later that it turned out to be a controlled burn. The boys are making some changes to Station one. So today, when Dave told me that they'd done a lot of work, and had torn down the men's room and moved the ladies room, I was thoroughly baffled -- until he told me he was talking about the sheds at the Punkintown Fair. They have been in such bad shape that we've been renting portapotties instead. And last year, TaDa!, a portalavatory, set up near the food booth. The men's room was beyond salvage, but they plan to rip the out-of-order plumbing out of the ladies' room and make a raffle booth out of it. One of these years I'm going to have to go down to the firehouse and look around. They have a new bus, too. And I never saw the tulips that I planted a few years ago. I think that they were an earlier variety than the ones I just deadheaded. The auxiliary has a weeding-and-planting scheduled for this coming Tuesday. Hope I don't forget to go! 23 May 1997 Went, was too early, pulled a few weeds and looked around, came home. Dave later said he'd seen some women working, so I went back for the gossip session. Took the Kenilworth Ivy with me to yesterday's meeting, and planted it behind the bushes in the flower box in front of the meeting house. By then, I was just glad to get rid of the stuff! It was raining when I went home, so I suppose it will take all right. Haven't done any serious looking for annuals to put in my raised flowerbed. A few strawberries, lots of catnip, and one kenilworth ivy is all there is at the moment. I'd like some nicotina. Found Danny's lawn mower, manuals on the seat, parked in front of our house today. Danny gave me a quick driving lesson, and I mowed the front lot. Won't be using it for that purpose again, as it leaves too much mess to clean up with the walk-behind, but it will be much better for the field. It mows not more than half an inch higher than the walk-behind, if at all, but it blows the clippings high into the air, not into a windrow of hay. Don't see how Margie used it; the ride was really bumpy. But I don't think her lawn was as rough as ours is, and she may have used the lower speeds. I never got it into high; the straightaways weren't long enough. Dave came home at that point, and mowed the back lawn. With unfortunate results for a small tree; he thought I'd been leaving a ridiculous amount of clearance. 31 May 1997 Dave is out in the back field playing with the new mower -- he was right; having a riding mower does save me mowing time! 'Course this puts paid to my plans to cultivate the milkweed. He mowed the front lot first; I trimmed with the walk-behind and the shears -- and grabbed- and-yanked -- while he was doing that, but there is a lot of trimming yet to do. Happened to look at the Lacis page yesterday, and discovered that Cordonnette now comes in colors other than white and ecru, one of them a "christmas red" that is probably exactly what I want for my playing card. This was immediately after I'd mailed an order for ten balls of tatting cotton to Craft Gallery, of course. I ordered two shades of red, and hope that one of them will do. Two balls each of white and black, two shades of yellow, purple, royal blue -- I should have kept a record so I'd know whether what they send is what I asked for. In complaining of outstanding checks, Dave didn't mention the one I sent Dover, but I haven't got my book of playing cards yet. Told him to void Flye and the Libertarian Party. I got the LP check back once, and sent it to another address, but it appears that it didn't make it through this time either. Don't know what to make of Top Software. I got the address right off their web page. Even if they don't deign to send me the manual and current code, you'd think that they'd cash the check, or drop me an e-note asking for another. But the follow-up letter went to the same address as the check; perhaps I should re-send it by e-mail. 5 June 1997 Thursday I think it's Thursday already. And I'm completely out of excuses for not telling you why the envelopes for the latest addition of the Banner have been lying on the leaf of the secretary for a week; Dave has gone to help his brother play with Quicken (a bookkeeping program), leaving me alone with Evelyn's word processor. I've washed the breakfast dishes, made the beds, dressed, and combed my hair. I've looked up how to save to a text file and I've found a pillow to sit on. I don't see how someone as short as Evelyn typed at this desk sitting on a dining chair, when I have to reach up to it even after dragging in the typing chair from the bedroom and putting a pillow on it. I suppose the best place to begin is the beginning. Last Saturday Dave picked up the telephone and said "Hello, Joe. Uh-oh." I kept repeating to myself, "It's Joe St. Giorgi reporting some disaster at the fire house", but that sort of thing never works. 6 June 1997 At that point, I decided to walk down Park Avenue and see whether I could see any signs of the trolly track that Dave says used to run where the sidewalk along the bathing beach is. Nary a clue remains, save an old underpass where it probably ran under the railroad. A woman pushing a baby stroller overtook me and went into the underpass, so I presume that it serves pedestrians now. It would be somewhere between impossible and suicidal to try to walk through the underpass the road uses. There's a peculiar garden between the end of the sidewalk and the place to cross over to the underpass; fill is dumped around the edges in neat berms to define the no-trespassing area, which makes sense, but inside, there are haphazard piles of, I would guess, anything he could get free, dumped anywhere the truck driver saw a spot. In between the piles are roses and other cultivated-looking stuff. Not too long after turning to come back, I remembered that a nerve in my left leg still acts up now and again, probably owing to that time I slipped in a puddle of oil while turning