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Knitting : Posted

(re-post)

This is likely an "unvention" as Elizabeth Zimmerman would say:  I know I am not the only knitter who has put an item into an envelope to send to a friend to find that it is just a teeny bit too thick to fit through the slot in the guide  at the post office which designates it as a letter and thus requires just over a dollar postage, just that teeny bit too thick which means it shoots into the 'small package' category and the postage would be a bit ridiculous.   

I brought the envelope back home with the intention of removing the cute little knitted buttons which seemed to be causing the extra thickness.  But - darn, they were so cute and added that little extra which is, well - extra. 
Back went the items into the envelope and it was while I was re-positioning them and pushing here and there that I decided it was the spaces between the items that was the problem, that the air kept swooshing around inside and chubbed up the whole thing. 

That's when the "unvention" occurred:  air in sealed envelope;  knitting needles within reach;  stab poke the pointy needle here and here and here and there;  step firmly on envelope (having the presence of mind to remove shoe first with some idea that should some alert postal person notice the holes and wonder if perchance something that needed to breathe might be inside, the imprint of a shoe would not likely be a good idea); have air all be expelled and not seem to be sucked back in. 

I had planned to simply post the parcel at the post office and not risk the curiosity of the postal people but the thought of having the envelope returned for insufficient postage made me hand it over for the slot test.  I held my breath and the package must have done the same because it slipped through  easily, cute buttons included.  Whew!

Here's what was inside - the pocket book slippers, on their way to a friend in Ontario.  The buttons do add that little extra something: I am glad I 'futzed'.

Posted on September 27, 2018 at 05:14 AM | Permalink

Comments

This is likely an "unvention" as Elizabeth Zimmerman would say:  I know I am not the only knitter who has put an item into an envelope to send to a friend to find that it is just a teeny bit too thick to fit through the slot in the guide  at the post office which designates it as a letter and thus requires just over a dollar postage, just that teeny bit too thick which means it shoots into the 'small package' category and the postage would be a bit ridiculous.   

I brought the envelope back home with the intention of removing the cute little knitted buttons which seemed to be causing the extra thickness.  But - darn, they were so cute and added that little extra which is, well - extra. 
Back went the items into the envelope and it was while I was re-positioning them and pushing here and there that I decided it was the spaces between the items that was the problem, that the air kept swooshing around inside and chubbed up the whole thing. 

That's when the "unvention" occurred:  air in sealed envelope;  knitting needles within reach;  stab poke the pointy needle here and here and here and there;  step firmly on envelope (having the presence of mind to remove shoe first with some idea that should some alert postal person notice the holes and wonder if perchance something that needed to breathe might be inside, the imprint of a shoe would not likely be a good idea); have air all be expelled and not seem to be sucked back in. 

I had planned to simply post the parcel at the post office and not risk the curiosity of the postal people but the thought of having the envelope returned for insufficient postage made me hand it over for the slot test.  I held my breath and the package must have done the same because it slipped through  easily, cute buttons included.  Whew!

Here's what was inside - the pocket book slippers, on their way to a friend in Ontario.  The buttons do add that little extra something: I am glad I 'futzed'.

This is likely an "unvention" as Elizabeth Zimmerman would say:  I know I am not the only knitter who has put an item into an envelope to send to a friend to find that it is just a teeny bit too thick to fit through the slot in the guide  at the post office which designates it as a letter and thus requires just over a dollar postage, just that teeny bit too thick which means it shoots into the 'small package' category and the postage would be a bit ridiculous.   

I brought the envelope back home with the intention of removing the cute little knitted buttons which seemed to be causing the extra thickness.  But - darn, they were so cute and added that little extra which is, well - extra. 
Back went the items into the envelope and it was while I was re-positioning them and pushing here and there that I decided it was the spaces between the items that was the problem, that the air kept swooshing around inside and chubbed up the whole thing. 

That's when the "unvention" occurred:  air in sealed envelope;  knitting needles within reach;  stab poke the pointy needle here and here and here and there;  step firmly on envelope (having the presence of mind to remove shoe first with some idea that should some alert postal person notice the holes and wonder if perchance something that needed to breathe might be inside, the imprint of a shoe would not likely be a good idea); have air all be expelled and not seem to be sucked back in. 

I had planned to simply post the parcel at the post office and not risk the curiosity of the postal people but the thought of having the envelope returned for insufficient postage made me hand it over for the slot test.  I held my breath and the package must have done the same because it slipped through  easily, cute buttons included.  Whew!

