Enter the new...

It seems I can't start a new year without change and drama.  Last year I uprooted and moved across country for a new job in a new town, with a new and quieter routine surrounded by friends old and new.  I burrowed into my new surroundings with a fervor, reveled in my new nest and neighborhood.  I loved it.  Then 2012 came, and decided a change was warranted.

I've lived in DC and Boston, where rents are high, and rent increases an annual occurrence.  I was not prepared for the bay area, however, where rents are higher, and rent increases only regulated in the amount of time required for notification.  I'll spare you the extended version and give you the punchline:  I'm moving two doors down from my lovely nest, into a one-bedroom apartment with smaller kitchen, balcony, and a linen closet the size of a tea towel.  Yes, there were tears.  I have no idea where my lovely craft closet will fit in the new place, nor any of the items currently in the outside storage closet, which is lacking in the new place.

To focus on the positive, I do love this neighborhood, where I can walk to my wee city's downtown restaurants and festivals.  I will still have a washer/dryer, which I consider a must.  I'll get direct sunlight in the mornings, so my plans for tomatoes and herbs will proceed apace this spring.  They painted the wall in the living room this week, so I still have my lush green, non-white decor.  I'll reward my storage creativity with a trip to the Container Store after the move - I may be losing the craft closet, but we all know I love a chance to organize and use the label maker.

Stay tuned, you know there will be stories of catastrophe and recovery to come.

In which I let down my food-adventuring friends.

The spice of life is garlic, apparently.

Back in February, as we drove north up Hwy 101, Lady and I passed through a particularly pungent province.  Gilroy, California is a self-proclaimed garlic capital of the world, that member of the onion family being a large part of the local farming product.  Even in the chilly damp air of California's "winter" we could smell the garlic in the air.  Lady mentioned that every summer they held a festival celebrating the tangy condiment.  I was in.

You think I'm kidding, but for months I've been sporadically checking the dates, and this past weekend was it.  I popped into Genie (the Prius) and drove south for the annual Gilroy Garlic Festival (32 years and counting).  It was an amazing array of garlic bread, garlic fries, garlic sausage, pasta con garlic pesto, garlic shrimp scampi, garlic pepper steak sandwiches, garlic stuffed mushrooms, garlic calamari, garlic kettle corn, and ...

Garlic. Ice. Cream.

I won't hold you in suspense, I didn't try it.  If you know me, you know I meant to.  I was in such a tizzy about the impending spicy smorgasbord that I skipped breakfast in order to maximize my appetite.  And I was hungry.  I had a garlic sausage with peppers sauteed in garlic for brunch in the sunshine, and it was delicious.  And then I thought about garlic fries... and realized I was stuffed.  OK, ok, I thought, let's wander the vendor stalls, pop into the wine garden, try some local wines, wait for the hunger to return.

I wandered.  The wine garden promised shade, and - was that a breeze?  I was in.  I tried a mediocre champagne, a decent syrah, and then I made a friend, who recognized my final ticket punch and indecision.  He poured a sip of zinfandel and told me to down it so he could pour a sip of the cabernet.  Both were lovely, but I opted for the light and spicy zin, talked about where the grapes were grown, and by the time I left booth had a card and a plan to visit the tasting room in San Jose.  Soon.

I got in line for the garlic ice cream.  It was a long line.  I moved forwards the space of a few people, and my stomach whispered to me, "I'm still stuffed, and it's hot out - overeating in the heat isn't fun.  Or pretty."  Word.

The vendors were the usual faire fare - some interesting, some gaudy, some downright bizarre.  For the record, I don't understand the appeal of flat bottles.  I bought the ceramic garlic grater that I'd seen earlier this summer (at another festival, this time of the Sunset magazine variety) - I tried it this evening and it works a treat.  It ought to, because Giada De Laurentiis says so.  Seriously, go google it.  I listened to the blues rock band, and the country band on the other stage - I love watching people lose themselves in live music.  I picked bulbs of free garlic to fill a small sack, and received instructions on growing garlic myself (oh yes, I'm going to).

Again I got in line for the garlic ice cream - still long.  It was pretty hot out, and by now I was tired of the crush of people, and starting to ponder the longevity of my sunscreen.  I realized that more than garlic ice cream, which my stomach was still not convinced we had room for, I wanted water, and that hat I'd tried on a few rows back, because it looked more whimsical and fun than then hat I'd worn for solar protection.

Contemplating the glory of the spicy bulb, while wearing the hat I came with.  My head is blocking the giant oven shaped like a bulb of garlic.  I'm not entirely sure what the message was meant to be, but it was some big garlic.

I got out of line.  Again.  I bought the hat.  I bought the $3 water.  I headed for the shuttle back to the parking lot.  It was a good day, even without the garlic ice cream.  And if it makes you feel better, I did come away with garlic-roasted pistachios, and they were wonderful.

The new hat.  I'm a fickle girl.

Pleased as punch!

It worked!  I enter this last day of the holiday weekend extremely satisfied.  I have been extremely busy, but the end results will keep me happy for a long time to come.  See what I mean?

Dear Ikea, I would like to amend all previous curses - you are not the most ridiculous do-it-yourself furniture in the world.  That honor goes to World Market.  I apologize for the slander, and will in future only curse you when you do not succeed in drilling holes of the proper length (I was absolutely correct in my curses that day). 

Note to self, apartment fire extinguishers are a must.

That's the only corner of the balcony that gets sun, and only for 3 hours in the morning during the summer months.

 Lest you think I'd only succeeded in creating a giant pile of cardboard in my living room, I spent time on my other weekend goal, as well:

You have no idea, do you?

