tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19208605267389691652024-03-19T04:46:55.281-04:00Cup on the BusJoanne Noragonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09834682329952369721noreply@blogger.comBlogger1899125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1920860526738969165.post-1737254412722870382024-03-16T11:48:00.001-04:002024-03-16T11:48:35.522-04:00The new Instagram<p><span style="font-size: large;">I decided to get with the times and be back on Instagram. The last time I used it, three or four years ago, it was clumsy and inappropriate for me. It didn't go with my flow. As I remember, I had to post a picture from my phone and go back with my computer to leave any text. That is because I am not a phone typer. In fact, any type lettering on my phone occurs via my spoken voice.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">First I asked the internet how to be rid of some of those old photos. That was a piece of cake. I did it via my PC no less. And all the new photos went up the same way. Somehow people are notified, or else just find new stuff they follow, the same as scrolling through Facebook every day, or whenever.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">The biggest change I saw is that the whole platform now resembles Facebook. There is a menu down the side to select a way to look at Instagram. Not so great, in my opinion, are all the ads in the "Home" section. That's like FB, and worse. I'll have to read how to get rid of them. Well, for better or worse, I'm back on Instagram, for my weaving. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">And that is to the end of the line. I'm amusing myself, seeing how many inches I can get from one thread. You remember the mess I left myself to work with.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdghhCwQuZj2J2IG9MRUylERkuaTxuYx3QPF5D-q1NcycBpLIjSowQO9zH0QC2bdJCc-pksIjXxJ3Q5mkEkmAlTw5v6P2vGXIkG5oD4Eg1oIg3m04rTtSHMvdzqgKm7fksPKN_V8ymyzkMsqLFd2iM8Z8_qZ-A9AZgGmAPeMF6nlgWtUNJ01BAYT59YKIo/s4032/PXL_20240316_135356560.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdghhCwQuZj2J2IG9MRUylERkuaTxuYx3QPF5D-q1NcycBpLIjSowQO9zH0QC2bdJCc-pksIjXxJ3Q5mkEkmAlTw5v6P2vGXIkG5oD4Eg1oIg3m04rTtSHMvdzqgKm7fksPKN_V8ymyzkMsqLFd2iM8Z8_qZ-A9AZgGmAPeMF6nlgWtUNJ01BAYT59YKIo/w400-h300/PXL_20240316_135356560.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />On the left are a couple of "full" bouts, taped down so they don't fly away. To the right are some of the central bouts I was weaving from. They are close to gone. Down to bare wood are the tail end of a bout I'm both chaining off and weaving from, and a bout that I cut away, except the one thread I am using. There seem to be four turns left, but a lot of that length is "loom waste"; the distance from the tie on cord, over the back beam, through the heddles, etc. I have an eighty inch long scarf woven so far, and I think there will be about ten more inches.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">And just so you know I have a real life, here is Rose, as the two geriatric ladies embark on another outing.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKIz7FE9TNmKG4u8WAh8RUF8ZUDoVyD10iv2kWYlU0Md6Lyf3AKlIuogAFrETKeGPMSzSR06OTDR6zYL4RJc4LSzNFYT6wLM5wkaEIo-9Q3jV7hpEorip2tDNepIxMYaJYoGM0QnVU3ECAyNmtz3PH8-h1GSDa-zN6RQfc0DjiCT7RKszGz1u_Nlsfw9Eg/s3575/PXL_20240314_163649996.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3575" data-original-width="2944" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKIz7FE9TNmKG4u8WAh8RUF8ZUDoVyD10iv2kWYlU0Md6Lyf3AKlIuogAFrETKeGPMSzSR06OTDR6zYL4RJc4LSzNFYT6wLM5wkaEIo-9Q3jV7hpEorip2tDNepIxMYaJYoGM0QnVU3ECAyNmtz3PH8-h1GSDa-zN6RQfc0DjiCT7RKszGz1u_Nlsfw9Eg/w330-h400/PXL_20240314_163649996.jpg" width="330" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />Next time I'll have her take the picture, so you know we both went.</span><p></p>Joanne Noragonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16601010208310707750noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1920860526738969165.post-23800124987392705142024-03-10T12:51:00.002-04:002024-03-10T12:53:13.092-04:00Snow, Snow<p><span style="font-size: large;">Welcome to March and Daylight Savings. After two lovely weeks of spring, we are back to winter and snow. The snow actually began early this morning and has been accumulating the last hour or two.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFRfIglcAkbz0GGCtIF4-Sy3Gcpb23RCwX-MxSwjgPsJl3c01n4YZZbA1URbJza-VFk0JRpP72h5nKUMNK30RZVC5FrJikO_YASopr6Pvxi21-OzfFnibEWqgBgXV0gScNh4oRDNRpKFp8nTbecIGcsHodah3CoEG9DUtfso36GVvecFgyi7Y6NXsuwGio/s4002/PXL_20240310_133441423.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4002" data-original-width="2874" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFRfIglcAkbz0GGCtIF4-Sy3Gcpb23RCwX-MxSwjgPsJl3c01n4YZZbA1URbJza-VFk0JRpP72h5nKUMNK30RZVC5FrJikO_YASopr6Pvxi21-OzfFnibEWqgBgXV0gScNh4oRDNRpKFp8nTbecIGcsHodah3CoEG9DUtfso36GVvecFgyi7Y6NXsuwGio/w288-h400/PXL_20240310_133441423.jpg" width="288" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><span>This was on my way to breakfast; not too bad. It's really snowing now.</span></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I understand those arbor vitae used to be kept trimmed. They have grown to an impenetrable wall ahead of three exit doors for suites down there. They are a sparrow condominium now and sparrows are always flitting. I can see one because I know it is there.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">On the way to supper last night, I saw a hawk on the concrete barrier, looking down on all the activity. I've seen him (or a close relative) keeping watch from one of the chair backs. I startled last night's hawk by reaching for my phone, and he left. Maybe next time.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I very cleverly got involved last night in beating my game of Mahjongg, and didn't get to the clocks and bed until eleven. I am still one wall clock behind. It will be awhile until it is changed.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Here is another thing I intended to mention at the time. My new model, Helyn. There have been several Helyn's over the years. The first was a wicker head, woven by my sister, for the purpose of displaying the caps she sewed from our handwoven fabric. The model was from the armpits up, and so resembled our sister-in-law Helyn that the name just fastened itself.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXoCpfCSTHb_D-U-EZ5it4yufk1BkgCjitq02uN6JdVbov1dIKn6reLDVSp524_8uYKtQ62cwKnJdjsekA9zGI6nw6oZLj7B9sJ4xI1DdNxpAEx0mA8qXp1K_1Wa4ovg9YiJn1IPmL_FH7mv47iPhidradRvMupGinDEf3Zqy3B4e_P4ObyeK5NxcrBSXn/s3843/PXL_20240304_182802636%20(2).