Life's a Stitch

Where to begin. I've had good intentions to post about the trip but things keep getting in the way. Like the Leonard Cohen concert. His recitation of  A Thousand Kisses Deep rivaled the thrill of Santorini as a cruise ship stop, and it's still fresh in my mind so that's what you get. 

I studied his poetry and lyrics with a brilliant English teacher in grade nine. Oh yes, that was 43 years ago and Mr Cohen seemed old to me then, mind you he was only 35, but when you're 15 you know how that goes. Back then I couldn't fathom what it would be like to be 45 at the turn of the century and here I am twelve years later, still feeling basically like the person I was at 15, but older, hopefully wiser, definitely heavier and still appreciative of Leonard Cohen's talent. However, other aspects of life have changed:

Now and Then

1. Concert tickets              Now: $100+           Then: $15 – $20

2. Parking                         Now: $25               Then: free    

3. A beer at the concert     Now: $8.50             Then: $2.00

4. Average spectator age   Now: 65                 Then: 30

5. Stadium advertising       Now: Pharmacies    Then: None

6. A Thousand Kisses Deep, I'm Your Man, Dance Me to the End of Love, then and now: Priceless.

I'll leave you with my usual, sometimes tiresome in my husband's mind, sky pictures from our trip. I do take way too many sky pictures. Maybe it's the result of living in socked in British Columbia that I appreciate both colourful skies and those of grey:

Sunrise in Turkey:

Stormy sky in Naples:

And my favourite sky with land nowhere in sight:

 

 

 

 

 

 

I thought that was a quote from Poltergeist, but trusty google claims it's from the Shining. Maybe both. Blogless Marsha and I had the good fortune to knit not just Italy, but Greece and Turkey as well. Here are the first pictures as proof:

Despite the fact that the Colisseum picture looks like a backdrop, I promise we were really there.

Ten days were on a cruise ship. Now I'll diverge after watching an episode CBC's Marketplace last night. It focused in germs in hotel rooms including C-difficile, E-coli and MRSA, often found in hospitals, the infections from which my mother passed away nearly a year ago. Most disconcerting was the real life example taken from the hotel in which my daughter and I stayed when she had her reconstructive leg surgery a few years back. I am now eating my words of description: a clean, comfortable hotel. Gross.

Back to cruise ships where Noro virus abounds and great efforts are taken to thwart such occurrences. I'm wishing hotels had the same standards. When C and I were discussing this tonight, it brought back a memory of a humorous poem I learned in fifth grade, written by Alex Guiterman (1871-1943):

THE Antiseptic Baby and the Prophylactic Pup
Were playing in the garden when the Bunny gamboled up;
They looked upon the Creature with a loathing undisguised;—
It wasn't Disinfected and it wasn't Sterilized.
They said it was a Microbe and a Hotbed of Disease;	5
They steamed it in a vapor of a thousand-odd degrees;
They froze it in a freezer that was cold as Banished Hope
And washed it in permanganate with carbolated soap.
In sulphurated hydrogen they steeped its wiggly ears;
They trimmed its frisky whiskers with a pair of hard-boiled shears;	10
They donned their rubber mittens and they took it by the hand
And elected it a member of the Fumigated Bandhttp://lifesastitch.typepad.com/_/2011/03/bagels-bananas-and-ginger-ale.htmljavascript:mctmp(0);
There's not a Micrococcus in the garden where they play;
They bathe in pure iodoform a dozen times a day;
And each imbibes his rations from a Hygienic Cup—	15
The Bunny and the Baby and the Prophylactic Pup.

Who knew that poem, memorized so long ago, would provide an example of dramatic foreshadowing for today's world? It's enough to turn you into a germophobe and makes me wonder about my experience in San Francisco a couple of years back. I promise the next posts will focus on the more positive aspects of our travels, including the search for the best pizza in the world.

Blogless Marsha and Lifesastitch knit Italy…

That's how it feels, my tether being the cast on my fractured ankle and now a related foot issue. The inability to drive for five of those weeks kept me housebound. Don't cry me too much of a river, although the hard part was temporarily giving up my 10,000 steps a day plan, to which I've been faithful for three years, I used my days off to work on unfinished knitting projects. 

