Showing posts with label Teens. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Teens. Show all posts
Sunday, August 10, 2008
9th of Av
Given our situation, reading the verse "We have become orphans, fatherless; our mothers are like widows" (Eichah 5:3) is every bit as devastating as you'd imagine.
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Monday, July 30, 2007
Coasting in to Paris
Just in time, I finished the cotton sweater. It's not perfect, but it's meant to be a knock-about sweater, so it's perfect enough. The Middle Teen, who's modeling this shot, wants me to make another, same body size but smaller sleeves, for her, which really means it must be close enough to perfect.
Whew. Now I'll take a rest day and then go back to MS3 (moving into the slow bee lane, because I need to add length to both the black and the white versions) and Vog On.
Dad's here, the last gasp of gardening before shmita is being done, one kid is starting summer vacation and the other is ending it--never a dull moment.
Whew. Now I'll take a rest day and then go back to MS3 (moving into the slow bee lane, because I need to add length to both the black and the white versions) and Vog On.
Dad's here, the last gasp of gardening before shmita is being done, one kid is starting summer vacation and the other is ending it--never a dull moment.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Tour de France: Elimination rounds
Before this post, two members of the team which started TdF had been eliminated: the Clapotis Cap and the Mock Croc socks, neither of which had the staying power to remain on the needles throughout the Tour.
Today another member of the team was eliminated: the stained glass toddler sweater.
I'm not entirely thrilled with this sweater. The pattern writer was trying so hard to make the pattern simple to read, but with a little more details, things like the arm holes would have been much easier. Oh, well, it's for the gift stash, so I'll just let it stew in its own juices for a while.
Still in the ride is the cotton sweater which needs sleeves and 'Vog On, whose yarn I'm almost through plying (which will mean the rainbow batt will be eliminated from the Tour de Fleece team, making room for the brown Romney to take the lead.)
MS3 Black is still riding in the team car. Clue 3 done, but since the final clue won't be out when TdF is over, there's no way it's crossing the finish line.
MS3 white is in the car, too, but in the back seat, with Clue 1 a few lines away from being finished.
Something else is getting done around here. Though the Yarn Harlot may complain about teens who want to veg all day, my teens are an industrious lot.
My garden, she is a mess. Shmitta is coming up. Dad is coming for 3 months. Teens to the rescue.
They moved a tree-let that had been languishing in the shade cast by our big willow and built it a terrace
and they hauled scavenged stones and paving bricks to create this nice little herb garden and path under my office window.
Of course there is still tons of work to do, but they're making a good start. And the TV hasn't been turned on in months!
Today another member of the team was eliminated: the stained glass toddler sweater.
I'm not entirely thrilled with this sweater. The pattern writer was trying so hard to make the pattern simple to read, but with a little more details, things like the arm holes would have been much easier. Oh, well, it's for the gift stash, so I'll just let it stew in its own juices for a while.
Still in the ride is the cotton sweater which needs sleeves and 'Vog On, whose yarn I'm almost through plying (which will mean the rainbow batt will be eliminated from the Tour de Fleece team, making room for the brown Romney to take the lead.)
MS3 Black is still riding in the team car. Clue 3 done, but since the final clue won't be out when TdF is over, there's no way it's crossing the finish line.
MS3 white is in the car, too, but in the back seat, with Clue 1 a few lines away from being finished.
Something else is getting done around here. Though the Yarn Harlot may complain about teens who want to veg all day, my teens are an industrious lot.
My garden, she is a mess. Shmitta is coming up. Dad is coming for 3 months. Teens to the rescue.
They moved a tree-let that had been languishing in the shade cast by our big willow and built it a terrace
and they hauled scavenged stones and paving bricks to create this nice little herb garden and path under my office window.
Of course there is still tons of work to do, but they're making a good start. And the TV hasn't been turned on in months!
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
TdF stage 2: roving to socks
The polka dot jersey crowd keeps climbing hills in the Tour de France KAL, and from the top of hill #2 I report FO #2 -- Mock Croc socks for The Spouse.
And in preparation for the hardest TdF hill (and pedaling away on Tour de Fleece), yarn for 'Vog On is nearly done. Singles have been spun, and plying has commenced.
And in non-KAL knitting, proof that I am a total masochist. I decided my Mystery Stole 3 in black was too delicate for everyday wear, so I also cast on in a sturdier white yarn, with white beads (sturdy and subtle--hey, that's what people say about me!). Here's Clue A done.
No walking tour this week. Instead we went to Jerusalem to take advantage of a credit card offer for 50% off glasses in exchange for points. Still ended up spending 760 shekel on glasses for the Middle Teen, but they are nice kallah maidel glasses. Not that I want guys to make passes at her, despite the best bets amongst her friends being that she'll be engaged this time next year, to a boy she has yet to meet...
Statistics:
Mock Croc Socks
Pattern from Knit Picks
Yarn: Lang Jawool Color Superwash color 82.0202
Purchased: March, 2006, in Athens, Greece
And in preparation for the hardest TdF hill (and pedaling away on Tour de Fleece), yarn for 'Vog On is nearly done. Singles have been spun, and plying has commenced.
And in non-KAL knitting, proof that I am a total masochist. I decided my Mystery Stole 3 in black was too delicate for everyday wear, so I also cast on in a sturdier white yarn, with white beads (sturdy and subtle--hey, that's what people say about me!). Here's Clue A done.
No walking tour this week. Instead we went to Jerusalem to take advantage of a credit card offer for 50% off glasses in exchange for points. Still ended up spending 760 shekel on glasses for the Middle Teen, but they are nice kallah maidel glasses. Not that I want guys to make passes at her, despite the best bets amongst her friends being that she'll be engaged this time next year, to a boy she has yet to meet...