Here's what was inside - the pocket book slippers, on their way to a friend in Ontario.  The buttons do add that little extra something: I am glad I 'futzed'.

April 22 2024

EARTH DAY !

Who should be concerned?  

Anyone who has their feet on this wonderful planet of ours!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

 

Very Old Doll

(re-post)

If the camera in my mind was (yet) able to record images with the blink of an eye and then transfer them to the computer,  I would have chronicled first seeing this little lady at the Friday church thrift shop on a shelf where other old dolls were being snapped up and she was not. You could see how her dress was dirty and her apron stained.  How her complexion had suffered, perhaps from a bath.  How she got folded up carefully into a carrier bag and came home with me.  How she got placed in the arms of another doll; that gave me some comfort because I had no idea what to do with her.  I had not thought much beyond bringing her home.

Well, her dress and apron and lace jabot got washed, dried and sewn back onto her and in the process I noticed her red raggedy hair and perky bow, the rosettes on her apron,  the heart at her throat,  the striped drawers, the sweet expression and the button eyes.

Posted on February 18, 2012 at 05:05 PM | Permalink

 

If the camera in my mind was (yet) able to record images with the blink of an eye and then transfer them to the computer,  I would have chronicled first seeing this little lady at the Friday church thrift shop on a shelf where other old dolls were being snapped up and she was not. You could see how her dress was dirty and her apron stained.  How her complexion had suffered, perhaps from a bath.  How she got folded up carefully into a carrier bag and came home with me.  How she got placed in the arms of another doll; that gave me some comfort because I had no idea what to do with her.  I had not thought much beyond bringing her home.

Well, her dress and apron and lace jabot got washed, dried and sewn back onto her and in the process I noticed her red raggedy hair and perky bow, the rosettes on her apron,  the heart at her throat,  the striped drawers, the sweet expression and the button eyes.

If the camera in my mind was (yet) able to record images with the blink of an eye and then transfer them to the computer,  I would have chronicled first seeing this little lady at the Friday church thrift shop on a shelf where other old dolls were being snapped up and she was not. You could see how her dress was dirty and her apron stained.  How her complexion had suffered, perhaps from a bath.  How she got folded up carefully into a carrier bag and came home with me.  How she got placed in the arms of another doll; that gave me some comfort because I had no idea what to do with her.  I had not thought much beyond bringing her home.

Well, her dress and apron and lace jabot got washed, dried and sewn back onto her and in the process I noticed her red raggedy hair and perky bow, the rosettes on her apron,  the heart at her throat,  the striped drawers, the sweet expression and the button eyes.

Borrowed landscape and living walls

(re-post)

Borrowed landscape is a Japanese term used to mean the vista(s) one has from one's own bit of  the universe across someone else's, usually applied to gardens but I like to think of it from any viewpoint in the home. 

Since this house is set back on the property, the view out many of the windows is borrowed landscape across my neighbours'  backyards.  I can see wash hanging on clotheslines,  orchards,  play areas, vegetable and flower gardens,  workshops,  patios, garages, tool sheds, chickens, cats - and - neighbours.

Pictured is what I see looking west when seated at the computer.  For the moment, uninhabited by nature, human or otherwise.  A bit later the cat next door was stretched out from the lower roof up and under the eavestrough;  I don't know why  -  he just seemed to  be  doing it because he could.   And too bad I missed a photo of  laundry blowing in the wind.  Blouses, pants, shirts, towels, underwear.  Could it have been purely by chance, this alphabetical order.

This was the view to the south at the end of March from my back deck.  It is what I see across the leafless months, the backyards and backs of houses facing on the next street.  During this time I can see the source of the rhythmical "slap, slap, slap, slap.......slap, slap......slap, slap, slap...."  that occurs daily:  it is a young man practicing shots with a basketball at the hoop in his driveway. 

Yesterday it looked like this and when the blossoms have gone and the leaves are unfurled, I will not be aware of the houses at all. 

Living walls such as these are  wonderful for the privacy they give, the habitat for all manner of creatures, the beauty of sight and sound and scent, the vibrancy of the movement that one can feel in the heart and the soul. 

Posted on February 19, 2014 at 02:22 AM | Permalink

Borrowed landscape is a Japanese term used to mean the vista(s) one has from one's own bit of  the universe across someone else's, usually applied to gardens but I like to think of it from any viewpoint in the home. 

