4 weeks + 2 days

friends
The Tadpole is getting bigger. She was four weeks old on Wednesday. I thought about posting--honestly, I did. But she's been very fussy this week. I think she may be having a growth spurt, but we'll find that out on Monday at Mommy Group or Wednesday at the One Month Checkup.

She has spent much of the week in her pouch sling (I have this one and another from this company that were gifted to me before the baby was born), which is good because it generally keeps her from screaming, but still allows me to do some things with my hands. Like type this post :) Or knit. Or, God help me, eat something. Her father is wondering if we shouldn't be calling her Roo instead.

I didn't realize that part of the reason women drop so much weight when breastfeeding is because the little tyrant does not want to be put down long enough so that Mommy can restock the stores, so to speak. I've lost about 30 pounds in the past four weeks, and ironically look better than I've looked in years. Well, except for the dark circles under my eyes. And the fact that I really need a haircut, but am not sure how to manage that with Baby. I was out of maternity clothes two weeks after the baby was born and am now finding that my pre-maternity pants are too big. However, I am reluctant to buy new pants because I'm not sure where exactly I'm going to end up.

The Beloved suggests more ice cream.

Anyway. The Tadpole continues to be lots of fun when she isn't channelling Mussolini. We try to go out somewhere every day--mostly because Mama needs O-U-T at some point or she becomes very squirrely. And we're finding that if Mama is happier, Tadpole is happier. Funny, that. Last week, we had lunch in an actual restaurant for the first time with Laura, who is a very brave soul. Laura was also the photographer for this outing, so we thank her hundreds of times over for the pictures.

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She also captured pictures of Baby's first yarn crawl. You can't start them too young...

Here we are at the Yarn Basket:

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And at Yarn for Ewe:

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As you can see, The Tadpole already charms people wherever she goes. According to her Grandma (my mother), I have been blessed with a child just like me--absolutely perfect and angelic when around other people, and saving up all nightmarish behaviour for her Daddy and me. Ah, parenthood.

But I forgive her. Seriously, how could you not forgive this face?

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Women who rock

friends
Months ago, Marianne surprised me by granting this:

Needless to say, I am most honored. And I will pass it along to 5 other Rockin' Girl Bloggers (or women, if you prefer). So, without further ado:

  1. LauraJ -- While I am certain that you are above all the accolades and praise I could bestow, I'd just like everyone else to know how much you rock. And that you're a huge part of the reason I'm not currently in jail for killing someone. Yet. You also taught me how to spin, for which I am eternally grateful and The Beloved is perhaps not so much. His loss.
  2. Maria -- Applying to grad school sucks. But I just know you're handling it with style, grace and aplomb. Life as a gaijin can also suck. But you're handling that magnificently as well. Add to that wedding planning across thousands of miles? Can there be any doubt how much you rock?
  3. KelInCal -- Not only do you have the cutest dog in the world, but your knitting is fabulous. And you have the uncanny ability to distract me from whatever project I may have at hand.
  4. M -- Reading, knitting, third place in Dishrag Tag, a big guy, a little guy, and a new guy (or gal) on the way! Haven't heard as much from you lately (understandable, but still sad), but you rock as much as ever.
  5. Libby -- You know, I realized the other day that I have now known you more of my life than I haven't known you. How weird is that? Only 8 months, 1 week and 5 days (or something like that) 'till graduation, then... who knows? No matter what the future may hold, I know that you and your Dear D, Devil Dog and the cats are all up for the challenge!
Ladies, you all most certainly rock. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. And keep writing, knitting, cooking, and doing all of the excellent things that you do!

Happy 40th Birthday...

family
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...to my handsome man. I love you, sweetie pie!

We celebrated in grand style this weekend. And, accordingly, I forgot to photograph any of it. Whoops! We still ate very well and had a wonderful time with family (on Sunday) and friends (on Monday).

Thank you all for coming and recognizing the end of The Beloved's carefree youth with us :)

And....we're back!

adventures
To tell the truth, we've been home since late Saturday night/early Sunday morning. But I've been recovering...er...reacclimating from my vacation. There's still more laundry to do before going back to work tomorrow, but I'm taking it slow. OK. I'm enjoying my last day of freedom before getting back to my (albeit greatly reduced) work schedule.