Saturday, January 27, 2007
Sometimes I even knit
Skully sweater #2 is done and on the model:
Of course Skully #1 had to launch a fight with Skully #2. Who said the army takes a boy and turns him into a man?
Of course Skully #1 had to launch a fight with Skully #2. Who said the army takes a boy and turns him into a man?
The specs:
Skully by Samantha Bliss
From Stitch 'n Bitch (page 190)
Knit in Knitpicks Sierra (70% wool. 30% superfine alpaca), 9 balls Coal, less than 1 ball Natural
Modification: Attached the sleeves via single crochet and I am knitting each teen a set of plain black sleeves in case they ever grow out of skulls.
Thursday, October 26, 2006
In praise of younger men
While the Spouse has been working on the East Coast (of the US; if he was working on the East Coast of Israel, he'd be home), The Oldest Teen has been filling in, for good and bad.
Good: He went to the city and got the Youngest Teen's cell phone fixed.
Bad: He leaves his coffee cup on the table, just like dear old Dad.
Good: He went to the city to get the rice mixes my parents asked me to bring.
Bad: Since Dad's been away he's taken to wearing his tzitziyot like Dad -- one set of strings hanging straight down the center outside his waistband.
Good: He drove me to the airport.
Bad: He nearly gave me a heart attack doing it.
Good: He made me dinner every night.
Bad: It was either pasta with no sauce or frozen chicken schnitzel.
But all in all, it's been a joy having him home. No scrambling for who'll watch The Youngest Teen while I'm away. No having to run in to town to take care of errands. Almost like having The Spouse at home, but when I tell this man to clean his room, he sometimes (somewhat) listens.
I'm taking a newer, smaller hand luggage this trip. I'm such a yekke that I always worry they'll enforce the weight and item limits. Usually I take two pairs of socks to knit on the plane, but to free up weight, I quickly finished my pair. The Spouse's can wait; he's getting gifted them for our anniversary, a week away.
(Quick, bad picture, because the airport authorities don't like you taking pictures inside the terminal.)
Mystery socks from the Yahoo SAM group.
ETA: Free on-board innernets rulz!
Good: He went to the city and got the Youngest Teen's cell phone fixed.
Bad: He leaves his coffee cup on the table, just like dear old Dad.
Good: He went to the city to get the rice mixes my parents asked me to bring.
Bad: Since Dad's been away he's taken to wearing his tzitziyot like Dad -- one set of strings hanging straight down the center outside his waistband.
Good: He drove me to the airport.
Bad: He nearly gave me a heart attack doing it.
Good: He made me dinner every night.
Bad: It was either pasta with no sauce or frozen chicken schnitzel.
But all in all, it's been a joy having him home. No scrambling for who'll watch The Youngest Teen while I'm away. No having to run in to town to take care of errands. Almost like having The Spouse at home, but when I tell this man to clean his room, he sometimes (somewhat) listens.
I'm taking a newer, smaller hand luggage this trip. I'm such a yekke that I always worry they'll enforce the weight and item limits. Usually I take two pairs of socks to knit on the plane, but to free up weight, I quickly finished my pair. The Spouse's can wait; he's getting gifted them for our anniversary, a week away.
(Quick, bad picture, because the airport authorities don't like you taking pictures inside the terminal.)
Mystery socks from the Yahoo SAM group.
ETA: Free on-board innernets rulz!
Thursday, August 17, 2006
Commuter Family
So, it's time to shape up my fall travel plans. And just in time, I find out that the clinical trial I've been cat-wrangling is almost certainly a go, so I'm going to be spending a lot of time in Greece.
Fall travel? More like living away from home most of this year. Problem is, so will The Spouse -- but not The Youngest Teen. Time to start cobbling together people she can stay with. Thank G-d Greece is close enough that I'll be able to come home weekends.
Time to start learning Greek.
I can't tell if I'm excited or terrified. Oh, well, at least I know where the LYS in Athens is (and they speak English -- and have sock yarn).
Fall travel? More like living away from home most of this year. Problem is, so will The Spouse -- but not The Youngest Teen. Time to start cobbling together people she can stay with. Thank G-d Greece is close enough that I'll be able to come home weekends.
Time to start learning Greek.
I can't tell if I'm excited or terrified. Oh, well, at least I know where the LYS in Athens is (and they speak English -- and have sock yarn).
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
National Knitting Service
Proof positive The Middle Teen is moving out prior to what's basically the first of three years of national service:
She's cleaning her room. (As opposed to the Oldest Teen, who basically moved out 5 years ago, she's pretty much renouncing this as her home. "You'll have a guest room!" she chirped as she threw out yet another bag of trash. I refrained from reminding her that the fact that she's finally cleaning her room, after 17 years, doesn't mean I've seen the last of her.) She's dismantling her stash and handed me a pile of dishcloth cotton.
The little stinker is keeping her Trekking, Cotton Ease, and handspun.
She's cleaning her room. (As opposed to the Oldest Teen, who basically moved out 5 years ago, she's pretty much renouncing this as her home. "You'll have a guest room!" she chirped as she threw out yet another bag of trash. I refrained from reminding her that the fact that she's finally cleaning her room, after 17 years, doesn't mean I've seen the last of her.) She's dismantling her stash and handed me a pile of dishcloth cotton.
The little stinker is keeping her Trekking, Cotton Ease, and handspun.
Thursday, August 03, 2006
The last honest Israeli politician
The JBlogosphere is buzzing over Prime Minister Olmert's statement that we must win the war in the North so that we can acomplish the much more important goal of giving the Arabs Judea and Samaria.
