Skippy's Way-Back Machine

So yesterday we went to our little town's Hertiage Day to see the parade. I thought it was great, although in my slightly obsessive way I think it would have been better arranged in historic order: colonials first, then Civil War guys, and so forth. The Widge isn't burdened (yet) by my nit-picking, he just loved the horses and the old-fashioned fire engine, complete with dalmatian. Anyway, I didn't get photos, although I wish I had at least one good shot of the Cherokee Civil War guy, complete with feathers and war paint and loincloth. And since all us parade viewers were sitting on the curb, I can tell you: there wasn't anything under that loincloth. Luckily it wasn't a very windy day. Anyway, props for accuracy: I'm guessing the average Native type didn't wear tighties either. In fact, his disdain for pants-wearing may be the one point on which the husband is in sync with this Native ancestors. That and the appreciation for fire water.

Okay, the point here is that I do have pictures from historic events, the very pictures you are viewing in this post, and to further blow your mind, they're historic pictures, too. Yup, photos from my history, in which I interact with history.

Williamsburg rocks. All those guys wandering around in knee-britches and tri-corn hats, plus there's a great tea shop . If only there were more places where we could immerse ourselves in Colonial History! Of course it helps that I'm much skinnier in all my Williamsburg photos. See, in the Colonies, I'm thin! Hooray History!

So I guess I should re-title the blog, to reflect the content. Instead of "Skippy Knits" it should be "Skippy Visits and then Muses on Historic Sites and Events!"

Somehow it doesn't flow as well.

Zzzzzzz...

Widge is sick. For some reason, sick toddlers try hard to sleep less often than usual. So nothing much has been going on except we don't sleep much lately.

So I'll complain about knitting needles. I'm knitting some lace, so I bought size 0 Addi Turbos. And the tips are so dull, they're as dull as my wit after a week of sick-Widge. Why would anyone make size 0s with dull tips? I'm not asking for super-sharp lace tips (although that would be nice) but seriously, the only thing you can knit on size 0s is lace or socks, right? If you knit lace, you need some sharpness, for your sanity, and if you knit socks, a bit of a sharp taper doesn't hurt. I could have bought bamboo straights, but it just seems that size 0 bamboo needles are just asking to be broken.

Speaking of broken, the coffee pot leaked on my cell phone, so if you haven't already gotten my new number, it means I lost my contacts, so please e-mail me: amandasarahjohnson@yahoo.com, so I can give you my new phone number.

Darned Kids

Parenting is just a long hostage situation.

Here he is now, armed and dangerous, The Boy Who Will Not Sleep. Other aliases include: The Meal-Refusal Kid, and Dr. No.
Luckily he's mighty cute, plus he shared his goldfish crackers with me, so now I'm his sidekick: She Who Brings Juice.

Arrrr!

Because you all knew I'd have to post on Talk Like a Pirate day.

Regarding pirates, I have a new theory. We all know about those two famous women pirates, Anne Bonney and Mary Read, but that probably has to do with them being captured. I'm pretty sure the vast majority of pirates either got killed, or melted back into the general population. Anyway, I'm thinking there probably were quite a few women pirates. Here's why:

1) We always hear how hardship drove men to piracy: cruelty in the Navy, lack of opportunity, the chance to get a little loot and live as they pleased, and so forth. These same conditions hold true for women, except women also had the added harshness of watching their children die, the serious potential of death in childbirth, and the fact that their fathers and then husbands were perfectly within their rights to abuse women, as long as they didn't actually kill them.

2) Pirates did live a life of freedom, but they mostly used that freedom to drink. Pirate ships were basically disposable: when your ship rotted out you could just steal a new one, so pirates didn't do as much maintenance as merchant or Navy sailors, plus there were way more pirates per ship than a merchant or navy crew would have, so each individual pirate worked less, and partied more. Based on that, it probably wouldn't be hard to find time to sneak off to a dark corner and do "women stuff," as we sometimes need to do.

3) Pirate crews weren't long-term, in general. In most cases, pirates got together for a voyage, but as soon as they had some success, they'd be dividing the plunder and going their separate ways. A woman could claim to be a young boy (10 and 12 year olds were serving as cabin boys in the merchant ships) or teenager to explain her lack of facial hair and high voice, and then expect the crew to be disbanded before anybody noticed that "he" still hadn't started puberty.

4) Most crews were multi-national and multi-racial. Basically if you were willing to fight when the need arose, and you had some knowledge of seamanship, the pirates were happy to have you. Even if they discovered that a new recruit was female, they may have been content to have her, as long as she was a good worker. Pirates weren't too judgmental, except towards members of the aristocracy, courts and mainstream sea captains.