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3843" data-original-width="2691" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXoCpfCSTHb_D-U-EZ5it4yufk1BkgCjitq02uN6JdVbov1dIKn6reLDVSp524_8uYKtQ62cwKnJdjsekA9zGI6nw6oZLj7B9sJ4xI1DdNxpAEx0mA8qXp1K_1Wa4ovg9YiJn1IPmL_FH7mv47iPhidradRvMupGinDEf3Zqy3B4e_P4ObyeK5NxcrBSXn/w280-h400/PXL_20240304_182802636%20(2).jpg" width="280" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />Then I had a real dressmakers model, and of course we named her Helyn. I left her at <i><a href="https://riverlightgallery.com/">RiverLight</a></i> when I began weaving towels rather than clothes. I wasn't about to invest in a new model, for no other reason than space, or lack of. I relieved the cafeteria of a plate and fastened it at 5'4" on my spool rack, exactly as tall as I used to be. Some day I'll ask Jan to give her a face. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">This week was not stellar for weaving. I am almost finished with a leaf green scarf, probably the length of the rose scarf pictured. Probably one more leaf green scarf of undetermined length and the warp will be finished. I'll thread up for Whig Rose.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Kitty fell asleep with her rainbow snake in her claws:</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh91-_qXef8dCsXNhb3WOvPKFLmO92pFe7Q5SyGV3IH32i6-d9Do6oMyy1t039brPK1fmkd7di-u0mS_6eZ49KPdmBZu6UPTITtjPah8z1XdUuInFf5mfnwJ9L7-OFEP9C5PCpFZ4Kh2UrMBi0ed7x5OhlEIhvIgXcABJzfvIc7rsLB2B48PUTs8L7GhLmT/s3024/PXL_20240310_154523782.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="3012" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh91-_qXef8dCsXNhb3WOvPKFLmO92pFe7Q5SyGV3IH32i6-d9Do6oMyy1t039brPK1fmkd7di-u0mS_6eZ49KPdmBZu6UPTITtjPah8z1XdUuInFf5mfnwJ9L7-OFEP9C5PCpFZ4Kh2UrMBi0ed7x5OhlEIhvIgXcABJzfvIc7rsLB2B48PUTs8L7GhLmT/w399-h400/PXL_20240310_154523782.jpg" width="399" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><span>And I'm listening to a great book, "A Stone is Most Precious Where it Belongs", <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/en/book/show/61173577">Gulchera Hoja</a>. I linked her to the GoodReads review, last year. Ms. Hoja is a Uyghur, in what is currently East Turkestan. It is not a fun read, but compelling. I am crying and listening and weaving. I don't want to add writing to the list, so I'll just recommend it to you.</span></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p>Joanne Noragonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16601010208310707750noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1920860526738969165.post-9775435185330120832024-03-02T11:07:00.001-05:002024-03-02T11:07:40.480-05:00Happy, happy good news<p><span style="font-size: large;">I asked Betty to bring her new hearing aids to breakfast and let me help her get them situated. That was a week ago, Thursday or Friday. She presented the box with a tangled mass of cord and charger. Such a mess that my hope was low.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">First I extracted the instruction book and gave it a read. Very like my own pair, except scaled back. Turn them on, put them on and you will hear more, better. Take them off at night, turn them off and park in the charger. Except I found no instructions to turn them off. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, so I forged on.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I pressed the on/off button. The miniscule button! It turns green to indicate "ON", but is completely covered by the thumb. I used my fingernail to see if the device was turned on. I wound up placing it on her ear, she pushed it into her ear. We used the same method for the other ear.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Someone suggested doing it again, for practice. I vetoed that at once, and Betty agreed completely. There was tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow at breakfast for that. I was more interested in watching Betty adjust to a new world.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Even a week later I cannot write about the event with dry eyes. It was a new Betty and I told her over and over how happy I was. She could hear and participate, and what an articulate, animated woman we had with us. She wanted to know what I found so different about her. I said I didn't have to face her to talk to her, I didn't have to raise my voice and repeat myself.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">"And I thought I had you all fooled," she said.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbjQUQZ6ZVCTxQhUYzwBlnOFIXdqw2h_jV7QC-jdvfoff2U9GzlKbOs4vLX9cJWx3sI_Mg9Sts56Tk5pLSLZ37zQNI77IWwiqrwIj633ZocFlU2G6CI81fbimt_bKN-VvaTMBNfyGpJjLKMKQMVnv1r18rE-FCW-Yon3Lm2Xl-DLkqAYk-sDmTNbfxE6N2/s2695/PXL_20240229_184125790.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2170" data-original-width="2695" height="323" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbjQUQZ6ZVCTxQhUYzwBlnOFIXdqw2h_jV7QC-jdvfoff2U9GzlKbOs4vLX9cJWx3sI_Mg9Sts56Tk5pLSLZ37zQNI77IWwiqrwIj633ZocFlU2G6CI81fbimt_bKN-VvaTMBNfyGpJjLKMKQMVnv1r18rE-FCW-Yon3Lm2Xl-DLkqAYk-sDmTNbfxE6N2/w400-h323/PXL_20240229_184125790.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><p><span style="font-size: large;">And on to my project for the weekend and next week: scarves on the website.</span></p><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">There are two new scarves on the sewing table waiting for hems. That will come next, after this bit of writing. Yesterday I tackled the web page. It came so easily, and after three or four hours I was mostly satisfied with the first page and ready to move on to the second.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Except, I could not find the second page! I tried all that I could "intuitively" bring to the project, including deleting some things I tried and had to get rid of. So, last resort, I will wait until Tuesday, when Blake is coming to help me.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I have so much else to do, the page can wait. I must photograph and describe the scarves I have finished. Then there is a little inventory problem I'm wrestling with. My towels were identified by color; past that they were identical. Each scarf is individual.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Personally I am offended by including an obvious inventory number with each scarf, but I have not come up yet with an alternative method. So for now they will be identified as The First Scarf, The Second Scarf, and so on.