Now Norma Knits

365. This is IT!

On midnight, December 31, are you going to cease posting every single day? The world wants to know!

Posted by: Mary K. in Rockport
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365, but really 425.  That's number of days in a row blogging. (I did a 60-day warmup leading up to 365, to see if I felt I could keep up the momentum, and apparently I can.)

Fess up Norma! What are you (and the blog) going to be doing the day after tomorrow? 

Posted by: Felicia

I don't know if I'm out of control, I'm on a roll, I simply don't know how to stop, or I'm a train wreck, but I thank and appreciate those of you who come here every day to tune in.

Oh, gosh. Can't people find a hobby?
:D
LX

Posted by: sandy

It's proved to me a fact that I think I already knew, and that I have mentioned before:  That the real hobby here is the blogging itself.

I want to hear more about your personal affairs.

Posted by: Roxie

Not every day's entry is profound.  Most are certainly not.  Not every day is entertaining.  Not every day is enlightening or educational or sincere.  But on the whole, it's been a worthwhile exercise for me, and I hope that this crazy soup of whatever it is you get here has been fun for you. 

In order to maintain your happy life, it is probably necessary for you to continue to post every day. I know that if you did so, you would contribute to my happiness.

Posted by: Adelaide

It's fun (with several exclamation marks) for me.  It's easy and natural.  I'm not sure if it's improved my writing, or whether it's just maintained consistency in exercising the writing muscles, or whether I am just plain an exhibitionist.  I do believe it has improved my powers of observation and my ability to find something interesting in my day, each and every day, to write about.

Never a dull moment 'round here...

Posted by: Vicki

It makes me happy. It never, ever feels like a chore to me. It keeps me from getting down, or even if I am down, to find something worthwhile (I hope) about the "down" to write about: 

I would like to request that your life continue to give you shit. It's so damned entertaining for the rest of us. ~ kmkat

I have immensely enjoyed the comments and emails asking whether I will continue, asking me to please continue, and the fact that if anyone has left, they've left quietly, without telling me I'm a hopeless bore or a self-centered idiot or that they can't stomach me any longer because of the profanity or exhibitionism or Narcissism, or that my blog lacks focus and cohesiveness. 

Oh yes, things could get so much worse. If I had your life I'd burn mine. Oh wait, that isn't how it goes..anyway.

Posted by: margene

The Bloglines subscriptions have decreased.  At one point I was concerned because the number was going down quite precipitously, and it seemed that I was either wearing people out or boring them to death, so they were leaving in droves.  (or so it seemed to the hypersensitive blogger in me)

Obviously you need to go back to the Museum of Sex and make a gift-shop purchase. Or at least line up another massage. ;)

Posted by: Kristen

But the Bloglines number stabilized and has remained constant for what seems like forever (no growth!  What's up with that?  But at least no further losses) and the number of overall readers has increased by quite a substantial number. I'm a bit confused by that, because when I look at some of my peers' blogs who are in the same sort of numbers category as I, I notice that their Bloglines have gone up and up and up, and mine have, at best, remained stagnant.  I know there are several other feedreaders, and the blog can be read through Ravelry, but that would be true for my peers, as well, so that's not the end of the analysis.  I'm not sure what it all means, but I don't spend too much time thinking about it. 

Honey, you always kick ass. Are you going to do another 365? Might be fun for you. I know it would be fun for us.

xo

Posted by: Cookie

One thing that has suffered in this exercise is my ability to respond to comments as religiously as before, and to visit other people's blogs.  I'm sad about that, and I have tried to do better lately.  I think it has less to do with the daily blogging and more to do with what else is going on in my life, which, compared to Martha Stewart or Tina Fey or Oprah is maybe not much, but compared to many other 49-year-old women, I think, is quite a lot.  I appreciate the loyal commenters, and the occasional ones, more than you know.

Oh no. Only a week of Norma-every-day left? But... but I'm hooked! I NEED my fix!

Posted by: Joan 

Ditto on the 365-blogging for 2009. I need my daily dose of Norma AND Sandy.

Posted by: Diane T 

Thank you for the 2008 / 365 blogging! I love it. Would a lot of bribery be needed for a 2009 / 365?