Jameel (eee, it always seems like I'm picking on him. I'm not, really, it's just that he expresses things better than your avereage blogger, so he's very quotable) wrote:
Interviews with Knesset members from NRP/NU echoed the sentiments -- Olmert can keep on planning, but he should shut up until the war's over.
My question is--why?
So that we (the settlers/the national religious camp which supports us) can go up and die to defend the country? Olmert is being remarkably honest, especially for a politician. Launch the announcement and damn the consequences.
When will the national religious camp stop closing its eyes and pretending everything's all right until someone shows up on the doorstep with an eviction notice? If you're going up north to serve, if you're going to throw yourself on a grenade to save others, you should at least know that you're doing it to throw your own wife and kids out of your home, not for some idealistic hope of making Israel safe.
Does anyone think that telling Olmert to shut up until the war's over will change his mind about carving the heart out of the country? If not, why shouldn't we encourage the emperor to walk around in his new clothes? It'll give us a fighting chance of showing the country and the world what lousy taste he has in tailors.
Knitting as a metaphor:
Jameel (eee, it always seems like I'm picking on him. I'm not, really, it's just that he expresses things better than your avereage blogger, so he's very quotable) wrote:
And you know what? Olmert is entitled to his political opinion as Prime Minister, and he is even entitled to try and push his plan forward.
However, to do so now, during wartime, intentionally targeting the settlers who are showing incredible loyalty to a State which turned it's back on them last year, who are fighting as one in a war of survival for the Jewish State -- shows incredible cynicism, small mindedness, and I'm sad to say...evil.
Interviews with Knesset members from NRP/NU echoed the sentiments -- Olmert can keep on planning, but he should shut up until the war's over.
My question is--why?
So that we (the settlers/the national religious camp which supports us) can go up and die to defend the country? Olmert is being remarkably honest, especially for a politician. Launch the announcement and damn the consequences.
When will the national religious camp stop closing its eyes and pretending everything's all right until someone shows up on the doorstep with an eviction notice? If you're going up north to serve, if you're going to throw yourself on a grenade to save others, you should at least know that you're doing it to throw your own wife and kids out of your home, not for some idealistic hope of making Israel safe.
Does anyone think that telling Olmert to shut up until the war's over will change his mind about carving the heart out of the country? If not, why shouldn't we encourage the emperor to walk around in his new clothes? It'll give us a fighting chance of showing the country and the world what lousy taste he has in tailors.
Knitting as a metaphor:
Monday, July 24, 2006
We interrupt this war
Even in the middle of war normal life goes on, especially when you're far (at least an hour) from the battlefront.
Tomorrow is a crucial day in the Moze household. The Oldest Teen is taking a day off of his first aid course to interview for an ROTC program with the army, the Middle Teen is taking her driving test, and the Youngest Teen has a slew of doctors' appointments. I don't know how any of these things will go: the prep course which Oldest took told him he's ready to go and has a good shot, as long as the army will accept people from our area. He has no police record (I taught him long before last year to pretend to be a tourist when picked up at a demonstration), has good grades, his hearing problem is unnoticable in an interview situation, he's personable and has leadership qualities. Really, the only reason I could see him being rejected is his address, which just--let's call things as they are--sucks. And not in a good way.
The Middle Teen--well, she drives well. Too well. She's just an accident waiting to happen with her over confidence, but when she had to do a lesson with a substitute driving teacher on Sunday she said her legs turned to jelly, so we'll have to see what side of the bed she (and the tester, for that matter) wake up on tomorrow.
The Youngest Teen? Well, no one will listen to me, so she's been going for tests on her achy stomach for nearly a year. Clues? The ache gets worse when both The Spouse and I are out of the country. The giorl could live on corn schnitzels and pasta. Mom's diagnosis? Missing her parents and bad nutrition when on her own. But will the doctors listen to me? Ha!
Wednesday the Middle Teen has an interview in what I assume will be her new school. Officially she hasn't been told which city she'll be volunteering/living in, but since the high school in Hadera called her in for an interview and we've heard nothing from Beit Shemesh, I'm assuming Hadera's the choice. Now if only Nassrallah would go away...
Tomorrow is a crucial day in the Moze household. The Oldest Teen is taking a day off of his first aid course to interview for an ROTC program with the army, the Middle Teen is taking her driving test, and the Youngest Teen has a slew of doctors' appointments. I don't know how any of these things will go: the prep course which Oldest took told him he's ready to go and has a good shot, as long as the army will accept people from our area. He has no police record (I taught him long before last year to pretend to be a tourist when picked up at a demonstration), has good grades, his hearing problem is unnoticable in an interview situation, he's personable and has leadership qualities. Really, the only reason I could see him being rejected is his address, which just--let's call things as they are--sucks. And not in a good way.
The Middle Teen--well, she drives well. Too well. She's just an accident waiting to happen with her over confidence, but when she had to do a lesson with a substitute driving teacher on Sunday she said her legs turned to jelly, so we'll have to see what side of the bed she (and the tester, for that matter) wake up on tomorrow.
The Youngest Teen? Well, no one will listen to me, so she's been going for tests on her achy stomach for nearly a year. Clues? The ache gets worse when both The Spouse and I are out of the country. The giorl could live on corn schnitzels and pasta. Mom's diagnosis? Missing her parents and bad nutrition when on her own. But will the doctors listen to me? Ha!
Wednesday the Middle Teen has an interview in what I assume will be her new school. Officially she hasn't been told which city she'll be volunteering/living in, but since the high school in Hadera called her in for an interview and we've heard nothing from Beit Shemesh, I'm assuming Hadera's the choice. Now if only Nassrallah would go away...
