Didn't Your Mother Ever Tell You....

The other day while I was at work, I was checking out this woman's books when she commented, "You don't look any older than 15."

I said nothing, just continued checking out the books. She looked at me for a moment, then said, "Are you older than that? Not by much, surely. Sixteen?"

The woman was clearly in her retired years, so perhaps anyone younger than 40 looked infantile to her, but we'll ignore that for now. And we'll ignore the fact that no teenager would ever be working behind the reference desk at a library (at least not at mine). We'll also ignore the fact that, regardless of how someone wants to look when they are 40, it's quite rude to tell a 20-something that they look like they're in high school (Think about everything a 15-year-old can't do that a 20-something can. And honestly? Who are you more likely to respect?).

But we'll ignore those facts, because there's something else that was bothering me more. When I was a child, I was taught that there are three questions that you never (NEVER EVER) ask an adult for two reasons: A) It's none of your business and B) It would be rude.

How old are you?
How much do you weigh?
How much money do you make?

There is exactly one reason (and one reason only) that you should be asking a stranger any of those questions: if it's an integral part of your job (The sales clerk at the liquor store has the right to know). Otherwise, regardless of how old you are, or how old the person you're asking is, you NEVER EVER ask these questions of anyone. I don't know the ages of most of the people I work with -- and I'm on first name basis with all of them.

So, since when did growing older excuse people from basic politeness? So this woman was old enough to be a grandmother. So what? Does that mean that she can just ignore basic rules of etiquette? In fact, if she was indeed a grandmother, then it stands to reason that she was responsible for installing manners into at least one other person, which means she should be familiar with the fundamental laws of decorum. And if she feels that she can go around asking complete strangers their age, I shudder to think how her child was raised.

So if you happen to see someone who you think doesn't look their age? Unless it is your responsibility to make sure they are old enough to do the activity they're trying to do, keep your mouth shut. Whether they look their age or not, IT'S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS how old they are.

Only Three More Months

Until school starts again. In the meantime, I'm knitting myself a poncho, which will at least help me deal with the blasted ice box the HVAC system thinks I need to be in at work.

Three months. I can do it. I know I can.

Catching Up

I've finished my butterfly socks.



Knit from something akin to Lion Brand Glitter Spun. The pattern is made up. The color is a bit off, due in part to the lack of natural light when I took this picture. At the time, I had all the lights off and the curtains drawn in my apartment in an effort to escape from the (insert filthy explicative of your choice here) heat wave that we were going through earlier in the week.



I've also completed my forest green socks, knit from one of the skeins I bought at Maryland Sheep and Wool. The pattern is my own standard sock pattern.

I took the remnants and knit a pair of toesies,



which, contrary to the photo are actually done now. They're a little short, but I'll manage.

Sometimes....

We humans are a weird bunch. I realize this is not news to any of you, but it has really come to my attention in recent days -- so much so that I feel forced to comment on it. Of course, I am including myself in this bunch. I would never dare to accuse other people of being strange without making the statement about myself in the process. I'm sure I lead the pack in some areas.

Food is where we are definitely the weirdest. I pity the poor alien anthropologist whose job it will be to observe us someday. Think about it. I will gripe about $4 gas, then go and spend the exact same amount of money on some fancy drink from Starbucks. I will eat beef, and I will eat goose, but absolutely refuse to eat veal or fois grois. I will also not eat tomatoes or peanuts, but throw the tomatoes into a pot and cook until mush, or grind the peanuts until they're the consistency of soft butter, and I'll eat them both with gusto.

But I'm not the only weird one. The whole human race is like this. We believe that eating Rocky Mountain oysters will miraculously correct some ailment we have with our own corresponding body part (don't laugh -- that's how the whole custom started), and will eat fish eggs, monkey brain, and asparagus for the exact same reasons. We will eat chicken, and we will eat eggs, but we will not eat fertilized chicken eggs, even though they're basically the same things. My friend S from college thought rice pudding was gross, because she believes that rice and milk are two foods that don't go together, but she didn't bat an eye at a bowl of Rice Krispies. My brother will not eat cherries, but he will eat the cake part of cherry pudding that has juice in it. My coworker M will eat turnip greens by the bucket load -- but refuses to eat the turnips themselves. She'll also eat liver, but not kidneys or chitlins. And my friend T from church will gladly consume most any form of animal flesh set before her, but was sufficiently grossed out the other day when I told her where Jello comes from.