Its just a theory, of course, but for every crew we know about, there are probably hundreds we have no info on. Pirates were usually illiterate, so most crews didn't make any written records. We may never know the extent to which women, or Native Americans or native Africans, or ex-slaves or anybody else turned pirate, but its an interesting speculation.

A last thought: we sometimes hear about how pirates were not the dashing romantic characters we think of. They weren't. They were mostly harsh, dirty, drunken bullies. They weren't fighting for some ideal of freedom, the ability to worship as they chose and so forth, they just wanted to drink and get paid for their work and maroon the captain if he got too uppity. But that isn't the point. The idealized dream we have of pirates as dashing freedom fighters is important; it gives us the ability to imagine a different life. Sometimes historical accuracy is important, but not necessarily in our entertainment. If somebody gets all scholarly with you, make them walk the plank!

As promised

See, here's the Widge enjoying the Renaissance Fest. Isn't he cute? We had a great time, saw the jousting and Hack and Slash again, and walked and walked and walked...anyway, big fun and everybody should go.

Meanwhile, yesterday we went apple-picking, and that was great, and the day before was a trip to the farm/park to visit tractors. Widge had little or no interest in the cow milking, or watching the pigs get weighed. His true love is tractors, and he's very loyal. Ah, the romance of youth.

On the kids show front, the other day Donald was in a balloon race, and he somehow managed to get his balloon up too high, and ended up in outer space. In a hot air balloon. And while you ponder that, here's how he got down: he found a baby elephant, who was heavy enough to weigh the balloon back down to a normal range. Yes, after escaping the Earth's atmosphere in a balloon, he conjured up an elephant, to make the balloon heavy. In outer space.

So for those of you whose heads haven't exploded, more about the knitting. Before the Widge (B.W.) I had all sorts of time to knit, and I had no worries about knitting delicate lace, or handwash-only yarns. Now if I want to knit anything less sturdy than dishrags, I have to plot to knit in the evening, or during naptime, or in some stealthy location. If I were an alcoholic trying to hide it, I'd go through the same sort of contortions. Anyway, a while ago I said that I was working on something, and I am, I'm knitting a bag of bags. I've made a sort of "yarn" out of those annoying plastic grocery-store bags that everyone has a pile of, and I'm knitting a re-usable bag out of them. Yup, I'm all environmentally conscious now. I even use cloth diapers (its really just because Widge gets rashes). I wonder, however, if the extra laundry offsets the not throwing away diapers. Anyway, the bag project is a great opportunity to use up some bags, although I got a big donation of bags from mom, so I may be worse off than when I started. The thing is, plastic yarn isn't fun to knit with. There are knitters in the world who refuse to use the acrylic that you get in Wal-mart, because they think its too plastic-y. It also doesn't breath, so if you knit socks or a sweater or something you'll certainly be warm, and probably sweaty too, but it also doesn't get stretched out, can go in the wash, and your finished garment will last forever. Anyway, actual plastic is thicker and some bags are really stiff, which makes the knitting go slowly. I think the result is going to be good, though. But I've been seeing lately that plastic bottles are getting recycled into carpeting and polar fleece, and I wonder: can plastic bags be recycled into nice yarn? I challenge yarn producers to find a way to do this. I'll mail you my extra bags, and I'm sure I'm not the only one.

And yes, thats me with the King and the Widge.

Where is Fall?

This portion of the year, this time in which Mother Nature packs the worst of her heat and humidity, this is truly the year's seasonal armpit. What a miserable time, weather-wise. I hate that sweaty feeling: that's why I don't exercise more. It's like a little taste of the underworld, what with the bugs and the crushing humidity and the ragweed. Of course the tiny dictator who woke me up at 5:45 this morning isn't helping. I'm pretty sure Satan brings the damned unidentifiable bits of whatever, shouts "Do!" at them, and then shrieks if they can't correctly use the objects within 12 seconds. I'm guessing Curious George can't save you from eternal torment, either.

Yesterday evening, Mini-Mussolini wanted bubbles, but for some reason bubble solutions have weakened since my youth. Luckily Gramma and I found an acceptable substitute: we dumped the bubble solution in the pool. Photos of the Widge Meringue coming eventually.

Also coming eventually: photos of our second trip to the Renaissance, in which we meet the king. I'll talk more about that when the photos arrive. I truly believe the horrid weather is to blame for the general lack of productivity. Misery, thy name is September!

Lest you think me paranoid

the safety inspection people arrived today...while I was in the bathroom. Luckily I woke Mark up just in case. Anyway it turned out not to be too bad, although the one inspector apparently needed the entire apartment office staff to escort him.

Also: I finished both the quilted tablerunner and the Hemingway book, which was good, except I think the author tried to go for style a bit too much. I don't mind a bit of it, but the book was littered with passages like: "the family photos gaze up at you, sepia-toned moments in time; a family in transition." That sort of thing belongs in novels. Lately I've been reading a lot about knitting, but not really reading alot at all, mostly working and sewing and watching George. Tomorrow the Widge and I are going back to the Renaissance Festival, that should be fun.

See Skippy babble. Not a very interesting post, so here comes the action: I hit a car the other day. But for the action portion of the post, there isn't really much action. I was backing the truck out at our parking lot and I dinged the car next to me. Our parking lot is full of crappy cars, including one that has a door duct-taped shut, and apparently keeps the drivers door closed using bungee cords. But I had to ding a mustang. I'm happy to report that the Fauquier County deputy was very nice.

Yarn!

I have new yarn! This is when I really need my camera, to show you all the glory of new wonderful yarn. I went to my new LYS (thats local yarn store, for you non-yarn-types): My Favorite Yarn Shop. They had alpacas there, much to the Widge's delight. He insisted they were bears, but eventually managed to almost say "alpaca." He just saw a photo of his uncle, the Boy, and told me: "Vroooom!" I asked if thats what Uncle The Boy says, and he repeated: "vroooom!" So uncles go vroom. Bendy skeletons growl, apparently. And bears, so he tells me, walk around saying" bear, bear, bear." Giraffes also say their name as they walk around, and zebras just stomp stomp stomp. Motherhood has really taught me alot about the natural world. My knowledge now approaches that of Pliny the Elder. Widge hasn't started explaining the uses of powdered rhino horn, or the eating habits of winged dragons, but I'll keep you posted.

Regarding some of the fine comments you've left (all three of you who read the blog):
Nick: no, I don't own Karate Kid, much to the husband's dismay, but it comes on the TV alot.

and Nat, who hasn't commented: I changed the settings for comments so you should be able to leave one now.

Got a copy of Vogue Knitting. Their patterns are certainly more fashion-conscious than Interweave's, but there are always some intriguing ideas. I was just interrupted mid-sentence by a toddler who dragged me to the TV chanting: "George, George, George!" Which leads to the next thought: remember how I said that PBS should put Curious George in the 7:30 time-slot, opposite Higglytown Heros? Well now it is! The hero today, by the way, was the camel.

oh good, its football season again

I like football just fine. I like Penn State, and I'll like VTech when the Boy gets on the field. But I don't like football season. Possibly because I live with a man who truly believes that Penn State cannot win unless he is personally watching them. Since not every game is broadcast here (like this week's game: Penn State vs St. Scholastica girls preschool), this leads to contortions as he searches for webcasts, or local alumni association meetings where they somehow manage to get the game. Then we watch whatever other football is on, for good measure. I can't even escape to my parents house, because everyone knows Spud loves to watch football of any type. If he can't watch actual football, he wants to watch the pre-game analysis. Or the post-game wrap-up. Or the middle-of-the-week, theres-no-reason-for-it-but-lets-discuss-football specials. Besides, my folks are now in the season of regular pilgrimages to the shrine of St. Beamer, so I can escape to their house: in fact I have to, in order to let their annoying dog out 800 times, and try to keep the Widge from destroying things. Last time they went, the Widge emptied all bookshelves while I was getting the dog fresh water. Somehow the dog who drinks from mudpuddles outside shuns any but the cleanest water inside. I don't really like petsitting, and football season brings a lot of petsitting.

Today, however, I'll be going along cheerfully to my petsitting duties, because my home is going to be invaded. We won the random selection lottery, so the VA department of something or other is coming to inspect our house on the 7th. Some time before that, there will be a walk-through, and today the apartment company is doing a pre-inspection inspection. The subject, as their note helpfully explained, is "all aspects of safety." As many of you know, I've done some safety-related work, and as I gaze around my home while considering "all aspects of safety," I'm somewhat alarmed. I can only assume their concern will be the safety of the actual apartment, rather than my personal safety habits. I assume I'm entitled to little trucks all over the floor, since I pay my rent on time. What really bothers me is the number of people who have access to my home. When I was going to work, I didn't mind as much, but right around the time the Widge was born, I started to get annoyed. These apartment people just show up, without concern for whether the baby is sleeping, or being nursed, or if mom is in the shower. They knock briefly, but its a formality: they have the key, and they're coming in.

I think the real problem here is me. The apartment people leave me a note, and the paranoia begins. They don't even give me a time range, like: between 10 and 2. They just give me the date, and I'm left to imagine when they'll arrive. In my imagination, its either just when I get the Widge to drift off for his nap, or else while he's napping peacefully, and I'm enjoying a nice, hot shower. Worse, the husbun worked last night, so he's sprawled in bed, in his little boxers, snoring. No doubt I'll have to rush in to get him the wake up and put some clothes on when these inspectors show up. Apartment living is just too stressful for me.