from 155 onto Western and landed hard on my left hip. Leastways, a car trip I took while it was acting up felt exactly like the long trip in the Fiero a few weeks after the accident. There wasn't any place to sit down without attracting ambulances, but there were a few places to put my foot up and stretch a bit, and it worked out instead of getting worse. We are leaving almost before breakfast in the morning, Evelyn's last house guests. I've been trying to fill in for her as hostess -- it's amazing how big a pair of size four shoes can be. But Jeanie says that her feet had swollen so much that her last new pair was size five. I left on my walk congratulating myself that we'll be back in New York when it's time to tear the house apart, and came back to find that I'd been nominated to pack up Evelyn's clothes for charity. There's nobody else who can do it, really -- but I was glad to run out of boxes. I did the dressers first, thinking there was nothing personal about underwear -- but I forgot where it is that people stash all their little useless treasures. And I have yet to do the sock drawer! 9 June 1997 Never did clean out the drawer of hosiery, but I did pull a box out of it and set it on the floor. I was surprised at how little progress I made, considering that everything was already sorted, but at least I made enough of a mess that the next packer can be cleaning up instead of tearing up. It was strange to come home to so few newspapers and so little mail. We commented on how fast the week had gone, but it wasn't a full week. I found Claude's attach case under Evelyn's night table. Lois and I went through it enough to establish that there was nothing personal in it, and decided to delegate responsibility for sorting it out to the Gideons. It was Lois who noticed that Nancy, Alice, and Mary had sent a bouquet, and called my attention to it. The flowers were Evelyn's favorite shade of purple, so the undertaker had put it right next to the coffin. There weren't many flowers, because the notice had asked for contributions to the Gideons -- just enough for a tasteful display, with some bouquets to send to nursing homes and some potted plants to leave on a table in the church social hall, conveniently near the greenhouse. (Is that why churches have greenhouses nowadays?) The potted plants were in the social hall because the church ladies prepared a dinner for the mourners immediately after the graveside ceremonies. It gave everyone a chance to visit -- dear me, I wonder what their name and address is? Lois gave me a box of the thank- you cards. It's about time I started to unpack. I've had to come downstairs each morning to get my underwear out of the hanger case. (At least I've now got the case upstairs -- and I got the computer disks out of it, as you saw above.) I see that the phone number for Celtic Tours is still on the desk. Dave was impressed at how they got the airline tickets and rental car organized at short notice, and at a special rate besides. We're having a warm and sunny day, so I'd better get a load of wash in, too. My black denim trousers are getting desperate; they were about due before I wore them every day for a week. Not to mention that excursion into the attic. When I mentioned it, Dave was baffled, since I'd washed twice while we were there. But bull denim soaks up quarts of water, and there are at least five close-packed layers in the waistband. They might not dry overnight, and if I left them in the dryer long enough to be wearable, they'd probably come out fashionably distressed. Didn't seem to be much more on Usenet than usual -- though I have yet to read Misc.Writing. (Those guys will even write to get out of writing!) I found a couple of paragraphs on the lace list that I thought were funny: A discussion of how to demonstrate bobbin lace at events included a list of questions that you must be prepared to answer: > "What are you doing?" > "Is that tatting?" > "Does it bother you if I watch?" > "Where is the restroom?" In Lace Chat, the conversation turned to bird feeders and squirrels: > I bought some special anti-squirrel stuff. It contains cayenne pepper and is supposedly nasty tasting to the squirrels and tasteless to the birds as well as containing vitamin C. well, I'm still waiting for the mariachi band to disperse so I can pick up all the tiny little serapes and sombreros and take down the "Tex Mex Served Here!" sign. 11 June 1997 It was a good drying day & I could have worn my denims to buy groceries that afternoon, but they were still on the line and I didn't want to get dressed to go fetch my clothes, so I put on the gray imitation-wool pants. Big mistake! We are finally having hot weather, and they *itch* when I sweat. Still haven't worn the newly-laundered pants -- I had to take my car to the Jeep dealer for a recall yesterday. Planned to pack my bike and go elsewhere while it was being worked on -- about four hours, the prediction was, which would have been a comfortable time to explore Schenectady. Several months ago, I heard a rumor that there is a yarn shop in Schenectady, and have been carrying the address on my shopping list ever since; also it's been years since I've been to the used-book store on Jay street, and months since I've been to any used-book store. So I put on cycling shorts and a T-shirt in the morning, and laid my denims on the passenger seat so that I could put them on before I stopped for groceries on the way back. But when I handed over the keys, the fellow said that it would take all day, so I went straight home, forgetting that my default pants were in the car. The car is still there, because they had to order a part. Dave called and asked whether I'd need it in the next few days & I said "no", again forgetting about the pants. I do have some more bull denim. I should make it up so I'll have something to wear while washing this pair. Either that or patch the blue denim pair. I didn't go quite straight