Posted by: Beebs

It is so nice to know you are out there, and that something I have written has touched you in some way -- be it your funny bone, something I've taught you, something you take issue with, or some conversation I've inspired.  Hopefully there is some usefulness, rather than just emptiness and drivel, in at least some of what I write.

I thank you for supporting all the causes I put forth, be it the Red Scarf Project, voting for a book from my author friend (Martin tells me he is hard at work on his next Mrs. Hudson book, which will feature an American femme fatale in honor of me!), saying happy birthday to a friend of mine, voting for a budding soap opera actor, or sending warm clothes for a clothing drive. 

So, the verdict:  Didn't that test I took the other day predict this?  "Relative happiness."

Congratulations on making it to 365! Are you rally going to take a year off from blogging now? Rumor? Who started that rumor? Wasn't me. I had nothing to do with that. And, are you really moving to New York to go back into whatever it was you did in England all those years ago? And what about all those other rumors???? Huh?

Posted by: Dave Daniels |

I don't have a plan, I make no promises, but I foresee myself not being able to get off the track for a while more.  Surely the letters coming out of the keyboard which form words and thoughts cannot pour out infinitely and indefinitely, but for now, I guess you're stuck with me.  Or not.

Someone has to set a bad example.

 
(From Anne Taintor.)

So now I have a Happy New Year's gift to give you.  Leave a comment to this post, and I'll put your name in a drawing for a nice surprise package. I won't tell you just what's in it, but I will guarantee it's good and will include some things from my beautiful native state of Vermont. I will tell you ONE thing that's in it.  Well, I'll give you a hint.

HAPPY NEW YEAR, everyone!

 

364. Sorry, Wrong Number!

So here we are at the penultimate post for Blog 365.  It seems like it should be something profound, eh?  All I've got for you, though, is a series of kvetches.

I'm back home with another week off.  I'm wishing the arms would be pain-free so I could knit, and they are finally making progress, but they're not there yet.  The herbal supplement seems to be working, but it's a subtle improvement, not a magic bullet kind of one.  I saw the chiropractor last night who gave me electric stim, some special stretches to do, and an admonition NOT TO KNIT (bastard).  Apparently I was so mad at him for saying that (or my arms were still twitching so profoundly from the electric stim, and in addition my brain was turned off), that I was later weaving across the center line in my car.  Or so said the police officer who pulled me over. 

TRUE.  But apparently I was so cute and charming myself, that once he smelled my breath and found I was not drinking, he let me on my way. But not before he noticed that my inspection sticker was about to expire in two days.  My gawwwwd!!!  Could anything more go wrong with my day?  At least he did not make me get out of my vehicle on the pothole-filled road to do those manual dexterity tests that I have always heard about -- the ones about which I, a person who practices yoga and who is in pretty damn good shape, have always said, "Who could do that?!"  Seriously, who could stand on the side of the uneven road, in the dark, with a police officer's flashlight in the face, with cars going by and the wind blowing, and hold up his right leg 12 inches off the ground while touching his nose and looking backwards, without swaying?  Honestly?  Who!  Raise your hand if you can even do this on the flat floor of the yoga studio!  Come on.  Raise your hand. 

Who has seen the Reno 911! episode about manual dexterity tests where the woman police officer starts giving jazz dance commands because the big ole fat drunk guy passes all the rest of the dexterity tests, and guy gets them ALL PERFECT?  Oh, I love that show.

Wait, I have more kvetching to do. 

I have another massage scheduled for Wednesday (rescheduled from Saturday because of my spontaneous trip to NYC).  If I'm lucky, I should be ready to knit just in time to go back to work next week.  Sigh.  

I seem to have gotten rid of the woman with creditors calling my BlackBerry number, but now I'm getting wrong numbers with a freakish frequency.  WTF! 

There were three yesterday while I was traveling home from New York City.  Is that even possible?  And they're always these chipper, "Hi, Diane!" or "Hi, Stevie!"  "Hi, Julie!" thrilled-to-hear-your-voice kind of phone calls.  And I go, "WHO?!"  and they say, "This is GAIL!" or something equally thrilling and chipper.  And I go, "Who are you trying to reach?!"  And they go, "Oh, sorry.  Wrong number." 