Sunday, July 16, 2006
The Orange Teens
It's odd to know the country's at war (oh, sorry, a state of emergency in limited areas of the country) and it not be anywhere near me. There were a few planes overhead yesterday, and the local Arabs must have turned up the volume because their 3:30 am prayers woke me, but other than that, it's been quiet. (Well, aside from the sound of the police coming to drag young girls--remember NN?--in for questioning, even though the charges were a year old and even though she was babysitting her brothers and sisters, and going with the cops meant leaving them, including a year old baby, alone.)
It's nearly a year since Israel abandoned the Gaza settlements, yet the Orange Revolution continues. The ManBoy and The Oldest Teen want to go hiking up North this week and The Middle Teen wants to go to Haifa for her birthday Tuesday and then down to Sederot this coming weekend. Because We Are Not Going To Let Arab Terror Stop Us. Because We Have To Show Solidarity. Because, quite frankly, these are teenagers and they don't get enough tension and adventure in their lives. Thankfully, The Spouse returns Friday, so I could tell The Middle Teen no about her weekend plans. I todl The Oldest Teen to check with the head of his yeshiva and see if he could get a pass out of learning; I'm betting that the answer will be no. (Delegating responsibility, that's my superpower.)
The first casualty of war chez Moze is my Amazing Lace entry #3. I've done the scarf, finished the socks,
but do not have the concentration needed to do a very large lace shawl with multiple charts. Oh, well, maybe when Israel's not at war anymore (like about the year 3043?).
Instead, I've been focusing on smaller projects. It's lavendar season
so I've been making up a bunch of sachets
Sort of look like bombs, don't they? Well, at least their smell takes my mind off what's happening. Still, I can't help but thinking this has nothing to do with the 3 captured soldiers. Oh, sure, that was the excuse for the start of it, but Olmert's said his real goal in Gaza is to prepare the ground to kick me out of my house, and I think the real reason behind the bombardment of Lebanon is that the blood of people living in Tzefat, Nahariya, and Meiron is redder than that of us living out here or than those living in Sederot. I have the very bad feeling that the soldiers are going to become the Sultaan Yaakub soldiers/Ron Arad of my kids' generation.
It's nearly a year since Israel abandoned the Gaza settlements, yet the Orange Revolution continues. The ManBoy and The Oldest Teen want to go hiking up North this week and The Middle Teen wants to go to Haifa for her birthday Tuesday and then down to Sederot this coming weekend. Because We Are Not Going To Let Arab Terror Stop Us. Because We Have To Show Solidarity. Because, quite frankly, these are teenagers and they don't get enough tension and adventure in their lives. Thankfully, The Spouse returns Friday, so I could tell The Middle Teen no about her weekend plans. I todl The Oldest Teen to check with the head of his yeshiva and see if he could get a pass out of learning; I'm betting that the answer will be no. (Delegating responsibility, that's my superpower.)
The first casualty of war chez Moze is my Amazing Lace entry #3. I've done the scarf, finished the socks,
but do not have the concentration needed to do a very large lace shawl with multiple charts. Oh, well, maybe when Israel's not at war anymore (like about the year 3043?).
Instead, I've been focusing on smaller projects. It's lavendar season
so I've been making up a bunch of sachets
Sort of look like bombs, don't they? Well, at least their smell takes my mind off what's happening. Still, I can't help but thinking this has nothing to do with the 3 captured soldiers. Oh, sure, that was the excuse for the start of it, but Olmert's said his real goal in Gaza is to prepare the ground to kick me out of my house, and I think the real reason behind the bombardment of Lebanon is that the blood of people living in Tzefat, Nahariya, and Meiron is redder than that of us living out here or than those living in Sederot. I have the very bad feeling that the soldiers are going to become the Sultaan Yaakub soldiers/Ron Arad of my kids' generation.
Monday, May 29, 2006
250,000 Israeli teens can't be wrong
If you were in Israel today, you may have noticed increased numbers of teens on the streets, looking to hitch a ride, looking hopeful, sullen, scared, worried... A quarter of a million Israeli teens between 10th and 12th grades are taking their math bagruyot today. The Oldest Teen is gloating, the Youngest Teen is laughing, and right about now The MIddle Teen is sharpening her pencils.
Now, I don't know much math, but I do know that 1+1=0.
One Broadripple knit, plus another Broadripple knit equals no projects left on the needles!
Can't have that, can we? So Team Moze started the lobg summer trail that is The Amazing Lace. First a quick morning warm-up
and then off we go--2.5 repeats down, 20-odd to go. What have I learned so far? I hate mohair-y wool.
(Odd--this looks much better in the picture than in real life.)
The stress about my mom is still here, of course. When stressed, I revert to old bad habits. The worst? Hooking.
We'll be staying by my father's cousin in Las Vegas, and the only thing cuz's wife can't do is crochet, so I'm making a checker set for their 4 year old twins. (Yes, my father's cousin is only about The Spouse's age.) Finally a chance to use up the horrible fuschia acrylic I bought when I first moved to Israel. What was I thinking? Oh, yeah--it was the best of the bad lot of yarn they had in those days.
Now, I don't know much math, but I do know that 1+1=0.
One Broadripple knit, plus another Broadripple knit equals no projects left on the needles!
Can't have that, can we? So Team Moze started the lobg summer trail that is The Amazing Lace. First a quick morning warm-up
and then off we go--2.5 repeats down, 20-odd to go. What have I learned so far? I hate mohair-y wool.
(Odd--this looks much better in the picture than in real life.)
The stress about my mom is still here, of course. When stressed, I revert to old bad habits. The worst? Hooking.
We'll be staying by my father's cousin in Las Vegas, and the only thing cuz's wife can't do is crochet, so I'm making a checker set for their 4 year old twins. (Yes, my father's cousin is only about The Spouse's age.) Finally a chance to use up the horrible fuschia acrylic I bought when I first moved to Israel. What was I thinking? Oh, yeah--it was the best of the bad lot of yarn they had in those days.
