Pipes of doom

Mr. Chez B. was washing dishes in our bathroom sink last night. We must do this because we have no kitchen at the moment, it being gutted and lonely for it's new outfit of cabinets, counters and flooring. Minor stuff, of course.

I was in another room attending to the bills. Mr. B. knows that this is a time to avoid disturbing me, because kissing all of our money good-bye is disturbing enough.
All was placid until I heard the commode flush and him say, "Uh-oh!"

Uh-oh? After a toilet flush? Not good.
Me: "What happened?"
Mr. B, sotto-voce:"Nothing..."
Me: "No, really. What happened?"
Mr. B:"Don't come in here..."

I went in.
He had discarded the dish water down the commode, because the f***ing bath tub is almost a whole extra step away, and flushed a hand-knitted hemp dishcloth down the loo.

Very nice.

Morning Comfort

Mad Love

Slow but satisfying progress. Knitting primarily on the train during my commute. I'm listening to Ghost Light by Joseph O'Connor.

Venture Out

Thank goodness these are bloody well done.



I was seeing Cammo in my sleep.

No glamor shots for Mr. Chez B. He just wants to get on with things. I think that the cuffs fit him better than they appear to in the photos. Things tend to slide at the end of a long day, don't they?



Yarn: Miss Babs Yummy Sock in Rock Wall, Sandnes Sisu in Pine for CC
Pattern: Alternate 1 K2, P2 row with 1 K row, repeat. It's Mr. Chez B's favorite pattern thus far. It's lovely to be able to send these woolly friends out into the world.

I've really no inerest

in the American Civil War. I don't really care for the statistics, battle sites and monuments. I grew tired of being called a Yankee when I lived in the South.

It was that damned Joseph O'Connor. I read Star of the Sea and Redemption Falls last spring. They were shape-changing spirits - haunting, dark and beautiful. They are, for me, the finest stories ever written.*

It's because of the lingering curiosities that these two books etched into me that I got so engrossed when I heard Adam Goodheart discuss the premise of 1861: The Civil War Awakening on NPR that I was captivated.

O'Connor paints delicately nuanced vignettes of the society of war-time America. Goodheart's book, I think, will fill in the cracks in the joints. I'm really looking forward to this as a study of social history.

*I'm no expert, but I am a literary snob. I slogged 4 years in a Literary Theory minor degree (so very useful and lucrative) during my undergraduate studies, (whilst learning to write lots of compound, annotated, passive-voice and run-on sentences) so I read book after book, and these are simply my favorites. Yes, I think you should read them. Read his entire catalog, in fact. He's poetic and quite funny.

"It's a Major Award!"

While at the dog park yesterday, Mr. Chez B. and the dogs were invited to an Easter Egg Hunt for Hounds which was sponsored by our local doggie washateria. Both doggies got prizes.



Our beloved Bodhi was cited as biggest curmudgeon "Most Senior", and Ivan received the award for finding the most treats. Go figure - He's got my talent for finding food.



Ivan at home after lots of hard work sleuthing plastic Easter Eggs

Hey, pal. That's my side of the bed.

Fathom

Yarn: Madeline Tosh Sock, in colorway "Fathom".
A completely intoxicating color.

Project: Listen to your Wanderlust by Stephanie van der Linden

Needle: US 1 = 2.25 mm

Additional Yarns: The Loopy Ewe Solid Series, Saffron
Cascade Heritage, White

And the aul' ones eat, celebrate and finish strong

The Mister and I had a lovely late supper to celebrate his something-ith birthday the other night. May I suggest, if you are ever looking for something just a little high-end and find yourself in the cultural mecca that is South Pittsburgh, a visit to Bado's Cucina. Everything is served in small portions, and is really beautifully prepared. BYOB, and leave a little room for dessert.

Do make sure that if you are running a brutally hilly 10K first thing the following morning, you don't let your waitress control your wine portions.

You might feel like dying reluctant to tackle the hills and get to the finish line.

Maybe if I pray real hard and knit real fast, I can leave this purgatory.

More ESpresso, please.
Thank you kindly, anonymous commenter below. How sorry I am for my TYPO. You are really very helpful, Anonymous. EEJIT. Google it.

I fell off the wagon and broke my pancreas

"For one person in every ten, sugar is a deadly food, paving the way toward a hundred distressing physical symptoms, plus all the tortures of neurotic and even psychotic behavior. For that person a little sugar is akin to a little carbolic acid."
- Carlton Federicks, Ph.D., author of New Low Blood Sugar And You

Seriously. I can stop any time I want. it was just one small piece of pie. And a bit of ice cream. And the Clif gels I ate during my run.

Ouch.

So, Sunday, we had a very hectic day at Chez B. Nothing different about that, but I expended more energy on running, chores, grocery shopping, bills, budgeting, faith activities, dog minding and loads of housecleaning than I think should be expended on a Sunday.