Bleeding hell.  WHAT is that? Who ARE these people who are supposedly dialing the wrong number and getting my BlackBerry? Why is my number apparently so eminently mis-dialable?!  I believe they are some sort of sales calls, but I don't really know.  They make it sound like they're my long-lost sister.  It's a good thing I am so friendly and good-natured and love people so much, is all I'm saying. In case that was ambiguous, it was intended as sarcasm.  Pfft.

I went out for Chinese food with a couple of colleagues the other day, and this was in my fortune cookie:

Riiiiiiight. Please define good luck, Mr. Fortune. 

It ripped when I was putting it in the scanner.  I figure that's meaningful in some way. And it can't be good.

363. MoSex for the Socks

Abigail and I went to the Upper East Side for some window shopping, to buy some chocolate, and to meet up with her friend Julia (hi, Julia!) for brunch.  We stumbled upon a sweet little place called Caffe Grazie, and it was a wonderful choice.  

Julia is an old friend from Vermont who went to Walnut Hill with Abigail. We shared many a carpool adventure together in those days.  Well, given those girls' chichi education and their penchant for culture (and mine, too, of course), I thought it would be only fitting that we go to a museum for the afternoon.  Debi sent me some gorgeous socks for Hanukkah, and she wrote, "Please don't take a modeled shot of them while walking in the snow like last time.  I don't think my heart can take it."

I thought it might be more to her liking if I took a photo of them in a sedate and cultured setting like a museum in New York City.  

Hmmmm.  Yeahhhhh.

Well, that was interesting.

  

Unlike your average museum, they told me I could take photos anywhere I wanted.  As we were walking in, I said to Julia, "I hope they'll let me do it with the socks."  I was referring to taking photos of ....  you know.... the socks inside the museum.  We had to laugh when we realized what I'd said and how many people heard me.  It's New York, though.  Nobody even skipped a beat.  

You know, it's not as if there weren't some great photo ops, but I don't know.  Once in there, it's a bit hard to focus.  

Some things were downright not appropriate to photograph for the blog, because, you know, we have toddlers sitting on knees, right?  But I did take out the camera a few times, to wit:

Having been an auction-goer for many years, there are so many times when we've been at an auction preview and wondered, "What the hell is this?"  Never in my wildest thoughts would I have gone out on a limb and imagined, "I bet that's a vibrator."  Srsly.  

I cropped this one for modesty.  You'll just have to imagine what is on the end.  OK, fine, I'll tell you:  A big rubber penis.  But I could not resist photographing this in honor of Ms. GodIHopeHer15MinutesIsOver Palin, because it is just so HER.  (Drill baby, drill, right?)  

The suitcase next to it?  Attached to a rubber penis, too. I have no freakin' idea what one is supposed to do with it (OK, I do have an idea. I don't know why I said that.) but it was rather James Bondesque, which I thought was kind of neat. 

There were some other mechanized rubber penis chairs, sort of reminiscent of perverted rocking horses.  They did not make it in the photo.  I lie.  They made it in the photo, but I cropped them out. Really, you're thanking me right now.  They are not pretty.  

Oh, and there was so much more. 

Truly educational.   

The socks thought so, too:

My honest assessment of the Museum of Sex:  If you have an afternoon free with nothing else to do, by all means go, just to satisfy your curiosity about it.  It has some "all right" stuff, and I did learn some things, such as many mammals' (but not humans) penises have bones in them.  Gives a whole new meaning to the word "boner," am I right?  

I was hoping to be shocked.  Stunned.  Amazed.  Titillated.  And more than that, I was hoping for more sex and sexuality as portrayed in art. There was not so much of that, really.  There was a coffee table Picasso book in the bookstore, and a book called "Rear Ends" which made me think of someone, and some cute Museum of Sex souvenir lollipops that I wanted to get, but then I realized they were actually condoms, so I changed my mind.  Heh.  

Rather boring.  Nothing much new, but I would not recommend it for a first date, if ya know what I mean.  The transvestite at the front desk was awesome, though.  So awesome that Abigail and Julia didn't notice he was.  Next I'll probably be getting a comment on this blog or via email from an outraged beautiful dark-haired woman writing: "I am the receptionist who works at the front desk. I am not A TRANSVESTITE, you bitch!"  