But, before I return to the fast-paced world of library-consulting, let me show you what The Beloved and I were up to! On Tuesday last, we flew out of NH and landed ourselves at O'Hare airport in Chicago. We stayed outside of the city in the Chicagoland area in Bloomingdale at the Indian Lakes Resort. To get there and back again, we rented a car. The Beloved was good enough to drive, mostly because he forgot to add my name to the paperwork and I refused to drive in case something happened and we weren't covered.

Here he is in our PT Cruiser. Isn't he cute? The car was kinda fun. We're going to have to buy another car at some point in the near future, and we'd like one with back doors. This has a huge gas tank and appears to get decent mileage.

So. The hotel. The hotel was nice, but it was absolutely empty when we got there! I suppose that's what happens when you start vacation on Tuesday. It was decorated in a sort of arts-and-crafts-Frank-Lloyd-Wright sort of ways. Except for the cave in the middle of the lobby. Seriously! A cave! And not just any sort of cave--a cave bar. We were intrigued, so we went for drinks. Very expensive drinks. With very little alcohol. And snacks. Which were also expensive. The cave bar was not, actually, our favorite place. In fact, I think it was the only time during the trip we felt ripped off. Fortunately, we got that out of the way early. Anyway--what it lacked in food or drink quality, it made up for in ambiance:

Our room was nice. But, again...weird. The arts-and-crafts theme continued, it was spacious (we had two beds, which seemed a little excessive, but The Beloved made the reservations), and the bathroom was very large. However, it didn't have a coffee maker. For normal people, this might not present a problem. For me, it was next to tragic. Even more confusing? There were coffee pods in the bathroom, along with cream and sugar packets. It was like they were toying with me.

But they did have pretty things on the ceiling. Look!

And that, my friends, was day one of our vacation.

On day two we met up with R & M at the Art Institute of Chicago. I loved it. The Beloved was bored. But he humored me. We saw American Gothic and Sunday Afternoon on La Grande Jatte. The Art Institute also has a fantastic Monet collection. We saw lots of haystacks. And some water lilies. They were lovely as well. The Beloved was pissy because we didn't see any Rembrandt or Vermeer. He likes Dutch Masters. Poor boy.

I thought he might like some modern art and sculpture. So we went and saw The Bean, or The Big Shiny Thing in Millennium Park.

Apparently, it's actually called Cloud Gate. It's seriously one of the weirdest things I've ever seen. Unfortunately, it still wasn't a Dutch Master and The Beloved was still grouchy. There was only one thing to do--let him pick dinner.

We went to the Exchequer Pub, which was a few blocks away, right in the Loop. It may have been a Speakeasy when the first restaurant was established at that location during the 1920s. It was also frequented by none other than Al Capone. Oh--and they are said to have the best deep dish pizza in the Loop. Guess what we ordered!


And beer. The Exchequer Ale is quite good. We drank plenty of it.

Day three found us back downtown--this time at Navy Pier. It's kind of like Hampton Beach. Only the guys don't seem quite so sleazy. We walked around and looked at things and took pictures of the city from the pier. Then we met up with R & M for drinks. The Beloved was hot and grumpy, so we bought him a baseball cap to protect his head from sunburn. I should have done something to protect myself, but, well, it isn't vacation until you've got a sunburn, right?

We all went on the Ferris Wheel.

Nothing impresses The Beloved.

Not even the view. Well. He may have enjoyed the view a little.

I sure did. Plus, we got to see R & M be nauseatingly cute.

After the Ferris Wheel, The Beloved decided he was ready to venture out of downtown. He had read about a pub he really wanted to visit. Who cares that it was 3:00 on Thursday afternoon--that's a perfectly acceptable time to visit a pub if you're vacationing! So off we went to the Lincoln Park area and tracked down The Red Lion Pub. The pub is very English in decor, beers on tap, and menu. It's also rumored to be the most haunted bar in Chicago. All we saw was a crazy patron who spent a fair amount of time mumbling at us from the bar, introduced himself to The Beloved and R, and told me and M that we looked strung out. Although, when we got to the next bar (yes, it was a productive afternoon), I found my camera was broken! Poltergeists at work? Who knows.... (we fixed the camera with a little packing tape).

It was still early for dinner, so we decided to hit another bar in the area. North Lincoln has plenty from which to choose. I have no idea where we ended up, but they had pool tables.

We spent the rest of the afternoon there. I am an abysmal pool player. Pathetically bad. Thus the much maligned look on The Beloved's face as he was saddled with me. He apparently forgot that part of our wedding vows.