Yep. There's no denying it. We are one odd species.

Random Musings

1. I just read online this evening about how gas costs over $11/gallon in Turkey. I won't comment on how comparatively lucky we are here in the US with it costing $4.

2. The first week of October this year is apparently Mysteries Series Week. Must have a program -- although why they can't be celebrated in July when our theme for SRP is mysteries is beyond me.

3. Apparently (according to the people on the radio) giving children last names as first names has become the new trend. I won't mention the fact that people have been giving their kids last names for years -- My great-great grandfather's middle name was McClelland -- but we won't go there.

4. I have about 150 yards of freshly spun green (mostly) laceweight wool. Any ideas on what I can do with it?

Sometimes it makes you think

The other week, someone said something rather extraordinary to me (at least in my opinion). I was at choir practice, and I tend to bring muffins or cookies to practice as a little snack for everyone there. I also tend to bring my knitting (usually a sock) which I like to work on inbetween songs. Toward the end of practice, someone commented that I must be very talented, since I was able to knit socks AND make such great goodies.

At first it was flattering -- I'm glad people like my baking. But then I got to thinking. People think I'm very talented....because I know how to knit and bake?

When, exactly, did knitting and baking become such rare skills? As recently as fifty years ago, practically all women knew how to bake and knit (or crochet or some similar needlecraft). It was considered a given that she would have those two skills. When did the ability to loop string and combine sugar, milk, and flour together become so unique?

Personally, I blame the feminist movement. When women rebelled against the idea of staying at home, they rebelled against all the domestic skills that went along with it. It's a shame really. I'm not saying that the feminist movement was bad. Far from it. It gave women the power to choose what they wanted to do with their lives, which is great! But that doesn't mean that a woman has to give up all domestic abilities, just because she no longer HAS to stay at home. I am one of those rare people out there who believe that all people everywhere, whether man or woman, need to know how to sew a button on, mend a ripped seam, cook a basic meal (yes, muffins and cookies can be pretty basic), and have the knowledge and dexterity to knit and/or crochet at least a hat. Honestly. None of those things are really that hard.

But I'll still enjoy feeling flattered whenever anyone stares at me agog when I walk around carrying five really tiny knitting needles and magically creating footware with them.

Weather

Yesterday morning, I woke up, and it was raining. Today, I woke up, and it was raining. This is not good.

Don't get me wrong. I love the rain. Here in northern VA we certainly need it -- I don't think we've replenished the deficit from the drought we had last year, and I have a feeling this summer is going to be a little on the dry side too. So we can use all the raiin we can get.

But rain in the morning is not good. First of all, it makes me want to sleep in and spend all day in bed. Not an option when I am needed elsewhere (like work or church). Secondly, if it is raining, I cannot run. No, correct that. It's not that I can't, it's that I won't. It's no fun to run in the rain. I get wet enough as it is when it isn't raining that I don't need to get wetter. And it's darned uncomfortable when you have to wear wet clothes. So no running.

Why can't it ever rain when we're asleep?

These Things Come in Threes

I can't believe it's almost May already. Whatever happened to April? Time flies.

Anyway! Last week was the Flower and Garden Show. A friend and I went, even though it poured buckets. We had fun. We spent money.

The Maryland Sheep and Wool Festival is coming up this weekend.

The Green Valley Bookfair is coming up the weekend after that.

This spring is really going to be bad for my bank account. I can tell.

Little People

I was doing a program the other week for very young children. We're talking babies here. Under a year. Haven't mastered the art of stringing intelligible words together or walking upright. Most are just learning what the word "shhh" means, if they have any idea at all. So, needless to say, I wasn't expecting the kids to be perfect little angels. Kids that age have an attention span of about 3 seconds. Since I wasn't holding a bottle, a blanket, or a weird toy that jingled, if they look at me and smile for the duration of those three seconds, I consider that an accomplishment on my part.

One of the children was not being happy. He wanted to crawl around the room. Dad did not want him to, and insisted on baby sitting on his lap. Baby did not like this. He fussed, he cried, he fidgeted. In other words, he acted like a normal baby. Dad responded by covering baby's mouth.

