Ick.

On top of it all, I’m seeing a lot of ruffles and frilly nonsense — nothing I would be caught dead wearing. I will, however, wear lace. Some lace. Not frothy, frou-frou lace, but Lace with a capital “L.” Lace that looks something like this:

Pattern: Strangling Vine Lace Scarf.  The pattern a four-row lace repeat, which you can memorize it easily.  I’ve christened my version the Isadora Duncan Scarf since the friend who gave me the yarn questioned the wisdom of knitting a scarf with the word strangling in the pattern title.

Yarn: Wollmeise 100% Merino Superwash, Blue Curacao, approximately 190 yards.   The intensity of the color is phenomenal.

Needles: US size 3, Addi Turbo Lace.  These are the ne plus ultra of knitting needles.  I cherish mine in a way that’s almost lascivious.

Size: Before blocking: 32″ by 4.25″ ; After blocking 46″ by 4.5″

I get high blocking lace.  It’s the most amazing transformation.  All the lumpy stitches behave themselves and lie flat, and all the yarn overs open up to show off those well-behaved stitches.  I can see the allure of knitting larger lace pieces like shawls and stoles.

I’m wearing this to work tomorrow (I’m thinking with a plain ivory or white sweater).  I want to skip down the hallway,  “Lookit what I made!  Isn’t it awesome?”

Thankfully, my co-workers humor me.

]]> http://itsfuriousbalancing.com/index.php/2010/03/09/no-pastels-please/feed/ 1 http://itsfuriousbalancing.com/index.php/2010/02/24/your-troubles-are-over-for-it-is-we-who-are-your-snow-cats/ http://itsfuriousbalancing.com/index.php/2010/02/24/your-troubles-are-over-for-it-is-we-who-are-your-snow-cats/#comments Thu, 25 Feb 2010 02:58:11 +0000 Laiane http://itsfuriousbalancing.com/?p=1421 Please excuse the shaky camera. These videos were taken with my iPod

In any event, I don’t need to darken the doorstep of The Firm until February 22nd.  Don’t get me wrong — I love my work, I love my boss and co-workers, and I even love some of my clients — but Lord I need a break.

I also need Alone Time.  Thinking back, outside of sick days, I haven’t been alone in the house for an extended period of time since Art Fair 2008.  Early 2009 was Knitters for Obama in Chicago.  Spring was Paris.  Art Fair 2009 we had new windows put in.  Thanksgiving was traveling to Texas.  I need the psychological buffer zone of having some time alone when I’m not coughing up a lung.

A lot of people don’t understand this.  The easiest way to explain it is that I need to recharge my batteries.  Even though I’m just puttering around the house, doing the taxes, and organizing the yarn stash, I need to do it by myself.  I’m frayed at the edges and if I don’t un-fray myself, things will get ugly.

So, I’ve got the aerosol cheese and Twinkies, several knitting projects, and a new (to me) computer game.  I’ve made another batch of those chocolate chip cookies.  I’m ready to rock, cats and kittens, and by “rock” I mean sitting quietly at home with the felines, knitting, reading, watching movies, and napping.

And people wonder how I sleep at night.

I am, however, a connoisseur of chocolate, and one of my Christmas presents this past year was David Lebovitz‘ The Great Book of Chocolate.

This is not just another cute collection of chocolate recipes, but a primer in all things chocolate.  How to buy it, how it’s made, how to cook and bake with chocolate, u.s.w. The recipes are just the icing on the cake.

I was itching to try something from it and settled upon these.

Blue Chip Chocolate Chip Cookies

• 1/2 cup granulated sugar
• 1/2 cup light brown sugar, firmly packed
• 8 Tablespoons (1 stick) unsalted butter (close to room temperature)
• 1 large egg
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
• 1/2 teaspoon baking soda
• 1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
• 1/4 teaspoon salt
• 1 1/2 cups semisweet chocolate chips
• 1 cup walnuts or pecans, toasted and chopped

—

1.  Preheat oven to 300°F (150° C).  Adjust oven rack to top 1/3 of oven.  Line 3 cookie sheets with parchment paper.

2.  Beat the sugars and the butter together until smooth.  Mix in the egg, vanilla, and baking soda.

3.  Stir the flour and salt together, then mix them into the batter.  Stir in chocolate chips and nuts.

4.  Scoop the cookie dough into 2 Tablespoon balls and place 8 balls, spaced 4 inches apart, on each baking sheet.

5.  Bake for 18 minutes or until pale golden brown.  Remove from oven and cool on wire rack.

Makes 24 cookies.