home, because the shortest route includes the nastiest stretch of road I have ever experienced on a bicycle: Zero-to-negative shoulder, but the broken breakdown lane looks usable to the bumper-to-bumper motorists, so they think they shouldn't give me any space. And the roadway-shoulder seam is so bad that cars hitting it lose control. I've heard about worse roads, but I don't care to check! By consulting a large, wind-catching, small- print map, I discovered that by jumping from Route 5 onto Albany Street, and making a few other zig-zags, I could substitute a tour of the Pine Bush Nature Preserve for the nasty stretch of 155. I emerged from the Preserve, moreover, on Willow Street in Guilderland. Willow becomes Foundry Road when it crosses Route 20, Grant Hill when it passes Nott, and, boring details snipped, Main Street in Voorheesville. I had to speak firmly to myself about turning left to the Super Valu instead of right to go home, so it's probably well that I chickened out of taking a tour of Schenectady first. Though in Guilderland, when I still felt great, I thought I'd been unduly conservative even though I'd never ridden more than ten miles this year, and that only once. I was disappointed that the thrift shop in Guilderland doesn't open until eleven. I don't have a watch, so I don't know whether it would have paid to wait. It probably wasn't much past nine when I left Langan's, and though I was zig-zagging and in no hurry, I didn't stop anywhere. Except to consult the map. It wasn't yet twelve when I got home, and it takes at least forty-five minutes to ride here from Guilderland -- when I'm in much better shape -- and I took the full tour in the grocery even though I wanted only four items. Which the checkout clerk put into two bags! I put one bag into my pannier, then set the other inside it, and still had worlds of room. Do they pay packers by the bag? I rode up Grant Hill Road without once getting off the bike. Pretty good for the first trip in the spring. I did pull off the road for each of the two cars that passed while I was climbing. I was plenty ready to see the top, but never desperate. Perhaps it's strength training: I have been climbing only one little hill, and I haven't climbed it many times -- but I usually have six glass half-gallons of milk on the back. It's almost exactly four O'clock. I must remember that, because I just paid off the boys who coated our driveway, and it has to set for twenty-four hours before we drive on it. We can walk on it later today, he said. I figure we might as well let Langan keep the car until the tar is firm. The last time they back-ordered a part was last year -- and we haven't got it yet. Probably the same part. 13 June 1997 Sigh. Just as we were mooning over how pretty the driveway was, a light misty shower brought down yellow pollen all over it. Then last night, a wind carried locust petals from the back yard around the house and onto the driveway. (We get a lot of snow piled up in just that spot during winter storms.) And, when I wanted to top off my tires, I discovered that the bicycle pump is not in any of its usual places. I think I'd have noticed if it were in the Jeep when I cleaned it out to make room for the bike -- there's no place to hide anything in there. At least, when I went to the library yesterday, I didn't hear the funny noises in my front axle that alarmed me when I was coming back from Langan's. Probably time to take it to Klarsfeld for an overhaul anyway. And I need a new saddle. Dave called to say a man from Langan's called. It will be a couple of months at least before the part comes, and he wants the Jeep off their parking lot. We'll pick it up after lunch. I think I'll take my shopping list. 15 June 1997 I bought two yards of Walmart's $2/yard chambray to make three pillowcases. (It's sixty inches wide.) Later thought that I should have gotten four yards more to make Dave a nightshirt; There would have been no risk, because we can use another half-dozen pillowcases. The immediate need was to make contrasting cases for the three double-stuffed pillows that I made from six worn-out shredded-foam pillows and some scraps of blue denim. "Chambray" always looks mis-spelled to me. Found the bicycle pump -- right where I first looked for it. Time, sigh, to print out the Banner. I guess I've been putting it off because I don't want to pull the previous addition out of Evelyn's envelope and put it into Esther's. Evelyn once told me she'd been forwarding her copy to her sister. There were envelopes on her typewriter table addressed to us, Aunt Esther, and Aunt Eva. Yesterday, I broke the handle off the cultivator -- again. Dave says he knows a fellow who can weld aluminum, but first I'm going to take it to Price Greenleaf and see whether a replacement part for some other machine will fit it. I was disappointed with the pruning shears I bought there, but I don't know of any other place that sells garden tools, beyond the small selection found in hardware stores. I think we got the Culta-Eze by mail originally. I wish that someone would buy the plans from the company that bought out Esmay, and resume production. I've never seen any other machine that allowed the small and flabby to keep a garden cultivated -- I've been keeping ahead of bindweed! Which may not last long if I don't repair the cultivator; I went out with a hoe today, but chopped the bindweed only where I could see it, and you know that's much too late. Especially in among the catnip bushes. Must get on with pruning them. Offered Danny a couple of bushels; he said just throw it down where the cats can find it. I've been mulching the rose bed with catnip. 