Marina has sprouted sleeves. Seven years into this project and it's still a learning experience. This is definitely a first effort in the Starmore department. I realize it's going to take more than a broken ankle to complete this project, but it is progressing.

Ah, dear Hanami. Oy, that Hanami. Remember, I didn't like the combination of the pattern holes and the drapy fabric? Looked like pantyhose ladders. Recalling my decision to stick to the basketweave portion of the pattern, resurrected the piece and the lace chart. Amazed that I could locate both essential bits within five minutes of each other, I proceeded to knit row 31. Do over. Knit the row again. Undid it. Knit it again. Why was there always an extra stitch? 

When all else fails, read the instructions. Oh yes, one of those lace patterns that requires replacement of the stitch markers. 

My Baskenmutzer (beret). I called it the 10,000 Mile Hat. Just like the one I made for my gracious host in Germany, I completed one for myself – a wee bit slouchier in style. Not that we need baskenmutzers in BC's mild climate, but both my daughters live in sunny, cold Alberta, and I plan on visiting. Thank you to cousin Lene in Denmark for gifting the yarn, Noro Silk Garden, my favourite:

You know what's the worst part of picking up something that's been sitting around forever? The time it takes to gather its bits and figuring out where you left off. I think there is a moral to this story.

 

Thank goodness this one required no emergency room knitting, as did its predecessor:

Pattern: Hitchhiker Scarf by Martina Behm

Yarn: Colinette Jitterbug, in the older, smaller put up: 320 yards. The colour reminds me of an opal. Its flecks of rose, blue and green making it quite versatile. Difficult to spot in the photo.

Needles: US 5

Thoughts: Again, I think the design is brilliant. Very easy pattern produces super sproingy fabric in an interesting shape, when knit in sockweight yarns like Cherry Tree Hill, Wollmeise, Koigu, Claudia Hand Paints, Colinette Jitterbug, or anything made from a Louet gems type yarn. Don't worry, even the sock yarns with under the required amount of length makes an acceptable drapey scarf. This one ended up with 33 points instead of the pattern's 41. That's about as small as I'd recommend for this pattern.

Update: I don't know why, but the search engines keep pointing people for a free copy of the Hitchhiker pattern through my blog. My free pattern is the Herringbone Rib scarf, available by requesting it through the comments on any post. I don't have the rights to the Hitchhiker scarf, but it can be purchased through the designer here:http://strickmich.frischetexte.de/en  It's well worth the price. 

It was a risky proposition agreeing to be the subject of a documentary. Fears included participation in the reality TV genre that I've intentionally avoided through 14 years without TV, the risk of public humiliation, and the revelation of TMI. Like I've said before, "the things you do for kids." More questions asked of me:

1. What did you knit? 

Not a darned thing at Burning Man itself. I didn't know how my yarn would react to that alkaline dust. Nothing a vinegar bath wouldn't cure, but I didn't want to risk it. I did knit enroute, working on a second Hitchhiker scarf. 

2. How did you get there?

In a green 1980 school bus, bought by the driver three days prior to leaving. The previous owner was a softball team, hence the example of dramatic foreshadowing in the name lettered on its side: the Dirty Mitts:

3. What was the best part?

Playa magic. A concept hard to describe but boils down to what people told me, "the playa provides." Examples include:

• On the second day in a camp that had yet to be set up, pulling out Power Bars for lunch, when POOF! A man showed up with a platter of poached salmon for all to share. 
• After a full day of filming, a long walk back to camp ahead (or should I say hobble, cast and all), when I felt a bumping sensation on my good ankle. It was a large toy remote controlled dump truck carrying a bowl of cold guacamole, chips and slices of lime. When we were finished it scooted off, it's driver unseen.
• While C was being treated at first aid (for a bloody nose while on blood thinners), where 15 nurses, EMT's and an MD, all volunteers, tended to five treatment cots, a faerily dressed woman flitted from patient to patient distributing healing crystals. Nice touch.
• Burning Man hugs – why are they different in the desert? They felt more genuine. I heard this comment from others.
• The people in general – respectful, caring and interesting. There were some examples of those who acted otherwise, but every city has their contrary folk, especially on the last day. An example of the "Berenstain Bears" and too much Burning Man.
• The magic of the art installations, many obviously a team effort.
• C officiating at a playa wedding. Not legal, but a comittment ceremony none-the-less.
• The temple: playa art blended with life and emotion in a non-denominational manner. People leave their intentions in writing, whether it's a memorial, a behaviour, a memory, a desired life change…the temple is reverently burned on the last night.