After several beers (or scotches if you were R), we closed out and went back downtown to 17/West at The Berghoff for German food. It was excellent. Unfortunately, we had already consumed so much crap that no one was particularly hungry. It was right about here that I realized we no longer had the bag of souvenirs. I don't know if we left it at the bar with the pool tables or if we left it in a cab. Only that it was gone. And I was a little bit pissed. So, it was time to call it a night.

The Beloved and I went back to Bloomingdale and R & M went back to Joliet. They had to get ready for R's parent's gala boating party on Saturday, which we, regrettably, had to miss so as we could come back home. It was still relatively early when we got back to the hotel, so we went to a movie--Live Free or Die Hard. It was much better than I expected it to be. Highly enjoyable.

Our last day there, we stayed in Bloomingdale. We ate a sandwich and then went to see another movie--this time we saw 1408. Also good. Surprisingly scary. After the movie we went back to the hotel to get ready for dinner. We went to Tapas Valencia. Dude--I don't know why this place isn't packed all the time. It was seriously some of the best food I have ever consumed. The Beloved and I are converts. Tapas is the best ever. I don't think we have any in the area (if I'm wrong, please let me know), so I'm going to have to track down some fabulous Spanish recipes and host my own Tapas parties.

After that fine food, there was only one way to cap off the evening...back to the movie theater to check out Ratatouille! Another fine film. And a fine way to end our vacation. The next day was utterly eaten up with travel back east--including a fun bout of airport hell in not one, but two airports! I got more knitting done during the return trip than was accomplished the rest of the week. Here's the sock at National Airport. It's hard to see, but the Washington Monument is in the background. Seriously!

The sock did, in fact, go everywhere I did on vacation. I just rarely took it out to work on it. I was too busy drinking beer. And taking pictures. And playing. But I finished it just the same. Yesterday. But, I feel like this post is awful full, so I'll tell you all about it and show it off tomorrow.

We had a fun vacation, but man...it's good to be home!

Telling our stories

friends
A week ago Sunday, I took my friend Libby out for a belated birthday adventure. I wanted, in celebrating her birthday (which was a milestone one), to celebrate her and the things that make her so wonderful. In essence, I wanted to celebrate her story. (You can read about our adventure here. She did such a nice write-up, there's really no reason for me to do it again.)

As a culture, I fear we are losing our ability to tell our stories. Maybe that's a little melodramatic; but we are falling out of practice. And our stories are so very, very important. They are why we are who we are. And they are truly interesting--particularly to those who know and love us. For Libby and I, our storytelling adventure culminated in the creation of a bracelet made with beads marking milestones in her own time line--the high points of her unique story if you will. It's a wonderful bracelet, and the story that goes with it makes it even better. In fact, I liked hers so much, that I pulled out one I made last year and started to wear it again.

The funny thing about the bracelet is that I remember certain things every time I look at it. I see the Asian coin that represents the year and a half I lived and worked in Japan. I see the shiny green bead that symbolizes The Beloved. I see the cup that reminds me of my family and their insistence that there is always enough room at the table and of course you should bring a friend...or a stranger...to dinner, because no one should have to eat alone. Well, perhaps that isn't funny. After all, I made the bracelet, and I know what it means.

The truly interesting part happens when strangers comment on it. Last week, when I paid for my morning vanilla latte extravagance at Starbucks, the young lady at the drive-thru window asked me about it. And I told this total stranger, "Well, it's my story. Everything on this bracelet represents something important in my life." And even though there were cars behind me filled with cranky people waiting for their coffee, she wanted to know how I did it. So I gave her the guidelines I used:
  • Make a time line of the important things or places or people or events that made you who you are
  • Go to a bead shop (or into your stash if you have one) and find a bead to mark each occasion on your time line
  • String the beads in order (I use 1mm elastic line so that I can knot it and not worry about clasps and such; you can use anything that works for you)
  • Wear proudly. Remember your story. Tell as much or as little as you want when people ask--for they will ask.
I hope my young barista makes herself a bracelet--or that she takes one of her friends out on a storytelling adventure. And I hope you do the same. I think we're all looking for this small sort of connection with one another--perhaps its one of the reason we blog. This is a small, simple way to share with the people we see everyday but seldom take the time to really know.