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
While you were bombing...
We were out shopping today, and after finishing purchases that could only be made in specific stores, we had a choice for the clothing. Should we go for everyday things at the Central Bus Station or Shabbat clothing at the Azrieli mall?
Well, I wanted a beauty shot of my sock in progress, so I made everyone go with me to the boardwalk, from where it would be most logical to continue to Azrieli.
That picture may have saved my family's life; if I hadn't realized I didn't have an Israeli sock picture and really want a beach shot, we would have been crossing the old Central Bus Station area when the bomber was committing his murders.
Well, I wanted a beauty shot of my sock in progress, so I made everyone go with me to the boardwalk, from where it would be most logical to continue to Azrieli.
That picture may have saved my family's life; if I hadn't realized I didn't have an Israeli sock picture and really want a beach shot, we would have been crossing the old Central Bus Station area when the bomber was committing his murders.
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
Off the table, Mabel
Or: celebrating your inner ho.
Last night The Youngest Teen and I went to PTA meetings. She generally got good reviews (taking her was an insidious plot: teachers don't usually talk trash about a girl to her face). What did suprise me was how little emphasis was placed on academics. With only one exception (The Middle Teen's math teacher) all the teachers gushed about how personable my girls are, how involved they are in class activities, and how many friends they have. Um, excuse me--isn't the main classroom activity supposed to be learning? So please, a word or two about their grades? No--they give you a run-down of test scores nearly printed out to take home and warn you that this is in no way indicative of the report card marks, since classroom participation is at least 50% of the grade. Very nice--so would you flippin' tell me what's going on with my kid academically, including how well she participates in class? No, but I'll tell you about the great banner she made for the upcoming Development Town Seminar...
Grr.
Throughout the evening I had to talk The Youngest Teen out of sitting on the table, and I kept using the phrase my mother used on me. "Get off the table, Mabel, the two bucks are for the beer." Her best friend, whose parents are also Anglod, came up to us and said that her mother, born in Israel and raised in Atlanta, tells her the same thing. And I thought that we must both be terrible mothers, given what we're comparing our girls to.
But. It's time to embrace my inner ho. My inner Noro ho, that is.
When we were in Boston, The Spouse and I got together with JanJan and her Spouse for dinner. We took the T from Copley Square (I love public transportation. New Yorkers, I feel your pain.) We were coming from muchcloser in than they were, so we walked around, got a cup of coffee, passed the JFK birthplace and had a political discussion, visited a large indie bookseller, and then met up with them at Ta'am China on Harvard St. (The Spouse and I had eaten there the night before with other vendors from the convention, and were very happy to be going back.)
We talked politics and religion, fiber and food. And The Spouse and JanJan discovered that they grew up in the same neighborhood on Long Island. In the Jewish world, you always, but always, have some connection to the person you're speaking to. If the Spouse remembers to scan his kindergarten class picture and JanJan really is in it, well, I'll be the first knitblog with blackmail potential. ;-)
So where's the ho in all of this? JanJan wanted to bring me a gift, and after reading how I gushed when my SP sent me some Noro, look what she brought me!
Now I have to find the perfect use. I'm thinking, since my office is one of the unheated rooms in the house, that I should make myself some cold weather gear--a Panta, some fingerless gloves, a cowl for my neck. Then again, the lure of a felted bag...
Someone help me turn my inner Noro ho into a productive girl! I've got 2 skeins of one color way, and three of another--ideas, anyone?
And even better yet, look what JanJan made for me!
Aren't they just beautiful? Go on over to her blog and compliment her on them, I'll wait. They're too pretty not to be seen on a regular basis, so next time I'm in Tel Aviv or Jerusalem I'm getting some silver ear wires to slip the blues onto, and a nice catch and chin for the green. Because I deserve to be clothed in only the finest, right? Someone? Bueller? Anyone? Right?
Last night The Youngest Teen and I went to PTA meetings. She generally got good reviews (taking her was an insidious plot: teachers don't usually talk trash about a girl to her face). What did suprise me was how little emphasis was placed on academics. With only one exception (The Middle Teen's math teacher) all the teachers gushed about how personable my girls are, how involved they are in class activities, and how many friends they have. Um, excuse me--isn't the main classroom activity supposed to be learning? So please, a word or two about their grades? No--they give you a run-down of test scores nearly printed out to take home and warn you that this is in no way indicative of the report card marks, since classroom participation is at least 50% of the grade. Very nice--so would you flippin' tell me what's going on with my kid academically, including how well she participates in class? No, but I'll tell you about the great banner she made for the upcoming Development Town Seminar...
Grr.
Throughout the evening I had to talk The Youngest Teen out of sitting on the table, and I kept using the phrase my mother used on me. "Get off the table, Mabel, the two bucks are for the beer." Her best friend, whose parents are also Anglod, came up to us and said that her mother, born in Israel and raised in Atlanta, tells her the same thing. And I thought that we must both be terrible mothers, given what we're comparing our girls to.
But. It's time to embrace my inner ho. My inner Noro ho, that is.
When we were in Boston, The Spouse and I got together with JanJan and her Spouse for dinner. We took the T from Copley Square (I love public transportation. New Yorkers, I feel your pain.) We were coming from muchcloser in than they were, so we walked around, got a cup of coffee, passed the JFK birthplace and had a political discussion, visited a large indie bookseller, and then met up with them at Ta'am China on Harvard St. (The Spouse and I had eaten there the night before with other vendors from the convention, and were very happy to be going back.)
