Head Start on New Year's Resolutions

In less than two weeks, it's likely most of us will be declaring our New Year's Resolutions to family, friends and collegues. 

Or, if you're more like me, you may scribble the resolutions down perhaps in a private journal -- a kind of insurance to make sure nobody knows whether or not you have succeeded by the end of the year.

Admit it -- most of us have high expectations. We want to lose (insert pounds/kilos/stones), we want to do more, be better, pass the exam and get the promotion. We want to look like and actually be one of the 'successful' people. 

A few years ago, I made myself a goal book. I had some lofty goals in mind. I wanted to read one book a week, lose weight, do various photography projects, and get rid of other 'baggage' in my life -- all in one go! 

I definitely had some high ambitions. Throughout the year I referred to the book and kept a tally of how far behind I was on various projects. At the end of 2010, I looked back on my goal book and felt like a failure. I read half as many books as I wanted to, lost only a few pounds (and then gained them all back) cooked less than I planned to, and still had some baggage lurking, both proverbially and physically. 

My procrastination skills got the better of me in 2011 and instead of creating a new goal book, I revisited the 2010 book and focused on what I DID actually accomplish. I realized that although I didn't read 56 books that year, I still read 25 -- and that was better than not reading anything. I noticed that while I didn't get to all of the recipes I wanted to try out, I still cooked and baked a slew of new ones. I was so focused on what I didn't get done that I totally missed the things I actually accomplished. 

For 2012, I casually kept track of the new recipes I tried on a piece of paper on the fridge, wrote down the books I read in the back of my journal, and took photos of every crafty project I completed -- more out of being a pedantic record-keeper than anything else. After a while, without the 'pressure' of checking to see that I was fulfilling my quota of goals, the resolutions actually became a habit. 

While I came up with generic mottos for the year: read more, write more, walk more, eat healthier, love others -- along the way I discovered that by letting go of measuring myself, I had actually completed more -- and the 'more' was in fact better quality. 

I'm a firm believe in writing down your goals -- I don't remember who proved the theory or when, but apparently you have a much higher chance of reaching your target if you physically WRITE down your goals -- even if you never look at that piece of paper ever again. 

(This own theory has been proven in my life. During my third year at University, I wrote down a page worth of what seemed to be impossible and absurd things I wanted to do in life. Ten years later, I found that piece of paper and nearly passed out. Nearly everything except 'learn the guitar' had actually happened...)

However, I do think New Year's Resolutions are often in a special pressure-cooker category. I think sometimes we compare ourselves to others, or even our own image (past, present and what we think should be the future), so much that we forget that a resolution or goal is a process and doesn't often happen overnight. 

So we make a resolution, and by January 31st, we feel like a failure because we didn't go to the gym three times that week, or because we devoured two helpings of chocolate cake, or because we got angry with a family member. And then we throw in the towel.

The truth is, resolutions are not easy. They take time. Bear in mind that you may fall off the resolution horse. But then you get back on.

As a child, I had a pony. She wasn't the most obedient thing -- she ran away once and she used to do numerous things at horse shows to purposely embarrass me, I think. She also bucked me off several times. Each time, my mother made me climb back up on her. 

I used to believe it was so I wouldn't be scared of riding after the fall. In reality, I had to get back on my stubborn pony to show her that I was still in charge -- and that she wasn't the boss of me. 

So as you plan your New Year's Resolutions, keep that in mind. No matter what pitfalls January brings, you still have 11 months after that to climb back onto the horse. (Then again, who made the rule that you have to get it all done in 12 months?) Just because your goal book is only half full at the end of this year or even next, it doesn't mean you've failed. It simply means that some things may take a little longer -- and that's okay.

Above all else, stop comparing yourself to others. I did that for a long time -- and once I actually stopped, I saw far more potential in myself than I realized. Read that story here.  

(Of course, this is my own method for accomplishing my personal New Year's Resolutions. Maybe you have a different story -- how do you stay on track?) 

Fred and Ed

A few months back, the Sailor and I decided to dabble in some terrariums. I don't remember where we got the idea, but I do know he and I purchased some plants, dug up some ferns and then we both trawled the thrift stores looking for the perfect glass containers. 