16 June 1997 Still not printed: I got efficient and went out to cut catnip while waiting for the printer, so I didn't notice that the paper was in backward until I'd printed two copies and part of a third. I have only three ribbons, and I can get two copies of the Banner out of a ribbon on the same day only by lowering my standards considerably for the second copy, not to mention that I was disgusted, so I got out my knitting and watched two episodes of Babylon five. This will complicate the counting. The top copies are better than carbons even though they have printing on the back, so I'm not throwing them out with the blank sheets and the backward copies. Another grumble: this morning, I looked for the unread letter I'd taken to Indiana. I had intended to borrow Evelyn's word processor and answer it, but forgot about it until I had other things to do. It was not among the papers packed on top of Uncle Scrooge; I think that I must have put it inside the Donald Duck book that we later decided not to take. 17 June 1997 MISSING PAGES -- my count of Banners mailed came up nineteen, and it should have been twenty. If you are missing pages 15 through 22, let me know. Went handle hunting yesterday. Olsen's, Price Greenleaf, and Phillips all said "What's that thing?" I bought five long, skinny bolts, with nuts and washers, to put it back together again. I think I'd better find out where I can find lumber to make a wooden handle. Didn't see any garden machines except wheelbarrows. I can't imagine why any gardener would use a wheelbarrow now that wheels are so cheap that anyone can afford to buy a cart. Saw some Red Flyer wagons at Price Greenleaf. Too many to be there just to move the inventory around, but some of them looked used. Intent upon my handle (and the plants -- I bought six Calendula), I didn't look for price tags. 19 June 1997 Now I've got two hard tires and nowhere to go. Was all set to improve my physical condition by riding to Wal-Mart to buy eight yards of the two-dollar chambray to make a pair of nightshirts. Put on my shorts upon rising, ate, read the paper, printed out my shopping list, packed the bike. Found the floor pump leaning against the bike -- I'd been tired when I noticed that the back tire was dangerously soft; thought I'd be all full of energy when I next planned to ride. A vital part of the chuck on the pump was missing. Called Meyers' to see whether they sell presta-pump parts. Recording said that they open at twelve. I'd planned to be on the way back before then! After thinking for a while, I decided to have the pump repaired at Klarsfeld's, and shop on the way back. If I didn't get my exercise, at least I'd have my chambray. So I changed clothes, put the pump in the back of the Jeep -- and, at the last minute, went back into the house to call Klarsfeld; their recording said that they open at eleven! That was easily taken care of by a change of route. As a bonus, visiting Wal-Mart first meant that I'd have a right turn into Klarsfeld's without poking around in the girlname streets, which I hadn't been sure I could do in something the size of the Jeep. (Turning left onto Central is at least possible, if you have a traffic light, but turning left across Central requires lights and sirens and flagmen.) While in Wal-Mart, I looked at a four-dollar Rubbermaid bucket -- a good bargain, but I have a plastic bucket. Of course, the first thing I did, after having a nap and bringing in the mail, was to plant two Calendula by the oak tree, and the ground is so dry now that each needed an entire bucket of water, and I'm going to have to haul more every day for a week. Now I remember why I wanted two buckets! When I went into the garage for the planting tools, the missing pump part was in the middle of the floor, bright and shiny and plain to see. Ah, well, the replacement chuck works better than the old one even though it's really a Schraeder-Presta adaptor. The mechanic, using a little brute force, screwed the Schraeder end into the hose. I screwed the missing part onto the old chuck, and threw it into a basket in the bike cupboard. Since I was on Central anyway, I went to the Salvation Army store on the way from Wal-Mart to Klarsfeld. Nothing interesting this time -- I'd been hoping for some yarn or needlework tools -- but I found a turtleneck and a mock turtleneck to put away for next winter, and bought a glass saucepan and a juice glass. Saw a 100% shetland sweater for $4, but it was much too small for me. Would have been worth buying for the yarn, but it was too pretty to unravel, and I have no current need for aqua fingering- weight yarn. Right next to it was a pedestrian all- acrylic sweater for $6. A woman who was looking at the bedclothes commented that used blankets were priced much too high. I thought the $4 acrylic throw would be a bargain -- for a Comp USA fan. It was double-woven like the cotton throws found in souvenir shops. But why would the logo of a computer store be woven into a sofa throw? Arachne I stopped at the library to drop We Who Are About To through the slot. I'd asked for it through interlibrary loan because someone on one of the groups -- presumably rec.art.sf.written -- had said that even though Joanna Russ mostly writes revolting polemics, she can tell a story when she puts her mind to it, and We Who Are About To is really, really good. The length of the introduction was my first tip-off -- a whole chapter of literary discussion of a still-living author? In many dead-serious, very important words, the introduction said that it was daring, original, and literary for Russ to refuse to amuse her readers, and praised her for taking half a book to say that the hero murdered all her fellow castaways, and the other half to say that said hero also killed herself. It didn't say why I should be fascinated to read the rambling diary of a worthless person. I sampled a few places to see that it was really as pointless as the introduction said, and to give the characters a chance to say that they were worth meeting after all -- not too hopefully, as the introduction promised that, as filtered through the neuroses of the narrator, they were all flat and one- dimensional. I recall having read, somewhere, sometime, a