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">One of my followers, Margaret Butterworth, in Australia, wonders if I could find a model, so people can see scarves modeled on someone. That is a great idea that has never worked so well for me. Back when I used a professional photographer, he used a professional model. I attempted the same with a friend, but it was less successful. Neither of us knew exactly what to do. So I'm still pondering this bit.</span></p>Joanne Noragonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16601010208310707750noreply@blogger.com31tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1920860526738969165.post-75986603737564033102024-02-26T19:42:00.000-05:002024-02-26T19:42:51.624-05:00Missing in action, again<p> <span style="font-size: large;">I haven't been around much lately. I've been much in the real world of chores and meals and dratted exercise classes, but also in some nether world of imagining up my new web site and the fun world of sitting at the loom, weaving.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Much of the business of photographing my new work is thought out. We don't always consider how new things require new methods. I can put several photos up for each new scarf I weave, but the method must be thought through.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Over the weekend Beth helped me put up a rod for hanging a scarf. There is always the top view I used for towels. And today I saw a photo that I can adapt, with a little cooperation from Kitty. I saw a scarf rumpled up atop a drop leaf table, and its pattern end hanging against the vertical drop. Very effective. Kitty's window seat will be perfect.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Then there is all the verbiage to explain what is going on. Those are a lot of words, of which I am quite capable. They simply need time to percolate, to be written and rewritten. It's all coming together.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Here's a conundrum. Betty, one of our table mates, was in a severe decline a week ago. Close questioning by concerned friends revealed she was, in our collective opinion, giving up, tossing in the towel. The weekend she appeared, too confused to function and feet and legs painfully swollen, we asked management to notify her several children (seven of them, plus grands and great grands) and tell them Betty needed an intervention.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">It happened. I understand four children were here. Betty is back on her water pills and other meds. She's eating more. And, one son appeared with hearing aids for her purchased on Amazon. However, she does not know how to use them.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I offered to help her, and told her to bring them to breakfast tomorrow. Tonight I also looked at Amazon hearing aids. Betty says he bought the highest rated. I did not find the brand I wear, Phonak. I did purchase them from an audiologist office, for several grand apiece.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">On Amazon I found every auxiliary bit sold for Phonak, but no actual Phonak aids. There are many kinds of hearing aids similar to mine, but no Phonak. The most expensive pair I found were $899. Hmmmmm..... I'll look at hers and see what I can figure out. If they have to be BluToothed to her phone and programmed, I'm lost. However, her phone is an old flip phone in her drawer. We'll see.</span></p>Joanne Noragonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16601010208310707750noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1920860526738969165.post-47423971688407106592024-02-17T12:28:00.003-05:002024-02-17T20:08:51.137-05:00Bits and pieces<span style="font-size: large;">I just published a post that disappeared! I have no idea what happened. I've done this going on fifteen years and two thousand posts and never lost a blog. Or a paragraph or a word.</span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">I'll try it over again. I've slacked off this week. The scarf has been off the loom for a week. Fulled and finished last Sunday. I did have to put the row of single crochet down each edge to disguise the uneven selvedges.</span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwdMLlK81UzbyMwUFNbIkyKgo2qXjrlbiBJpK5xtlFc41WTNebY1zsgRzp8gWT8Fk7-EcAEPDULk5r7-tkcP0uiVIdDfqmeg52e5amNmURDgR2X2L5M7ZoaIbTFR_D4EsRh9ir2xYbdLebrei6MP67fCOQvBY7vjktp6J7hwfYX-tyLS1EzODpNqb7mof4/s3176/PXL_20240213_173126401.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3176" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwdMLlK81UzbyMwUFNbIkyKgo2qXjrlbiBJpK5xtlFc41WTNebY1zsgRzp8gWT8Fk7-EcAEPDULk5r7-tkcP0uiVIdDfqmeg52e5amNmURDgR2X2L5M7ZoaIbTFR_D4EsRh9ir2xYbdLebrei6MP67fCOQvBY7vjktp6J7hwfYX-tyLS1EzODpNqb7mof4/w381-h400/PXL_20240213_173126401.jpg" width="381" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />I am a master of decent selvedges, as you can see by the rest of the scarf. The second half of this pattern is more consistent than the first. I wonder if Hosta leaves are perfect. Pattern weaving errors notwithstanding, it's not an unpleasant look.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">The scarf is nine inches wide and eighty odd inches long. I'd hoped for a little more draw in when I fulled the scarf, but this will do until I thread a new pattern. In future I will put the hem even with the pattern end. The sewing machine stitch holding it is near to invisible. This scarf also is more dense than I want, so I'll weave fewer pics per inch next time.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><div><span style="font-size: large;">I started a new scarf yesterday, with a blue leaf. The floating selvedges are working well for the even pattern selvedges. I wove a couple of inches for the hem and then wove exactly five rows of pattern. Three times I sent the shuttle straight through the warp, thread around parts of the loom, shuttle landing somewhere under the loom. I quit for the day.</span></div></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIST4woUz2w_LQXpej0pJYm-GA18OQUDGX7cf-JUVz5UXSAUCy1YTciy1qKWYbYyOWXKCZeodkYuGts2rHBcRhkoYxBKMZ1jJiXZ2aqbykhex_KDCjZXuKPK9GbjU1NSe9hWVEdngkDH9zILv7gXSP2jIUSRzbY3k1-JoGh7mT4061lGMEacffLu6-sKau/s4032/PXL_20240217_133222612.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIST4woUz2w_LQXpej0pJYm-GA18OQUDGX7cf-JUVz5UXSAUCy1YTciy1qKWYbYyOWXKCZeodkYuGts2rHBcRhkoYxBKMZ1jJiXZ2aqbykhex_KDCjZXuKPK9GbjU1NSe9hWVEdngkDH9zILv7gXSP2jIUSRzbY3k1-JoGh7mT4061lGMEacffLu6-sKau/w400-h300/PXL_20240217_133222612.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><span>I took this on the way to breakfast this morning. Coming back an hour later the falling snow had filled the waffle holes, caving in the edges. My only doctor appointment next week is Thursday, and the temps will be back into the fifties, with rain, by then. Well, this weather is good for maple syrup!</span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">For breakfast today I had an egg Benedict. This has been on my mind for awhile; I love them. Yesterday I saw Matt for a bit and asked him about the possibility. "Not without more people to help," he replied. "And, we don't have Canadian bacon!"</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">I realized he was talking a poached egg extravaganza; him making and serving poached eggs out in the Bistro and other people filling short orders in the kitchen. I told him I'd have "real" bacon and would be at the counter toasting my English muffin while he did the rest in the kitchen.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Then I thought of the Hollandaise and was defeated. "Oh, I have that all the time"! So this morning I had one egg, poached, a slice of bacon and Hollandaise on the side. Matt brought it to the counter just as my English muffin popped up. I put it all together and had the best breakfast in about five years. It's still on my taste buds, and it's lunch time.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Well, time to wrestle some of the monster bag of cat food into the canister, then on to another weaving attempt. But first, this post better not disappear.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>Joanne Noragonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16601010208310707750noreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1920860526738969165.post-57062974589919812062024-02-09T19:32:00.002-05:002024-02-09T19:34:41.945-05:00Back at it<p><span style="font-size: large;">Well, a week of sulking and I'm back, mostly, to my self. A long week of paying little attention to the world and relishing my own misery. It has been interesting. Yesterday I took Rose to have her hair cut, at her old salon! She was so pleased, and it's a very nice haircut. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">At supper she reported it had caused quite a kerfuffle. "Damn!" I thought. Her daughter found out. After we had gone off to the local CVS for Covid and RSV vaccinations, her daughter was appalled at Rose's description of using a stool to get into my van. "Never again!" from her daughter.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">While we were out this time, a friend of Rose stopped to visit. Rose didn't answer her door, so the friend returned to the desk and instituted a fairly full fledged search for Rose. Housekeeping and food service searched. Even the bookkeeper was involved. She looked under the bed. Rose's daughter was notified. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Our return went unnoticed because some rude person parked in my assigned place. So, my car went to some other place in the lot. But at least, when Rose saw her daughter, she could report she can get into my car by herself, and stow and retrieve her walker. Lovely spring days produce wonders.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi89OWw8RlEXBhKYKwJfwhJjjiiq6m9FSocuD1gWnN4taE8dFZcsnoUUD_cF_NF-5gLjlrP8wQ3PPnaORdxzQBkhJuEpmGXkPME6BIIf1T5Ve4tatfY9-u3AAiwtjWtj4IjT69JrXlnAPyn9izcxVMybx7dhfRnAL5wAvT0RPEInQcXcIKgwUM-7X66GGKZ/s4032/PXL_20240209_195345533.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi89OWw8RlEXBhKYKwJfwhJjjiiq6m9FSocuD1gWnN4taE8dFZcsnoUUD_cF_NF-5gLjlrP8wQ3PPnaORdxzQBkhJuEpmGXkPME6BIIf1T5Ve4tatfY9-u3AAiwtjWtj4IjT69JrXlnAPyn9izcxVMybx7dhfRnAL5wAvT0RPEInQcXcIKgwUM-7X66GGKZ/w300-h400/PXL_20240209_195345533.jpg" width="300" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><span>As for the ambitious warp on my loom, here it is now! I cut and taped the sections I'm not using. That apparent mess to the left</span><span> is the section that did not work out mathematically. A couple of its threads are in the last warp on its right, and impeding forward motion. So I am chaining off the bout. The great plan is to be able to run it through my tension box in future and reuse it. That may be a hair brained scheme.</span></span><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1zgIFzqdhPheombWKc7r4fRkD9S0VUguNS9izDVZ78lhfJv6vBHG4HWPEiWnQz-BOROLcz-oVAqKViYODrG2YmtjTNl_YqJUnr5fPKIWPcVSMCjRgV3OCQvBVkLX-St2bDIjsJ7t7uxIJuoBNHdscTZBYahNCwTeibjiXoIRTCDLF27vzuPUgxTfLpMX2/s4032/PXL_20240209_195237475.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1zgIFzqdhPheombWKc7r4fRkD9S0VUguNS9izDVZ78lhfJv6vBHG4HWPEiWnQz-BOROLcz-oVAqKViYODrG2YmtjTNl_YqJUnr5fPKIWPcVSMCjRgV3OCQvBVkLX-St2bDIjsJ7t7uxIJuoBNHdscTZBYahNCwTeibjiXoIRTCDLF27vzuPUgxTfLpMX2/w300-h400/PXL_20240209_195237475.jpg" width="300" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><p>The edges of the flower pattern are a little ragged; I'll single crochet along just those edges when the scarf is off the loom. For the next scarf, I'll use a floating selvedge to eliminate the problem. Old tricks of the trade can take time to remember!</p><p>When the scarf is off the loom, I'll weigh it to see how much thread I used. Then I'll know how much to charge for it. The weft this time is much finer; 10/2 in the dialect. I think the scarf will be fairly airy and floaty. If not, I'll change the pick's.</p><p>So that's it for this week of weaving. Now I need to get back into blog reading. No more sulking. </p></span><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><p></p>Joanne Noragonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16601010208310707750noreply@blogger.com35tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1920860526738969165.post-67189588514660177522024-01-28T16:34:00.001-05:002024-01-28T16:34:48.824-05:00Adjustment, mid course<p><span style="font-size: large;">Of course I eventually got the mistakes sorted and the warp tied on. By Friday evening I was set to go, after a good night's sleep and all that. I did wind all the bobbins, in readiness for the next day. Saturday morning, after breakfast and emails, I started out.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Can I still throw a shuttle thirty inches, catch and turn it for a return throw? Yes. Is it easy? No! My shoulders ache, my hands hurt and my brain spins from attempting to keep my place in the pattern.