First, we put some moss and a fern into the 'cheese globe', as I called it. We affectionately named it Fred. 

Then came, Ted, Ned, Ed and the little cactus, Red. 

They thrived for quite some time. We kept the lids on the glass until Ted decided to make a break for it seemingly overnight. There was no containing him after that.

Then the Sailor departed for work and I left to visit a friend for 10 days. The plants were not neglected -- my mom watered them regularly and made sure they got their Vitamin D. But apparently my absence still took its toll, because within days of my arrival home, both Fred and Ed bit the dust. 

Honestly, I think they had been on their way out the door, right as I was leaving. The Sailor has a much greener thumb than I do, and Fred and Ed looked a little sickly 24 hours after he left. I long for the day when we have somewhere to plant a vegetable garden, but then I wonder if anything will actually grow once the Sailor leaves for work and I have to take over?!

So now, it's just Ted, Ned, and Red. And of course, my everlasting spider plant. I'm hoping they all last through the winter. 

I couldn't bring myself to get rid of the punch-bowl-turned-terrerium that housed Ed, just yet. I put it to seasonal use, instead.

Cyrillic Signatures

This week, I sent a card to a Ukrainian friend. And when I went to sign my name, I got as far as the equivalent of 'Bren...' in Cyrillic and stopped.

I couldn't for the life of me remember how to write out a 'D'. I'm still not sure I have it right. 

I felt like I was losing my marbles a bit. 

You see, I know how to write my name in Cyrillic. I've written it out hundreds of times. It's the one thing I can actually spell in Cyrillic.

In 1995, I entered Ukraine for the first time to teach English on a summer trip. Only English teachers and a few students seemed to be speak English, at least where I was. The Soviet Union had since collapsed, but to me, as a naive American college student, things still seemed shaky.

I didn't have a lot of control over the entire summer situation, so I wanted to at least have a little control over how I communicated. Until that summer, I had never felt like a strong communicator -- I was born with a cleft palate which left me a little nasally. Kids made fun of me throughout school and in fact when I applied to work in Ukraine I was initially turned down because the organizer felt that people wouldn't understand me. 

(I was a little baffled by this, considering that it seemed nobody would understand anybody who spoke English, in any case.)

I think deep down, I wanted to prove people wrong. I could communicate. And I would do it well. That first summer there I struggled. People spoke Russian, Ukrainian and their own dialect of Transcarpathian. Some days, I returned to our house, proud of myself for learning three new words, only to discover I had learned the same word -- just in three different tongues. 

From then on, I decided to only learn Russian. While I know I offended a few nationalists along the way, I figured that I would get to use Russian far more in my life than Ukrainian. And indeed I have. Russian came in handy many times and still occasionally does.

Conversationally, I was pretty good. I was able to at least communicate which tomatoes I wanted in the market, where I was going and when I may actually get there to my friends, and I could give some pretty decent directions and the time of day to complete strangers. 

Something was missing though. I needed to learn how to actually write these foreign letters. 

In between summers trips to Ukraine, I took a short Russian course in England to force myself to learn to write. I had the alphabet down, but nobody actually prints in Cyrillic. Everyone writes the equivalent of cursive -- and the cursive Cyrillic alphabet is very different to the printed one.

Eventually, I learned how to write enough Cyrillic to get by. My name, of course was essential. I was proud of myself for being able to fill out the Cyrillic customs forms and to sign my name at border crossings, so non-English speakers could read it. 

You can understand then why it came as a great shock to me when I couldn't even remember how to write my first name this week. 

I'm giving myself a little slack, since I haven't been to Ukraine for seven years. I'm hoping the recipient of my card on the other side of the world cuts me some slack too. I suspect I ended up spelling out 'BrenBa' instead of 'Brenda'. Oops.

Tickled Pink

I'm tickled pink to be one of many authors on the Pyrex Collective III blog. While I cannot boast of the collections that are posted there (nor would I have the same kind of space in my kitchen!) I do love to learn more about vintage items and to see other people's marvelous thrifty finds. 