Now, here’s the important stuff:

Use the parchment paper.  I never have used it before in any recipe that called for it, but now I know what a lovely invention it is.  It helps  prevent sticking and cleaning up afterward is ridiculously easy.  You can lift the entire sheet of paper, with cookies intact, to transfer it to the cooling rack.   Parchment paper will not catch on fire in your oven – not at 300°F anyway.  You’ll find it in the grocery store next to the aluminum foil.

Don’t skimp on the quality of your ingredients.  In my cookies, both sugars, the flour, the egg, and the butter were organic.  The vanilla extract I had made myself by soaking sliced vanilla beans in light rum.  I used Guittard milk chocolate chips.  There’s an old saying about how you can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.

Feel free to skip the nuts. These don’t need nuts.  There is a high chip-to-dough ratio in these lovelies and you will not miss them.

Give each cookie dough ball plenty of room.  A two-tablespoon-sized cookie dough ball is pretty darn big.  They will spread out during cooking.  A lot.

Long story short — I was reading the Wiki article on Imbolc, since it’s Imbolc as well as Groundhog’s Day, and I found the following something:

Imbolc is also named as the day the where the Cailleach, the hag of Gaelic tradition,  gathers her firewood for the rest of the winter.  Legend has it that if she intends to make the winter last a good while longer, she will make sure the weather on Imbolc is bright and sunny, so she can gather plenty of firewood.  Therefore, it is seen as a good omen if Imbolc is a day of foul weather, as it means the Cailleach is asleep and winter is almost over.

I love it when I find pieces-parts of the universe that neatly snap together.

Today is also the Feast of Brigid, a goddess associated with poetry, healing, and smithcraft.  In the blogging world, today is a day for poetry.  My contribution this year doesn’t seem to fit in as a poem — more like a prose-poem.  I offer it anyway, since the beauty of the prose shines through.

Dreamtigers

In my childhood I was a fervent worshiper of the tiger — not the jaguar, that spotted “tiger” that inhabits the floating islands of water hyacinths along the Paraná and the tangled wilderness of the Amazon, but the true tiger, the striped Asian breed that can be faced only by men of war, in a castle atop an elephant.  I would stand for hours on end before one of the cages at the zoo; I would rank vast encyclopedias and natural history books by the splendor of their tigers.  (I still remember those pictures, I who cannot recall without error a woman’s brow or smile.)  My childhood outgrown, the tigers and my passion for them faded, but they are still in my dreams.  In that underground sea or chaos, they still endure.  As I sleep I am drawn into some dream or other, and suddenly I realize that it’s a dream.  At those moments, I often think:  This is a dream, a pure diversion of my will, and since I have unlimited power, I am going to bring forth a tiger.

Oh, incompetence!  My dreams never seem to engender the creature I so hunger for.  The tiger does appear, but it is all dried up, or it’s flimsy-looking, or it has impure vagaries of shape or an unacceptable size, or it’s altogether too ephemeral, or it looks more like a dog or bird than like a tiger.

- Jose Luis Borges

Enjoy your day, whichever you celebrate.

Three times Randolph Carter dreamed of the marvellous city, and three times was he snatched away while still he paused on the high terrace above it. All golden and lovely it blazed in the sunset, with walls, temples, colonnades, and arched bridges of veined marble, silver-basined fountains of prismatic spray in broad squares and perfumed gardens, and wide streets marching between delicate trees and blossom-laden urns and ivory statues in gleaming rows; while on steep northward slopes climbed tiers of red roofs and old peaked gables harbouring little lanes of grassy cobbles.

It was a fever of the gods; a fanfare of supernal trumpets and a clash of immortal cymbals. Mystery hung about it as clouds about a fabulous unvisited mountain; and as Carter stood breathless and expectant on that balustraded parapet there swept up to him the poignancy and suspense of almost-vanished memory, the pain of lost things, and the maddening need to place again what once had an awesome and momentous place.

H.P. Lovecraft, The Dream Quest of Unknown Kadath

When I find myself under stress, when I’m overwhelmed, there are several things that always help me feel better.  One of the tried and true methods involves sundry combinations of chocolate, sugar, and caffeine.  Another is immersive computer gaming, fantasy RPG being my preferred genre.  The last, oldest, and perhaps the most important for my mental health is reading.

That should be re-reading, actually.  I go back to my favorite books; they’re comforting and familiar.  It is, perhaps, my choice of books that may appear… unusual.

I’ve been going back to savor the stories of H.P. Lovecraft.  Curling up with Dream Quest of Unknown Kadath or The Case of Charles Dexter Ward has helped maintain my equilibrium for the past week or so.

It’s the delicious, dense, antiquarian prose that draws me in.  I love the sound and shape of words for their own sake, and Lovecraft’s words are what lead to my idea for this post.

When I read, I use a large Post-It note as a bookmark.  I use this to keep track of interesting words I encounter in whatever I’m reading at the time.  Words I want to look up since I’m not quite certain of the meaning.  Words that are complex and multifaceted.  Words that make me pause and think  “Oh, this looks really, really cool.  How delightful.”  These words eventually appear in one of my lists at Wordnik.com

I’ve filled up two Post-It notes and part of the back of an envelope with Lovecraft words.  They’ve been lurking on my nightstand.  When I saw them this morning, I thought — for the first time in a long while — that I had something worth sharing.

Without further ado, in no particular order, and in nowise comprehensive:

miasmal, cenotaph, niter, necrophagous, aegipans, lambent, interdicted, acidulous, eidolon, teratologically, squamous, vigintillion, ductile, ichor, palimpsest, quintile, foetor, cartouche, labyrinthine, cumbrous, illimitable, bas reliefs, terrene, pallid, spheroid, aggultinations, dadoes, cryptical, similitude, austral, Cyclopean, anent, bizarrerie, portent, preternatural, immensurable, trans-montane, ineluctable, nefandous, congeries

Nonetheless, here’s an FO from last month that didn’t make it to the blog.  Michelle’s Holiday Scarf.

Pattern: February Lace Scarf by Laura Nixon-Corfield

Yarn: Sock Yarn from The Woolen Rabbit in the Pussywillow Colorway

Needles: US Size 4 (3.5mm)

Size: Before blocking – 6” x 42”   After blocking – 5.5” x 60”

Mods: None

Comments: This is a simple 4-row lace repeat, which makes it easy to memorize.  It also makes it Boring Beyond Belief.  You will be ready to stab your eyes out with your knitting needles after 4 inches of knitting.  Srsly.  The upside, though, is that it looks complicated to a non-knitter.

The recipient, whom I’ve known for over a dozen years, was delighted.  I say that I don’t knit for other people.  The truth is, I do; but it’s an extremely short and exclusive list.

If only I had been able to start writing!  But, however I set about it (all too similarly, alas to the resolve to give up alcohol, to go to bed early, to keep fit), whether it was in a spurt of activity, with method, with pleasure, in depriving myself of a walk, or postponing and reserving it as a reward, taking advantage of an hour of feeling well, making use of the inaction forced on me by a day’s illness, the inevitable result of my efforts was a blank page, untouched by writing, as predestined as the forced card that you inevitably wind up drawing in certain tricks, however thoroughly you have first shuffled the pack.

Marcel Proust – The Guermantes Way

And that’s what I have to say about New Year’s Resolutions.

Actually, I need to re-read Proust.  Yes, you read that correctly — RE-read.  I had my first trip through  À la recherche du temps perdu in 1994-1995.  I’ve picked it up, on and off and on again, for years.  I’m thinking it’s time again.

