TDC

I'm an inspiration to my husband! I'm his muse!

Well, probably all wives (husbands, partners, etc.) are inspirations to their husbands (wives, partners, etc.), so I need to clarify. The resurrection of my blog inspired my husband to revive his own. For a long time he blogged about what he considers to be interesting dinner party conversation topics (thus his blog's name, The Tuesday Dinner Club, or TDC), such as food, books, arts, but he stopped writing in 2010 and didn't blog for a year. His most recent post is a very short summary of the past twelve months, and I'm going to copy & paste his entry to bring you up to speed (a lot of this you already know, and I apologize for the redundance). Here we go, I'm plagiarizing quoting DH:


What happened between last November and this one? I had hoped to build blogging momentum through NaBloPoMo, but I quickly fell off the wagon. We were yet again struggling (mentally and physically) with job applications on top of our regular teaching and research duties, and this time around we were also preparing for the imminent arrival of The Bean. TB made his grand entrance at the end of January 2011 and promptly began keeping us exhaustingly and exhilaratingly busy tending to his every need. M. naturally took point in terms of Beancare, while my normal work duties continued unabated, along with the job search, which thankfully turned out much more more positively this time: I landed a nice job in Salt Lake City.

The new opportunity meant an immediate amplification of stress and disruption, of course. House hunting, renting, packing, loading, trucking, flying, unloading, unpacking, shopping, repairing, cleaning, cleaning, cleaning, and so forth. And a conference in the US, half the summer in Germany, a conference in Sweden, new employee orientation .... and suddenly a teaching job for M., so last minute that there was no time to find daycare for TB. Up to this point, we have been juggling two full-time jobs, one full-time Bean, and an incomplete house. What spare time we've had has been largely devoted to sleeping.

But we've made steady progress and things are finally seeming to settle down. It seems reasonable to start writing in this space again. With some effort and discipline, regular TDC blogging may even prove sustainable.

I'm still thinking about what to write about in the rebooted TDC. The old categories, of course: writings read; art and music appreciated; movies, plays, television watched; items eaten, imbibed, and cooked. (...)

(See, my blog takes off where his ends: books, art, movies, food... it's all good and well, but what about "things knitted"? Well, for that you have yours truly. [Add to the list: "things sewn." Did I whet your appetite? Good.])

At some point this month I will go into the "suddenly a teaching job for M." and "a conference in Sweden" bits. Not now though. Now I need to go to bed and cry myself to sleep: the darling "TB" is starting daycare tomorrow morning. I'm a mess because of it; I hope he will fare better tomorrow than his momma.

People Are Good

Yesterday was my husband's birthday. We took the afternoon off and had a fabulous time doing only those things he really wanted to do: Booksmith date, late lunch at Zaftig's, writing utensil shopping extravaganza, Happy Hour with good friends, late evening trip to the Apple store to play with the iPad, ice-cream in lieu of nightcap. It was a huge success; the Hubs was very happy, as he deserves to be. He is a very special man; we loves him sooooooooooooooo much (*armsstretchedoutwide*).

When we came home we found evidence of a miracle. Let me explain:

The Hubs' driver's license expired yesterday. He's known this for, uhm, several months. On Thursday at last he decided to go to the DMV (or Registry of Motor Vehicles, as it is called in Mass.). After all, having a valid driver's license is important this weekend, since we're expecting our favorite aunts to visit, and we'd like to drive them around. (In their car, naturally, as we don't have a car. If we had a car, he probably would have taken care of the license a wee bit earlier.)

So, the Hubs collected his three forms of ID and proof of residence, stuffed everything into the pocket of his fleece vest, and off he went on his bicycle. Now, in the past I caught him several times running around town with the zipper of said pocket unzipped, and I asked him on numerous occasions to please zip the darn thing, so that he wouldn't lose his wallet, phone, keys, and glasses. (If you're wondering about the vest: my husband is a mathematician. That makes him inseparable from his fleece vest. It's all he ever wears.) He swears he zipped the zipper, and yet, by the time he arrived at the DMV he had lost his passport.

Passport. Let's say it again. Pass-port. (He had brought it as one form of ID.)