And, of course, I love to write, so I'm excited to be included on the site. 

My first post about this fabulous Pink Daisy casserole from the 1950s can be found here.   

Felt Clogs

In early Spring, I hauled my mom to New York City with me for a day out on the town. We went to the Natural History Museum, ate sushi, walked through Central Park, devoured far too much European goodness at my favorite Ukrainian diner, Veselka, and we spent some time in Knitty City.

I knew I couldn't buy any yarn -- I had previously made a promise to myself that I would diminish the stash significantly before purchasing more. Nothing prevented me from stocking up on patterns, however. After all, how could I use the stash without an idea of something to actually knit? 

The clerk quickly pointed out to me a pile of patterns on sale. I scored this one for Felt Clogs on clearance. 

After our road trip and the Bullion Beach Blanket, I wanted to make something quick and easy, so I found some 100% wool in the stash and proceeded to make a pair. 

Do you see the size of these things?! That foot wearing the hand knit blueish green socks on the right -- that's my size 10 (!) 

(Do not fear dear reader, my left foot is also there, simply inside the other clog...)

I will admit that I used a larger sized needle than the pattern called for, but these things were ridiculously huge. 

However, they felted to near perfection.

They were just a touch too small for my big feet, so I gave them to my mom instead. I had planned to make her a pair in any case. Considering she is the one who handed down to me the Bigfoot genes in the first place (which then multiplied and gave me bigger feet than her), I thought it only right that she got the first pair I made. Fitting, therefore, that she was also with me when I bought the pattern in the first place.

These things are fantastic. And considering I bought the pattern and yarn on clearance, they only cost me a whopping $3 to make (not factoring in the needles, which I think I may have gotten in South Africa for a mere $2 for another project.) 

I love it when thrifting meets knitting. Together, they make quite a pair. 

Orange Marmalade Cake

Poppy seeds remind me of Ukraine. I ate more than my fair share of poppy seed layered cake in that country. I wanted to bake something equivalent over here in America, so I purchased what seemed like a ton of poppy seeds and scoured my numerous books for a recipe. 

I never did find the Ukrainian one. But I had all of these poppy seeds, and I also had a neat vintage bundt pan waiting to be used, so instead I made an orange marmalade cake. I have made it several times this year for guests, and even people who don't like oranges or marmalade (or even poppy seeds) loved it.

It became my go-to dessert, much like my potato salad has become my go-to side dish to bring to a picnic. 

Today, I made it again for my knitting guild party. The first time I ever baked it, the power went out 10 minutes after I put it in the oven. I don't remember why it went out -- but I do remember the cake didn't turn out at all. I needed to start the whole thing over once the power came back on.

I used the giant bundt pan I found at a thrift store for only $2. The recipe called for a 'large' bundt pan... but the cake turned out super short. The recipe was from a South African magazine. Apparently their large isn't quite so big as this thing:

While the cake tasted great, it was somewhat short. The next time, I used a smaller bundt pan I also found during a thrifting hunt -- the cake came out the perfect size. 

Today, while making it again, I don't know whether I was more excited to use that small bundt pan, or the juicer I scored during a weekend antique hunt. 

They both made me happy. The whole process made me again thankful for my own little kitchen. The finished cake made me smile, too. The gals at the knitting club hardly made a dent, but I won't be complaining when I have a slice for breakfast. I'm sure my elderly neighbor will also be thrilled when I give him a piece or two, tomorrow.

I'm still on the hunt for the Ukrainian poppy seed cake recipe, though. This cake is great, but it's not quite the same.

Snowfall and Snowflowers

After a solid week of rain in Idaho, it finally snowed. 

I finished knitting these fun fried chicken mitts just in time: 

To celebrate the true arrival of winter, I also crocheted my friend a snowflower: 

I love watching snow falling from a window -- unless that window is in the airport. I got stuck today in Minneapolis for an extra five hours. Sadly, I checked my bag with all of that new glorious yarn AND my needles. Even the mittens are in there.