I think she's got it! I think she's got it!

afghans
Tuesday night I took out RA's afghan--otherwise known as First Cable Afghan--or its humble beginnings, anyway. And I looked at it. And I tried to have some sort of affection for the small piece of knitted fabric. And I couldn't--there was nothing. But there was nothing better I could turn to. Or so I thought. Yesterday, while blithely avoiding work, I read a number of blogs. And found this: The Big Miter. (Scroll down for it. It's there. I promise.)

Now, I had seen bits of Big Miter in progress and had been intrigued, but had not felt anything beyond mild curiosity. I have to admit, I am smitten. I love The Big Miter. And I want one. I'm not sure that the yarn I currently have for the Afghan Project will yield the desired results as it's an acrylic-y, boucle-y sort of thing that irritates me more and more the longer I look at it. I may have to substitute something else in here. Perhaps still acrylic, since I doubt the wisdom of sending my bachelor friend an afghan that will require special care, particularly since both he and his girlfriend have pets. But the boucle thing is starting to make me crazy. Yes, it's soft. Yes, it's fluffy. But, gah! What was I thinking?!

I haven't ripped out the afghan yet. Perhaps this weekend. We'll see how long I can keep the call of Big Miter at bay.

Vacation!

afghans
The Beloved and I are actually going on vacation this year! Like, we will leave the great State of New Hampshire. We will even leave New England. We're going out to Chicagoland for five days. Why Chicago, you ask? Well, because The Beloved has never been there. And because we have a dear friend who lives in Joliet, IL. No, not in the prison, you naughty children. He bought a house there several years ago and every year comes out to spend a weekend with us. Every year he asks, "When are you going to come out my way." And every year we say something nebulous like, "Oh, soon...."

Last year, I decided enough was enough. My poor friend. I feel awful. So I told him, "Next year. We will come to Chicago at some point in the next year." The Beloved didn't believe I was serious. So I decided that if my darling spouse did not want to come to Illinois with me, I would go alone. Good Lord, I lived in two foreign countries before I married him--I was certainly capable of putting myself on an airplane to spend a long weekend in the Midwest. Well. The Beloved liked this idea even less. "You're leaving me to have an affair! You want to have an affair with him!" Nooooo. I've know him longer than I've known you, sweetie. Think about it for a second. Besides, I really didn't want to go alone--I wanted my husband to get on the stick and come with me!!

Well. Something worked, because we're going.

The last vacation The Beloved and I took was about five years ago. We went to Montreal and Quebec City on our honeymoon. While we've taken time off from work since that time, we've never actually managed a "trip." There are several excuses here: We bought a house, so there's no money; I changed jobs; The Beloved's job is crazy and he has a hard time leaving it behind. Plus, I've recently intuited that The Beloved doesn't like airplanes. I don't know if he's always hated planes or if this is a post-September-11-sort-of-phenomenon. How did I discover this delightful little tidbit? When he asked how long it would take us to drive to Chicago. Hmmmm. I don't think so. Perhaps I can give him half a Valium prior to boarding and he won't even know we got on an airplane.

We also don't tend to do things halfway. If we're going on vacation, dammit, we are going on vacation. This trip does not seem to be an exception. While we are flying coach, we will be renting a car and staying at the Indian Lakes Resort in Bloomingdale--about a half-hour's drive from O'Hare and about 50 minutes away from Joliet. There will be no Holiday Inn for us, apparently. I'm not complaining--if vacation only comes once every five years, I'll take what I can get. The resort features two (2) golf courses (I don't play, but I believe The Beloved once golfed in a former lifetime), a tennis court, an indoor and outdoor pool, two restaurants, two bars and a spa. Now we're talking vacation. I'm wondering if I can convince him to set me up with one of these packages. Hmmm. Well, if he's going to golf, I have to do something.

And, naturally, we will go see my friend. My friend for whom I am supposed to be diligently knitting one of the afghans that is sitting in the corner and gazing at me dolefully from time to time. I should have something done to show him, but I'm just not happy with the pattern I've chosen, which leaves me with the eternal question: To Rip, or Not to Rip? Should I just suck it up and make the damned afghan, or should I start over and try to find a pattern that is perhaps more aesthetically pleasing? Or should I just ignore the blasted thing entirely and work on the baby shawl? That last option is looking more and more likely....Ah, me....