We talked politics and religion, fiber and food. And The Spouse and JanJan discovered that they grew up in the same neighborhood on Long Island. In the Jewish world, you always, but always, have some connection to the person you're speaking to. If the Spouse remembers to scan his kindergarten class picture and JanJan really is in it, well, I'll be the first knitblog with blackmail potential. ;-)
So where's the ho in all of this? JanJan wanted to bring me a gift, and after reading how I gushed when my SP sent me some Noro, look what she brought me!
Now I have to find the perfect use. I'm thinking, since my office is one of the unheated rooms in the house, that I should make myself some cold weather gear--a Panta, some fingerless gloves, a cowl for my neck. Then again, the lure of a felted bag...
Someone help me turn my inner Noro ho into a productive girl! I've got 2 skeins of one color way, and three of another--ideas, anyone?
And even better yet, look what JanJan made for me!
Aren't they just beautiful? Go on over to her blog and compliment her on them, I'll wait. They're too pretty not to be seen on a regular basis, so next time I'm in Tel Aviv or Jerusalem I'm getting some silver ear wires to slip the blues onto, and a nice catch and chin for the green. Because I deserve to be clothed in only the finest, right? Someone? Bueller? Anyone? Right?
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
The rest of the story
OK, so 24 hours have past and my son is still free, so here's the story. (BTW, Rachel Ann, you're a real Israeli now. Everyone else wanted to know the stry, you wanted to know who the cast of characters was…)
The Oldest Teen studies Ju Jitsu. He's an orange belt, and in about a month will be tested for his green belt. Part of the test involves the use of a jo, which looks like a thicker broomstick.
He's forbidden to practice in the house, so he went down the block, in an open area which happens to border on the army base, to do his workout.
At the same time, a group of soldiers starting practicing their krav maga using wooden sticks instead of their guns (which they would use in real life). The commander started making fun of The Oldest Teen, telling him that he was just showing off, that he didn't know anything, that Ju Jitsu is a joke and only krav maga is worth anything.
Wrong thing to tell an 18 year old rooster.
The Oldest Teen challenges the commander to a quick two submission contest. The commander, of course, must agree or lose face in front of his soldiers, so off they go, grappling at each other.
A minute later the army commander is on his back, on the ground, The Oldest Teen's jo resting lightly at the commander's groin. "Submit or make me make you submit," Teen says, gently pushing at jo. Of course the commander submits, but as he gets up, he says, "I let you have that one."
And they're off again. Scuffle, scuffle, let's get the kid in trouble--and the commander is whirled around, his back pulled to the Teen's chest, and the jo resting a little less lightly against his throat. Again the commander chooses to submit, to the sound of his soldiers' laughter.
The Teen lowers his stick, gives his bow, and runs for home, locking the door. In a country where kids can sit in jail for mouthing off to a cop, who knows what an army commander might do to revenge a humiliation?
The Oldest Teen studies Ju Jitsu. He's an orange belt, and in about a month will be tested for his green belt. Part of the test involves the use of a jo, which looks like a thicker broomstick.
He's forbidden to practice in the house, so he went down the block, in an open area which happens to border on the army base, to do his workout.
At the same time, a group of soldiers starting practicing their krav maga using wooden sticks instead of their guns (which they would use in real life). The commander started making fun of The Oldest Teen, telling him that he was just showing off, that he didn't know anything, that Ju Jitsu is a joke and only krav maga is worth anything.
Wrong thing to tell an 18 year old rooster.
The Oldest Teen challenges the commander to a quick two submission contest. The commander, of course, must agree or lose face in front of his soldiers, so off they go, grappling at each other.
A minute later the army commander is on his back, on the ground, The Oldest Teen's jo resting lightly at the commander's groin. "Submit or make me make you submit," Teen says, gently pushing at jo. Of course the commander submits, but as he gets up, he says, "I let you have that one."
And they're off again. Scuffle, scuffle, let's get the kid in trouble--and the commander is whirled around, his back pulled to the Teen's chest, and the jo resting a little less lightly against his throat. Again the commander chooses to submit, to the sound of his soldiers' laughter.
The Teen lowers his stick, gives his bow, and runs for home, locking the door. In a country where kids can sit in jail for mouthing off to a cop, who knows what an army commander might do to revenge a humiliation?
Saturday, October 29, 2005
Celeb-ville!
Suddenly, we're the hip, happenin' settlement. First is was Shai Gabso, now Dudu Fisher. His son lives across the street from me, so we got the same 24 hours of screaming fans. This time instead of eighth grade teeny-boppers, it was kindergarten kids, since he is known locally more for his series of kids' videos than for his Broadway performances. Me, I think I may have to hurt the man, because the whole Shabbat I've had the soundtrack of Les Miz running through my head. Isn't that against the Geneva Conventions or something? [sigh]
During the day the neighborhood sat outside and did the usual gossip run. (Mrs. Fisher doesn't cover her hair--what a scandal!) Boring and petty, but a nice change from the "Guess who's the Secret Services spy amongst us" game. Now it's after Shabbat and he's just driven off, to a chorus of baby-boppers chanting "Dudu! Dudu! Dudu!"
So which celebrity will visit my town next? Two in one week--we're going to get spoiled.
But the more significant happening this weekend was the Sheva Brachot the post-wedding celebration, of the son of the family where The Youngest Teen is a bat bayit.
The bride loves sushi almost as much as I do. On the first day of Rosh HaShana she mentioned it, and when we had the whole extended family over to our house for kiddush on the second day, The Spouse had made her some; she loved it. At the wedding, on Wednesday night, he promised the bride some for this weekend, and in the end made sushi rolls and rice balls for 72 people. The poor girls is taking me for a role model, even wearing her hair, under her hat, as I do (with the ends sticking out). I warned her she's looking for trouble, wanting to be anything like me.