I don't know what I was thinking -- I even bought some sock yarn and new needles especially for the trip home. Then before I knew it, I had checked my bag WITH said needles and yarn (and just about anything else one might like to have on a long layover -- like a toothbrush...) Clearly my coffee had not yet kicked in this morning, because I found myself telling multiple people at various check-in counters more than once today: 'Truly, I travel more often than it appears.'

And yet here I am, at a random hotel somewhere between an airport and home, without any yarn or needles, using an awful travel toothbrush that Delta so kindly gave me (along with the hotel bill), and now I have to wear the same socks tomorrow because I didn't knit myself a new pair along the way.

Thankfully, I remembered to carry my laptop with me. The chargers for every device I own, however, are also in luggage limbo.

 

Pilgrim Boots and Second Thanksgiving

In early fall, I knit these fabulous legwarmers. I had a friend model them for me, along with a pair of boots I purchased for my recent trip. 

I have strayed far from my college Doc Martin and Birkenstock days... and while I wear the latter obsessively over the summer, I usually wear boots with heels when I go out in colder weather. (I am short. Every little bit helps.) When I planned to visit a friend in Idaho, the Sailor suggested I get a more practical pair for both the plane and the trip out West. 

My friend's son thought they looked like pilgrim boots. 

I concur a little, but I'll bet the pilgrims didn't have boots quite so comfortable. 

I also thought the pilgrim boots comment was somewhat appropriate, since last night, we celebrated Thanksgiving again. 

There were cranberries, and mashed potatoes and stuffing and a turkey and of course... pumpkin pie. I have made lots of pies in my life, but for some reason, I have never once made a pumpkin pie. 

So, for Second Thanksgiving, I made the pumpkin pie. This is the work of art, fresh out of the oven. We also experimented and cooked the filling without the crust as a sort of custard. It too, was fabulous

Maybe it's funny that we celebrated Thanksgiving a second time, two weeks after the first one. But really, why shouldn't we celebrate Thanksgiving more than once? Every day, we can find things to be thankful for. 

I am thankful for many things, but today, I'm especially grateful for my boots. It's been raining all week, and now today the snow finally started falling. 

My boots, paired with last year's woolly knit socks similar to these, create the perfect winter footwear.  

The Dishes

Dishes are an inevitable part of life. We eat. Then we eat again, and again, and again. And unless you eat out three times a day, or use paper plates in your house daily for every meal (or you eat a meal over the sink, which I have been known to do on occasion when the Sailor is not home) then you need to do the dishes at some point. 

Modern conveniences mean many of us in the Western world simply rinse the dishes and load the dishwasher. Unless you have a grimy pot, no elbow grease is required. 

I've never had a dishwasher in my life. I'm not sure I ever want one. I'm one of those people who doesn't mind doing the dishes. To me, it's always been part of the whole 'cook it, then clean it up' process. 

To make the process more enjoyable, I employ good soap (always natural -- I have a weird allergy to any type of blue dish soap and many green ones) and I like to use fun sponges or dishcloths to clean up.

I had quite a bit of yarn leftover from the Bullion Beach Blanket, so I whipped up some basic garter stitch dishcloths and crocheted tawashis -- perfect for scrubbing. 

Recently, I gave a few to a friend as a gift. I smiled, as I did the dishes at her house, using the bright green dishcloth to clean the counter.

Yarn Haul

Years ago when I resisted any sort of fiber arts, I knew it was because I would have a stash problem. Yarn seemed bulky -- like it took up an inordinate amount of space. I didn't have a lot of space where I lived (and I still don't...) so I carried on with other bits of crafting and creativity and let other people knit and crochet. 

The irony is not lost on me, as I remember how I finally caved in because I wanted a more portable hobby than sewing (anyone who owns a sewing machine will vouch for me that Singers and Vikings are not easy to transport when you have a luggage limit). Once I had that analogy in my head, whatever thought I had about yarn taking up space flew right out the window. Suddenly, a ball of yarn and a hook or two sticks proved quite portable.

This year, as part of my 'use what you have' strategy for not collecting more stuff in our small living space, I have forced myself to go through my stash before I purchase any more yarn. 