I believe this comes from Cook’s Country magazine.  The photocopied recipe I have doesn’t say, but I’m pretty sure that’s the source.

Delmonico Potato Casserole

• 3 Tablespoons unsalted butter
• 1 onion, chopped fine
• 2 garlic cloves, minced
• 2½ cups heavy cream
• 1½ cups low sodium chicken broth
• 2½ pounds Yukon Gold potatoes, peeled and cut into ½-inch cubes
• ⅛ teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
• Salt and pepper
• 1 teaspoon grated zest and 2 teaspoons juice from 1 lemon
• 5 cups frozen shredded hash brown potatoes, thawed and patted dry with paper towels
• ¾ cup grated Parmesan cheese
• ¼ cup finely chopped fresh chives

1. Adjust oven rack to upper-middle position and heat oven to 450 degrees.  Melt 1 Tablespoon butter in Dutch Oven over medium-high heat.  Cook onion until softened, about 3 minutes.  Stir in garlic and cook until fragrant, about 30 seconds.  Stir in 2 cups cream, 1 cup broth, Yukon Golds, nutmeg, 2 teaspoons salt, and 1 teaspoon pepper.  Bring to boil, then reduce heat to medium and simmer until potatoes are translucent at edges and mixture is slightly thickened, about 10 minutes.  Off heat, stir in lemon zest and juice.
2. Transfer potato mixture to 13 x 9 inch baking dish and bake until bubbling around edges and surface is just golden, about 20 minutes.  Meanwhile, melt remaining butter (2 Tablespoons) in large nonstick skillet over medium-high heat.  Cook shredded potatoes until beginning to brown, about 2 minutes.  Add remaining cream (½ cup), remaining broth (½ cup) and ½ teaspoon pepper to skillet and cook, stirring occasionally, until liquid has evaporated, about 3 minutes.  Off heat, stir in ½ cup cheese and 2 Tablespoons chives.
3. Remove baking dish from oven and top with shredded potato mixture.  Sprinkle with remaining cheese (¼ cup) and continue to bake until top is golden brown, about 20 minutes.  Let cool 15 minutes.  Sprinkle with remaining chives. Serve.

The recipe also states that this can be made ahead through Step 1, cooled completely, transferred to baking dish and refrigerated (covered with plastic wrap) for 1 day.  To serve, proceed as directed in Step 2, increasing baking time to 25 – 30 minutes.

]]> http://itsfuriousbalancing.com/index.php/2009/12/24/the-christmas-posts-delmonico-potato-casserole/feed/ 0 http://itsfuriousbalancing.com/index.php/2009/12/24/the-christmas-posts-t-s-eliots-journey-of-the-magi/ http://itsfuriousbalancing.com/index.php/2009/12/24/the-christmas-posts-t-s-eliots-journey-of-the-magi/#comments Thu, 24 Dec 2009 14:45:55 +0000 Laiane http://itsfuriousbalancing.com/?p=1287 One of my favorite poems, holiday season or not.

————————————————————

A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a long journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.
And the camels galled, sore-footed, refractory,
Lying down in the melting snow.
There were times when we regretted
The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces,
And the silken girls bringing sherbet.
Then the camel men cursing and grumbling
And running away, and wanting their liquor and women,
And the night-fires going out, and the lack of shelters,
And the cities dirty and the towns unfriendly
And the villages dirty and charging high prices:
A hard time we had of it.
At the end we preferred to travel all night,
Sleeping in snatches,
With the voices singing in our ears, saying
That this was all folly.

Then at dawn we came down to a temperate valley,
Wet, below the snow line, smelling of vegetation;
With a running stream and a water mill beating the darkness,
And three trees on the low sky,
And an old white horse galloped away in the meadow.
Then we came to a tavern with vine-leaves over the lintel,
Six hands at an open door dicing for pieces of silver,
And feet kicking the empty wineskins.
But there was no information, and so we continued
And arrived at evening, not a moment too soon
Finding the place; it was (you may say) satisfactory.

All this was a long time ago, I remember,
And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This: were we led all that way for
Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly,
We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death,
But had thought they were different; this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death.