362. Travelogue: Spa Saturday

I've distracted Mr. Jefferies with the box to a travel-size toothpaste that JetBlue gave us when we deplaned and Abigail is taking a nap, so I have a few minutes to do a little care and feeding of the blog.  It's been a busy day for us here in the Big Apple, speaking of care and feeding.  You could almost call it Spa New York.  Ish.  

We started by going to a fabulous and tasty "carb-friendly" cafe for breakfast where the menu choices were easy and plentiful for the "I need to lose 10 pounds" me.  I was able to get a fabulous spinach-feta omelet with slices of tomatoes, and we shared a nice bowl of fruit which I chronicle here using all the toys in the fun photo software in Abigail's Christmukkah/Birthday present, a new MacBook (WANT!):  

Look! Healthy!  

Then we took the terrier for a brisk long walk, and he once again secured his status as People Magnet. Guys?  Gals?  Get a Yorkie if you want to meet people.  And despite our best intentions, aside from a lot more walking, this concludes the exercise portion of our Spa Saturday.  We intended to get back to Abigail's gym, where, lucky for me, they are running a "free guests for the month of December" special, but we never made it.   

After that, we went out for a wee little bit of shopping, where I got a little trinket for myself.  It's becoming a "thing," me and the stones and silver, I guess.  I firmly believe you can never have enough natural stones and silver.

Exhibit B:

You might argue that this has nothing to do with the spa theme, but I would argue that, well, shut up.  It's pretty, no?  (And it was a bargain. Honest.)

Lunchtime found us in a fabulous Korean dumpling bar for a delicious, award-winning light and healthy lunch of steamed dumplings.

Onward, we went for mother-daughter chair massages.  I chose 30 minutes on the back and arms.  Abigail chose 10 minutes feet/10 minutes back.  The other 10 minutes we donated to charity or something, since I guess she's on a massage diet.  I don't get it, either.  What is she, some sort of martyr?  Whatever.

We followed the massages with a light and refreshing -- and might I emphasize healthy -- frozen pomegranate yogurt with live and active cultures and fresh fruit topping.  Delicious!  And healthy!  Please note the healthy.  

Then naps.  Every spa day needs a nap.

Then amaretto (for me) and dessert for both of us*, which one might have to make a little bit of a stretch to fit into the spa theme, but work with me here. 

*Heavenly Chocolate Cake for me and 20-Layer Crepe Cake for her. Worth every evil calorie, and then some.  I highly recommend this place.  We did not know it also serves dinner, as it's billed as a "wine and chocolate bar," but we discovered it has a wonderful menu.  Probably going back there for dinner tomorrow (or tonight, as you read this).

It's a good thing we did the Empire State Building the other night, because last night it was completely shrouded in fog.  And where have all the New Yorkers gone?  And where are all the tourists?  Restaurants are closing early all over the place, and there seems to be nobody around.  It seems a bit eerie.  

 

361. Yelp! I've Been Kidnapped by the Yorkshire Terrierist!

With 20 minutes to spare yesterday, the spontaneous -- some might say impetuous -- action was taken to purchase a JetBlue ticket (the last seat on the plane!), pack a bag, shower (in that order) and speed to the airport to accompany Abigail and Mr. Jefferies back home to New York.  OR it could be that I have been kidnapped.  By the most terrierful terrier of all.  He demands steak and kidney pie and Yorkshire pudding, and perhaps I will be released to go back home on Monday.  

Meanwhile, Abigail and I are having a fun mother-daughter weekend, and Mr. Jefferies is busy setting about to charm the pants off everybody he meets.  Our seatmate on the way down was a Cuban American who was heading home to L.A. after his dream trip to Vermont to experience his first white Christmas (we Vermonters very kindly obliged).  He is a huge dog lover, and when we took the two seats next to him, he gave a huge thumbs up.  He said he had seen Mr. Jefferies in the airport and missed his dogs, but he had also seen many families with -- and he delivered this line the same way I might -- with [shudder] kids.  He was assuming and dreading that -- horror or horrors -- that some of those [gack] kids would be seated next to him. Instead he got the pleasure of our company and Mr. Jefferies'.  