Since this house is set back on the property, the view out many of the windows is borrowed landscape across my neighbours'  backyards.  I can see wash hanging on clotheslines,  orchards,  play areas, vegetable and flower gardens,  workshops,  patios, garages, tool sheds, chickens, cats - and - neighbours.

Pictured is what I see looking west when seated at the computer.  For the moment, uninhabited by nature, human or otherwise.  A bit later the cat next door was stretched out from the lower roof up and under the eavestrough;  I don't know why  -  he just seemed to  be  doing it because he could.   And too bad I missed a photo of  laundry blowing in the wind.  Blouses, pants, shirts, towels, underwear.  Could it have been purely by chance, this alphabetical order.

This was the view to the south at the end of March from my back deck.  It is what I see across the leafless months, the backyards and backs of houses facing on the next street.  During this time I can see the source of the rhythmical "slap, slap, slap, slap.......slap, slap......slap, slap, slap...."  that occurs daily:  it is a young man practicing shots with a basketball at the hoop in his driveway. 

Yesterday it looked like this and when the blossoms have gone and the leaves are unfurled, I will not be aware of the houses at all. 

Living walls such as these are  wonderful for the privacy they give, the habitat for all manner of creatures, the beauty of sight and sound and scent, the vibrancy of the movement that one can feel in the heart and the soul. 

Conversant with chapattis

(re-post)

More than forty years ago I made my first chapatti.  

Little India - not Indiatown, don't know why - in Toronto will do that to you.  Hook you in and motivate you to go home and try it on your own.  It's only brown flour and water, you think.  You've watched, often enough, in the restaurants,  the rolling and cooking,  the pressing and inflating.

Then India hooks you in with its colour and sound and smells and warmth and welcome and never quite lets you go. And you thought making chapattis on an electric stove in a kitchen in Toronto was satisfying.  Then you make chapattis, outdoors, over a wood fire and the final stage is achieved by tossing the chapatti on the grill and it balloons into a globe.

Every so often I still make chapattis.  On a stove, indoors .... but the window in the kitchen is open.

Flour and water,  warm water,  just so.  A soft dough left to set for a bit.  Formed into balls and rolled out, one by one, not too thick, not too thin, just so.  

I recall hearing of a man who, when his daughter returned home to India from many years abroad and made chapattis, asked if she was making them in the shapes of all the countries she had visited.  My sympathies are with the daughter.

You flop the just rolled chapatti back and forth between your hands to rid it of excess flour.  Then you flop it on a hot pan.  And begin to roll out the next chapatti while keeping an eye on the one on the stove.  When it bubbles you flip it and see that it is freckled.  Then back to the rolling until the freckles start to puff, here and there.  Now is the time for a dry cloth and encouragant  pressing.  Air is inside the chapatti, hot air, and the quest is to get that hot air to inflate the round, well - roundish, chapatti and cook the inside.  

Add to stack.  Butter.

Chapattis are both the bread and the utensil.  You learn how to break off a suitably-sized piece with the fingers of your right hand (I don't recall ever seeing anyone use a left hand), make a scoop, pick up some food, convey to mouth;  keeping the fingers neat and clean above the first knuckle.

One of my most favourite things to do with a leftover chapatti is to heat it up in a toaster oven, add a bud or two of more butter, roll it around either a spring onion or a spear of asparagus just picked in the garden.  Eat it in the garden.

Posted on April 07, 2011 at 02:22 AM | Permalink

 

More than forty years ago I made my first chapatti.  

Little India - not Indiatown, don't know why - in Toronto will do that to you.  Hook you in and motivate you to go home and try it on your own.  It's only brown flour and water, you think.  You've watched, often enough, in the restaurants,  the rolling and cooking,  the pressing and inflating.

Then India hooks you in with its colour and sound and smells and warmth and welcome and never quite lets you go. And you thought making chapattis on an electric stove in a kitchen in Toronto was satisfying.  Then you make chapattis, outdoors, over a wood fire and the final stage is achieved by tossing the chapatti on the grill and it balloons into a globe.

Every so often I still make chapattis.  On a stove, indoors .... but the window in the kitchen is open.

Flour and water,  warm water,  just so.  A soft dough left to set for a bit.  Formed into balls and rolled out, one by one, not too thick, not too thin, just so.  

I recall hearing of a man who, when his daughter returned home to India from many years abroad and made chapattis, asked if she was making them in the shapes of all the countries she had visited.  My sympathies are with the daughter.

You flop the just rolled chapatti back and forth between your hands to rid it of excess flour.  Then you flop it on a hot pan.  And begin to roll out the next chapatti while keeping an eye on the one on the stove.  When it bubbles you flip it and see that it is freckled.  Then back to the rolling until the freckles start to puff, here and there.  Now is the time for a dry cloth and encouragant  pressing.  Air is inside the chapatti, hot air, and the quest is to get that hot air to inflate the round, well - roundish, chapatti and cook the inside.  

Add to stack.  Butter.

Chapattis are both the bread and the utensil.  You learn how to break off a suitably-sized piece with the fingers of your right hand (I don't recall ever seeing anyone use a left hand), make a scoop, pick up some food, convey to mouth;  keeping the fingers neat and clean above the first knuckle.

One of my most favourite things to do with a leftover chapatti is to heat it up in a toaster oven, add a bud or two of more butter, roll it around either a spring onion or a spear of asparagus just picked in the garden.  Eat it in the garden.

More than forty years ago I made my first chapatti.  

Little India - not Indiatown, don't know why - in Toronto will do that to you.  Hook you in and motivate you to go home and try it on your own.  It's only brown flour and water, you think.  You've watched, often enough, in the restaurants,  the rolling and cooking,  the pressing and inflating.

Then India hooks you in with its colour and sound and smells and warmth and welcome and never quite lets you go. And you thought making chapattis on an electric stove in a kitchen in Toronto was satisfying.  Then you make chapattis, outdoors, over a wood fire and the final stage is achieved by tossing the chapatti on the grill and it balloons into a globe.

Every so often I still make chapattis.  On a stove, indoors .... but the window in the kitchen is open.

Flour and water,  warm water,  just so.  A soft dough left to set for a bit.  Formed into balls and rolled out, one by one, not too thick, not too thin, just so.  

I recall hearing of a man who, when his daughter returned home to India from many years abroad and made chapattis, asked if she was making them in the shapes of all the countries she had visited.  My sympathies are with the daughter.

You flop the just rolled chapatti back and forth between your hands to rid it of excess flour.  Then you flop it on a hot pan.  And begin to roll out the next chapatti while keeping an eye on the one on the stove.  When it bubbles you flip it and see that it is freckled.  Then back to the rolling until the freckles start to puff, here and there.  Now is the time for a dry cloth and encouragant  pressing.  Air is inside the chapatti, hot air, and the quest is to get that hot air to inflate the round, well - roundish, chapatti and cook the inside.  

Add to stack.  Butter.

Chapattis are both the bread and the utensil.  You learn how to break off a suitably-sized piece with the fingers of your right hand (I don't recall ever seeing anyone use a left hand), make a scoop, pick up some food, convey to mouth;  keeping the fingers neat and clean above the first knuckle.

One of my most favourite things to do with a leftover chapatti is to heat it up in a toaster oven, add a bud or two of more butter, roll it around either a spring onion or a spear of asparagus just picked in the garden.  Eat it in the garden.

Recent fibre archeology finds

(re-post)

I am enchanted by this crocheted shawl or possibly bed jacket discovered at a flea market on the weekend.  The woman selling it did not have a history for it but a passerby suggested it was Irish.

It is definitely old and in wonderful condition.  All cotton, I would think.

 

There is a special attraction in this piece:  more than thirty years ago I began to crochet what was to be a door hanging consisting of thirty-two squares in ivory cotton with bobbles and spaces and tight flat sections. Hours of work in each one which would then all be joined together.  It was a challenge and I loved it.

Then our second Baby arrived and we bought our first home and  I started  writing a newspaper column;  the door hanging did not get finished.  But the memory is in my hands and in my mind and the capelet reminds me of it.  Perhaps someone 'rescued'  the pieces I had done.

Nothing has been done to the capelet  yet;  the final thread is still hanging and not woven in.  I am a bit nervous about washing it,  for the discolouration possibility but it is cotton and could then be bleached or dyed. 

I have draped it around my shoulders several times.  It makes me smile.

These ties were at a small Christmas bazaar a few weeks back and I glanced at them in a bit of a pile off to the side as I headed toward other things.

Later I went back.  Be still my heart!  I imagine these were all  from one person's wardrobe. They are exquisite and I got my very first cashmere tie.

There was some moth damage in one or two of them and the whole lot got put into the freezer for several days.  They are clean and had not been left in a tied state. 

There were 17 of them and the asking price was 25 cents each.  In that weird way that one does (surely it is not just me!)  I counted out 16 because that made the amount come out equal to $4.  Then, after I had paid, and looked at the last tie hanging all by itself in the corner -  in that weird way ... etc,  I went and got it.

Not sure what will be done with them.  They are hanging where I see them often and admire them.

Interestingly.... the next week at the local church thrift shop,  I bought this sweater  because I liked the pattern,  it is pure wool,  I can felt it and make the cuffs and sleeves into a pair of mitts and the body into a hat.

It was only when I got it home and had washed it did I suddenly think,  "Say ..... haven't I seen this pattern somewhere before.....?" 

Posted on December 07, 2009 at 01:01 AM | Permalink

 

I am enchanted by this crocheted shawl or possibly bed jacket discovered at a flea market on the weekend.  The woman selling it did not have a history for it but a passerby suggested it was Irish.

It is definitely old and in wonderful condition.  All cotton, I would think.

 

There is a special attraction in this piece:  more than thirty years ago I began to crochet what was to be a door hanging consisting of thirty-two squares in ivory cotton with bobbles and spaces and tight flat sections. Hours of work in each one which would then all be joined together.  It was a challenge and I loved it.

Then our second Baby arrived and we bought our first home and  I started  writing a newspaper column;  the door hanging did not get finished.  But the memory is in my hands and in my mind and the capelet reminds me of it.  Perhaps someone 'rescued'  the pieces I had done.

Nothing has been done to the capelet  yet;  the final thread is still hanging and not woven in.  I am a bit nervous about washing it,  for the discolouration possibility but it is cotton and could then be bleached or dyed. 

I have draped it around my shoulders several times.  It makes me smile.

These ties were at a small Christmas bazaar a few weeks back and I glanced at them in a bit of a pile off to the side as I headed toward other things.

Later I went back.  Be still my heart!  I imagine these were all  from one person's wardrobe. They are exquisite and I got my very first cashmere tie.

There was some moth damage in one or two of them and the whole lot got put into the freezer for several days.  They are clean and had not been left in a tied state. 

There were 17 of them and the asking price was 25 cents each.  In that weird way that one does (surely it is not just me!)  I counted out 16 because that made the amount come out equal to $4.  Then, after I had paid, and looked at the last tie hanging all by itself in the corner -  in that weird way ... etc,  I went and got it.

Not sure what will be done with them.  They are hanging where I see them often and admire them.

Interestingly.... the next week at the local church thrift shop,  I bought this sweater  because I liked the pattern,  it is pure wool,  I can felt it and make the cuffs and sleeves into a pair of mitts and the body into a hat.

It was only when I got it home and had washed it did I suddenly think,  "Say ..... haven't I seen this pattern somewhere before.....?" 

I am enchanted by this crocheted shawl or possibly bed jacket discovered at a flea market on the weekend.  The woman selling it did not have a history for it but a passerby suggested it was Irish.

It is definitely old and in wonderful condition.  All cotton, I would think.

 

There is a special attraction in this piece:  more than thirty years ago I began to crochet what was to be a door hanging consisting of thirty-two squares in ivory cotton with bobbles and spaces and tight flat sections. Hours of work in each one which would then all be joined together.  It was a challenge and I loved it.

Then our second Baby arrived and we bought our first home and  I started  writing a newspaper column;  the door hanging did not get finished.  But the memory is in my hands and in my mind and the capelet reminds me of it.  Perhaps someone 'rescued'  the pieces I had done.

Nothing has been done to the capelet  yet;  the final thread is still hanging and not woven in.  I am a bit nervous about washing it,  for the discolouration possibility but it is cotton and could then be bleached or dyed. 

I have draped it around my shoulders several times.  It makes me smile.

These ties were at a small Christmas bazaar a few weeks back and I glanced at them in a bit of a pile off to the side as I headed toward other things.

Later I went back.  Be still my heart!  I imagine these were all  from one person's wardrobe. They are exquisite and I got my very first cashmere tie.

There was some moth damage in one or two of them and the whole lot got put into the freezer for several days.  They are clean and had not been left in a tied state. 

There were 17 of them and the asking price was 25 cents each.  In that weird way that one does (surely it is not just me!)  I counted out 16 because that made the amount come out equal to $4.  Then, after I had paid, and looked at the last tie hanging all by itself in the corner -  in that weird way ... etc,  I went and got it.

Not sure what will be done with them.  They are hanging where I see them often and admire them.

Interestingly.... the next week at the local church thrift shop,  I bought this sweater  because I liked the pattern,  it is pure wool,  I can felt it and make the cuffs and sleeves into a pair of mitts and the body into a hat.

It was only when I got it home and had washed it did I suddenly think,  "Say ..... haven't I seen this pattern somewhere before.....?" 

BIRD TALK

(re-post)

Last evening a hummingbird and robin were sitting on the two bare branches that point skyward from one of the plum trees in the back garden.  They looked rather startling silhouetted against the sky, their different size, their different shape. 

Suddenly robin hopped higher on its branch.  A moment later hummer swooped higher on his.  Robin then moved to the very tip.  Hummingbird went to the top of its tree limb; this tip is the summit of the tree.  There was nowhere higher for robin to go. It flew away.

Hummingbird, then - I wish everyone could have seen this - put its wings in motion but held on to the branch and did a sort of pirouette,  an aerial ballet dancer.  I had to remind myself to take a breath. 

Next it sat still and began  voicing - not the ticking sound that lets me locate it in the tree, not the whirring of the wings at the feeder - no, this was more a bsip bsip bsip bsip.  I tried a reply but mine came out more bsh bsh bsh.  Hummer was silent for my attempt but as soon as I was quiet it strung many bsip's on the line between us.  I tried again and  seemed closer but I still had an h so it was bship.  Bird looked around in all directions before once more staring at me and clearly bsip'ing.  I must have gotten it. Hummingbird flew low past me on its way home.

Posted on July 30, 2007 at 06:46 AM | Permalink

Ball bearings. Or, to be precise - ball (bearing)

(re-post)

Twenty silver balls.  Ten cents apiece at the weekly church thrift shop (in two baggies, $1.00 each bag).  Treasures. 

They have substance and shine and rollability that is most satisfying for some reason. 

They  bring back memories of marble games where such a sphere was prized and rare and was kept safely in the Seagram's purple bag with gold trim if you felt at all unsure about your skill being far greater than your opponent.  I cannot now recall what name we gave them.  ???

I thought they were ball bearings but good ol' google came up with this and so I am now better informed.  Ball (bearing). Ball of the bearing sort. And since there are twenty of them they are bearing balls.

The reason I sat down with my know-it-all friend and inquired ??ball bearings?? is because I wanted to know what they are made of because one was rusty (the large one on the left) and I took an SOS pad vigorously to it and it didn't become shiny but sort of nicely mottled.  Actually I still don't know what they are made from.  As is usual with the KIA friend -  the amount of information is ' more than I really wanted to know'  -  not because I do not find it interesting -  it is just far too much detail to read through if I want to get the laundry done and supper started and this blog posted and .....  oh,  you know.

But I am impressed by the skip-and-doodle browse I did do and what I learned.  A lot -  a really lot! - of things went into the making of each and every one of those bearing balls.  It involved different gradients and a specially designed machine and geometric tolerance and  surface integrity and size and sphericity. All this is not so  kids will have something marvelous for marbles:  it has to do with the ball bearings into which the bearing balls go.  Well, of course.

And I did scroll down further and found that bearing balls are commonly made from steel, brass, gold, copper, silver, plastic, glass ......  Commonly. Makes me wonder what they are uncommonly made from otherwise why include that definitive adverb.   I think mine are steel.  Maybe stainless steel. Except for the one that rusted. How and why was it part of the bunch, I wonder.   KIA friend is, sadly, not able to offer me this interesting information ......   yet.

I'm not sure what I will do with them.  Play marbles maybe.  For the moment they are being admired.

Posted on April 01, 2010 at 01:01 AM | Permalink

 

Twenty silver balls.  Ten cents apiece at the weekly church thrift shop (in two baggies, $1.00 each bag).  Treasures. 

They have substance and shine and rollability that is most satisfying for some reason. 

They  bring back memories of marble games where such a sphere was prized and rare and was kept safely in the Seagram's purple bag with gold trim if you felt at all unsure about your skill being far greater than your opponent.  I cannot now recall what name we gave them.  ???

I thought they were ball bearings but good ol' google came up with this and so I am now better informed.  Ball (bearing). Ball of the bearing sort. And since there are twenty of them they are bearing balls.

The reason I sat down with my know-it-all friend and inquired ??ball bearings?? is because I wanted to know what they are made of because one was rusty (the large one on the left) and I took an SOS pad vigorously to it and it didn't become shiny but sort of nicely mottled.  Actually I still don't know what they are made from.  As is usual with the KIA friend -  the amount of information is ' more than I really wanted to know'  -  not because I do not find it interesting -  it is just far too much detail to read through if I want to get the laundry done and supper started and this blog posted and .....  oh,  you know.

But I am impressed by the skip-and-doodle browse I did do and what I learned.  A lot -  a really lot! - of things went into the making of each and every one of those bearing balls.  It involved different gradients and a specially designed machine and geometric tolerance and  surface integrity and size and sphericity. All this is not so  kids will have something marvelous for marbles:  it has to do with the ball bearings into which the bearing balls go.  Well, of course.

And I did scroll down further and found that bearing balls are commonly made from steel, brass, gold, copper, silver, plastic, glass ......  Commonly. Makes me wonder what they are uncommonly made from otherwise why include that definitive adverb.   I think mine are steel.  Maybe stainless steel. Except for the one that rusted. How and why was it part of the bunch, I wonder.   KIA friend is, sadly, not able to offer me this interesting information ......   yet.

I'm not sure what I will do with them.  Play marbles maybe.  For the moment they are being admired.

(re-post)

Twenty silver balls.  Ten cents apiece at the weekly church thrift shop (in two baggies, $1.00 each bag).  Treasures. 

They have substance and shine and rollability that is most satisfying for some reason. 

They  bring back memories of marble games where such a sphere was prized and rare and was kept safely in the Seagram's purple bag with gold trim if you felt at all unsure about your skill being far greater than your opponent.  I cannot now recall what name we gave them.  ???

I thought they were ball bearings but good ol' google came up with this and so I am now better informed.  Ball (bearing). Ball of the bearing sort. And since there are twenty of them they are bearing balls.

The reason I sat down with my know-it-all friend and inquired ??ball bearings?? is because I wanted to know what they are made of because one was rusty (the large one on the left) and I took an SOS pad vigorously to it and it didn't become shiny but sort of nicely mottled.  Actually I still don't know what they are made from.  As is usual with the KIA friend -  the amount of information is ' more than I really wanted to know'  -  not because I do not find it interesting -  it is just far too much detail to read through if I want to get the laundry done and supper started and this blog posted and .....  oh,  you know.

But I am impressed by the skip-and-doodle browse I did do and what I learned.  A lot -  a really lot! - of things went into the making of each and every one of those bearing balls.  It involved different gradients and a specially designed machine and geometric tolerance and  surface integrity and size and sphericity. All this is not so  kids will have something marvelous for marbles:  it has to do with the ball bearings into which the bearing balls go.  Well, of course.

And I did scroll down further and found that bearing balls are commonly made from steel, brass, gold, copper, silver, plastic, glass ......  Commonly. Makes me wonder what they are uncommonly made from otherwise why include that definitive adverb.   I think mine are steel.  Maybe stainless steel. Except for the one that rusted. How and why was it part of the bunch, I wonder.   KIA friend is, sadly, not able to offer me this interesting information ......   yet.

I'm not sure what I will do with them.  Play marbles maybe.  For the moment they are being admired.

Tutorial : Hat made from a cashmere sweater

(re-post)

The first hat I made from a cashmere sweater has proven to be the lightest, coziest, simplest, most versatile hat I have ever owned.  Here is what I did.

Take a cashmere sweater that is ready, willing and able to be turned into something else for whatever reason: moth hole, doesn't fit or doesn't suit, need a hat more than a sweater.....  

Cut out two circles 16 inches in diameter;  I am using the original hat here as the template, pinned it to the sweater and cut through both layers.  Initially I used a frying pan lid as the pattern for the first hat.  You can cut a circle out of cardboard or paper and use this.  I then had to separate the circles - which were wrong sides together - and put them right sides together.  Next time I will think before hand to turn the sweater inside out before pinning on the template/pattern!  One would not think I have been sewing for nearly sixty years!

Now sew 1/2 inch seam all around the outside edge of the hat.

Take out pins and fold hat into quarters as shown.
Mark centre point with chalk. Mark a 3 inch point along edge, as shown and along other two edges as well.

Open hat flat and mark fourth point with chalk: you will have four points in the form of a plus sign each point being 3 inches from the center.  Chalk this plus sign on;  I didn't - just leapt right into  the cutting.  Now cut from the centre point to each dot.
Turn hat right side out.

Now try hat on for size and if it suits (it fits loosely)
then tack each point with a stitch or two where it meets hat (nothing more has been cut away - the flaps resulting from cutting the plus sign have been folded into the hat).  If hat is too snug, clip a bit more at end of each line on the plus sign and then turn under flaps.  At each of the four corners do a few stitches with needle and thread to secure the corners.

It  can be worn in many different ways...

Posted on July 07, 2008 at 04:22 AM | Permalink

The first hat I made from a cashmere sweater has proven to be the lightest, coziest, simplest, most versatile hat I have ever owned.  Here is what I did.

Take a cashmere sweater that is ready, willing and able to be turned into something else for whatever reason: moth hole, doesn't fit or doesn't suit, need a hat more than a sweater.....  

Cut out two circles 16 inches in diameter;  I am using the original hat here as the template, pinned it to the sweater and cut through both layers.  Initially I used a frying pan lid as the pattern for the first hat.  You can cut a circle out of cardboard or paper and use this.  I then had to separate the circles - which were wrong sides together - and put them right sides together.  Next time I will think before hand to turn the sweater inside out before pinning on the template/pattern!  One would not think I have been sewing for nearly sixty years!

Now sew 1/2 inch seam all around the outside edge of the hat.

Take out pins and fold hat into quarters as shown.
Mark centre point with chalk. Mark a 3 inch point along edge, as shown and along other two edges as well.

Open hat flat and mark fourth point with chalk: you will have four points in the form of a plus sign each point being 3 inches from the center.  Chalk this plus sign on;  I didn't - just leapt right into  the cutting.  Now cut from the centre point to each dot.
Turn hat right side out.

Now try hat on for size and if it suits (it fits loosely)
then tack each point with a stitch or two where it meets hat (nothing more has been cut away - the flaps resulting from cutting the plus sign have been folded into the hat).  If hat is too snug, clip a bit more at end of each line on the plus sign and then turn under flaps.  At each of the four corners do a few stitches with needle and thread to secure the corners.

It  can be worn in many different ways...

Posted on July 07, 2008 at 04:22 AM | Permalink

April is Poetry Month

Haiku

Seven Wonders of BC In Our Own Backyard

Ocean spray shadows/ keeping time to wind music/ on white stucco wall

The feel of dewy/ night-cooled grass licking bare feet/ on dawn garden stroll

The sight of sunshine/ sliding down, glistening up/ just washed tomato

Bronzed arbutus bark/ crackling away from tree trunk/ tumbling lightly
down

Bevy of bushtits/ snuggled along a tree branch/ one backward facing

Wind-blown laundry/ snapping crisply on clothesline/ exclaiming dryness

Uncommon thunder/ catching breath, raising eyebrows/ memory of elsewhere

(aired on Almanac, CBC Radio, July 03)

Posted on September 16, 2004 at 06:39 AM | Permalink

Posted on May 06, 2019 at 08:35 PM

Seven Wonders of BC In Our Own Backyard

Ocean spray shadows/ keeping time to wind music/ on white stucco wall

The feel of dewy/ night-cooled grass licking bare feet/ on dawn garden stroll

The sight of sunshine/ sliding down, glistening up/ just washed tomato

Bronzed arbutus bark/ crackling away from tree trunk/ tumbling lightly
down

Bevy of bushtits/ snuggled along a tree branch/ one backward facing

Wind-blown laundry/ snapping crisply on clothesline/ exclaiming dryness

Uncommon thunder/ catching breath, raising eyebrows/ memory of elsewhere

(aired on Almanac, CBC Radio, July 03)

Posted on September 16, 2004 at 06:39 AM | Permalink

Seven Wonders of BC In Our Own Backyard

Ocean spray shadows/ keeping time to wind music/ on white stucco wall

The feel of dewy/ night-cooled grass licking bare feet/ on dawn garden stroll

The sight of sunshine/ sliding down, glistening up/ just washed tomato

Bronzed arbutus bark/ crackling away from tree trunk/ tumbling lightly
down

Bevy of bushtits/ snuggled along a tree branch/ one backward facing

Wind-blown laundry/ snapping crisply on clothesline/ exclaiming dryness

Uncommon thunder/ catching breath, raising eyebrows/ memory of elsewhere

(aired on Almanac, CBC Radio, July 03)