Anthropology & fiber

Yes, we actually did do some things in Mexico City that didn't involve cows (well, aside from eating them).

We weren't supposed to get in to Mexico City until Friday, but we arrived Thursday night, so we did what the convention organizers tols us never to do and walked around. (Hey, we had to hit the Kinkos and we had to get food.) We were staying in Col. Polanco during the Water Forum, so the streets were very secure--there were more cops and private security forces out than regular people.

We really lucked out. Once again, Hebrew proved to be the universal language, as each of the four times we hit the Kinko's', though the clerk spoke only Spanish, we found a kippah wearer ready to serve as translator.

Friday the rest of our group arrived, and we went to The National Museum of Anthropology, which is lke two, two, two museums in one. On the bottom floor there's the history and archeology of Mexico, particularly the area around Mexico City, with the standard statues, like this one of the rain god

and some non-standard displays, like lots of skeletons. (Mexico City takes its skeletons very seriously)


But upstairs--ah, upstairs is a different world. A fibery world.


A world I could have played in all day, if only they'd have let me into the exhibits, instead of looking at these tools through glass.

Even the socks came along for the ride:

Don't have a cow, man!

Have a bunch of 'em!

In the spirit of the last post

More pictures, this time of Mexico City. They sort of remind me of my last post...



(Click on the link to see individual cows)

These are only some of the cows I shot, and I only shot a fraction of the cows in Mexico City, mainly the ones in the park off Urbina and on the road between the Polcano hotels and the museums.

By popular demand

I feel like I should be quoting Sally Fields.

Since no one posted a hysterical, "no, don't show us," here's what a Moze looks like, complete with orange ribbon, Clapotis, and Holly (which has to go in for alteration--the neck is too big and keeps slipping off my shoulders, so I'll uncrochet it, pull out a dozen or so rows, and crochet it back to the body again).

The beret was my Paris compromise position for when I was out of the 9th district. Within the Jewish area I felt safe and comfortable, so I scarfed it, but walking around the other parts of Paris I looked like a stereotypical American tourist, bad beret styling and all (which came in very handy when we accidentally wound up in an Arab suburb, but that's a story for a different day).

April in Paris

OK, would you settle for March?

The one nice thing about Paris is that it's close to home. Less than 5 hours, and I slept through the entire flight. In retrospect, I wish I hadn't -- it was the last decent airline meal we got until the El-Al flight home. (And when you're calling El-Al economy class meals decent, you know the rest had to be dog food.)

We landed at 5:20, figured our way through the airport (some English signage, and the world's screwiest conveyor belt system--once you get your luggage, everyone waiting for theirs had to back out so you could get out) and headed out of the airport. An Israeli chopper was waiting outside, offering cheap rides to hotels, in Hebrew. So of course we grabbed the bargain (and a bargain it was--30 Euro to our hotel instead of the 50+ a cab would have cost). We warned him we had a lot of lugagge, but still he screwed up, so we ended up getting in a van not with tourists, but with a businessman on his way to work. We got a tour of the Champs-Elysees (and a story of American tourists he had driven around, who wanted only to go to the "Champs Eli-says" -- it became a running joke for us on our return trip to Paris) and then were dropped at our hotel, the Best Western Aida Opera.

It's an interesting hotel. In the heart of the Jewish area of the 9th district, two blocks from the Folies Bergere

and directly across the street from a Tunisian restaurant named--get this--"Chez Bob."

(Forget what he claims, this place is not kosher. No hashgacha, and besides, he was in and out of there all Shabbat, bringing in groceries from the motorcycle he drove up on.)

There's a mezuzah on the front door, and breakfast is kosher. The doors work on keycards, but for Shabbat you can rent a regular door key. The night desk guy closes shop for half an hour to go to maariv, and the vending machine candy is from Israel. Yet until our last day there the second time around, we were the only obvious Jews in the place. Security at the hotel is tight, tighter than here at home: you have to be buzzed into the front door after a visual inspection.