scene that would fit into the early part of this book nicely, but did not look for it. I'm pretty sure it was there. Why would anybody in his right mind excerpt this mess? @@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@ 21 June 1997 I don't recall seeing Rascal lately. Perhaps I should ask Danny. Poor little Fred. He needed his face washed this morning -- must have been itchy, as he took it with better grace than usual. While I was at it, I decided to check his deformed claw even though it's so chalky and weak that he breaks it off himself when he grooms his feet. He flinched when I picked up his paw, and I felt something odd. The second claw over from the deformed claw had grown so far into the pad that it was hard to pull it out after I'd clipped it! And this had been going on so long that he has great peaks of dirty-black callus on both sides of the puncture, which is what I'd felt when I held his paw. I knew Fred was a laid-back kitty, but I was amazed that he'd never dropped a hint. But he is accustomed to letting Frieda do the yowling for both of them. With the sun already behind the trees on the mountain, the outdoor thermometer still reads well over eighty. The ironing is piling up. Dave installed the window air conditioner in the bedroom this evening, and went to bed with the latest "Uncle Scrooge." Fred joined him, and he isn't curled up on Dave's elbow; he's sprawled on my side of the bed. Yesterday's Enterprise included an ad for a garage sale on Helderhill Road today, and among the items offered was a "loom". About half an hour after the sale started, I hopped on the bike, thinking that if it was a good floor loom at a reasonable price, I would buy it and come back in the Jeep. Aside from a telephone pole stuck up with bright plastic push-pins, I saw not the slightest hint of a garage sale anywhere on or near Helderhill, and I went clear to the dead end. I thought it rude to advertise a sale and not have one, but I suppose some sort of emergency must have come up. Watered the calendula after pizza tonight, without even changing my clothes. (Since I changed straight into a nightgown, it's just as well!) I could find only five. I'm sure I put two to the right of the front door, but there's only one there now. There's a spot that looks a bit dug, but not dug enough to have contained a transplant. 24 June 1997 Counted again yesterday, and came up six. There are three to the left of the front door. Finally got around to putting the chambray and a few other things on to soak last night, and put in a load of shirts when I took it out. We are, of course, having another of our misty little rains. For the third time in a row, I forgot that I'd had Dave switch the laundry pump onto the garden hose. The hose was in the outside stairway, so most of it was caught by the little trench we chiseled to divert rain leaking in. I was pleasantly surprised to find the dirt dark and damp when I dug an irrigation ditch with the Culta Eze. The rains have been so shallow, and the lawn so dry, that I feared the garden would be desperate for this watering. Perhaps Father's advice to break up the top layer after every rain helped! At any rate, I'm feeling free to do a really good job of watering this row, then get around to the others later. The oats have headed out, much to my surprise. At this rate, they'll be harvested soon after the onions. Which I haven't finished planting yet. The crisper still contains a clutter of onions too far gone to use, but not yet rotting. The spots where potatoes didn't come up will be a good place to bury them. The Jerusalem Artichokes are waist high, but the tubers in the crisper still appear to be sound. Which inspired me to scrub, peel, and eat one. Still crisp, even down the stem, but lacking in flavor. 'Course sunchokes at their best don't have much flavor. 26 June 1997 Another light, misting rain -- judged it this morning as "enough to keep you from mowing the grass, but not enough to water it." At ten o'clock, it had developed into something that will water the grass, if it persists. [It didn't.] And Danny's lawn mowers drove up in their truck, pulling a trailer of equipment. They stood under the maple tree as if waiting for something, fiddled with the equipment, and backed out again. Indian Ladder may have suffered a big dent in their milk business. The cooler broke down, and when I couldn't wait any longer to replenish the fridge, I went to the Super Valu -- and discovered that they now sell Meadowbrook milk, in screw-top gallon jugs that you don't have to take back. So I no longer have to make a separate trip for milk. For most of the people disappointed at Indian Ladder, Super Valu would be the nearest place to look for a substitute Well, Mobil is half a block closer -- I wonder whether they have resumed selling Sycaway? I stopped at the Our Family's Harvest, which is more nursery than fruit stand this time of year, to return a quart bottle I acquired last summer, and bought a quart of chocolate milk. Dave has drunk it already, and now I have to take the bottle back . . . We can use this rain. After commenting that I turned up dark dirt plowing an irrigation ditch, I discovered that the chicken I meant to cook for supper Tuesday night had been warm too long. The hole I dug to bury it was only a few inches from the lower end of the irrigation ditch, but it was dry and dusty as far down as it went. Course that wasn't as deep a hole as usual; I didn't bother to put shoes on first, which made operating a spade awkward. Finally found my sandals this morning (I'd put them in a shoebox, stacked in the closet with the special-occasion shoes) -- and they are too tight to wear with socks. They belong with the party shoes. Should have looked for summer slippers when I was at Red Wing. Probably wouldn't have had much luck in March. 