It worked pretty well... until this week. 

 
Even though this store is quite far from where I live -- three flights away to be more precise -- I have visited before. Each time I walk out of the shop with a giant bag of yarn, and then I wonder how I'm going to get it all home in a carry-on suitcase. 

Thankfully this time, the yarn haul wasn't quite so dramatic. But I'm still wondering how I'm going to get it all into my bag. 

Knit Lit

Along with vintage Pyrex, I enjoy hunting for old sewing and handiwork stuff. Although I haven't been able to pinpoint the exact reason why I'm drawn to vintage sewing and needlework tools and pattern books, I like to think that it helps me feel connected to the grandmothers and great-grandmothers of yesteryear who also pursued creativity in their daily life.  Their creativity may have been born more out of necessity than enjoyment, but I like to think that many of them still got pleasure out of creating something with their hands.

One thing that put me off knitting initially was simply the price of new needles. When I started looking into knitting more seriously, I realized that a person needed quite a LOT of needles in order to create all manner of garments with various types of yarn. Of course you can knit with one set of needles, but it seemed like every new pattern I wanted to make called for different sized needles and different thicknesses of yarn, but my budget instead erred on the thin size.

I knew I could save a small fortune by collecting used needles at thrift stores. Every time I saw a pair that weren't bent or that didn't have gunk stuck to them (it's true... sometimes you really have to pick through stuff -- and then really wash your hands afterwards), I would snatch them up for 50 cents or even as much as a dollar. 

Soon, I had quite a few needles in all sizes and colors. I thought they would make a fun photo project, especially when I realized I had all of the colors of the rainbow. 

These three were the best of the bunch: 

I submitted the far right photo into my camera club for a competition, and titled the entry 'Rainbow Bright'. The judges weren't impressed. They gave me low scores because the title had nothing to do with knitting. (I wanted people to guess what the photo was... I didn't want to give it away, but there you go.) 

So, when the camera club held the next competition, I took some new photos and submitted this one for the abstract theme:

 

 

I titled it 'Knit Lit' and it tied for second place. I guess this time my choice of title caught the judges attention quicker than my previous shot.

These photos were also some of my favorites of that shoot:

I still search for knitting needles at thrift stores, but these days I'm a little more picky. I have nearly every size I could possibly ever use, so unless they are a really unique set, I'm leaving them for the next knitter-on-a-budget.

Pyrex Mania

I have a small confession. Ever since the Sailor and I got our own little apartment, I have been somewhat obsessive about the kitchen. When we first got married, we didn't always have our own place to cook. For a while we lived with my in-laws, then we lived in Cape Town with another family while the Sailor finished his studies; later we lived with my family.  

Sharing a living space is one thing, sharing a kitchen is quite another. I didn't realize how stressful it was until one day I nearly burst into tears as I told the Sailor that I just wanted to pick out my own dumb tea towels.

The truth was, the tea towels were only the beginning. I was tired of using someone else's dishes, pots, pans, and cutlery -- even if that someone was within my family. I wanted my own. Even if I had my own stuff at that point, it's not the same having to share the space with someone else. 

(I do realize how selfish this sounds... and I also know how blessed I have been over the years considering how many people share kitchens all over the world, but hear me out nonetheless.)

Sunset from our flat near Cape Town

Before we got married, I had been living overseas. I never really had my own kitchen. Even in the few years in England where I lived on my own, post-university, I had a slew of guests come and go, and I was using dishes and the like that had been given to me. When I moved back to America, I felt like I had missed the last decade and everyone else moved forward by owning kitchen gadgets they hardly used (at least in my version of the story). I simply wanted my own knives and a few dishes. Maybe I was being selfish. Maybe I was just being practical. But I'll never forget trying to make hash browns from scratch on our honeymoon. They were a flop, but the Sailor simply reminded me that the cooking equipment at our bungalow was inferior. Right then and there I knew I married a man who understood how much a kitchen meant to me, even if I didn't know yet how to wield the equipment with which to cook.

We had some seriously stunning views in the places we lived -- especially in Cape Town, but I was also using the equivalent of an easy bake oven to make our meals. I was pretty proud of myself for learning how to make meatloaf on a hotplate until we got the little oven, and I was even prouder of myself for baking an entire loaf of bread in the thing -- even when said loaf rose precariously close to the top of the oven.

Moving into our own apartment, the Sailor had his say as to where some of the furniture went, but when it came to the kitchen, he told me he didn't mind what I did with it -- it was all mine. 

Because we were nomads for so long, most people gave us money for our wedding. The cash suited our lifestyle at the time, far more than toasters and blenders did. Besides, we never registered anywhere. I couldn't reconcile the idea that I had invited people from at least three continents to our wedding, and it would have seemed odd to me to have people bring breakable china on a plane to our small ceremony. In any case, I had nowhere to put plates or any material gift in whatever kitchen I was utilizing at the time.

When we finally got our own little space years later, I realized that in addition to furniture -- we needed not only dishes but an entire kitchen complement. I caved and bought my knives, my stainless steel pots and my cast iron pans new, but nearly everything else came from thrift stores. 

Suddenly I was drawn to older kitchen stuff. I remembered my mother-in-law had an old glass rolling pin -- the kind you could put ice into to keep dough cold as you rolled it out. Nobody here had ever heard of such a thing, so I took to scouting out antique shops in search of one. I still haven't found a glass one, but I have amassed a small collection of vintage Butterfly Gold Pyrex dishes along the way. 

At first it was just a small mixing bowl -- I thought it would go well with all of the sunflowers in my kitchen. Then I began to realize that this old Pyrex stuff was tough -- I figured if it had already survived 40 plus years, surely it could survive my kitchen? 

I began finding pieces bit by bit. 

My favorite ones by far were the refrigerator dishes. I liked the modern Pyrex glass dishes with the rubber lids (as opposed to their inferior plastic cousins) but there was something about these older ones that really caught my eye. 

I decided to hunt for the full set of the Butterfly Gold refrigerator dishes. I managed to nab the medium sized 'butter' dish and another smaller white one while weekend antiquing. 

This week, I found the large refrigerator dish. Sometimes, I just have a hunch that I should wander into a thrift store. That day, I went into one on my way to another antique store, in search of some vintage jadeite for a friend. Right as I was leaving, this little beauty stared at me through the glass: 

Can you hear the moment of triumph? The clerk most certainly heard me squeal.

While I don't usually get pieces that are damaged, I made an exception for this one which is only slightly scratched... but totally chip free. For the price, a few scratches were totally worth it. 

So there you have it. The whole fridge family. Happily, I paid less than half of what I've seen lately on eBay and Etsy for all of them. And before you wonder why I didn't just order them online from the start -- for me, it is more thrilling to hunt for them in person. 

In retrospect, if I had to do it all over again, I'm glad I shared so many kitchens and so much cooking equipment with other people. It helped me realize that I can cook anywhere -- in any space and with anything. And I still wouldn't have registered for dishes even if we had our own place back when we got married. (I doubt anyone has a registry for vintage Pyrex in any case.) Far more fun to build the collection this way, I think. The Sailor doesn't seem to mind. In fact, I think he's less overwhelmed when I build my kitchen collection piece by piece instead of all at once.  

And, thankfully, he no longer has to hear me spout off about tea towels. 

Leftover Turkey Pie

Thanksgiving yields a bounty of leftovers -- no matter how big or small your gathering is, it always seems like there's at least some extra turkey in the end. 

I make two things incredibly well -- my potato salad and real chicken pot-pie. When in doubt, I make and bring either of these two items to pot-lucks or I make them for guests. People have different ideas of pot-pie though.

I grew up in Pennsylvania Dutch country, and the first time I ordered pot-pie in a local restaurant, I looked up from the floating noodles in dismay. My mother must have seen my face, because she calmly explained to me that this was not pot-pie. 

My Chicago-born parents made it clear for me at a very young age that chicken pot-pie has a crust. As the floating noodles were not encased in either a top or bottom crust, it would stand to reason that I never ordered that version of the dish again (although I did finally yield to hometown tradition... and I learned to make the PA Dutch version. It's not bad, but I still don't think they should have called it pot-pie. It's more like chicken noodle soup with chunks of potatoes.) 

Pot-pie to me is pure comfort food, all in one dish. The standard recipe I use calls for carrots, celery and onions, all tossed with chicken broth, milk and a little flour. The recipe also calls for peas, but as the Sailor can't stand them, I always omit them, even when he's not home. This time, I added some leftover spinach that has been staring at me from the fridge for the past few days. And of course, instead of chicken, I used the turkey leftovers from Thanksgiving. Flaky pastry dough tops off the pie. (I'd love to use a bottom crust, but considering the amount of butter that goes into the dough, I usually just put a top on the pie.)

There is no photo of the finished pie because let's face it, it never lasts long around here. 

I still had tons of both white and pumpernickel bread leftover from the stuffing I made last week though, so I decided to make croutons with them while the oven was still warm. The pumpernickel took forever to dry out, and I'm not convinced the cubes are fully dry. They are however, delightful while they are still warm, with a few chunks of cheese. 

(Never mind those mini pumpkins -- they're another leftover on the list...)

Holiday Socks

Sock knitting is fantastic. It's portable, fits into the average handbag and if you're quick, you can whip up a basic sock in no time -- grafting the toe seam sometime in the middle of watching Downton Abbey season two for the second time. 

At first, socks scared me. Well, let's face it... knitting in general scared me. I learned to crochet first, so the thought of using two needles instead of just a hook was a little daunting. 

I learned to crochet so I could make blankets... but then I saw all of these cozy sock patterns and decided to learn to knit. I panicked slightly though when I realized that socks are generally knit on four needles instead of two. How was I supposed to wield so many sharp objects at once while dealing with the yarn at the same time?

But after a while, I got the hang of it and using four needles became just as easy as two.

Remember all of that extra yarn that was leftover from Lawrence? Enough to make a friend some warm woolie socks over Thanksgiving, just in time for the winter.

Stuffing and Stuffed Apple Pies

Tonight was a baking feast, even though I'm not even the one making Thanksgiving dinner. My mother has the whole dinner planned out, but ever since last year and thanks to a Food Network magazine mix-in recipe, I've declared the stuffing to be the tradition that I make and bring every year. (Mom never made stuffing in any case, so it's not like I took anything away from our Thanksgiving... I just added to it...)

Tonight there was stuffing prep: 

More stuffing prep:

And yes, even more stuffing prep. This stuffing rocks. Seriously.

Sometime after that, I got around to the dessert. My mom already has the pumpkin pie sorted, but since I had leftover dough from a meat pie I made when the Sailor was still home, I thought I'd make individual apple pies -- easier to freeze in case there are any leftovers. (But realistically, who said there would be leftovers?) I've already devoured one (not including that mini leftover test chunk in the middle of the tray...)

Happy Thanksgiving!

Sew Neat

Even though I am what some would consider a professional nomad, I realized a few years ago when I returned to America's shores, that I needed to plant a few roots somewhere. Anywhere. 

So, I joined a local camera club. The first meeting I thought I was in the wrong room. I literally thought the presenter was speaking Greek. He talked about the latest software patch for some photo program I had never even heard of. The camera club's website hailed people of all skill levels, but despite my own experience taking photos for years, I didn't feel skilled at all.

It took a while to figure out the workings of the club. I eventually realized that I joined it to learn more about photography and to meet new people. I also joined to challenge myself to take new and different photos -- even if it meant I didn't always understand the technical stuff. I still loved to take photos -- I wasn't about to let someone with more expensive equipment or a better knowledge of software I'd never heard of tell me that I couldn't compose a picture. I simply decided to learn what I could, filter out the rest, and take some photos. Occasionally, I still hear Greek, but gradually I'm becoming a little more fluent.

This week, we had our first competition of this season. I tied for second in the color category with 'Sew Neat': 

I thought the title was appropriate, a symbolic celebration of my sewing machine getting fixed and finally being able to seam a straight line.