I told the father that if his son wished to explore the room we were in, that was perfectly fine. He relaxed his vigilance, and the kid happily investigated. But I haven't seen father or son since, and I think the reason may have had to do with the fact that the father may have been a little embarrassed, because his child was the only one fussing. Which is a crying shame, really. This was a program for kids under the age of eighteen months. No child that age wants to sit still for 20 minutes and listen to some strange person sing songs -- even if they're silly songs. If little dude wants to crawl around the floor and mutter happy nonsense noises to himself, that's ok. I figure, as long as he isn't chewing another kid's pacifier, screaming at the top of his lungs, or hurting himself, he's fine. He's probably learning more than he would if he were sitting on Mom or Dad's lap being restrained while he fussed. At least now he's happy. And I'd much rather listen to a happy baby than a crying one any day.

The Harlot (see link on left-hand side) says this much better than I right now, so I encourage you to check out her blog. Babies are going to be noisy (in that respect, they aren't really that different from a lot of adults I know). They're going to fuss, they're going to scream, and if they're in a new and interesting place, they're going to want to explore. Let them. As long as they're happy and not hurting themselves or someone else, they're going to be fine.

It's like running

You ever notice how commitment is lacking in a lot of people? Tired of your hobby? Get a new one. Tired of your job? Get a new one. Tired of your house? Get a new one. Tired of your spouse? Get a new one. It's getting to be rather annoying, personally. Have we, as a society, become so lackluster in our emotions that we can't get our souls involved in anything anymore? So, it isn't fun anymore. So what? Is that why you did it in the first place? When you do something with all your soul (whatever that something is), you don't necessarily do it because it's fun, or because you're enjoying it. You do it because a) you know the prize at the end is more than worth the pain you're currently experiencing and b) you made a committment to do it, even if it's only to yourself.

I've started running in the mornings, a little bit each day. The goal is eventually to be able to run for 30 minutes straight. This week I'm running for five minutes at a time.

You never realize how long five minutes are until you actually try to run for that length. By the end of it, your lungs are on fire, and your legs are burning, and you're gasping for air, and you have stitches in your side. And on top of it all, I don't have the stop watch that tells me how long I've been running. My buddy has that. So in addition to being in pain and gasping for breath, you don't know how much longer it's going to continue. The only thing that keeps you going is the fact that you made a committment to run, and (provided you don't sprain your ankle or do something similar) you're going to see it through.

I know that eventually, I will obtain a fitter, slimmer body. Or at least, that is what I hope. And that is why I run. I don't run because I enjoy getting up early in the morning, nor do I do it because I enjoy gasping for breath or shooting pain up my legs. None of that is what I call "fun." It cerainly isn't what I would call a good time. But that isn't why I do it. I run because I know what I'll get out of it. But more importantly, I made the commitment to do so.

Just a thought.

Sunshine, Freedom, and a Little Flower

Today is the 203rd birthday of Hans Christian Anderson, and he was responsible for the title of today's post, when he said, "Just living is not enough...One must have sunshine, freedom, and a little flower." Emerson (or quite possibly e.e. cummings) said something similar when he said "The earth laughs in flowers."

As spring is now upon us, and the pear and magnolia trees are in bloom (well, here anyway), it's a great little sentiment to remember as we look around us. I'm not a particularly big fan of spring, mainly because it means that summer will soon be upon us, and I'm not a hot-weather person, but no one can deny that this is probably one of the prettiest times of the year. Outside my apartment building, there are two cherry trees that are just beginning to blossom and a white dogwood tree that has just started to bud. Pretty soon, all three of them will be full of flowers. They will blossom and flourish for a couple of days, and then all too quickly, the warmer weather will be upon us. The blossoms will all be gone and replaced by green leaves. So, let's all breathe deep and enjoy the sights while they are around us.

Listen to the earth laughing.

Weirdly Normal

I was at Borders this past Friday with some of my buddies, and somehow (I don't recall what we were discussing, but I'm sure it was important), the topic of my knitting came up. One of my friends laughingly called me a "Knitting Fiend," much to the hilarity of the others there. I immediately corrected her by saying that I was not a fiend. That among my knitting friends, we prefered to be called "Fiber Fondlers."

Well, this got a similar reaction: slightly confused looks of incredulity, and some mildly hysterical giggles. Finally, A said, "I don't think I would ever willingly call myself anything that has the word fondler in it." The others immediately agreed.

I think I'm going to give up trying to explain myself to the non-knitters of the world. While many people look at me knitting and say, "Wow, that's so cool. I wish I could do something like that," there are equally large populations of people who look at me and say, "I can't believe she's doing that here," or "I can't believe she would spend so much time doing something like that."

So, I think I'm going to go out of my way to confuse them even more. Stephanie has said things much better than I in her blog regarding this, particularly in this entry, although it would be fun to read her next post about it (Grip Getting) as well, when she assigns all the posts. It could be just as interesting to do your sock pictures in other cities/towns/hamlets around the world if you wanted to.

This is such a great idea. Confuse the world! Take sock pictures! Be weirdly normal! It'll be so much fun.

Something to Think About

I read this article the other day -- about St. Patty's Day falling when it does this year. Apparently, according to liturgical rules, a mass for a deceased saint cannot be celebrated during Holy Week. This is causing certain dilemmas in various areas, because people now do not know when to celebrate the day.

You would think the Church would have taken care of this prior to now. I mean, given the fact that St. Patrick's Day always falls during Lent, I would think that those to whom this is an important issue would have foreseen this happening and discussed it already. Besides, the reason for celebrating the day at all is because it's the day St. Patrick died. I don't actually think the dude specifically chose this particular day to die. And even if he had, I don't think he was thinking, "Gee, 1600 years from now, people are really going to have issues with when they're going to be celebrate the day I die. Perhaps I should choose to die some other time."

Personally, I don't see what the big issue is anyway. I'm not Irish, and I don't see the point of celebrating the death of some guy who happens to be the patron saint of a country I can't claim. I mean, no one other than the Scots and the Russians celebrate St. Andrew's Day (Nov. 30), and only the French celebrate the feast day of Joan of Arc (May 30). Even St. Nicholas (Dec 6) has a limited following outside of Holland and Russia. And the Catholic Encyclopedia, while giving his feast day as April 23, can't even give an exact date for the death of St. George, the patron saint of England. So, why the big fuss about St. Patrick?

Any thoughts?

Hmmmm.....

Interesting article on CNN.com this morning. I wonder how many people are going to take it to heart. Personally, I think it's a good idea, at least to try.

There's So Much That We Share that It's Time We're Aware

There's this coffee shop in town. It's reasonably independent (there's another coffee shop with the same name in a nearby town, but as far as I know, these are the only two ones in the world) and small. It has a really nice atmosphere, and I like to go there reasonably often -- mostly to work on whatever knitting or writing project I'm working on at the moment.

Coffee shop knitting tends to be socks -- there isn't room in my purse for anything bigger. The interesting thing about it is that eventually, someone will look over at you and ask what it is that you're knitting. This sometimes leads to a conversation about knitting -- as well as other things -- because invaraiably, the person will be astonished that I can actually knit socks.

Several months ago, I struck up a conversation with a woman exactly this way -- I happened to be knitting socks, and she was curious about what I was making. It turned out that she (I'll call her J) was interested in knitting, and one thing led to the other, and pretty soon, we were exchanging e-mail. We've been in touch ever since.

Now, where it gets really interesting is that this past Sunday, I had stopped at the other coffee shop (the one in the nearby town) on my way home from church. I sat down at a table with my current sock and little notebook, and had started a round of knitting. All of a sudden, the women at the table next to me looks over and starts commenting about my knitting. She, too, was interested in knitting, and we started talking about meeting other people who like to knit. After several minutes, we exchanged e-mails. It turns out she has the same name as the previous woman I had met.

Now, what are the odds that I would go to two different branches of the exact same coffee shop and meet two completely different women with the exact same name, all because I happened to be knitting socks both times?

It's bizarre how small our world is.

Weather Report

It's raining right now. No, scratch that. It isn't just raining -- it's FREEZING rain. This is close to what it looks like outside the library window right now.....



And this is similar to what I am dreading how it will look later.



Now don't get me wrong. I'm all for winter weather. But the winter weather I like looks more like this.



And I particularly like to enjoy it like this



rather than like this, which is how I am being forced to do so today.



Grrr. Life would be so much easier if we didn't have to go places.