By bedtime, I felt pretty desperate to squeeze some enjoyment out of the day, so I had a slice of the pie that I'd brought home for Mr. Chez B, and some ice cream on top of it, because apparently, I didn't believe that the pie was going to be enough of a system-shocker on it's own. I've been as sugar free as possible since January, and though I've had dessert a couple of times, I hadn't had many other added sweeteners or sugars, and very little alcohol. It was like a toxin combined with my stress level and fatigue.

That Sunday night was hell. I felt indescribably bizarre, got no sleep, and felt like I had some kind of blood-borne hangover the entire next day.

Time to re-affirm my sugar-free commitment. A huge thanks to David Gillespie for helping light the way.

Coming Up to SLIM 10K Day!

The 2011 SLIM 10K





I ran this last year (had a pretty good time), and there was no water left at the water stops and very few direction markers, so lets hope things are better put together this year. Lost, parched racers are bad news.

Nearly there

Sure it's all fun and games until the aul' lady falls apart.

  

My long training run the other day left me sore, discouraged, and feeling like a complete eejit.

7:3o AM

Mile one, it was the lungs. Don't smoke, kids, it's bad for you, and you never know when you might want those vital organs to function properly.

By mile 2, I was noticing that hopping out of the car and beginning the run right away (because yes, I was late to meet the training group) didn't really work as well for me as 15 minutes of warm-up and active stretching. I remained optimistic, though, and didn't let those pesky negative voices defeat me.

8:30 AM

At some point, I cheerfully noticed that the runner who, up until that time, had always been the last, had passed me, and I was running a steady pace a few hundred yards behind her. "Good for her! Way to go!" I thought.

Mile 6 and 7, my hamstrings were screaming for mercy.
The runner who had always been the last was now a black spec in the distance.

Mile 8 was just muscle memory. My blood sugar level was drooping, I was fatigued, and I wished I had remembered headphones (they're discouraged during the training runs, but when you're that far behind everyone else, it doesn't really matter), cause I was pretty sure that I could finish by nightfall if only I had some music to distract me.

I still don't get how I can go so slowly and till be "running", but I manage.

It was then that my silent Buddhist mantra was replaced with "near-ly there..." in cadence with my incredibly slow footfall. The scenery was becoming familiar again – I would make it back to the car somehow. Even if it felt like my right shin had shattered. Yes, definitely shattered.

By mile 8.95428 I must have been weeping. That can be the only explanation for the couple who passed me and looked back at me in alarm. What's so unusual about a middle-aged woman running in slow-mo begging to be airlifted to the parking lot? "Near-ly there..."

No real damage done to the old carcass, but a real wake-up call. 9 miles in 2 hours. Ouch! I had better be ready to be on my feet running for three hours (Yes! Pathetic, I know) for the half marathon. This Super-Slow Granny has some work to do.

Big feet, big socks

In a race against time, I endeavor to finish these



for the husband in time for his birthday in a couple of weeks. Trickier than one would think given the general hub-bub of the everyday.

iLove

The only thing the iPhone doesn't seem to be able to do is laundry. I'm in love.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

No Distress

I'm so grateful for the therapeutic properties of color and texture.

The more madness crows the few empty spaces of my life, the more I need the rhythmic, soothing muscle memory of knitting. Creative and practical.

DH and I are running out of wearable socks. We've used them up, loved them, worn them to the bitter end. So begins the ascent.

I've been listening to audio books and knitting on my commute to and from work (when I can get a seat), and it feels like cheating; no studying, no planning for the upcoming day, no worrying about what needs to be crossed off of the list.

Truthfully, those are the only moments of my day when I feel like I'm in charge of my time. It's been brilliant.


Above are the Fallberry Mitts by Anne Hanson. I think they'll make awesome socks.

It's fun to say "Bonk!", but it's no fun to do it

Yesterday, I had a group training run over 6 really hilly miles. Because I injured myself attempting to ski and had an awful week of training, I knew that I wouldn't be adequately prepared. The distance itself wasn't so much a concern as the hills, and the fact that I need very consistent training momentum in order to pull off what for me is a long run.

I got as much sleep as possible the night before, avoided sugar, and had what I felt was a pretty adequate breakfast well ahead of the run. So what did I do? Bonk. Tap out. Crash. Walk. Walk alot.

More than a little

I don't know if it's the warming trend or because I'm so stressed out, but I bought Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros' ep today on a whim, and I really, really like it. More than I expected to, and more than a little. Good therapy for mangled nerves. Have a listen:

 Watch "Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeros "Carries On" 9/22/09 @ El Rey, LA" on YouTube 

Cross-Country Tumbling

Beautiful day spent mostly on my arse at Laurel Ridge State Park.



CC Skiing is much more difficult than I anticipated. Even as a rookie runner, I kept looking at the terrain and thinking "If only I had my trail shoes, I could stay upright."

It's definitely a good time, though, and the husband even pulled a few ballet moves:

Warm Comfort

I've got too much on the go in all areas of my life just now, so anything I can do to unwind, even for a moment, seems like a mini-vacation. The bone-chilling cold hasn't help lift my spirits any - it's difficult to get out for very long with the dogs, and a chore to shovel and slog our way to anywhere.

I've found a great audio book, and the perfect thing to knit while I listen:



Makes the morning train ride into work fly by.