It's a pair of socks!  Or it will be one day soon.  Do you see that?  (I hear Daddo saying, 'no, what is she talking about?')  And unless you really zoom in on the text above the chart, you won't see it.  It says "right chart" - or something like that.  Yes, indeed, not only am I knitting socks from the toe up for the first time (and that took some figuring out), I'm knitting socks toe up two at a time for the first time (again, a thinking job).  And it's worse than that, because not only am I knitting lace socks toe up two at a time, I'm knitting lace socks with a mirror pattern (different on left and right socks) toe up two at a time.  No simple stitch repetition lace for me, no sir.  I never was one for baby steps - or even a logical progression of complexity, apparently.  I'd curse myself and my own ambition, if I weren't so absolutely charmed with this:

Seriously, how wonderful is that?

I'm only five rows into the lace pattern, so it doesn't show up, yet, but it will.  The shade of purple convinced me by the time I'd finished (successfully) casting on the first toe that these babies were headed to my grandmother, who will wear purple every day till the end of time, just because she can.  So my plan to take a breather from all the baby knitting in order to make something for myself is a bust, but I'm tempted to wear flip-flops every day of the week here, anyway.

I know the cure...

I'm a little bit homesick lately.  Not for the humidity of DC - perish the thought!  But I miss having my folks and brothers so close.  On a long weekend I'd invite myself over to their house, make Bubba marinate some flank steak and open the good wine, and curl up in a giant chair and bask in their A/C.  Lady and I might venture out on a shopping excursion or disgust Bubba with some sort of glutinous t.v. marathon.  It was pretty wonderful.

With my friends out of town for the weekend, I find myself facing a three-day weekend on my lonesome.  And lonesome is an apt description.  I'm going through a little lonely spell, anyway, without friends who are free to join me for blues night, or grab a spontaneous drink.  So I've delved back into knitting, which I'd gotten back into last winter, but now I think I qualify as somewhat obsessed.  (Fortunate in timing, since the world is currently breeding.)  I haven't been to blues night lately, but I'm requiring my own attendance this week.

And this weekend?  The prescription is projects.  This morning I made a trip for outdoor furniture, and I'm about to pull the boxes in from the car for construction.  I'm creating a space that I'll actually use on the balcony, and since it stays light here past 8pm, odds are good that it will get used often.  Especially, since I intend to buy a neon orange grill.  Additionally, I'm teaching myself to knit socks from the toe up.  Two at a time.

If these two activities don't keep me content, I don't know what will.

poke the bear.

After all of the feasting of Thanksgiving, and the impulsive shopping of Black Friday (who needs to buy Christmas presents? I got a dresser!) I was looking forward to a visit with Eric and Annie, who's baby bump is now impressive at 6 months. We went to the zoo, where an exhausted looking gorilla still hasn't given birth, and saw Golden-Lion Tamarins use a sleeping sloth bear as a hammock - right before they took food from the bear's mouth! Now, sloths are slow-moving creatures, but they do have some nasty looking claws, and I'd be loath to actually reach into the mouth of any creature that much bigger than me. But they did!

It was hilarious to watch. We also saw red pandas, always a hit, and Eric had to be dragged away from watching some copulating orangutans - yes, they do it all the time.

The rest of the visit was low-key, and involved a lot of discussion of baby names. Eric's favorite seems to be Limpkins Oakenstaff, which would involve a lot of beatings on the playground, but might be a character builder.

All-in-all, my holiday weekend was a raging success, and I had a great time. And of course, there's a picture of the bump:

Saturday night's alright.

Another Saturday and I'm watchin' the Red Sox
I got some food, cuz I just went to the sto'

OK, maybe not my best made up song, but I'm calling my day productive: dry cleaning dropped off, check, mani-pedi, check, market, check. And now I've got a fridge full of treats and meals planned for the week ahead, the Red Sox on tv (GO SOX!), and pants with elastic for a waist on. A couple of years ago I'd've been disappointed, but today, I am more than satisfied with my evening plan. I'm enough over the food poisoning to have a beer at hand and pretzel chips with cheesy dip sitting next to me - OK, I'm as belchy as my brother-in-law, but there's no one here to be offended. He can't say that. I'm giving myself the lazy Saturday I haven't had in a while, particularly because I've brought work home for tomorrow and Monday (a government holiday, so nominally a day of rest). In my three full days of work this week I've managed to work enough to take back some of my sick time from Monday and Tuesday. Sounds good in theory, but unless you use your sick time what good is it? You only get to build up so much and then you stop accumulating it, so I want to at the very least get to use it when I'm actually sick. I feel gypped. Oh well, what can you do?

I'm not writing the post about what happened to my housefund in the stock market this year. I know, rationally, that things will turn around, but getting that "earnings" statement still hurts. It just makes me want to take my big raise (October paycheck, I can't wait!) and either spend it on a Burmuda weekend or stuff it in a mattress. Except I love my mattress just the way it is. Burmuda would be a good way to turn thirty...

jam-packed fun

Just a quick word - my weekend is crazy, so I won't be posting. Last night I took Daddo to the Washington Nationals game (it was his birthday!) and we watched some sloppy baseball in a great new ballpark - it was good fun! And I wasn't the only person there wearing a Red Sox cap, so there.

I'm about to run off to the zoo for some hours, and then I get to hop the Metro and head to the outer reaches, a.k.a. Northern VA. There's a family bbq this afternoon, and mom's making cherry pie - totally worth the Metro trip! An 80s cover band show tonight with some folks from work, and a send-off bbq tomorrow, and I'm tired just thinking about it! But it should be fun, and I'll be back home tomorrow with stories to tell, I'm sure...

PS - Meredith took Dumpster to his first baseball game this week - he loved it!! If only she'd remembered that box they call a camera!