I suppose it all depends on how much luggage we bring and what goes in my carry-on bag. No, I'm not planning on bringing the afghan on the plane with me, although it's always a possibility. I think the last thing I knit on a flight was a baby blanket....but that was before I discovered socks. But I am realizing that I don't have a proper Big Bag to use for my carry-on...and to haul my crap around Chicago and Joliet while The Beloved and I practice being tourists. Do any of you have favorite Big Bags or traveling bags that you'd recommend? It needs to fit the following: A sweater; my camera; my iPod; at least one book; at least one knitting project (likely socks); wallet; sunglasses; etc. I'm thinking it might be time to spring for a Lulu Belle Bag, but am being wishy-washy. However, I have to make up my mind soon, if I want a bag here before we leave on vacation....it only looks like I'm counting the days. Really.

Happy Birthday!

friends
Man, I meant to get this up before I left this morning, but life wasn't going my way.

If you get the chance, make sure you wish Libby a very happy birthday today.

Lib, I've known you half my life and you've made it ever so much richer. Here's to many, many more years, knowing that it will only get better.

In which two Virgos throw a dinner party

Confessions
The Beloved and I are both Virgos. Some say this is destiny--Virgos can only really stand to be around other Virgos. Others feel that this combination is sick, twisted and wrong and has the makings of a cosmic disaster. Though we both exhibit stereotypical Virgo tendencies, we normally don't put a lot of stock into our astrological signs and the possible dynamic formed by two of us living in one house.

Until we decide to entertain.

Yesterday, we had friends over for dinner. Not just friends, but one of my dearest friends--someone who has known me half my life. (It's true--we met when I was 15 and I am now 30. Holy cow.) You'd think that we would wake up in the morning, act like normal human beings, enjoy our time with good friends, etc. Well. That's sort of what happened.

We woke up in the morning. And we picked up. Made sure the bathroom was clean. Swiffered the living room. Did the dishes. Decided what to make for supper. Went to the store to pick up a couple of things. Then, my inner Virgo took over.....

Saisquoi: We don't have a tablecloth. I need a tablecloth.
Beloved: Why do you need a tablecloth?
S: Because the damned cat has scratched the table. And there are watermarks on the table because we didn't wipe it down quickly enough the last time we ate out there. It looks bad. They'll be disgusted with my lack of housekeeping skills. I need a tablecloth.
B: OK. Get a tablecloth.

I get two. Because I'm not quite sure the dimensions of the table. I figure if the small one doesn't fit, I can return it, and if it does, I can use the larger one when we use the leaves.

We get home. I put the tablecloth on the table. The small one. It's got blue and green and yellow checks. I thought it was cute. It was also one of maybe three at Marshall's that didn't make me want to vomit. Anyway, it fits, but it's got great creases from being folded up. So I pull out the iron and iron the tablecloth. And the napkins.

B: That's the tablecloth you picked out? What, do you think we live on a farm? You wanna raise chickens in the backyard?
S: $%&@! (Bursts into tears) I knew you wouldn't like it. Why wouldn't you come to the store with me? This always happens!
B: I'm just teasing. It's fine. It's lovely. Why don't you sit down and do some knitting?

This sort of thing continues until about 5. Our friends are scheduled to show up sometime between 6 and 7. The Beloved begins prep work for dinner. I stay out of the way. My inner Virgo decides that she has done enough for one day and I chill out.

Our friends come. We have dinner. We talk. We drink wine. We go to watch a movie. Our satellite connection decides to act up and we can't order a movie. The Beloved suggests a movie, puts it in, and we watch it. The movie ends and our friends go home. The Beloved's inner Virgo takes the wheel:

Beloved: Oh my God. Why did I pick that movie?! It's so slow. And I don't get it. I've never gotten it! Oh, God. They're never going to come back. They hate me.
Saisquoi: It's fine--they hadn't seen that movie. They don't hate you.
B: But, but....I couldn't make the TV work. And, Jesus, The Lady in the Water? What was I thinking?
S: It's fine. Let's go pick up the dishes.

We pick up the dinner dishes.

B: Did you think the roast was overdone? God, I suck! And the potatoes didn't get crispy because I thought it would be easier to cook them in the oven. Jesus. They hated it. It was awful. I'm sorry.
S: It was fine. And now you know for next time that the potatoes don't work as well if you do it that way. Remember, it took you a long time to get them right on the stove--we ate carbon the first few time you made them. It's OK.
B: But....