We checked in, rested, ate breakfast, and hit the streets. Our travel agent said we could get anywhere we wanted to go by Metro, but it was a sunny (albeit cold) day, so we walked down to the obelisk at Place de la Concorde


(Oh, should I traumatize you all with a shot of me at the Place de la Concorde, knitwear and all? Vote yes or no in the comments.)

Then we went for a boat ride along the Seine -- The Spouse's choice. I was surprised to see the river much rougher than the sea the Greeks would not sail on.
Of course I took my socks along for the ride.

(Broadripple)

(Jaywalkers)

Both socks really enjoyed their view of an oversized broadcast tower sold to teh world as a tourist attraction. Actually, so did we, once we got off the boat and walked there. The Spouse especially liked this view


We also went to look at Notre Dame, but we didn;t go inside (church and all that, you know.)


And before we dropped for the night, we went to the Arch. Getting across the Champs-Elysees was a hassle, because all the signs were in French, but finally someone donated a clue to us about where the underpass is.


Then a long walk back to our hotel, with a stop at the Galleries Lafayette to look at the Phildar yarn (nothing enthused me -- most of what they had on display was bling, and the needles they had out were standard European sizes, while I was looking for a 3.25 mm, which seems to be more a British/US size).

For dinner we went to Chez Mimi, down the block from where our hotel, and under the supervision of the Beth-Din, one of the reliable hashgachas in Paris.

Yes, I do think it's an unwritten rule that all restaurants must be named after someone. Well, except for Cafe Dizengoff, which has great crepes but whose soup of the day is French Onion Soup--by Osem.

It surprised us that the French seem so unadventurous in their cuisine--it's either French food or North African (except for the fast food places, which are all American-style). Where's the variety I'm used to from the States, or even from Israel? And I'm not just talking the Jewish community; the restaurants we passed in our walks were more of the same.

And on a current note, happy 50th birthday, Spouse-Man!

Next: Hola, Mexico City.

Congratulate me!

My daughter got married.


No, this isn't an April Fool's joke (it's April 2, after all). Yes, this is the Youngest Teen. Yes, we're thrilled with her choice of a life partner.



Oh--did you forget that the next post I *intended* to put up was the Purim post?

Our bat bayit, S, got a wedding gown which was going around the school and asked my daughter to be her "groom" on Purim. Notice how, even though she can borrow her friend's suit, her brother's shirt, and her father's tie and kippah, she still wears her own skirt and work boots. What a formal groom she makes.

The couple got some odd look as they walked around town, but most of my neighbors got into it, singing and dancing for them (including the young couple's former elementary school principal).

We ate, we drank, we partied with the best of them, and then, after the Purim meal, The Spouse and I abandoned the kids to fly to Paris.

Flash Your Stash

Since it's still April 1 somewhere, and since Flickr is now cooperating, I present you -- most of the Mozemen stash. (A few cones of acryclic, a few of cones of ombre Peaches & Creme, a cone of blue metallic, and 2 cones of burgandy weaving warp cotton didn't attend the roll-call, aka pulling the stash from my office/Pesach kitchen):



Nothing special here. Wool and wool blend in the front left, sock yarns in the clear plastic bag and the yellow-topped container, acryclic mainly hidden behind the large empty container and in the big black hangy thingy, cotton and cotton blends in the back right, and metallics in the front right. Best of the bunch: the Noro which is sitting proudly on wools. Source of most of the stash: Goodwill, West Palm Beach.

We interrupt the travelogue

Arab, Dressed as Jewish Hitchhiker, Murders Four

May G-d avenge their murders, and may the Israeli government not wait for G-d to do so.

The Middle Teen is taking the news about Shaked (HY"D) hard, as she knew him, and it's taking her back a few years to when Rachel Gavish (her teacher) and Rachel Shabo (her classmate's mother) were murdered.

Blessed be He who revives the dead

Or at least He who makes The Spouse loan his computer to the poor afflicted blogger whose computer suffers from an unmountable boot disk. (New computer coming from the States April 11.)

So, where was I? Oh, yes, my last day in Athens. (Notice how nicely I am going back in time and not discussing the election results. 63.8% voter turnout is not a mandate for anything but apathy.)