Have I mentioned that we're going to Europe soonish? Like, next Tuesday?*

After the first emergency call to moi, the Hubs walked back the way he came to check streets and sidewalks for his passport. Nothing. He then researched how to get a new passport and how to get it fast. Four forms of ID are required, one of them a state issued driver's license. If you don't have that, you need to bring along two people who have known you for at least two years and who must sign an affidavit that you are who you claim you are. Because the Hubs started working in Boston almost exactly two years ago and the few people he's known that long are his boss, her secretary, and our crazy neighbors, and because he didn't want to drag either of them to Government Center, he really needed to get a new driver's license before applying for the expedited passport. (I, the wife, don't count as witness.)

So yesterday, on his birthday, he collected his three forms of ID and proof of residence, stuffed everything into the pocket of his fleece vest, zipped the zipper, and off he went on his bicycle. He waited for two hours, and voilà, he received... a paper slip. On which it read that it was not a valid license, but only a notification that he had applied for one and that the real license would be in the mail within seven days. He was dumbstruck. Seven days? (In Miss., the place of Hubs' origin and issuing state of his last license, you get the card on the spot.) Dumbstruck I said he was. Perhaps he was a little angry too. And a bit desperate about how to make it all work so that he would have a passport by the time he hit the airport.

We were going crazy for about one hour trying to figure out how to get the Hubs an appointment at the expedited passport office without a valid driver's ID. Then we postponed worrying so that we'd enjoy his birthday. Now I fast forward. Several hours later, slightly tipsy and full of ice-cream, we arrived home, opened the door, and found ... drum roll... his passport. In our entrance hall. Slipped there underneath the door. But how? By whom?

Folded into the passport was a police printout with the Hubs' data. I had speculated on Thursday that whoever finds the passport may turn it in to the police, and that the police surely were able to find out where we lived. But I was thinking like a German: at home everyone needs to register with the town of residence, and when we move from place A to place B we need to notify the registries of both places A and B. It's easy to track us down! (The Americans I've talked to think this is totally crazy and that it violates at least five constitutional rights. To me it makes perfect sense; I don't find anything odd about it at all.) Here, of course, records aren't updated. When the Hubs received his old driver's license he was still in college, and the address he provided was his parents' home address. The Hubs thus concluded that even if someone found the passport and dropped it off with the police, the only address that would show up was his parents' address in Mississippi.

Instead of arriving in Miss. per mail, the passport was hand delivered to our house in Mass.

Really, two miracles happened: First, someone found his passport, wanted to do good and took it to the police. (The miracle: People wanting to be good and going out of their way to help someone else with finding lost property!) Second, instead of doing this on Thursday, they waited just long enough so that by the time the police looked up the Hubs, he had already been to the DMV here and changed his address for the new license.

Ah, a true life story which it is no fib to end with "and they lived happily ever after," and all thanks to the kindness of strangers!


*That's a small lie added for effect. While I am leaving on Tuesday, the Hubs doesn't actually leave till a short while later.

It's Here!

Hubs: Know what day is today?
Me: Dunno. Saturday.
Hubs: No.
Me: Day before Easter?
Hubs. No.
Me: April third?
Hubs: No.
Me: Tell me.
Hubs: enters URL It's this day!*

Please note that this conversation took place approximately seven minutes after we made it out of bed. Someone is excited! I'm afraid it's too late to let the Easter bunny know.**

*The link won't work for very long. Click here if you want to see it after today.
**I've wondered--not celebrating Easter anymore, either as religious or gift-giving event--who brings Easter gifts? The bunny? Spring? Spring chicks?

Frank

The Hubs' ersatz-grandfather passed away last night. This did not happen entirely unexpectedly, but the news came as a shock regardless. Frank, né François, was the brother of the Hubs' grandfather, Charles, who, when the Germans invaded Belgium, led his family to safety in the U.S. He died many, many years ago, and Frank has been both a father-figure to Charles' son (my FIL) and a much beloved grandfather-figure to my own husband. The Hubs is sad, and I try to comfort him in small ways, making his favorite dinner and looking for photos of Frank. Here he is with his wife, Ginette, on Thanksgiving day last year:

She Liked...

So, by the time I handed my friend the cowl, I had made up my mind to give her the Sideways Grande Cloche as well. 'Cause, when someone ecstatically screams at the sight of you, and it's neither your lovely smile nor general happiness to see you but the hat you're wearing that causes this crazy-happy behavior, and when, in addition, it only took you a couple of evenings to make said hat and you have plenty more yarn for a second one, well, then you gladly hand over the hat and make plans to knit another. Which is why my friend left the restaurant wearing cowl and hat:

I had a really great time last night. We (=the friend, Hubs & moi, and another couple [who don't appreciate hand-made stuff as much as music stuff, which is why they got music stuff]) went to my favorite Boston restaurant (which is actually in Brookline), the Washington Square Tavern, where the food and the service are so grand, it's worth waiting for one hour. Especially if waiting means hanging out at the bar and sampling the Tavern's fantastic beer selection (=the boys) or, in our case, tasting different wines and, as aperitif, sipping Kir Royale (so early 90s!). Should you ever make your way to Boston, do try the Tavern: the mussels are out of this world, so are the scallops, so are the risottos. My friend had the meatloaf, and while home-made meatloaf can be quite tasty [try Cook's Illustrated recipe for meatloaf: fantastic], restaurant meatloaf is usually pretty lame or outright awful. This one, however, was insanely good. Paired with the Zinfandel... Lawdy!!)

After last night's social and culinary extravaganza, today has been very homey: we cleaned, did the laundry, and went grocery shopping. I started the Hubs' watch cap, and here the only exciting news is that his preference changed from the "original Navy watch cap" (1x1 ribbing) to the "original WWII watch cap" (2x2 ribbing):

My Week in Bullet Points

--I knit an iPhone cozy. That was all I could handle last week, with giving (and then grading) final exams and what not:



(While proctoring a three-hour exam it occurred to me that this could have been prime knitting time. Alas, I fear my students sometimes think I am cuckoo as is; no need to scare them further with knitting needles. BTW: my students this semester were, for the most part, terrific kids. I'll miss them.)

--Hubs ordered a hat. I immediately searched for all manly hat patterns available to me (including the beautiful Koolhaas), and once he had considered them, he picked... sound the drums please... the Navy Watch Cap. I died of boredom at the mere thought. The Hubs then said, well, maybe the Danish Earflap Cap...? Love it!, I replied. Stranded color work, fabulous! No, he said, of course without the snowflakes. Just the earflaps. Couldn't I add earflaps to the Navy Watch Cap...? I saw my last chance in color choice and asked him for his preference. Black, he said. I gasped. Fine, he compromised, how about a really dark grey? Ugh.

--And while on the hat, why not throw in a scarf for the Hubs? He's officially abandoned the Sculptured Lace Scarf I made for him last spring (my first knitting project: a labor of love. That's how I learned of yarn-overs. I-cords. Charts. Knitting code. Knitting into the back of a stitch. Really, I learned so much by knitting that scarf. And I had picked the pattern because it was designed by a man for men. Nevermind the word "lace" in the name.) So, the Hubs doesn't like the scarf. Instead, he started wearing my Clapotis. My Clapotis! For comparison:

I thought of a wicked plan to save Clapotis. I will finally block it and then convince the Hubs that it's a lace scarf...

Alternatively, I'll make him a black 2x2 ribbing Death-By-Boredom scarf to go with the hat...

--I saw the current Knitty and fell hard for Spoke.

--I went to as many holiday parties this past week as I've been to in all previous years combined. There's something about life past grad school and getting holiday party invitations: the two are connected. At one holiday party (celebrating both Christmas and Hannukah), the hostess had stayed up the entire night--not gone to bed at all!--to make eight different kinds of traditional German holiday baked goodies (Stollen, Mutzenmandeln [aka Oliebolelen], Quarkkäulchen, Zimtsterne, and Vanillekipferl among them), and I ate myself silly on Krapfen (it went well with Glühwein). She had also urged everyone who played an instrument to bring it along for a potential jam session. I counted four saxophones and several violins, and indeed, live music was on the entire night. One guest brought the rest of his jazz band; another his a cappella group. The house almost burst with the 100 guests or so present. It was way awesome.

--We ordered and received our custom holiday cards but have written none so far. Experience has taught us that we're likely to be behind with Christmas cards, so this time we opted for a Happy 2010 theme. Clever, the two of us. One can still wish a Happy New Year in February, right? (Goodness, we have 100 cards to write sign.)

--Here's Räuchermännchen next to our modest Christmas pyramid, our concession to Christmas décor:

Have I mentioned we're not having Christmas this year? In recent years we spent Christmas either with my or the Hubs' parents, but this year it'll be just the two of us. We couldn't commit to any plans because we were hoping (and are still clinging to that hope) to get invited to job interviews in December. Since we're not even sure where we'll be over Christmas we don't plan on having a tree. The few ornaments we have (a considerable number, actually, given we haven't had any need for them thus far) are keeping each other company on a baguette serving dish. It works for us!

Manly Colors

I don't quite understand why, but the Hubs refuses to model his new clothes for me. So I snapped a couple of pictures of the new yummies in their folded configuration. Looking at this, I realized something about men and color:

Men apparently don't do bright colors or stark contrasts. It's all a blur of grey-black-brown, with a hint of muddy green.* I'm so glad, then, that I rethought my yarn choice for Dad's socks and came up with grey-black-brown (sans muddy green). The socks in their present state:

Very small, but again: I'm going on a car ride and by tonight these puppies will be bigger. And eventually they'll be very manly socks, in manly colors with manly cables. Slightly unmanly: the alpaca, which is so very soft, cozy, and slightly fluffy. But since I believe that Dad is going to wear handknitted socks only on the living room sofa watching telly, that bit of snuggliness might actually be appreciated! (Plus, my father, who is one of those guys who rides his motorcycle through the desert and terms the experience 'vacation,' is surprisingly fashionable and into soft and comfortable fibers. When not in leather gear, why not wear alpaca socks?)

*Upon reading this, the Hubs commented that when hunting, one does not want to scare the animals away but sneak up on them. Therefore the camouflage. No contrast or bright colors. (Hunting? Hunting? HUNTING? Not while he's my Hubs.)

Thankful M.

I took these photos this morning to discuss in tonight's post:

But now that I opened the duffel bag that the Hubs' mom left with me this evening before retiring to the B&B after an eventful day of traveling, I'm at a loss for words and can't possibly discuss holey (and now frogged) socks, a new sock project, and the status of the Fiddlehead hat. I don't actually know how and over what span of time she's been doing this, but it seems that my wonderful MIL has collected a lot (and I mean A LOT) of yarn for my stash. There's some French yarn from her trip to France, there's some Schaefer Yarns Martha, Lorna's Lace Shepherd Sock, Plymouth Yarn Baby Alpaca Grande Hand Dye, and something unlabeled that looks handspun and is incredibly soft. OMG! Also, she brought me an assortment of very pretty buttons! I wish I could call her at the B&B to thank her, but I'm afraid I'd wake her up... she was asleep the second we said our good-byes. I'll have to wait till tomorrow, when we meet again to see Harvard's glass flower collection. And until then I'll play with my new yarn... :)

(How we spent our first vacation day? Shopping! Photos will follow of the Hubs, who now owns two extremely cool, very professorial and grown-up looking jackets and three pairs of shoes that are not tennis shoes but made of leather. Hallelujah! It was amazing to see the Hubs crack under the pressure of his wife and his mother to go shopping for clothes that no longer say "grad student/math geek.")

Guest post

NaBloPoMo Day 16.

This is the Hubs. You may have thought I was a fictional character invented by M. to carry the narrative thread of the blog, but that is not the case -- I'm real, and I read the blog regularly. (Maybe with a bit of prodding from time to time.)

M. was yawning her head off and had to be packed off to bed, but the NaBloPoMo challenge still had to be met, so I'm filling in.

I don't knit (I tried it once and found it too stressful), nor do I take even half-decent photographs (it's on my list of skills to master, but that list already runs six pages, so don't hold your breath), so there will be none of that in this post. Sorry to disappoint.

I will say that I like M.'s knitting and I'm proud of both her constructions in yarn and in words. She's great!

(I'm sure most knitter husbands feel the same way, even if they just grunt "Mmm-hmm" when a new yarn concoction is presented to them.)

E. aka Hubs