This continues for another hour while we pick up the dishes, watch the beginning of MAD TV and get ready for bed. At that point, the inner Virgo decides to call it a night as well.

I've got to say, we love to have company. And when the inner Virgo is behaving herself, we have a wonderful time. Unfortunately, that stereotypical neurotic behavior kicks in and leads to absolute insanity. My mother said this morning, they're your friends. Your friends! They are the last people you need to worry about impressing. Just have a good time! And, you know, she's right.

So, L and D, we do hope you come back and that you don't hate us for our poor housekeeping, inability to order pay-per-view, and non-crispy potatoes. Next time I'll make tacos and we can eat on the floor in front of the TV.

Like a record, baby

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Do you see? Isn't it wonderful? This, my friends, is my new drop spindle. Courtesy of LauraJ, the great enabler. To continue the enabling trend, we are going to go to The Elegant Ewe after work today to buy more roving so that I can practice. Oh, and to generally misbehave and probably purchase things that neither of us require at this point in time. Needless to say, I am not focused on cataloging or on providing research assistance to anyone who may call. Nor am I thinking about the Sunday School lessons I'll have to put together tomorrow for use on Sunday. I'm thinking about playing with my new spindle and how much fun it may or may not be with kitty-cat help.

If you look closely you can see my first feeble attempts at spinning. It's very unimpressive. But we all must begin somewhere. I am apparently at the low edge of the learning curve. I will, however, keep in mind my grandmother's stories about the first sweaters she knit. By the time I was receiving gifts of sweaters, the woman produced heirloom quality garments. Beautiful, elaborate Norwegian sweaters. "The first one I made was so tight your grandfather couldn't even put it on." But, apparently, she kept plugging away until she got it right. It's a shame that she had stopped knitting by the time I had stopped growing as beautiful sweaters I had were all outgrown...by more than one child...and then shipped off to Good Will or yard sales.

Should I fail to post over the weekend, think of me fondly--living in the house once owned by this same grandmother--swearing at my ineptitude as I spin right round.

Beware the Ides of March...

friends
Julius Caesar certainly didn't follow this advice, so I didn't either. Fortunately, my day was much better than his.

This morning, Libby posted about a special sort of triumvirate--a trifecta of birthdays. This got me thinking--not about birthdays, but about triumvirates and their various manifestations through time in various political systems.

The first Roman triumvirate contains our friend, Gaius Julius Caesar, Marcus Licinius Crassus, and Gnaeus Pompeius Magnus. Surprisingly, it had no official status whatsoever. This doesn't mean it wasn't powerful--however, its power all came from the influence of the individual triumviri. Once the group went public, however, there was little to stop them gaining whatever they wished. The triumvirate eventually broke apart as its members began to die, but showed signs of weakening even before 53 BC when Crassus left this world for the next. It was to be expected--as the Highlander later said, "There can be only one." Though the triumviri used each other to gain power and control, they were never really what we would call buddies.

The first triumvirate ended in civil war following the murder of Julius Caesar on the Ides of March. It was followed, after much bloodshed and battling, by the Second Triumvirate, composed of Gaius Julius Caesar Octavianus, Marcus Aemilius Lepidus, and Marcus Antonius. Unlike the earlier triumvirate, this one was sanctioned by Roman law--their power was official. Like the earlier triumvirate, however, this was a marriage of convenience and not one of love. Prior to its creation, the triumviri were busily trying to kill each other in what is now modern-day Bologna. Many of us know the end of this dictatorial group from our study of Shakespeare: Antony goes to Egypt, falls in love with Cleopatra, thus ignoring his wife (who happens to be Octavian's sister). Octavian proclaims Antony a traitor. The man, after all, is in Egypt, living with Egyptians--he has obviously lost track of all that is good and Roman. They go to war. Antony and Cleopatra die. And, since "there can be only one," Lepidus is marginalized and Octavian becomes Augustus--first Emperor of Rome.

Triumvirates are fun, but I prefer Troikas--the Russian take on the same general concept. That the Russians borrow from the Romans should surprise no one. They called their emperors "Czars," a word derived from "Caesar." Historically, when things go bad in Russia, a troika steps in and cleans up. They tend not to be warm and fuzzy. They became particularly popular after the Bolsheviks took power, as groups of three were very significant--they are the smallest democratic voting groups possible. Soon, troikas were used to help "bring order" and "control the masses." They became (in)famous during the purges in there role as instruments of extrajudicial punishment.