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbGq4qCDLIov_NdyIrG6NXaBtrz0LPNtyLf6yOvywfdV7SlfQ6E69JmY_vMQeii3-4oi-H4D9lZnFl3MUA4UuuFveYdrH5M6emKR-kijxukzrZty6Hziqw3EjWEfnYr3KbmEyLKg0yp4Qexy33U4j6LeCUY-38RPq-WvwYPA74ypYQEwdZyV22dUYD1zOd/s4032/PXL_20240128_210050791.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbGq4qCDLIov_NdyIrG6NXaBtrz0LPNtyLf6yOvywfdV7SlfQ6E69JmY_vMQeii3-4oi-H4D9lZnFl3MUA4UuuFveYdrH5M6emKR-kijxukzrZty6Hziqw3EjWEfnYr3KbmEyLKg0yp4Qexy33U4j6LeCUY-38RPq-WvwYPA74ypYQEwdZyV22dUYD1zOd/w300-h400/PXL_20240128_210050791.jpg" width="300" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />When supper came, I was half way down the first column. Each number represents the treadle to use, and there is also a shot of plain weave between every row.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I got up this morning, full of resolve! Went to breakfast, came back, put in a load of laundry and sat down to the loom. Tonight I am at the end of the second column. My shoulders and hands are shot.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJlu6YFoXV1qK8Ywi93H6U-V-L8dE4f-k2Y1LG6t7GrAyhevReS6zoC67YQ0xSJBgTYE4ctEy5xMglzhO0jXFkZQhwbhqQ7eE6smAoqsChmPWQqO09ravxuv4A4slAtX4dWcgCLVrRAFwpAmAGwgqzPkT5qUPxRWsaY61auPuKD5KdtKAXs9LI5BeAUbqo/s4032/PXL_20240128_202205448.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJlu6YFoXV1qK8Ywi93H6U-V-L8dE4f-k2Y1LG6t7GrAyhevReS6zoC67YQ0xSJBgTYE4ctEy5xMglzhO0jXFkZQhwbhqQ7eE6smAoqsChmPWQqO09ravxuv4A4slAtX4dWcgCLVrRAFwpAmAGwgqzPkT5qUPxRWsaY61auPuKD5KdtKAXs9LI5BeAUbqo/w300-h400/PXL_20240128_202205448.jpg" width="300" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />It will be lovely, but not for me to do. Back to texture. It's what everyone loves, so let's do it. I'll mix that rose with a fine cotton slub I asked Ann to send back. She kept it, years ago, hoping to weave cuddly baby blankets. That was twenty years and a dog kennel ago. And she may still; I think she had a case of it.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Speaking of good news, I noticed the other day that the ladder to the roof has been removed from the construction site. Ladder:</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnoMB4WZMlq2ot3oXYhygmDcoOBYyPf4_Nlfo2xdFjUNbnK8bOOGoG4KJ7lShjqKJBDnavzKx1v-5iNQYrfFVaIs39ZMMalkgxeu0__EVr5SkceijTmwNKbaeGy06N8BUWvMIxl7lmowhqH-Ez1ykayDzthFtcxfem_z1vPhWt1VLtY9Qy97QxDKE6NHrl/s2480/PXL_20231219_171430939.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2480" data-original-width="2471" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnoMB4WZMlq2ot3oXYhygmDcoOBYyPf4_Nlfo2xdFjUNbnK8bOOGoG4KJ7lShjqKJBDnavzKx1v-5iNQYrfFVaIs39ZMMalkgxeu0__EVr5SkceijTmwNKbaeGy06N8BUWvMIxl7lmowhqH-Ez1ykayDzthFtcxfem_z1vPhWt1VLtY9Qy97QxDKE6NHrl/w399-h400/PXL_20231219_171430939.jpg" width="399" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />There has been construction six and sometimes seven days a week. Young men went up and down that ladder as often a going through the door. But now, no ladder:</span><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_toAyLIKPiQgQ7-CnvguigojJNt74BOc2T1lus4x-TQSndN1AB-U5I84fPZo0Tv8FC9pC_CuZBQV-skHlQnx9CPCieDrTbKki7tR10aAjCwihTyBIuPH4G65Z285VERPAXZL5Fp11peZolX4ikzk9pqCzPnCXn0hz-8z5-Mdy4ZcclFUiD1J9QL6dgBiE/s4032/PXL_20240127_202628767.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_toAyLIKPiQgQ7-CnvguigojJNt74BOc2T1lus4x-TQSndN1AB-U5I84fPZo0Tv8FC9pC_CuZBQV-skHlQnx9CPCieDrTbKki7tR10aAjCwihTyBIuPH4G65Z285VERPAXZL5Fp11peZolX4ikzk9pqCzPnCXn0hz-8z5-Mdy4ZcclFUiD1J9QL6dgBiE/w400-h300/PXL_20240127_202628767.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />Siding is going up. Some ladder will have to come back for the second story and for the roof and the missing balconies. Lots of work left, but they may make a spring opening after all.</span><p></p>Joanne Noragonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16601010208310707750noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1920860526738969165.post-89669793628311432302024-01-22T14:44:00.001-05:002024-01-22T14:44:32.429-05:00Where I stand<p><span style="font-size: large;">First, what a weekend, outside. We had snow for two days. Actually, it began snowing Friday afternoon and did not stop until Sunday evening. No possibility I would go out in it to take a picture, but from my second floor vantage into the atrium, a picture for you.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWHTgIg9AArju0hNlhkpPsfgkmFDZVyvC0iqZlEdjQjf11JDeHbjnoD9WgDqkRZmBAXSHqGTqILOfOi4389RcjRsnWknwmGIdLdo9ZrRkyZJSAWp6r2muAySBSx49XtBZwCBM3qCcbzf4Wlu8A9hlq2lRCdmjrHvLPpDPSBRG2OlKklnFjVU_0xkurbOu_/s4032/PXL_20240120_134219897.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWHTgIg9AArju0hNlhkpPsfgkmFDZVyvC0iqZlEdjQjf11JDeHbjnoD9WgDqkRZmBAXSHqGTqILOfOi4389RcjRsnWknwmGIdLdo9ZrRkyZJSAWp6r2muAySBSx49XtBZwCBM3qCcbzf4Wlu8A9hlq2lRCdmjrHvLPpDPSBRG2OlKklnFjVU_0xkurbOu_/w300-h400/PXL_20240120_134219897.jpg" width="300" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />A bit confusing from overhead. Blink a couple of times and you can see the several inches on the chair seat, and then on the table.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Meantime, snug in my room, I am making progress on the loom. All thirty six inches of warp are on the back of the loom and through all the heddles.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUMI2173fO-LZEel9O00kD8nrPiWinQLTeAplkbPbXeSUByES9_lRfLpSXIV2fi0lHE0z0Qb3ta22nYyWTaSCjIP0yqgXE5UeoXRtbFe8muE3ad41kjDU55enPZLquHMstVBsc0y43gYxJZL3bh7iD72jg9Gqii7k9L5GIg0LKD1MBhfPVLdjN3PBNQDp0/s4032/PXL_20240122_190404289.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUMI2173fO-LZEel9O00kD8nrPiWinQLTeAplkbPbXeSUByES9_lRfLpSXIV2fi0lHE0z0Qb3ta22nYyWTaSCjIP0yqgXE5UeoXRtbFe8muE3ad41kjDU55enPZLquHMstVBsc0y43gYxJZL3bh7iD72jg9Gqii7k9L5GIg0LKD1MBhfPVLdjN3PBNQDp0/w300-h400/PXL_20240122_190404289.jpg" width="300" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />On the whole the threads are simply hanging down toward the floor on the other side of the loom. They next must go through the reed, which spaces the threads evenly apart. Finally, the threads must be tied to the front beam. That part is a bit in the future. What I'm doing now is called sleying the reed.</span><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMZvlotpASzYO-BSDtstGge9NUgP53YgchgdUPOUUi37Ftr7clLRewt1U5P_sEa_e5KLjr1eTndgV1UDIxE9c_uU2bgrVtJWCEVAhMjxP_QkPed_6sjIU5bU2oAuw2222OPXulCgYMe2_ZecYr3hfIxwTWJMT7KlqJ8l9EU-FdBjz4Iny7UV28F89mHwA5/s4032/PXL_20240122_190525952.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMZvlotpASzYO-BSDtstGge9NUgP53YgchgdUPOUUi37Ftr7clLRewt1U5P_sEa_e5KLjr1eTndgV1UDIxE9c_uU2bgrVtJWCEVAhMjxP_QkPed_6sjIU5bU2oAuw2222OPXulCgYMe2_ZecYr3hfIxwTWJMT7KlqJ8l9EU-FdBjz4Iny7UV28F89mHwA5/w400-h300/PXL_20240122_190525952.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />Sleying the reed is not a fun job. I don't realize the muscle strain when I'm leaning forward, isolating the threads and drawing them through the reed. But when I go to bed, my chest aches, my arms ache. Probably my back, too, but it always aches. But by the end of the week, I should be able to weave.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p>Joanne Noragonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16601010208310707750noreply@blogger.com37tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1920860526738969165.post-3902608382952183742024-01-14T10:57:00.004-05:002024-01-14T11:33:41.752-05:00Back at it<p><span style="font-size: large;">The thread arrived yesterday and I tucked right in, setting up the spool tree, getting thread on and through the tension box. This all took too much time, actually. It has been one year since I last did this. How I remember the great warping adventure with Caroline, on her birthday no less, which I totally forgot. I just sent her a Happy Birthday text!</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Last year I also had a timid cat, who hid in my bedroom until all guests were gone. This year I have a cat who is In Charge. She knows Every Thing that happens in this house, Anticipates It and then Supervises It.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Dressing a loom is quite new to her. She doesn't know what is going on. Being in trouble, being yelled at means close to nothing in this circumstance. There were a substantial amount of close to depleted tubes of warping thread. I left them scattered on the other end of "her" sofa. This morning I found them scattered on the floor.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9m175ow-QeBhHrrGJ1nAsVdSbpY2Umi6s5F7WnNd3e96N8PXpkvFr0SShUU96r4O9Y1Fqm0tuTEnn18HmbkxyomQFjsII1RH5lRrKGhBOCLBhPDS-vALAmnuLFuAYPI8GDg3SNuNjMOttWLwhalXmex7F_Rs-tvKsTKg-qA6Oa9SdEUoW-4tCgujiTWuM/s4032/PXL_20240114_142238554.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9m175ow-QeBhHrrGJ1nAsVdSbpY2Umi6s5F7WnNd3e96N8PXpkvFr0SShUU96r4O9Y1Fqm0tuTEnn18HmbkxyomQFjsII1RH5lRrKGhBOCLBhPDS-vALAmnuLFuAYPI8GDg3SNuNjMOttWLwhalXmex7F_Rs-tvKsTKg-qA6Oa9SdEUoW-4tCgujiTWuM/w300-h400/PXL_20240114_142238554.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">There has been no attempt at the trick I fear most, reaching up for one of the lines of thread. So, counting my blessings, fingers crossed, I soldier on. My hope is to get across the beam today, but that really is a small possibility.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCK-ft9bByMY_TzeERYp3Ymtv3iWsy9YMyilryZH8T_7sjox8dkOQvCwd0vdbCPqqOATBpMgBQSSnBTKZa8OJrRrNxa18XMHi4wWh7MNwTIM4otFQky1xG-YPh5L2_ZB2UuzL7pMBJzkCnK4CPP_iZ476pcXB5ferCCFyQJnTJBnP2Zbu2sOm2XfC75w2r/s4032/PXL_20240114_143653315.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCK-ft9bByMY_TzeERYp3Ymtv3iWsy9YMyilryZH8T_7sjox8dkOQvCwd0vdbCPqqOATBpMgBQSSnBTKZa8OJrRrNxa18XMHi4wWh7MNwTIM4otFQky1xG-YPh5L2_ZB2UuzL7pMBJzkCnK4CPP_iZ476pcXB5ferCCFyQJnTJBnP2Zbu2sOm2XfC75w2r/w300-h400/PXL_20240114_143653315.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;">I have removed the small tubes of thread to the chair, and barricaded them, after a fashion. They survived the night, and that is good.</span><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRtu8WX8-S-Bea-l2Cwk1Umt6imhfNh1YgSLB6wEaVx-Z0jZocHna5ssQ9g4U2fGMXBorjkQl_C9i3dDyhuEBliRp7fAePXDwlJMnl1ahmPiqixaqWy934HXUspbyRTZgwCRQA5mIVO2RQzDDQe4qnR_yrK3rud0cYztDY5MuNyTA525rNBFBHVbX5EXDx/s4032/PXL_20240114_143745337.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRtu8WX8-S-Bea-l2Cwk1Umt6imhfNh1YgSLB6wEaVx-Z0jZocHna5ssQ9g4U2fGMXBorjkQl_C9i3dDyhuEBliRp7fAePXDwlJMnl1ahmPiqixaqWy934HXUspbyRTZgwCRQA5mIVO2RQzDDQe4qnR_yrK3rud0cYztDY5MuNyTA525rNBFBHVbX5EXDx/w300-h400/PXL_20240114_143745337.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">However, another foible cropped up yesterday. Kitty is addicted to paper. It's not a good trait, for either of us. She gets sick, probably from printer ink, and I lose my information. This began some time ago, and I learned to avoid the problem. Until yesterday.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Weeks ago someone gave me a copy and it was left on this chair, When I came in after supper, the chair and the floor were covered with confetti. I dutifully cleaned it up, telling her for the half hour what a pain in the ass she provided. And life went on.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Then one day I printed the heel instructions I would need for Shelly's sock, and thoughtlessly tossed it on the chair, where I would watch Netflix and work on the sock. Back from supper and a total spread of confetti. It's smaller than "real" confetti; those little teeth make little shreds! Lesson painfully learned; I would never put a piece of paper on the chair.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Yesterday I consulted the clipboard with all my notes, to "remember" when to add the extra thread. Tossed the board aside and began winding on a bout of thread. Together with the swish of thread I could hear crunching. I suddenly realized--PAPER!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I turned and yelled at her. Kitty engaged her selective deafness. I approached, yelling. (My approach is an extremely slow shuffle!) She watched me, and continued shredding. At the last instant before a boom descended Kitty abandoned her project and sailed away. I stowed the clipboard on a high shelf and finished the bout I was winding.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihNWXjyvFP1QgwqVklRJlVdDOZOoFY55hK_Dgp54PYPnAeAcsB1jmimwB52giRV-n5TK5-goLJtRN18ktXnurHCDYJjtaOmgZbygp0uskXbyrskP9_NZeDmg9T57-93jr5Qb0_m1LEi0aH72xzt2fvL_FhqYh2dLuz4Gmo4XWOJ1AzEvM5c3KadMaq3d_P/s4032/PXL_20240114_142231147.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihNWXjyvFP1QgwqVklRJlVdDOZOoFY55hK_Dgp54PYPnAeAcsB1jmimwB52giRV-n5TK5-goLJtRN18ktXnurHCDYJjtaOmgZbygp0uskXbyrskP9_NZeDmg9T57-93jr5Qb0_m1LEi0aH72xzt2fvL_FhqYh2dLuz4Gmo4XWOJ1AzEvM5c3KadMaq3d_P/w300-h400/PXL_20240114_142231147.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><span> </span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">That one bout turned out to be it for yesterday. I told myself it was a fairly successful day, setting up the thread, loading it, rescuing it. Today I simply would not invite Kitty to the party. As if.