During the course of Friday night dinner with the wedding party we realized that we were making plans with the Teens for their own eventual weddings -- and making those plans assuming we'd still be here at that point. Either we're regaining our optimism or we're developing political Alzheimer's.
Speaking of politics, check out Zib's newest blog ring.
And speaking of teens and politics, I got an email from a friend whose 14 year old spend some time in jail this summer for having typical teen fresh-mouth. This is about a local girl is a lot of trouble for sticking to her religious principles. I wonder what would be happening if she were a Muslim and demanded a trial by a Muslim court?
During the day the neighborhood sat outside and did the usual gossip run. (Mrs. Fisher doesn't cover her hair--what a scandal!) Boring and petty, but a nice change from the "Guess who's the Secret Services spy amongst us" game. Now it's after Shabbat and he's just driven off, to a chorus of baby-boppers chanting "Dudu! Dudu! Dudu!"
So which celebrity will visit my town next? Two in one week--we're going to get spoiled.
But the more significant happening this weekend was the Sheva Brachot the post-wedding celebration, of the son of the family where The Youngest Teen is a bat bayit.
The bride loves sushi almost as much as I do. On the first day of Rosh HaShana she mentioned it, and when we had the whole extended family over to our house for kiddush on the second day, The Spouse had made her some; she loved it. At the wedding, on Wednesday night, he promised the bride some for this weekend, and in the end made sushi rolls and rice balls for 72 people. The poor girls is taking me for a role model, even wearing her hair, under her hat, as I do (with the ends sticking out). I warned her she's looking for trouble, wanting to be anything like me.
During the course of Friday night dinner with the wedding party we realized that we were making plans with the Teens for their own eventual weddings -- and making those plans assuming we'd still be here at that point. Either we're regaining our optimism or we're developing political Alzheimer's.
Speaking of politics, check out Zib's newest blog ring.
And speaking of teens and politics, I got an email from a friend whose 14 year old spend some time in jail this summer for having typical teen fresh-mouth. This is about a local girl is a lot of trouble for sticking to her religious principles. I wonder what would be happening if she were a Muslim and demanded a trial by a Muslim court?
After more than two months of media censorship and silence, the shameful story of the Israeli government prosecution and persecution of a 16-year-girl for her political and religious beliefs has broken through the media ban. The story of Tziviya Sariel of Elon Moreh finally hit the papers and her uncle was about to be interviewed on Israeli Channel 2, when an Israeli court issued a gag order against any publicity concerning her case.
Tziviya has been languishing in an Israeli jail for women, without bail for more than 60 days charged with involvement in anti government protests following the expulsion of Jews from Northern Shomron. She has angered the Israeli authorities by refusing to recognize the secular Israeli legal system, demanding to be tried before a Rabbinic court. This new trend of Jews demanding trails according to Torah law has caused absolute hysteria among many Israeli judges. The judge presiding over Tziviya's trial actually ordered Tziviyah to be sent for psychiatric evaluation because of her insistence to be tried in a Torah court.
The fact that Tziviya's case has now broken through government censorship has embarrassed the prosecutor and the courts to bring forward her next trial date to this coming Monday October 31, 05. Tziviya's family is urging the public to attend a protest outside the Kfar Saba courthouse, Monday 8:00 AM. The family will be holding signs that read: "If it is crazy to be Jewish and to prefer Jewish law, then lock us all up in mental institutions."
"The use of psychological repression against political rivals with opposing ideological beliefs is a tactic used by repressive regimes and has no place in the land of Israel. We hope to deliver thousands of signed petitions to the President of Israel against this insanity," said Yekutiel Ben Yaakov of Mishalot Yisrael.
To sign the petition visit http://www.voiceofjudea.com/eng/petition.asp.
Send contributions for campaign to Mishalot Yisrael - Jaffa Rd 210/14 Jerusalem, Israel.
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
Simchat what???
The big news in town this holiday wasn't the Torah (is it, after all, thousands of years old) but that we had an honest-to-Tzvika-Hadar celebrity in our midst. Shai Gabso, third place winner of the first Kochav Nolad contest (think "Israeli Idol") spend Simchat Torah here, staying across teh street from us.
One 8th grade girl screamed so loud when she heard that people came rushing over to her, thinking someone had died. When The Spouse and I came back from our after-dinner walk last night, our block was lined with teeny-boppers, hoping to get a glimpse of The Great Gelled One. As we appraoched our house the whole block fell silent, except for The Middle and The Youngest Teen, who were sitting outside with their friends. The dorr across the street opens. Shai Gel-so walks out. All the teeny-boppers sigh. The Youngest Teen breaks out with her donkey-laugh. We are wished a good holiday by The Gel and his entourage, we wish them all one back. He walks away, talking to his lady-friends very loudly, calling attention to himself.
During the hakafot today the teenaged girls and the young married women were wondering if the singer were here looking for a wife, and deciding who would suit him best. Um, hello? He came here with two women? I dout he's looking for another, not here.
Tonight, after the holiday, our street was once again a beehve of activity as teeny-boppers crowded 'round to have their pictures taken with the man. "He touched me," some of the girls shrieked after their snaps were shot. (Gee, and this town is so repressed they freak if a boy is seen talking with an age-appropriate female neighbor; I guess the rules are different is the boy in question is an outside celeb.)
The most sung song this holiday? Not "Ata Horayta La'daat." Not "Mi Pi Kel." No--it was "Yom V'od Yom." Complete with the asmatic pauses. Ever see a shul full of drunk guys trying to keep shuffling along to two cent pop songs? Sigh--I have seen teh future, and it was on syndicated TV.
One 8th grade girl screamed so loud when she heard that people came rushing over to her, thinking someone had died. When The Spouse and I came back from our after-dinner walk last night, our block was lined with teeny-boppers, hoping to get a glimpse of The Great Gelled One. As we appraoched our house the whole block fell silent, except for The Middle and The Youngest Teen, who were sitting outside with their friends. The dorr across the street opens. Shai Gel-so walks out. All the teeny-boppers sigh. The Youngest Teen breaks out with her donkey-laugh. We are wished a good holiday by The Gel and his entourage, we wish them all one back. He walks away, talking to his lady-friends very loudly, calling attention to himself.
During the hakafot today the teenaged girls and the young married women were wondering if the singer were here looking for a wife, and deciding who would suit him best. Um, hello? He came here with two women? I dout he's looking for another, not here.
Tonight, after the holiday, our street was once again a beehve of activity as teeny-boppers crowded 'round to have their pictures taken with the man. "He touched me," some of the girls shrieked after their snaps were shot. (Gee, and this town is so repressed they freak if a boy is seen talking with an age-appropriate female neighbor; I guess the rules are different is the boy in question is an outside celeb.)
The most sung song this holiday? Not "Ata Horayta La'daat." Not "Mi Pi Kel." No--it was "Yom V'od Yom." Complete with the asmatic pauses. Ever see a shul full of drunk guys trying to keep shuffling along to two cent pop songs? Sigh--I have seen teh future, and it was on syndicated TV.
Monday, October 17, 2005
Le Freak
Last night I had a freak-out. First there was a terror attack against a bus stop/hitchhiking stop, in which 3 were killed, while my kids were out taking buses and/or hitching. I even went so far as to call The Youngest Teen to check on where she was (I never do; I trust her to call if she needs me) and to ask The Oldest Teen to call me when he got to Jerusalem and again when he got on a bus/ride coming home.
At night, it began to rain. the teen girls were sitting at the table by candlelight (rain=no power). Said The Youngest Teen: "G-d's crying." Said The Middle Teen: "No, it's not that much rain. It's only the angels."
Then my sister called, wanting to know why I haven't been sending her my usual "Everything's OK here. How are you?" e-mails. I let her have an earful, because everything's not OK here, and I care too much about her to lie. The poor woman; all she wanted to do was wish me a happy Sukkot….
Cotton count:
harvested:
4 bolls brown
10 bolls white
10 bolls green
spun:
3 bolls brown
5 bolls green
At night, it began to rain. the teen girls were sitting at the table by candlelight (rain=no power). Said The Youngest Teen: "G-d's crying." Said The Middle Teen: "No, it's not that much rain. It's only the angels."
Then my sister called, wanting to know why I haven't been sending her my usual "Everything's OK here. How are you?" e-mails. I let her have an earful, because everything's not OK here, and I care too much about her to lie. The poor woman; all she wanted to do was wish me a happy Sukkot….
Cotton count:
harvested:
4 bolls brown
10 bolls white
10 bolls green
spun:
3 bolls brown
5 bolls green
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
Ulpanistiyot of the world, unite!
Last night’s Kochav Nolad (the Israeli version of American Idol) was won by religious high school heart throb Ohad Elisha. He got twice the votes the next contestant did, despite having sung something that didn’t flatter his voice.
We are high schoolers. We have cell phones. Fear us.
Even Riki Gal and the Maestro have fallen under the spell of the off-side kippah, the puppy dog eyes.
Riki Gal sounds like a fantastic voice teacher. Her critiques are so simple, but so on the money, that they are breath-taking. But know who needs to hear her critique most? Based on her singing last night, Riki herself. Day-um, woman, I know cocaine can mess up your nose, but this is the first proof I have that it can mess up your throat, too!
You've got to love the secular right. First it was orange condoms distributed in the night clubs, now it's orange-and-white parking spaces in north Tel Aviv. I'm not sure I'd like to live in north Tel Aviv--too crowded and too dirty, but I'm willing to slum for a while.
And now, what you've come here for (except you, Alison. We know you're all about the transitions--hee!)
For those scoffers who think I can't do it, the first FO from yesterday's list:
The Middle Teen's socks, knitted, kitchenered, and handed over. Only 10 more projects to go. (11, actually, since I forgot to list The Oldest Teen's surgery next Sunday, but I can knit through that.)
Check out the bling! Becky sent me these great stitch markers as part of Bead It 2. She took rings from the wedding crafts section of her LCS to make the rings, so they look as fancy as the rest! As you see, I put them to work right away. With all these teens around the place, everything else has to pull its own weight.
We are high schoolers. We have cell phones. Fear us.
Even Riki Gal and the Maestro have fallen under the spell of the off-side kippah, the puppy dog eyes.
Riki Gal sounds like a fantastic voice teacher. Her critiques are so simple, but so on the money, that they are breath-taking. But know who needs to hear her critique most? Based on her singing last night, Riki herself. Day-um, woman, I know cocaine can mess up your nose, but this is the first proof I have that it can mess up your throat, too!
You've got to love the secular right. First it was orange condoms distributed in the night clubs, now it's orange-and-white parking spaces in north Tel Aviv. I'm not sure I'd like to live in north Tel Aviv--too crowded and too dirty, but I'm willing to slum for a while.
And now, what you've come here for (except you, Alison. We know you're all about the transitions--hee!)
For those scoffers who think I can't do it, the first FO from yesterday's list:
The Middle Teen's socks, knitted, kitchenered, and handed over. Only 10 more projects to go. (11, actually, since I forgot to list The Oldest Teen's surgery next Sunday, but I can knit through that.)
Check out the bling! Becky sent me these great stitch markers as part of Bead It 2. She took rings from the wedding crafts section of her LCS to make the rings, so they look as fancy as the rest! As you see, I put them to work right away. With all these teens around the place, everything else has to pull its own weight.
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