28 June 1997 I put a newspaper clipping that said "New Salem South Road" in my jersey pocket, and blithely set out for New Scotland South Road. Realized it before passing the far end of New Salem, but the garage sale, of course, was at the near end. (Like New Salem Road, New Salem South Road has both ends on New Scotland Road.) Saw a $25 knee-control Singer, and a $90 antique skein winder. The winder appeared to be in working condition, though the indicator wire did not have any numbers marked around it. But it's as high as a two-deck printer stand, and somewhat wider. Not to mention that I mostly need skein unwinders. The Singer looked just like Mother's -- the case, at least; I didn't open it. The sale is on again tomorrow. If I knew where I would put another sewing machine, I'd go back and get it. Assuming that it has all the parts. Having already traversed New Salem South Road, and not caring much for New Scotland Road, I proceeded to Voorheesville by New Salem Road, instead of going on around the loop as I'd planned. I stopped at home to drop off the glass refrigerator pitcher I'd bought, and refill my bottles. Nothing at the other garage sale, so I bought two gallons of milk and a loaf of bread and came home. Chickened out of the trip to Altamont, but did swing by the library, which is closed on Saturdays in the summer. There's a sheep show near Altamont tomorrow, but I didn't see any notice of it until today, which isn't enough warning to work myself up to having $10 worth of fun at an all-day event. Probably didn't help that I didn't read the morning paper until after the ten-mile ride in the hot sun. I don't think it was hot enough to drip as much as I did, though. I blame the greasy sunscreen I was wearing. At least the lotion doesn't stink as much as it did last summer! I'll never buy baby sunscreen again. Alcohol-based sunscreen is another loser. It does feel cool, but the fumes are so strong that one can't apply it above the waist. And it leaves a sticky film like sugar or gelatin; I'd rather have grease. Titanium dioxide sunscreen isn't bad -- if you don't mind taking five minutes to smooth out streaks. When it's hastily applied, you appear to have had an owl perching on your head. 2 July 1997 On Sunday, I discovered that I hadn't pulled all of the ingrown claw out of Fred's pad, so Monday it was off to the vet. Saw Dr. Bull again. A teeny pair of pliers and it was all over. And he doesn't have to come back for the shots that were due in September. The remaining peak of black callus came off when she cleaned his foot with peroxide-soaked cotton. Looks like a normal pink pad now, with a red spot in a groove that appears to be filling in rapidly. Sometimes I think Fred speaks English. When Dave was leaving after lunch, we took the chance Fred offered, even though it meant Fred and I would leave a bit early. I've tried to teach Fred to yell when he's trapped, and it seems to have taken. While putting the cage in the Jeep: "meow, meow, meow, meow" "If you think it hurts now, wait until the vet starts fooling around with that sore paw." ">MEOW!<" He shut up once we got to the hospital -- he no longer wanted out of the cage, especially when I was stepping over two energetic toy poodles. After a while, Dr. Bull said, "He can go back into the cage now." and went out to count Fred's antibiotic pills. I put the cage on the table and opened its door. Fred stayed where he was. I exclaimed, "Now that's laid back," and engaged the student-observer in chit-chat. Dr. Bull returned and said, "As long as he's still out here, I'll give him his first (sudden slither) -- I guess he doesn't want it." In chatting while paying the bill, I said, as if to Fred, "Is it all right if I stop to buy strawberries on the way home?" "MEOW!" It sure sounded like "no" to me. I've broken two glasses and a plate in the last week. I'm beginning to think I should feed my family off plastic. And the muffler fell off my Jeep on the way home from the supermarket today. I dragged it home very cautiously; now we've got to wire it up or break it off, and make an appointment at Monroe. Dave has had more than one appointment with his doctors this week; Frieda and I are looking at one another nervously. Yesterday, or the day before, the UPS truck drove up; I dashed to the door, the driver got out carrying a parcel about the size of ten balls of tatting cotton. It was a Quill catalog. With a "welcome back, please stay" flyer. I should write and tell them "the package of four-part paper that was delivered a few days ago will last me two and a half years; stop feeling neglected." Checked Quicken. Ordered the cotton on May 27, the paper on June 18. Pity Quill doesn't carry thread! Yesterday, the Methodist thrift shop opened for the summer. Seemed well organized; perhaps I missed seeing the sign last Tuesday. Found a lovely safety-yellow, all-wool sweater I thought would make good underwear for winter cycling, but it was so small that there was no point to trying it on. I saw some yarn and fabric, but nothing to add to my stash. I did buy a pressed-glass relish bowl to match a small serving dish I already had. No books worth considering; perhaps everyone gave to the library's book sale instead. I'll contribute any surplus books I find while cleaning up; there's no point to storing them until next May, particularly when there's no assurance that the library will be taking books. Time to search the closets; I think I've pretty much gotten rid of unwanted clothes, though. The closet was a bit tight while the winter and summer stuff were both out, but most of my turtlenecks are all packed away in the bottom drawer now. I suppose it's about time I sewed pockets on the summer blouse I made last fall. 3 July 1997 An annual chore taken care of. When it got warm enough to resume carrying garbage out to the compost heap, the indoor can was only a quarter full, the Jerusalem Artichokes (which I count on to conceal the awful sight from the neighbors) had not come up yet, and we were getting a little misty rain every day, so I continued my old habits. Yesterday, I finally realized why the garage has been full of flies for a week, so I hauled the can out this morning, and upended it behind the sunchokes, leaving it to cover what I presume to be a stinky mess. Some black fluid ran out, and I hadn't put in anything runny. I'll let it set a day or two before I take the can off and wash it, unless the rain they are predicting amounts to something -- and I'm convinced before it's too late to go out in it. They are predicting periods of rain from now through the Fourth, but it looks to me like cloudy, warm, and humid, with intervals of hot sun. None of the previously-predicted rains have come to anything. I gave up looking for loose tea, and bought a hundred tagless bags to make iced tea. They are in pairs, so putting eight of them into a jar isn't as much fuss as it might be. The instructions don't note that you can just put the bags into cold water and refrigerate overnight. Probably as quick as sun tea, since you have to chill the tea after taking it in out of the sun, and it's a great deal less fuss. But the fuss is part of the romance of "sun tea", I suppose. Must be a thunderstorm coming. Fire control is beeping everybody. Whoops, "tornadoes" too. 4 July 1997 Went to the Gold Coin for supper. Otherwise, the highlight of the holiday was changing both cat boxes the same day. I was alarmed to see that somebody was suffering from diarrhea -- until Dave reminded me that Fred was on antibiotics. He got the last pill in his supper tonight, so that should ease off soon. I've written "change cat box" on tomorrow's schedule. I usually empty one every other day, so that each tray goes four days. Looked through the Omaha Vaccine catalog before ordering scissors -- and paying nearly as much for S&H as for the scissors. There's a marvelous new system that saves you from having to change the litter. All you have to do is wash it. Yecch. 5 July 1997 Grump, grumble, gripe. Tried to send some e-mail before going up to bed, and the server is down. This is just after midnight, by the way. I usually get sleepy at eleven, but my nap was late -- and I had a lot of tea at the Gold Coin. Perhaps I should work on Shuttle Solitaire or WEB #49 for a while. 6 July 1997 Unmolded the pile of garbage. Seems to be mostly eggshells. 7 July 1997 Dry-mopped the ceilings today. Huff, puff - - whaddya mean, I've still got the upstairs to do? Shortly after the rash of smashing crockery, I decided to bring up two more of the three dozen footed tumblers I bought several years ago, after getting tired of buying two glasses every time I went shopping. (It was, of course, a full year before I broke another glass.) When I saw that only eight remained, I decided to bring up all of them, and get that rotting, bug-infested box out of the cellar. So I picked up said rotting box, and it fell apart. Before I'd lifted it very high, and after I'd gotten it over two six-packs of soda- pop, so nothing broke. Most of the glasses fell between the bottles. I left five of them upside down beside the soda. Rained heavily this evening, but only the driveway was still wet when I took out a banana peel not much later. Dave worked out how much money to order for the fair today. Won't be long: 24, 25, and 26 July. Lot of work to do in such a short time. I'm glad I'm committed to hanging out in the cellar. I'll have to find a real job next year, as Dave is giving up the post of treasurer. I'd better find some red yarn so I can resume working on the Afghan of the Millenium. If I can figure out a way to keep it off the cellar floor; it's a yard and two-thirds across now. I suppose taking over a whole table is out of the question. I'm approaching the place where I'll have to use the lime green yarn and the we-swept-the- floor brown heather. I'm hoping that they will neutralize each other when used in alternate stripes. Y'all who have been waiting breathlessly for the text of the letter from Bill Dunn are out of luck. I decided tonight to get on with finishing the proofreading and the printing out -- and if it's still on the disk, there isn't a way in the world I can find it. All I know is that when I clicked an icon marked "Bill Dunn", I got it. What directory it was in, or what it was called, I don't know. I just went through all the *.doc files on both disks, and it isn't there. I do remember vividly that I'd been dumb enough to use Word instead of PC-Write, so the extension had to be "doc", so I must conclude that it was thrown away when the guru "improved" our system. I'm not at all sure I have the heart to do any more transcription. That faded type was so hard to read! 9 July 1997 I knew that putting the white clothes in to soak yesterday would get us a nice rain today! If it persists, I'll have to iron the sheet and the pillowcases; it's too humid to dry things in the cellar. Predicted to be clear and pleasant over the weekend. When visiting Nancy Hannman's house to feed her cats, we saw two farmers take advantage of the long stretch of good drying weather to get their hay in. Both fields were clear when we last went there on Monday. Saw Nancy coming home as we turned out of her road onto 85. You've heard of spouses snitching from each other -- she takes his razor, he takes her towel. Yesterday, Dave took my nap! About noon, I decided to iron a shirt, two door curtains, a tablecloth, and a few of my poncho shirts, then eat a fruit bar before I went to bed. Just as I was finishing the shirt, I heard a car drive up. I went into the bedroom to hang up the shirt and look out the window, and there was Dave hobbling toward the house on a crutch! I hooked the hanger onto the light fixture without buttoning the collar of the shirt, and dashed into the spare room to turn off and unplug the iron. Later discovered that I'd left it on the ironing board; I always put my irons on the floor when not in use, because I lost my first iron to repeated crashes. Dave said that the hip doctor wanted to give him a cortisone shot, which hurts horribly, so he gave him a shot of novocaine. The novocaine didn't appear to do much for the pain of the cortisone shot, but it did paralyze a major nerve in his leg. So I fried a couple of hot dogs and thawed a couple of buns. After lunch, Dave hobbled upstairs to sleep off the novocaine -- his leg felt weird the whole rest of the evening, but he didn't need the crutch. I cleared up, then finished the ironing, and then it was time to get up from my nap, which Dave did. At least the shot seems to have worked. He slept right through the night, and got up not limping. But he has to go back in six weeks for a follow-up. He says that a friend who had the same thing said that he had three or four shots at six-week intervals before it cleared up entirely. I went to buy supper by Saab yesterday evening; Dave wired up the muffler on the Jeep, but I don't want to drive it anywhere except straight to Monroe, and it was too close to the time I needed the stuff to go by bike. Not to mention that I'd been running up and down the stairs with the laundry all morning, and hadn't had my nap. When I went out to make sure the irrigation ditch was receiving the wash water, the garden looked watered; it was even wet under a couple of rocks I displaced. But the ground is bone- dry under rhubarb leaves and in the shade of the Jerusalem artichokes. The ditch was dammed in two places: Danny's cats appreciate pre-dug holes. Did have to iron the sheet, but there was only one pillowcase. Everything else got almost dry between showers, except Dave's socks, which were still damp when I got up this morning. I put them on the curtain rods. 10 July 1997 Finally got around to taking the Jeep to Monroe -- after Dave made the appointment. To think that I sold the Toyota because unimportant parts were falling off! Decided, after mounting up, that I didn't want to shop after all, and headed home. Just as well -- stopped at the health food store, undid a stuck knot, got my pocketbook out of the pannier, climbed the steps, and remembered that stores don't open until ten. I got home at 9:50. Got home cold & sweaty -- I hate humid weather! Pity I didn't note what time it was when we left; From 155 & Western used to take 45 minutes, and I'd like to know how long I spent zig-zagging hither and yon. 11 July 1997 Dave says fifteen of eight -- about two hours for going out by car and coming back by bike. Sigh. While they were replacing everything under the car, they found a worn tire, and now that has to be taken care of. And the other front tire looks a bit senescent. Noticed on the way back in the Jeep this morning that Oceans Eleven is now Rosso's. That will mess up my navigation; I may have to learn the name of the shopping center where the health-food store is. Noticed also that guard rails no longer make my engine sound odd. I can still hear mailboxes "fttp!" in the village, but not those along the open road. I suppose the broken tailpipe was more of a point source than a working muffler is. I hope tansy flowers are attractive, because my shoulder-high bush appears to plan on having a zillion of them, right soon. The last of the madonna lilies that were in front of the tansy has faded, and I pinched off the seed pods. The white against lacy green was spectacular while it lasted. Other madonna lilies are still in bloom, and the tigers are in bud. Perhaps I wouldn't have skipped the poets' meeting yesterday, had I realized that the next meeting is on the first day of the fair. And I won't be here during the second meeting in August. 12 July 1997 Tansy is unchanged. I washed the winter's accumulation of cleaning rags, because the potatoes and the oats needed water. Sat out in the lawn chair with my stranded stocking while the washer ran, but the cats ignored or avoided me. Inside, sitting down to knit is a sure- fire way to get attention. I had seen today's episode of B5, so didn't watch it. I can't believe that they re-ran "Intersections in Real Time" last week. It was the season finale only a short time before -- and re-running "Intersections" is a perverse thing to do at any time. I doubt that anybody who knows how it comes out would watch it. The worst bits were tactfully edited, and it was assumed that Sheridan was wanted physically intact, but it was still a realistic portrayal of "interrogation". I should check into Deja News and find out what the B5 newsgroup said about "Intersections". It strikes me as most curious that EarthGov would threaten to kill a perfectly strange Drazhy, but they didn't torture Sheridan's father. Could it be that they don't actually have him? He could have been mislaid when PsyCorps raided the Edgars compound. 13 July 1997 Read Babylon.Five.moderated, then checked into Lurker's Guide on the Web. The fans were clueless, but Lurker's listed "Is Sheridan's father still in custody?" as one of the unanswered questions for the episode; no speculation as to why EarthGov wasn't using him to break Sheridan. "JMS speaks" (a collection of relevant quotes) included some impressive credentials in support of the accuracy of the portrayal of interrogation. Mentioned the change in my landmark to Dave, and he said that it was always "Rosso's Oceans Eleven"; now it's "Rosso's Italian Restaurant". It was also always an Italian restaurant, so the name change was just an attention-getting device. I always spotted it by the curved roof before seeing the sign anyway. And I hardly ever give anyone directions to Paradise. Addressed the envelopes for WEB #49 today. Windows 95 was being particularly nasty about not wanting me to use non-Microsoft programs; it not only wanted me to wait minutes between envelopes, but wouldn't allow me to skip pages. I could have done the job by hand in less time -- but first I'd have to print out a copy to type by! Poor Dave came home when I was about halfway through. I hissed at him.