So, why are you getting this little refresher in political history? Well, because when I read the aforementioned birthday post this morning, I thought about triumvirates and troikas and how they relate to my life. You see, when I was an undergraduate, I had two very dear friends with whom I did most everything. We lived in the same dorm. We ate meals together. We went out together. We caused trouble together. And eventually, we earned a nickname--you guessed it--The Troika. I promise, we did not try to purge the University of Poles or Ukrainians (I would have had to go with them). But that was our name--for three years, we were known as The Troika.

Then, I went away for a semester. And while I was gone, a new member came to fill my place in The Troika. When I returned, we morphed into The Gang of Four. In China, you see, they didn't fall back on Troikas and Triumvirates. But they did have The Gang of Four, which was the group under the Communist Regime on which all the blame for the Cultural Revolution fell in 1976 or thereabouts. All in all, they probably were not too different from a Soviet Troika.

You know, I never asked why we had be christened with such a nickname. Were we frightening and intimidating like a Troika? Was it because I'm part Russian and had a Russian surname? Did it just sound cool? In retrospect, we probably should have been wary of the young men who gave us this dubious moniker. Instead, I and another member of the Troika ended up dating two of them. We, like Caesar, failed to heed the soothsayer's warning. But, unlike Caesar, we came out the other end alive and ready to try again.

And, for the record, I am in touch with all members of the Troika/Gang of Four. SJH is the intended recipient of the as-yet-unchosen shawl, HMF is studying to be a nurse out on the western reaches of the state, and ESB introduced me to The Beloved (and I still talk to her--it's either loyalty or insanity, I tell you). So, unlike the triumvirates and troikas and gangs of four that history has given us, I think we might be destined for a long and successful career as ours is based in friendship--a concept that goes against the theory that "there can be only one."

Help.

friends
OK. I need to start a new knitting project like I need another hole in my head. I'm very aware of this. However, I've been toying with the idea of knitting a lace stole/shawl for quite some time. You see, I have a friend who is engaged (I don't think she reads me, so I can explain in a little detail and hopefully keep this a sort of surprise), and I want to make her something special for her wedding. They haven't set a date yet, but I'm pretty sure one will materialize at some point in time.

I know she will want to keep things simple. That's just how she is. Plus, I think I remember her saying, "I just want to keep things simple." I feel as though the stole/shawl, if done correctly, will be simple yet elegant--hence, absolutely perfect. In fact, I've already chosen the color--more or less. I'm thinking of knitting it in Knit Picks Shimmer in the Morning Mist colorway. That way, she has her "something blue," right?

My friend also has a history with, or connection to the water up here on the North Atlantic. She taught sailing and summered up on the coast of Maine. I've been up to the place in Maine with her several times, and it's one of those places where everything just fits, if you know what I mean. So, I want to give her something that can hold some of those memories. The blue fits really well here, too--because if you've been up to the North Atlantic it isn't the deep turquoise water of the Caribbean. It's both misty and steely. It's beautiful and powerful--a lot like my friend.

Let me tell you, choosing a pattern that says all of these things has been an absolute nightmare, and I've toyed with designing my own--but that would create its own unique level of horror. It's still a possibility, and I've been knitting swatches from the Barbara Walker books looking to see if there's something there that really works for me....but, truth be told, I am lazy and would prefer to buy a pattern and yarn, sit down and work on it till finished (yes, I can finish objects, I've just chosen not to do so for the past several months), block it, wrap it up, and give it to her at the appropriate time. Designing my own stole/shawl pattern seems a bit daunting.

Anyway. Here are some of the current contenders. Originally, I was opposed to doing a shawl, because she doesn't strike me as a circular or triangle shawl type of gal (who knows--there could be one lurking in there, but I doubt it). Then I saw this: Shoalwater from Fiber Trends. When I saw this version, I absolutely fell in love--even though it certainly wasn't what I was looking for. (This is funny because it's pretty much how I feel about The Beloved--he really wasn't what I was looking for, but I fell in love with him anyway...)

In the stole category, I'm looking at another two patterns from Fiber Trends: Baltic Sea Stole and River Scarf and Stole. Both are lovely, but neither scream out to me "I am the one!"

So, I turn to you, kind and friendly reader. What do you think? Do any of these shawls speak to you, or should I continue searching and swatching until she sets a date and I really have to kick into gear?

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