When we got to New York, Abigail and I took Mr. Jefferies for a walk to the dog park.  That dog continues to amaze me.   He's such a smart little son-of-a-gun.  He's only six months old, and he is already seemingly well seasoned as a little walker -- not intimidated by people or big vehicles or loud noises, walks along like a little pro, knows to stop at curbs and take cues for starting up again at the white walk light.  He knows his street and likes to sprint the final two blocks, knows his building, and when let off the elevator, he knows exactly which door is his.  Sharp as a little whip.

Santa brought him a new red sweater, and he wore it on the walk.  With that sweater on, he brings coos and smiles from almost every New Yorker we meet.  

The guy has quite a lot of power and quite a lot of clout.  I'm actually not sure steak and kidney pie and Yorkshire pudding will be enough.  

Mr. Jefferies in his native environment:

After we exhausted the little guy, Abigail and I set about to exhaust ourselves.  We went to the gym, then out to dinner, then ended the day with a trip to the top of the Empire State Building.  It's right in her neighborhood, and it's a shame that we've only just walked past it.  Last night was THE perfect night for going to the top -- the crowds were low, and the temperature was brisk but not terribly freezing.  The city-lights-studded clear view was just wonderful, the skaters at Rockefeller Center looked like swarming fleas, and though it had started to rain on the street level, it was spitting snow at the top, which added a magical quality to it.  I was only pissed off by people once -- when a group of beautiful Italians were afraid to go through the revolving door and held me up from getting through myself.  (Pretty good for me -- only pissed off at people once? Excellent.  More proof that my therapy worked -- or not.) 

Abigail wouldn't let me buy the cheesy tourist photo they took of us.  Spoil sport.  

360. Relatively Conducive to Happiness

Good news: your lifestyle is relatively conducive to happiness! Congratulations, and feel free to read any resources that pertain to any areas of your life where your happiness can be increased.

These are the results of a "happiness test" I took, after I followed a link that came up in gmail. And try as I might, I cannot relocate it to link you to it, damn it. Sorry. 

As with much of psychology (and I say this as a successful "graduate" of good psychotherapy, which sadly is an oxymoron most of the time) this test is useless, and it just kills me, because the highest choice is "sort of."  The lowest choice is .... yes, "sort of," and the test is just so damn easy to manipulate.  I wanted to manipulate it to, "I'm ecstatic," but since the choices are all so gray, and not a bright light or a dark-and-gloomy-of-night in the bunch, it was clear that the result was going to be "quite good." Mediocrity at its finest. 

My answers to most of the questions, thankfully, would have been "very happy."  Too bad that wasn't a choice. Each question had two answers, one slightly above the midline and one slightly below, and often neither answer hit the mark. Stupid waste of time.  I'm rather sort of relatively unhappyish with that test, but can genuinely say that I'm more than relatively happy with my life. And what a hoot -- these people wanted you to buy something and/or subscribe to their newsletter. 

Imagine getting those boring, gray newsletters in the inbox every day?  How depressing.  Even more depressing (well, maybe not) than those crap inspirational emails that people like to forward (please do NOT do it, and if you are doing it, please STOP forthwith!).  Give me sarcasm, smartassery and UNinspiration, or give me death!

After I bought those Christmas cards the other day and discovered the Anne Taintor site, I had so much fun perusing it yesterday.  My new favorite saying is, "There was nothing passive about her aggression."

Or is it, "Honey, you couldn't handle half of me."  

Or how about, "Of course, it would have to look like an accident."

Or maybe...."She could see no good reason to act her age."

I'm really having such trouble choosing a favorite, but maybe it's, "Nothing says 'hello sailor' quite like ruby red lipstick."

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This should probably be a New Year's post, but why wait for a special occasion to have a kickass attitude? 

Hope you all had lovely holidays!  Can you believe there is less than a week left to Blog 365?!  We have kicked some blog-posting ass, for sure. 

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359. Ho Ho Ho

 

Cute card from Anne Taintor, Inc.

358. Puppy-Roo

(Sorry so dark and blurry. One cannot use the flash in these mirror self-portraits, and the light in that hallway is really quite crappy.)

I am going to be a hopeless pushover as a grandmother.  And I'd better keep on working at a well paying job, too.  Whenever Mr. Jefferies comes to town, I seem to spend a lot of money.  Yesterday I got him a front-carrying pouch, among other things. 

"OMG, I love this, Grandma!" he said.  "Carry me around in this, and I will behave all.the.time. I promise!" 

And he did.  It was as if I had given him valium. Totally.blissed.out.  Vincent wouldn't have stood for this sort of thing in a million years, but Mr. Jefferies was made for it. I bought something like this for Vincent when he had his bum leg, and he rejected it heartily.  I later gave it to the Salvation Army, but Mr. J. took to it like a frog to a bog.  I cooked some dinner with him in there, and he was 100% well behaved -- just stayed there and took everything in.  He'd look up at me from time to time with that super-sweet, adoring "I love you" look, like I had just sent him directly into Heaven and he would be quite happy staying there 'til the end of time.

So Mr. J. has already had a very merry Christmas.  I think his parents are going to enjoy this item a lot, too.  I also got him some nail clippers that have a quick-detector to prevent accidental too-short clippings, a new sweater, and grooming scissors. 

He is wicked cute.

I'm very unhappy about the tendinitis which does not seem to be getting any better.  I didn't even think it was an ambitious goal to think that my Marta sweater would be done by and worn on Christmas.  I'm bummin'.  A moment ago, I thought, "I'd give my right arm if I could knit during this break."  Then I had to laugh at the absurdity of that thought.  Think about it.  Heh. 

And for some serious laughing, I give you this:  Betsy B. sent a link to me yesterday. If you love Robin Williams the way I love Robin Williams, well...here, have a look:

357. Favorite Things

I love my handblown cobalt glass oil lamps.  I don't remember when and where I got them, but they are two of my favorite things.

I filled them up with oil (more accurately, liquid paraffin) yesterday, lit them, and enjoyed their warm glow the whole day. 

Abigail (my FAVORITE favorite!) came home in time for dinner, and it was about to be served:  One of her favorite meals -- spinach-ricotta pie (I made it without crust and with some extras:  baby Bella mushrooms, loads of garlic, feta cheese, and red peppers. It only vaguely resembles the original one I used to make from the Moosewood cookbook.) and a salad of Romaine, red cabbage and celery with maple-balsamic dressing. During most of her growing-up years ours was a vegetarian household, so these are her comfort foods and what she wants to see on the table when she comes home.

Mr. Jefferies is more adorable than ever.  He has matured and calmed down quite a bit.  Sweet!  He's a favorite. 

Saturday morning at 6 a.m. found me brushing a foot of snow off my car and standing in a foot of snow while doing it, in my 8-inch-tall boots. Snow filled in over the tops of them, which kept my feet wet and refrigerated for the entirety of my Saturday event. I knew I had to go shopping for some tall boots.  I lucked out at a local "chain."  I got these sexay boots in dark brown for $100.  They are amazingly comfortable and walkable, and though I would have preferred slightly less of a heel and slightly more of a Goodyear-type tread to insure against falling on the icy pavement I often traverse, nobody seems to make exactly the boots I have in my imagination. (Actually, I did find some somewhere online a couple weeks ago for Way Too Much Money.)  I'm thrilled that I could score these for "one bill."  These won't keep my feet toasty if I'm outside when it's -10 Fahrenheit, but they are perfect for wearing to work -- moderately warm without being sweaty, and very good-looking.  I think they are destined to become favorites.

  

356. Dinner and a Knitting Lesson

New knitters! 

Ally and Jeremy braved yesterday's snowmaggeddon to come over for eggnog, dinner, cookies, and a knitting lesson. 

Ally took to it right away, and instantly started knitting Continental.  I didn't start her on anything simple, either -- she's doing knitting, purling, knitting in the round, and a small project on small needles -- she's doing one of those little mitten ornaments. 

I gave her these for Christmas, and now she's making some for her mom. 

Jeremy.  Well, Jeremy was giving it the old college try, but his best quotable quote after he ripped and restarted several times, then got three rows of a mini scarf done:  "Now I understand why you haven't finished my blanket."  (Ally crochets and is crocheting him a blanket.)  But he's gonna keep trying; I know he's too much of a man to give up so easily! 

Studies in Concentration:

A totally fun evening, and she FINISHED!  Look at her adorable mitten: