Hi There

How's it going? I'm finally back to my regularly scheduled programming, after The Boy's annual bout of Fall Plague. Actually, I should probably call it his Autumn Ague, as the whole thing is mostly a few days' worth of fever with a little coughing thrown in for fun. So, yes! Autumn Ague, it is. I do love me some alliteration.

Anyway, I spent the week up to this point working abbreviated days, spending mornings and late afternoons nursing The Boy, taking his temperature, plying him with juice, and creating tempting little snacks to get His Majesty to nibble his way back to good health. That, and making sure he kept up with all his homework. I'm quite spoiled from working essentially part-time over the last three days. How great would life be if I could have my same salary and benefits but only have to work 10-2 every day? Sigh. That would be the life.

I did take The Boy for a brief outing on Tuesday, so he could get some books from school, and I caved into his pleas to stop at the AT&T store. It was time to renew my contract, you see, which meant that I could upgrade to a new phone. He was dying for a chance to help shop for the new phone, and I figured it wouldn't kill him. I ended up getting a Motorola Karma, and I think I love it.

It slides open to reveal a full keyboard, which I really like, and when it's closed it's all chunky and sturdy and square, JUST LIKE ME. We were meant for each other!

I'm still learning how to work with it, but it's pretty intuitive. Its camera has many more features than my old phone, so I have high hopes for it. Here are two shots of the shawl I'm working on, which I think looks like a stingray.


Can those holes down the middle be considered lace? Lacy? Lace-ish? I like to tell myself they can. My sister wants me to give the shawl to her when it's finished. She has visions of wrapping up in at work to ward off the cold in her office. We'll see. I kind of maybe want to keep it.

I also think I want to keep the library book I'm reading, Rage Against the Meshugenah: Why it Takes Balls to Go Nuts, about a youngish Jewish father who finds himself in the throes of clinical depression. First of all, how can you not want to read a book with a title like that? And second, it's interesting to read about depression from a male's point of view, since it's not often revealed or talked about. I'm pretty sure C dealt with depression in the time leading up to his coming out, and then during the aftermath of our separation and divorce, but that's the only concrete example I know of. (Plus, I have to admit that the Hurt and Bitter Shirty Within reveled in his unhappiness at the time. I mean, he was making me get divorced! He was making our son a Child of Divorce! He deserved it! Ahem.)

Another reason that I like this book so much--aside from the fact that it's honest and funny and very nicely written, I mean--is that I have a Jew Fetish. I have wanted to be Jewish since around third grade, when I first started reading Judy Blume--especially Starring Sally J. Freedman as Herself. I wanted to speak Yiddish. I wanted neurotic family members. I wanted an ancestry that was linked to the Holocaust.

I grew up enough to be grateful that my ancestors weren't persecuted, but the appeals of Jewish families never left me. I didn't want to be Orthodox or keep kosher or anything, but I was always drawn to it. C and I went to Israel for his spring break during his law school term in London, and I sat with my toes in the Red Sea and was stunned to think that it was Moses' Red Sea. I fell further in love when a close friend converted and asked me to be a bridesmaid in her wedding. I loved everything about that from the the Chupah and breaking the glass to the signing of the ketubah and the chair dance. Oh, that chair dance! And then C and I moved back to Pittsburgh to have The Boy, and eventually sent him to the pre-school we liked best, which just so happened to be at our local Jewish Community Center. Those people were like a family to us, and The Boy made some of his best friends there. Granted, he was the kid at the pre-school who taught all the other kids to sing Up on the Housetop, his favorite Christmas song, but no one minded, and everyone loved him.

We've been through Jewish summer camps, Purims, and sedars, and we've eaten in a suka at Sukot. I know what a shofar is. I'm pretty sure I can still count to ten in Hebrew. I love the traditions and the emphasis on family, I love latkes, bagels, and kugel, and . . . pretty much the whole deal (though I've never been in love with Woody Allen--Annie Hall, sure, but that had more to do with Diane Keaton).

I was buying The Boy new soccer socks at our local non-big-box soccer store last Friday, and when two boys came in and wished me, "Good Shabbos," I was thrilled.

I am a Judeophile. But I can't convert: I'm not religious enough to even know what I believe, and I know many Jews who feel the same way, but the thought of converting just feels wrong. I mean, what's a formerly Catholic girl to do about Jesus, for one thing?

Wow. How did I start writing about books and end up coming out of this particular closet? L'chaim!

Hoggy, Warty

The Boy wanted me to knit something for him, and truly, I've been wanting to make him something for a long time. He's my favorite person--how could I not want to make him something more permanent than dinner and an endless stream of chocolate chip cookies? Anyway, it wasn't easy: He will not wear sweaters. He will not wear hats. I CANNOT make socks. What's left? A scarf, of course. He asked for a Harry Potter-style scarf in the design from the early movies, but he wanted it to be in his school's colors (because my kid LOVES his school more than any other kid I've ever known). It is perhaps unfortunate that his school's colors are purple and gold, but here is the finished Hogwarts scarf.




It's longer than he is tall, and it's soft and woolly as all get-out. He can't wait for it to be cold enough to wear it, and . . . I feel the same way.

I'm watching my nephew tonight, and he's clamoring for his own version of the scarf now, so I promised to take him to the yarn store tomorrow so he can choose his colors. But I'll be holding on to his until Christmas. I'm no dummy.

Are You Ready for Some Football?

It has been the most beautiful week in the history of Western Pennsylvania. The days are sunny and in the high 70s, and the nights are chilly, in the high 40s or low 50s. I don't know what we did to deserve this, and I'm certain it won't last, but I can't tell you how much I appreciate it. Especially since I've spent some good time out in it. Like last Saturday, when P and I went to a Steelers game.

Yes! P and I (two bookish, librarian, Monk-type women with panic and anxiety issues galore) dressed up in black and gold (I had to give her a shirt, because even though she's lived here for like five years now, she didn't have one) and made our way to Hienz Field to partake in that most religious of all Pittsburgh experiences: Steelers Football.

It was so much fun! We parked Downtown in the Cultural District (for only $5!) and walked across the Allegheny River on the Clemente Bridge. Once across, we were able to walk to the stadium along the river, feeling like poor white trash relatives gaping at all the fancy boats parked (moored? docked?) in neat lines. The boat owners were picnicking and posing and playing, all decked out in Steelers regalia, all waiting to wander over to their most excellent seats in the stadium. P and I weren't invited to join any of the richies, so we headed into the stadium an hour before we were allowed up to our seats.

We found a place in the shade to hang out with our soft pretzels and enormous Cokes, and we watched the fans mill around. There were kids and families everywhere, which was kind of nice to see despite the fact that there was no way you could have paid me to bring a kid in diapers to a football game. I shopped a little, and found a non-scary garden gnome, Steeler-fied in black and gold and holding a little thing showing all six Super Bowl titles. You may not want it. I do not want it. She, however, will LOVE IT.


There wasn't just shopping and eating and watching rich people, oh no. There was, um, stretching!
(This is in no way homoerotic, is it?)

There were large rich men milling about.


There were beautiful views of my pretty little city.


There was the ceremonial pouring of electronic ketchup whenever our offense entered the Heinz Ketchup Red Zone (I know this is a bad photo, but you get the idea).


And, oh . . . there was football!



Of course, P and I being who we are, there were books (we were afraid we wouldn't be allowed in the stadium with needles, so there was no knitting).


We ended up not having much time to read, but it's better to always be prepared. I got in a little reading at half-time, as I had no interest in watching the people from United Way "kick-off" their fund-raising season. P headed for the restrooms, but I stayed put with Lily Bard.


The Steelers won, but it would have been a fabulous outing even if they hadn't. I'm not crazy about crowds, but this was a great one. I can't remember the last time I had so much fun!

And in other news having nothing to do with football, I gave my sister her hot water bottle cover. She knew what it was immediately, even though I'd wrapped it in a tiny shirt box and made every effort to confuse her with what should have appeared to be a sweater for a tiny dog. She's already used it, and reported that it's comfy, cozy, and most excellent. Yay!


I still have to finish The Boy's Hogwarts scarf (I had to buy two more skeins of both of the colors, because the original two weren't enough to make it as long as it should be), and I'm nearly half-way through a scarf for C, The Boy's dad. This one is knitted long-ways--I used a crochet cast-on onto a 40" circular needle--so the stripes run lengthwise. I can't wait to see the final product--I think it's going to be really nice.

And . . . that's it. I should get back to work.