My Monthly Rant

There are a lot of things in the world today that annoy me. Grammatical errors made by the reasonably intelligent, bad weather when I have the day off, rodents under my kitchen sink, a plot line in my head that won't come together on paper, no matter how hard I try, and so on and so forth. I'm sure all of you have similar lists.

But you know what is really getting my goat right now? When you unintentionally do something that irritates/offends someone else, and instead of that person coming up to you and saying, "You know, I didn't like it when you did such-and-such. Would you mind not doing it again?" this person goes and tells all of his/her friends or coworkers about it, so that the first time you hear about it is when you get the mass e-mail that's been sent to everyone he/she knows.

I forgot to give something to one of my coworkers once. I didn't do it on purpose -- it just happened. I had every intention to give this person the item (I even had it in my hand and was just about to stand up and walk it over) when right then, things got rather busy, and I forgot all about the item in question. It ended up in my cubicle for about half an hour while I was at dinner. My coworker needed it while I was eating, and, not realizing where it was, was a little annoyed at the fact that she had to hunt it down. Then, instead of coming up to me later and telling me that she didn't like having to search for it, and could I please remember next time, she sent out a cranky e-mail to all of our coworkers, all of whom knew that I was the only person in the building who would have had the item. At no point did this coworker ever say anything to me about it.

So the next time someone does something to you that you don't like, don't just rant about it to everyone you know. Most likely the offense wasn't intentional (mine certainly wasn't), and if that's the case, the person probably had no idea that they did anything wrong. Talk to the person instead. Let them know that what they did bothered you. They probably won't get mad, and they'll probably even apologize and promise that they'll try to do better next time. But if you go and complain to everyone else first, the chances of you making up with this person are much much smaller.

My Own Two Cents

I read this book recently, which I thought was rather interesting. The plot was good, and the characters and the interplay between them were really cool. It was a book that I would recommend to a lot of my friends and coworkers.

Except for one thing.

The book was full of profanity. And I'm not talking about the occasional "Oh S***" here. Nearly every other word that came out of the main character's mouth was a swear word.

For example, the main character is keeping a blog about some of her experiences, and in it someone (I'll call him Bob) responds to one of the posts by asking if she could tone down on the profanity, saying that it doesn't really add to what is being said. Someone else (a relative of the protagonist) writes in later and says that she really is grateful for all the support the readers are giving, then finishes out her comment by saying (more or less), "Oh, and Bob, no one f***ing cares what you f***ing think, anyway."

Personally (and I've mentioned this snippit to some of my friends, and they think the same way), I agree with Bob. While I am the first to admit that I have on occasion inserted a colorful phrase here or there, I have to ask, does it ever really add anything to a conversation? If you constantly have to insert so many choice words into your speech, what does that say about you, or your ability to communicate?

Just a thought.

Wa-hoo!

I'd like to think that this is all because of my previous rant, but I know it's probably not true. Finally, someone has seen the light. Now if only they would do it for the Irish and Welsh as well.

http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/world/us_and_americas/article3174884.ece

A Disturbing Discovery

I was reading my e-mail the other day when I came across this horrific discovery. Apparently, the powers that be at the Library of Congress have decided that books that have been written by Scottish authors are going under a new subject heading. Or, rather, they are being reassigned as a subsection of a pre-existing subject heading. And because the LOC is the largest library in the world, many other libraries are probably going to follow suit and classify their books in the same way.

That subject heading is now (are you ready?) English literature -- Scottish authors.

English literature, not British. This means that, were you to look up the collected works of Robert Burns, or RLS' A Child's Garden of Verses, or, for that matter, Harry Potter in the Library of Congress, you will find them all under English literature.

Does anyone else besides me see a major classification problem with this? I mean, how many times do people have to say that Scotland is not part of England for the rest of the world to realize it? No one at the LOC would even remotely entertain the idea of making a subject heading of Pennsylvania literature -- Massachusetts authors. Why? Because Massachusetts is not part of Pennsylvania. It never has been, and probably never will be. It's the same idea here. Scotland is part of Britain, yes, a part of the United Kingdom, yes, but it is not part of England. It never has been and most likely never will be. Likewise, England is not part of Scotland. They are two entirely different political entities, completely autonomous of each other. It's time the world FINALLY REALIZED THIS!

Grrr.

Oh, and they've done this with Irish and Welsh authors too.