4. And the worst part?

• The noise. There is a term for it, when there are so many sound waves present, your brain can't discern between them and all you hear is a LOUD ROAR. Way too many dubstep stages were part of the issue. All night long. Until sunrise. Ear plugs didn't help resulting in two hours of sleep for many nights. It was noise torture. At times I felt it was an exercise in sleep deprivation and over stimulation.
• The desert dust. Certainly this concept could be carried out in a less hostile environment.

5. I guess the most important question: Would you go back?

I have to answer that with a yes. I'd like an opportunity to experience it in a proper camper, without a broken ankle, with noise cancelling earbuds. I have a suspicion the good would outweigh the bad aspects in a more overwhelming ratio. It wasn't the overall naked hippie drugfest that some people make it out to be. I suppose it could be if you were so inclined, and maybe it attracts some of the annoying behaviours typical of some vaction spots such as all-inclusive resorts. The point is, there is something for everybody. Just like in a real city.

 

Not official frequently asked questions, but the ones that were asked of us, two unlikely attendees.

1. What is Burning Man?

Attended by 62,000 people in Nevada's Black Rock Desert, it is a temporary complete city, set up for one week and then it's gone, all citizens agreeing to leave no trace of their existence. It is a social experiment with an amazing display of art installations. There is an element of survival to it. You agree to follow the ten guiding principles. 

2. Did you see naked people?

This question probably comes from having watched that old Malcom in the Middle Burning Man episode. The answer: out of the hoards of people I saw three naked women and ten men. I don't get it, especially in that harsh environment, but it's about self expression and you can always look the other way. I'd say about 10% of the women were topless or sported nipple stickers. The quote of the week was from one our 19 year old campmates who was experiencing issues with the stickiness, or lack thereof, of her wee coverups. She lamented that if she lost one she'd be topless and that would be embarrassing. Her solution? Duct tape. Ouch.

3. How many toilets and showers were there? 

For 62,000+ people the score was portapotties: 6000 and showers: zippo. They were cleaned and pumped twice a day and I never had to wait in line to use the facilities. Of course people who could afford it came in RV's (we stayed in a tent) and there was great relief in the occasional solar camping shower filled with melted cooler ice, keeping in mind that no water was to touch the ground and all grey water had to be carted off or evaporated.

Even portapotties have positives. One of my favourite things, being serenaded by mandolin and dulcimer each morning at our bank of portapotties:

At the bank of potties located near my daughter's camp, there was an experiment: The Good Smelling Portapotty Project. Essential Oils were smeared on the walls and no kidding, it worked. I was most appreciative.

4. Were there sand storms?

That is the biggest myth. First of all, there is no sand. The playa on which Burning Man takes place is a dried lake bed, 400 square miles in size, from the Pleistocene era. Think of the bottom of a lake. It's silt, and dried, this kind produces an incredibly invasive alkaline dust. It sticks to every nook and cranny of your body and belongings. You are caked with it and like sand, it doesn't simply shake out. You need to neutralize its effects with vinegar water.

There were constant dust storms, tiny to huge with white out conditions.

5. Was it hot? 

The weather during the day wasn't as hot as I've ever experienced, but it was dehydrating. We relied on electrolyte packets. The nights were quite cold. The Black Rock Desert is at an elevation of 4000 feet. It even rained heavily one night.

Enough for now. There will be a part two. Here's a picture of the reason for our attendance, our son, the film guy, basking in the desert dust. The things you do for kids.

Went for my five week x-ray and found out that I'll be in this cast for three more weeks. No time off for good behaviour. I'm bummed. It will give me plenty of time, though, to get some Burning Man posts up. Just waiting for photos. I didn't take too many with my camera – worried about dust damage.

Remember this? Well we went, cast on leg and all. I'll be posting about the adventure I would have never predicted I'd experience in this lifetime. Chuck and I encrusted in playa dust: