Cooler than You: Stupid Things I Say and Do

The perpetual nature of my life is busy.  This fall no less.  Of course, the Lupus, a stomach virus (dear lord), and an ear infection with a side of vertigo wear distasteful . . . but, in the meantime the knitting needles click at night, on the subway, on ferries, in planes, on trains . . . yes, as I go they do too.  Instead of vegetating in front of a tellie, which I've never been capable of, I knit for an hour or two.  Of course, the desire to have sweaters that fit me in the shoulders and hips, scarves that are affordable to my vows of poverty salary in higher ed, and such . . .  So, in September or so I started duplicating one Chanel scarf .  And as I rotated between it and a sweater, it took some time.  Of course, as I was using yarn from my fantastical trip to the land of Anne Shirley last summer I really wanted it to be perfect.  Well, as good as perfect as I get.  Cabling without a needle hook  . . . I'd never done that bef...

As a girl, as many (most?) have in the Western World, I read Anne of Green Gables  with great flourish and glee.  The entire series, given to me for a birthday I think by my grandparents, was read more than once.  I remember some snotty little shits mocking me for it.  Yea, last I heard they didn't make it very far in life anyway . . . they've never been farther than Florida, think that sinners live in NYC, and the world ends past England and France.  Odd, I know . . . as the prefab furniture I bet they pour into their homes comes from IKEA, out of Sweden, and to them that country would be A) some foreign land and B) not worthy.  Yea, conservative memories of the Midwestern tween and early teen years still have dark strains.   C'est la vie.   As those reads of Anne Shirley went, back then I doubt I really grasped the nature and geographic locale of PEI.  Though, in the late dirty 30s I certainly do.  I was ...