In the morning I had a meeting at the Elpis Hospital, where our experiment will be conducted (in Greece they don't use Institutional Review Boards; instead, you do your experiment under the auspices of a hospital.) My local guide and I took the metro there and back, since it's just at the outskirts of the city. Ever had a meeting where some of the participants did not speak the same language at all? The chief cardiologist, who was crucial to the discussions, spoke no English, and my Greek is limited to "hello" and "yes," which may be crowd-pleasing, but is extremely inefficient. Since the other participants had limited English, it all took much longer than it should have, but by early afternoon I was back in Athens proper and waiting for my next meeting, scheduled for 8:30 pm.

So what does a knitter do with time on her hands? She looks for a yarn store. Undaunted by the fact that the concierge did not know what "yarn" was and only bought a clue when I showed him my sock in progress, I set out to find a yarn store on my own, in a strange city where I did not speak the language.

First I tried Omonia Square
>
then headed down toward Syntagma Square and the Parliament building

(oh, look, it's Jaywalker again!)

(Of course Broadripple is never left behind.)

I finally found the yarn store by stumbling upon the fabric stores, and following the street until the fiber type morphed:
Dimitrios J. Sakalak & Son Ltd.
30 Kolokotroni St.
Athens
210-322-1710
sakalakwool@hol.gr

Lots of European yarns, primarily German. Not a must-see store (nothing local, nothing unusual) but a nice, pleasant place if you're in town and looking for a fix. Credit cards not accepted.

Another not-unusual but none-the-less welcome sight was Starbucks. I'm as little a fan of globalization as anyone else, but after a long day of listening to people around you talk a language you don't understand, and seeing around you a language you can't read, it's nice to settle down to a coffee of the day you can actually speak well enough to order and to hear English, in varying accents, all around. That is, if you can get to the Starbucks, if you survive crossing the street.

Yes, your eyes are not deceiving you--traffic runs backwards (well, correctly if you're British) on Aiogou Street. If you're trying to be like the Greeks and so are jaywalking, this is very important information to have.

At 9:30 I met with the last of my doctors, who took me to the airport. We only got lost twice, but that was OK. My flight was to leave at 1:20 am, and by midnight the check-in counter was still closed. You know things are bad when all the Israelis are in line, ready and waiting…

Next up: Purim!

We're on the road to nowhere

When I came down from the Acropolis I got a call. The weather the next day was supposed to be bad, and the boat I was to take to Alonissos (to meet with George Vithoulkas) might not leave from Agios Konstantinos. Instead, I was to take a KTEL bus to Volos (a 5+ hour trip) and take the boat from there in the morning.


I was supposed, when I arrived in Volos, to find my own way to the port and find myself a hotel room. Good thing Greece is still very patriarchical--The Spouse called the woman I was dealing with in Athens and ordered her to find me a hotel room. After all, the wather was bad, I was in a city I didn't know, and had to navigate in a language I didn't know. She booked me into the Aegli, a nice old fashioned hotel with small bathrooms but nice balconies.


I walked around, bought my tickets for the boat, and woke to a rainy, cold, windy day.
Even the metal seagulls wanted to fly away.


My hotel was across the street from the port, so it was easy to find my boat.


But--after shlepping 5 hours in a stinky, smoke filled bus (it seems like everyone in Greece smokes, man woman, and child) -- the boat from Volos wasn't sailing, either. So back to the KTEL station (sort of a cross between the Tel Aviv Central Bus Station and the old NYC Port Authority terminal) and back to Athens.

But first, a little photo-op for my two prospective Sockpaloooza socks. I'll knit both pairs and send the better of the two out, since my sockpal's measurments are just about the same as mine.

Broadripple against the too broad ripples of the sea:

and Jaywalkers jaywalking across the port road of Volos:


On the way back there was a terrible traffic jam. Why? There were four tank carriers parked on the side of the road.

Greek men must do a year of compulsory army service. So why were a few tanks such a big deal? Ho hum, yawn--I've seen bigger tanks parked on my front lawn.




Next up: Yarn, yarn, yarn.

It's all Greek to me

The trip of a thousand stitched begins with a single bag of yarn.


The Greek are just like Israelis, only more so. Very, very laid back--our flight was boarding at 5:15 for a 6:00 take off, and the gate agents finally strolled up to the gate at 5:45. Then the pilot flew double fast to keep on schedule. At the airport in Athens there were almost no signs telling you where to go, so people stood ont the Passport Control line only to find out that this was passport control for transfer flights, and we had to stand on a different line if we were staying in Athens. At least the luggage came quickly.

My contact person met me at the airport (SMS is a wonderful invention) and took me to my hotel, the Titania on Panepistimiou, then told me to go touring a while, as she had meetings to do.

Consulted my knitting, and it told me--to the Acropolis.


Simple enough--go two blocks to the Metro station, watch what everyone else is doing (buying tickets and putting them through the validation machine) and do the same. Maps in the Metro are in Greek and in English. Take the subway two stops to the Acropolis, get out and--no maps. But when this

is visible, it's pretty obvious where you need to go.

First stop was the Theatre of Dionysos. Since I have a B.A. in Theater, this was exteremly cool. To be somewhere you've learned about and never expected to go...

Then you climb and climb and climb to get to the temples on the top of teh mountain. Remember the ampitheater? Sure you do--it was about 2 lines up. Well, here's how it looks from almost at the top:


What knitting wants, knitting gets. Holly's neck band at the Parthenon:


Next: My big, fat, wasted Greek trip.

What a black hole looks like, part 2

Packing for Paris and Mexico City, plus knitting to be finished--Odessa, Holly, and Glad Raggs.

And this was before I found out that I'm off to Greece at 6am, staying until Friday, then home, Purim, and off again on Tuesday night. Wonder if I'll get a chance to do my laundry between flights...

Knitting coming with me to Greece: Holly, Glad Raggs (both to be finished there) and Broadripple and Jaywalker, one of which will be my Sockpaloooza socks.

I'm supposed to go to the Greek island of Alonissos, but the weather may force the cancellation of the scheduled boat, in which case I'll be stuck in Athens. I'm not sure what to pray for.

The black hole part 1

Where have I disappeared? Knitting (pics tomorrow) for my trip to Paris & Mexico City. And tonight my boss informed me I may have to go to Athens for 2-3 days. Which means that in a period of 7 days I may do 4 transcontinental flights and visit 3 countries, none of whose languages do I speak.

Yipes...

Pride goeth before a frog

Here's the front of my Holly. Isn't she beautiful?


Too bad she's also too small.

If you're going to do a swatch, make it a large one. I was perfectly on gauge for 4", but 1/2 stitch off when doing the whole thing, and stupid me didn't remeasure while knitting.

I've cast on again, this time doing front and back together circularly. I hate finishing.

At least I have my Glad Raggs to keep me happy:


I'm really not sure about this idea of a beaded sock. But that's what this whole 6 Sock thing is about, isn't it, trying new ideas which are outside your comfort zone?

On the road again

Right after Purim (I mean right after--our flight leaves at 1:20 am on Shushan Purim) we're on the road again. And this time, I really could wait to be on the road again. Our detination?

Mexico City via Paris.

No freedom on this trip: the conference organizers have warned the vendors that we must stay in the hotel, stay with the group, and stay quiet, lest we be kidnapped and held for ransom. Gee, what fun. At least we signed up for a tour or three with the rest of the convention.

And Paris. Paris is beginning to scare me. I can read Spanish (though my spoken Spanish is pidgeon at best, and most people speak too fast for me to understand) but French--I can read it, but can't understand or speak a word. OK, so The Spouse can say "I don't speak French" with a great accent (he did study French for 7 years back in the Stone Age), but still. I'm hoping, since we will only leave the 9th district to go to sickeningly touristy places, that we can get by with his semi-French and our English, Hebrew, and Yiddish.

But our French firneds are really scaring us about how we act while there. We're used to living out loud as Jews, and, just for an example, our neighbor who's Parisian and who works in Israel for the French Embassy has told us that it is illegal for me to wear my headscarves and for The Spouse to wear his kippah in public. Say what? Hats are OK, but since we wear them for religious reasons...

So I went through my old hats and found an old beret I haven't worn for ages, still in decent shape. And I have enough of the pink ribbon yarn I used for my tank top to double up in an Odessa. But still. If it weren't that every flight to Europe from Mexico City goes through Paris, and that as is we land in Paris at 2:30 on a Friday afternoon--bleah. So not looking forward to this trip, despite all the knitting I'm getting to do in preparation.

Customer service, take 2

OK, Bezeq gets off the list of "blame it on the customer" enterprises. We have no phone lines in the house save our ADSL internet connection. Called Bezeq to complain and--suprise, surprise--they tell us they know and it'll be a day or two. Seems Arabs stole some of the cabling going into the main regional station at Beit El, and it will take a day or two to replace it.

Well, I guess I'll have time to finish off the back of Holly and start the front...

Acytually, not. I just found out that not only do I need a valid passport to get into Mexico, it has to be valid for 6 months after the date I enter. My US passport won't be, and I always feel safer having at least 2 valid passports with me, so I'm off to the Embassy tomorrow to renew. I'm cutting things close, but with a ticket, they'll get it back to you in 7 working days instead of 3 weeks. True, I only have the Israel/Paris/Israel section ticketed (the Mexico section won't be ready until tomorrow), but that should be good enough. I hope. But knitting needles? In the Embassy? Those folks are worse than TSA, even at Palm Beach International.

Oddly reassuring

There is something oddly reassuring about my newest Firefox extension, the Abe Vigoda status bar.


And something oddly reassuring that I wasn't the only Netvision customer who couldn't blog. From what I was told by the techie who helped me yesterday (may he have lots of love this year, bless his heart), the first tier "support" people have a script, which basically is 14 different ways of telling the customer, "It's not Netvision's fault, it's your fault." I mean, my router wasn't talking to Netvision, and they asked me if I had a screen saver running on one of the laptops wirelessly connected to the system! If you want anything done, you have to keep insisting on talking to a manager, then yell and scream, and then, maybe then, you'll be connected to a real techie. It seems to be an Israeli thing; we get the same run around from the electric company when the lights go out. "Maybe you blew a fuse?" And powered down the entire town? What do they think I have in my house -- the infamous 1965 New York State blow-dryer?

This message was brought to you by Abe Vigoda and customers who are sick of lousy customer service.

Honey, I'm home!

I thought Blogger was never going to let me in again...

Guess who's on-line with a brand-spanking new home wireless network? Yep. And no thanks to The Spouse, who told me a month ago that I couldn't handle it. OK, I probably would have had a difficult time putting the card into the single desktop which needed it, but with help from my ISP's tech support I would have managed. But I did set up the router, troubleshot the connection with my ISP (after a low level tech tried to help us with an email problem by having us screw up our system), and set the computers up as a network. Now I can take my computer into the living room to do a Pilates DVD and not lose my Bittorent downloads!

And why did the tech guy help us, even though it wasn't an ISP issue? Today's Valentine's Day, which in Israel is called the "Day of Love." My Hebrew name translates as "love," and he said it would be bad luck for him to not help me on this day of all days...

Now, why was I so anxious to blog? Look what my SP6 spoilee sent me!

This proves that Rainy is my soul-sister. Deep dark chocolate to bribe The Spouse with, the exact brand of tea that I scoured NYC looking for (the bags are built in such a way that there are no problems using them on the Sabbath) ultra-cool stitch markers (Evil Eye, begone from my knitting!) post-its (everyone knows I'm all about the post-its), the cutest magnet (Lives -- Get one), and Lorna's Laces -- in the flesh. I'm going to make me some anklets. Maybe while I'm off on my next trip?

And check out the postcard which she sent with the package. Because I am the good Katz gone bad.


Go check out Rainy's blog, if only for the funniest description of curling I've ever read.
And lest you think no knitting has been taking place, just because I'm not in the Knitting Olympics, My Debbie Bliss Cashmerino (get *her*, she's throwing around brand names like she always knits with the good stuff. Ha!) sweater -- Holly from the October 2005 Magknits.

Lesson for the day: read each section of the pattern before you try to knit that section. Frog, frog, frog.

Another blog rec: Overheard in New York. A daily must-read, but often NSFW.

Omri Sharon. 9 months in jail. Think this is the start of something? No, neither did I.

The wounded of Amona

From an SMS sent to The Youngest Teen by her friend in the army. I'm not sure how accurate this is, but word-of-mouth figures are all around this ballpark.

Here is a list of the wounded at Amona:

2 boys each blinded in one eye

1 cracked skull

40 suspected to have been rendered infertile

4 girls rendered infertile

3 boys rendered infertile

Pass this on!!

The fears of infertility stem from massive wounds inflicted either thrugh blows to the stomach and the internal organs (for the girls) and to the testicles (for the boys).

Today there was a meeting about the sexual violence employed by the police against female protesters. They were called whores, told to spread their legs, groped, beaten on their chests, stomachs, and between their legs, and told, according to one teenaged girl, "We'll keep on beating you there because you like it. You like having us touch you there." Other girls reported being threatened with rape. I'm no prophet; I hate that my prediction of increased sexual harassment as a police tool is coming true.

Knitting? Oh, yeah, I have knitting. Hopefully tomorrow will be calm so I can post pics.

Couldn't have said it better myself

Treppenwitz on Amona. Read it and weep.

And while the police were busy with other things, an Arab boards a minibus and stabs the passengers, murdering 53 year old Kineret Ben-Shalom. We see that terror issues from the Judenrein Gaza every day, including last Friday. Now we see it's coming out of the Judenrein North Shomron, too. Israel says it will hurt anyone who attaks Israel. Oh, yeah, sure. I'll bet those fliers can give a mean papercut when they land. When are the police going to start bombing outposts with fliers and call it a day?

Meanwhile Israel will continue to finance the Hamas.

And here's a story that doesn't seem to have made the mainstream press: before a local worker came out and brained today's terrorist, enabling his capture, he was shot at by Yeshurun Gavish, whose parents, grandfather, and older brother were murdered in their own home by an Arab terrorist. But, of course, because he's originally from Elon Moreh and moved, after the tragedy, to Kedumim (where his widowed sister-in-law and her mother, Daniella Weiss, took the family in), he must not be praised. Because, as we all know, settlers are "the Jewish Hamas" (at least according to our acting Prime Minister). They are the enemy, and nothing good, nor even anything human, may be said of them.

MIA (the national scene)

Someone put out an APB: After everything that's happened in Israel this week, there's one person who seems to have gone missing.

Anyone knowing the whereabouts of Bibi Netanyahu is requested to contact the nearest Likud branch, or at least issue a press release letting people know he's still involved in Israeli politics, despite his silence.

Run down of Amona stories:

The 15 year old boy who was in critical condition is getting better. He's off the respirator and even talking about his ordeal.

A neighbor of mine, mother to nine children (including a set of triplets and a set of quadruplets) was harassed/molested (you choose which) by the police for protesting. This isn't the first time I've written about the police's choice to use sexual violence as a tool against female settlers.

Here's survivor testimony and video of the police beatings. Watch the videos, and tell me this: a week after the Hamas won the PA elections, largely on the strength of their victory is cleansing Gaza of the infection of a Jewish presence, Israel is cleansing more areas. How much sense does this make?

A modest proposal: Given what seems to be a growing trend with the police, I would suggest someone start a new fund, buying helmets for the teens and bodysuits for all protesters. I'm not joking, either. What would happen to the balance of power if the police's main tools and strength were taken away?

Say a prayer

For the recovery of 15 year old Yechiam (the son of Rachel & Nachi) Ayal, who is in serious-to-critical condition at Haddash Ein Karem. He is unconscious and on a respirator, suffering from a cracked skull. A cracked skull given to him by the police today in Amona.

Oh, what a lovely democracy. In what other democracy would Parliament members be brutalized by the police? Effi Eitam was bloody, but is well enough to be talking to the press. Aryeh Eldad's arm was broken. As much as people complain about Bush's USA, has anyone seen pictures like this

of any US Congressperson?

The only good news of the day is that the 13 year old girl who's been in prison (not in the luxury wing, either--caged with the druggies) because she no longer recognizes the sovereignty of the Israeli system and went into the destroyed community of Sa-Nur after the government said not to, was released!

Some days it doesn't pay to chew through the straps

Another wasted day for the Middle Teen. She went to school, but most classes had been cancelled because the government was again going to be destroying people's homes, this time in Amona. She left school early, because she take aikido class in Jerusalem on Wednesday night, and I called to warn her that civilians are planning to block the main local junction at 4. "That's not the problem," she told me. "The road all the way up is blocked."

Yesterday, on the way home from the doctor (she needed to get a form signed so that she can start driving lessons) she got caught up in a road blocking and hid out in a bus stop to keep from getting arrested. She didn't want to chance it again today, so she called the dojo and they said that, under the circumstances, they wouldn't count this week as a class she needs to pay for. (The school gets a big thumbs up from me on that one!)

While hitch-hikig home she met a neighbor coming home from Amona. She was shuddering and shaking. "It was terrible," E told The Middle Teen. "The worse thing I've ever seen." Now E is no shrinking violet. She's a veteran of Yitzhar, Chevron, Gush Katif, North Shomron, been to jail a few times for road blockages -- and that's just the things *I* know about. If she was so unnerved by what happened today and how it was all carried out, just how bad was it?

When inmates like E take over the country (and it won't be long now, given demographics -- 10 years, maybe 20?) I wouldn't want to be today's "average Israeli." But will the country survive that long?

RIP Amona. We will rebuild you some day.

It's an orgy, and you're invited

An orgy of finishing, that is.

Amazing what you can get done when you're trying not to pay attention to the world falling apart around you, nationally and in your own home.

First we have the Dec/Jan Six Socks, knit in the Grignasco Strong I bought at the Weaving Dept. in St. Louis. (My eternal thanks to Charlene for the yarn/bead crawl--it was the most fun I had on that trip.)



Here you can almost see the shadow illusion hearts:



I think it would have worked out better if I had reveresed the colors, but these were for The Spouse, and two months ago I made him a pair of grey socks.

And for myself, I finished Cinxia!

(Forgive the crap-tatstic shot. But do I get an award for being probably the last knit blogger to do a mirror shot?)

I don't know why so many people (including me) had trouble finishing it. It's really very simple, and it looks good on. I just think it's uninspiring to knit. I have also found out how big a difference the designer's involvement makes in a KAL; I don't think that the sole difference between this KAL and, say, Mariah, is the leaders. (At least I'd like to think not.) Never again will I lead a KAL if the designer isn't interested in at least lurking. I understand the realities of freelancers having to work, but if you have the time to design something, don't you have the time to at least be available to answer questions on your design, if not to actively participate? Look at the support Zib gives Ella, or that Jodi Green gives Mariah. Yet I wouldn't expect support for a printed pattern... I don't know...

MIA

Janjan asked where I've disappeared to.

I got lost here:

and here:


and here:


Nothing's done yet, but my goal is to have clean sticks by the time I leave for my next trip. (Yes, it's in the planning, and no, we're nto sure where exactly we'll be yet.)

There's also been an awful lot of household stress, none of which I may talk about at this point, and national stress. They're rerouting the main roadway through Samaria, and no one, at this point, is telling anyone anything. All three of my teens learn in Jerusalem, which now is a straight shoot down the road (a long shoot, but straight). Next year, who knows? They may have to go through Kfar Saba, which is sort of like getting from NY to Washington via Boston.

The deathwatch continues

Sharon's still on the respirator and drugged. Rumors are flying; I doubt that more than a small percentage thinks this weekend will pass without a death announcement.

Yesterday The Spouse and I went to Tel Aviv, and one kiosk owner (whose lemons we looked at but rejected, because they weren't lemons, they were lemons, as in the lemon laws) started to yell at us, accusing us of killig Sharon. Watch out--my mighty dpns of death may target your favorite world leader next!

And speaking of thing sthat never happened, got this meme from JanJan, who's absolutely the best person to have with you if you plan to rob an archeological site.

If you read this, if your eyes are passing over this right now, even if we don't speak often, please post a comment with a COMPLETELY MADE UP AND FICTIONAL MEMORY OF YOU AND ME.

It can be anything you want--good or bad--BUT IT HAS TO BE FAKE.

When you're finished, post this on your blog and be surprised (or mortified) about what people DON'T ACTUALLY remember about you.

And while you're thinking that over, check out Jen-La's Second Annual Knit Blog Awards. Thanks, ladies (and I use that term loosely. It's such an honor, I'll name myself after your cat. Oh, wait--did that already...

81 days

The prospects for Ariel Sharon are grim. The TV news is saying there are two separate issues: whether he'll live and whether he'll be functional. As for the first, the doctors they've brought on to comment say "maybe," as to the second, "no." Then again Sharon's gotten out of tight spots before.

Either way, it's a pity. I, and other Oranges like me, wanted to see Sharon live a long and healthy life--behind bars. Maybe this is G-d's way of saying he doesn't trust the Israeli system, either.

So now what? Yesterday there were rumors that while Sharon underwent scheduled surgery on his heart President Moshe Katzav would be acting Prime Minister, specially appointed, but since this bleeding happened before, Ehud Olmert is Acting Prime Minister.

According to section 20b the Israeli Basic Laws:

Should the Prime Minister be permanently incapacitated, the Government shall be deemed to have resigned on the 101st day during which the Acting Prime Minister served in his place.

section 15b reads:

(b) Should the Prime Minister be temporarily unable to discharge his duties, his place will be filled by the Acting Prime Minister. After the passage of 100 days upon which the Prime Minister does not resume his duties, the Prime Minister will be deemed permanently unable to exercise his office.

and section 20a reads:

If the Prime Minister dies, the Government shall be deemed to have resigned on the day of his death.

but section 30c reads:

(c) A Prime Minister who has resigned shall continue to carry out his functions pending the constitution of the new Government. If the Prime Minister has died, or is permanently incapacitated, from carrying out his duties, or if his tenure was ended because of an offense, the Government shall designate another of the Ministers who is a member of the Knesset and of the Prime Minister's faction to be Interim Prime Minister pending the constitution of the new Government.

so it might not be as clearcut as it seems.

Like everything else in Israel, the situation is complicated.

Olmert was elected mayor of Jerusalem, I think, more because people were sick of Teddy Kolleck than anything else. Does he stand a chance of getting elected PM on his own? I doubt it. So he may try to inflict as much of his program on the country as he can in the 81 days left before elections.

Politicians may want to watch out for Bibi Netanyahu -- he got elected last time because Rabin was killed, and now that Sharon may die, his chances are getting better. I'm just sayin'...

Someone's looking out for me

Life's been--well, you know that dice game guys in old ganster movies played in back alleys? Yeah, life's been that lately, and will be that way for the next few years. Stupidity is inexcusable, and that's all I'm allowed to say about that.

But in the midst of all this, I got a package from my still Secret Pal (now will you tell me who you are?). This is the final proof that my SP is the absolute best there was in this round.



Aside from the adorable little sheep and more post-its (I'm in post-it heaven!), there's a sock's worth of Fortissima (already claimed by The Middle Teen; we just have to figure out which pattern I'm knitting it up in), two skeins of a lovely alpaca, a larger size of my favorite irredescent dark bead, and a tub of Udderly Smooth. Not only is this a great skin cream, but the directions are hysterical when you're using it for a woman and not its intended bovine:

Wash udder and teat parts thoroughly with clean water before each milking to prevent contamination of milk. Use clean individual towels for this purpose. Apply to the udder after each milking, massaging into the skin. For teat cracks apply in suuficient quantity to fill crack and cover surrounding area. Apply uniformly to chafed area and bruises to maintain skin suppleness. For aid in softening swollen udders following calving, apply liberally twice daily with gentle massage. May be used for chapped or chafed skin. Do not use in or near eyes.

Thnak you, SP. I know this package took a long time to get here, but its timing couldn't have been better.