</span></div><span> </span> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm9XjY-qLI-SemrcGuLPYvfxZmkxBtaouC3sYCKqYvo2RQiATCN8B4vxOf6ZzDY-DmZiMsLS6JpHzFZElmnha987I2QrDBCO1skW3yu-HC20cTWySevZEwlwO34KpvpNr9K6V_JsKSuIuxQbO6O0CQzZt11vA2lJFNOW_0AZKK4Mi_mLCDU2ALeLfPHt9s/s4032/PXL_20240114_160306688.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm9XjY-qLI-SemrcGuLPYvfxZmkxBtaouC3sYCKqYvo2RQiATCN8B4vxOf6ZzDY-DmZiMsLS6JpHzFZElmnha987I2QrDBCO1skW3yu-HC20cTWySevZEwlwO34KpvpNr9K6V_JsKSuIuxQbO6O0CQzZt11vA2lJFNOW_0AZKK4Mi_mLCDU2ALeLfPHt9s/w400-h300/PXL_20240114_160306688.jpg" width="400" /></a><br /><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><p></p>Joanne Noragonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16601010208310707750noreply@blogger.com29tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1920860526738969165.post-46910136556167138352024-01-07T19:30:00.005-05:002024-01-14T09:52:02.501-05:00Dratted batteries<p><span style="font-size: large;"><span>You can imagine I am at very loose ends of late. Brassard et Fils won't even open for business for another three days, and even then my order is at their mercy. Small as it is, it probably goes to the end of the line. And what kind of a company comes back from vacation on Wednesday, I ask you. As my friend Ann, who went to school in a</span><span> </span><a href="https://cuponthebus.blogspot.com/search?q=advent+calendar">Swiss boarding school</a><span> </span><span>would say, "Only the Frenchies!"</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Ah, well, in due time my new thread will arrive from Quebec, polar jet streams and panhandle hooks notwithstanding. Yes, the bad weather has settled in. All that stuff we did not get last winter has assembled for a new year blast. It has snowed the better part of the day and the temps are sliding to the teens by the end of the week.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">All the heddles on my loom have been threaded. I've checked the threading heddle by heddle and found the missing thread. I decided to make a replacement heddle, rather than rethread the first hundred and fifty or so heddles. There are "replacement" heddles available, but I no longer own one. So, I made one.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoNW2FyJa2QiqGSJpxSJhqg117yYCLQrmCiDHZ3u5w0pSQyISWXmsP9oLGRtJRtuXfYtCcp3LRBaJeH8nvgAyQBNWuJD300fX2TvmJRwAB2sqffGdkEay5RBI6Tmlvo9jLNeG3xedGttPHD0ADezZowLwhPDnnmBFIRPDiaVDrzdwsM8Owfv30mCZ3ck95/s4032/PXL_20240105_163446106.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoNW2FyJa2QiqGSJpxSJhqg117yYCLQrmCiDHZ3u5w0pSQyISWXmsP9oLGRtJRtuXfYtCcp3LRBaJeH8nvgAyQBNWuJD300fX2TvmJRwAB2sqffGdkEay5RBI6Tmlvo9jLNeG3xedGttPHD0ADezZowLwhPDnnmBFIRPDiaVDrzdwsM8Owfv30mCZ3ck95/w300-h400/PXL_20240105_163446106.jpg" width="300" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Do you see it there? A safety pin in the middle, tied with cord to the appropriate heddle bars. I considered tying an old fashioned string heddle, but that would involve a search of YouTube on the off chance of finding such an esoteric tutorial.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Anyway, I'm ready to get on with it, and nothing left to do. After an idle morning of petty little tasks, I finally hit on the sock project. One day many months ago, Shelly brought me her knitting bag with two sock cuffs, on needles. It was an old project of hers, a UFO she no longer remembered how to finish. Why search for hours on YouTube for the mathematics of socks when you have a mother.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">So, her knitting bag has hung on the corner of my sofa for the last year. In fact, I see it is visible through the harnesses, immediately left of my improvised string heddle. I would settle myself in for a lovely day of Netflix while I turned her heels. I retrieved the remote from the crevice in the chair, aimed and clicked. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">It's probably been at least a year since I watched the damn thing. I searched the battery basket. No triple A's. So, I ordered them, and threw in a couple of shirts and a pair of shoes for good measure. Since I am without batteries until Tuesday, I rounded up my MP3 player. At least it has a plethora of new books on it; no need to wander CleveNet for an hour.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">I can report, the shorter cuff has the same number of rows as the longer cuff and has several rows of heel flap knitted. I am astounded at Shelly's gauge. I can't believe I taught her to knit, maybe thirty years ago. Her knitting is so tight!. I gave up copying it when the cuffs were an equal length. Her heel gussets will be what they will be! And between you and me, she is a much better knitter than I am.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Joanne Noragonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16601010208310707750noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1920860526738969165.post-54108055804491219212024-01-01T11:00:00.000-05:002024-01-01T11:00:40.622-05:00Slow start to the new year<p><span style="font-size: large;">My biggest wish for this new year is to be weaving the new project on a new warp. I suppose it's half accomplished; the project is settled on. It will be fabric lengths in a lovely overshot pattern. However, I need more thread for the entire warp, and Brassard is on vacation and will not ship before they open on January tenth. Even then, I will be in line after all the earlier orders.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I decided to get a head start on next year and use the loom waste from the towel warp to get all the heddles threaded. There are 522 heddles involved this time, not that many more than the towel warp. However, threading heddles is my weakest suit.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip0cp7KjbCZsXPgot_v83-rNyebIkefpdT86Iy9WILLftoP-XzWM83yVDLjguybY9vL7alszstv9LT-X4Pr0e4ig5PfTZ-xmIGDVcabKxIgT0Y4Q_rdXhbohr1U7iOAP5qoNTZ-1GTPbao_tNLKhPMePGpiwYWGmK9_mu_-80rWfabRtKZ7gjC_FcReDlc/s4032/PXL_20240101_144719241.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip0cp7KjbCZsXPgot_v83-rNyebIkefpdT86Iy9WILLftoP-XzWM83yVDLjguybY9vL7alszstv9LT-X4Pr0e4ig5PfTZ-xmIGDVcabKxIgT0Y4Q_rdXhbohr1U7iOAP5qoNTZ-1GTPbao_tNLKhPMePGpiwYWGmK9_mu_-80rWfabRtKZ7gjC_FcReDlc/w400-h300/PXL_20240101_144719241.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;">The pattern is taped to the take up beam. There are six repeats of the pattern and I am part way through the fourth. I work until the harnesses get muddled in my brain. Shelly stopped to see me last week and helped me. We worked half way across. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">When I checked it later, there was a mistake in the first pattern. Out everything came. Janice came to help me yesterday, and we re-threaded up to part way through the third repeat. Now I am half way through the fourth, and checking each as I go.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Last year, around Thanksgiving, I resolved to go down to the Bistro for breakfast, instead of having bread, butter and jam sent from Heinen's, and often some impulse pastry. It's fifty dollars a month I don't need to spend, since breakfast is provided, if I get up early enough each day.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">If I just got up and dressed and went, it would be simple. But Kitty is accustomed to having her breakfast and her kitty abode cleaned before I have breakfast. I set up that schedule to assure she was fed and her box cleaned regularly every day. Doing it before I eat means I don't forget. But it also means getting up half an hour earlier to be downstairs before breakfast is over. Sigh.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Nothing has changed with Kitty. If anything, she is more settled into her routine of pressing me to remember her treats. They are served only twice a day. However, she pressures me into breakfast, a treat when I get up and one after I eat supper. The remainder of the time she sleeps or plays. Or both.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGi2DnBAMJdVtLSW_igrNA3fliFuvWBKnMqq5GfyLow7GK3ZTU1B2KABMZB0BDczL1j4E33TmtPfO22F1KT2lVyMUKgNme9ts9qUNRo3gGE3LZ776vKXifDx9tH3vcLabXOqWreSiOpsR6dAXxwcJdM5MIOrzM8lqD7iv4s6wvF6XravDDHdh8zEpLTCh8/s4032/PXL_20240101_144907831.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGi2DnBAMJdVtLSW_igrNA3fliFuvWBKnMqq5GfyLow7GK3ZTU1B2KABMZB0BDczL1j4E33TmtPfO22F1KT2lVyMUKgNme9ts9qUNRo3gGE3LZ776vKXifDx9tH3vcLabXOqWreSiOpsR6dAXxwcJdM5MIOrzM8lqD7iv4s6wvF6XravDDHdh8zEpLTCh8/w400-h300/PXL_20240101_144907831.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p>Joanne Noragonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16601010208310707750noreply@blogger.com31tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1920860526738969165.post-24424923425910894642023-12-23T12:25:00.006-05:002023-12-23T12:32:00.509-05:00String blocks<p><span style="font-size: large;">A couple of people asked about the quilt blocks I helped Shelly work on. They are called scrappy string blocks, and a bit of search turned up a nice tutorial: <a href="https://www.quiltylove.com/the-scrappy-and-happy-string-quilt/">Scrappy String blocks</a>. I found a decent picture, too.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2yzB736BLyKVr_kmj1A809qwLxC6JCvyeG0vaogD9NTP-HeUgorWJznHgnKxusZG3SzTvgHp9cB21i5VdzxJyxdOtXk0AnLc4Y-kvltEl8hX0ri2rPnZwGs3nF9GLzPrOotWNMUoxUQgzI75ohKe4gkhJ5OfOrXeepexScn2nqUyCmXjGadYAjSNBHTVc/s600/scrappy.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2yzB736BLyKVr_kmj1A809qwLxC6JCvyeG0vaogD9NTP-HeUgorWJznHgnKxusZG3SzTvgHp9cB21i5VdzxJyxdOtXk0AnLc4Y-kvltEl8hX0ri2rPnZwGs3nF9GLzPrOotWNMUoxUQgzI75ohKe4gkhJ5OfOrXeepexScn2nqUyCmXjGadYAjSNBHTVc/w400-h300/scrappy.JPG" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />When I made them for Janice, they were on a paper foundation. The paper was telephone book pages. These are less common these days, but yellow page books are fairly available. Shelly used parchment baking paper from an enormous box of same she had acquired. Whatever works for you.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">The foundation paper must be a square, for these blocks. I built a supply of these by tearing out one phone book page, folding it diagonally, and then folding the excess at the bottom to produce a square. I used a ruler on the short bottom fold to tear off the excess paper. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Open out the square. From any box of your many precut strips, put one strip centered on the fold. Secure with a pin, top and bottom, so it doesn't slip.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Set the sewing stitch very small. This makes the paper tear away more easily. Put the next strip along the first and sew with a quarter inch seam. Press with your thumbnail, and sew down the next strip. Press down and continue to the end of the square.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Reverse the block to sew a strip to the other side of the first strip. Thumbnail press, and continue. The blocks need pressed, trimmed, and the paper torn off. Then set together as you please.</span></p>Joanne Noragonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16601010208310707750noreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1920860526738969165.post-42483124744019061502023-12-17T19:22:00.003-05:002023-12-17T19:22:56.154-05:00A lovely sight!<p><span style="font-size: large;">I longed to finish that dratted towel warp this weekend. I wove whenever I could last week, and spent most of today weaving. Yesterday saw a couple of hours in the morning, before my daughter Shelly came for lunch and with a project of her own.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">She had a tote of quilt squares sewn on paper and the paper needed torn off. These are the very same squares I used to sew for Jan and she would turn into little quilts for children in need. Shelly and I tore off all the paper backings of her stash of squares.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">The gist of this story is, now she has Shelly sewing single bed tops and Jan is donating them to a group called Good Knights. This group's mission is to give a bed to children who do not have a bed.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">And there are thousands of children here in Northeastern Ohio, who sleep on the floor for want of a bed. The single bed quilt tops Jan is making now go to this project. A bed and a quilt.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I smiled, remembering all the bags of scraps left behind my sewing chair by Jan's quilting customers. I asked Shelly if the quilting customers were still leaving bags of scraps at Jan's studio, and the answer is Yes. She probably will never run out of material for quilts.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">But I digress. I really hoped to reach the end of the warp today. I wove an entire tube of the blue, but didn't trust the warp to last for one more tube of blue, so I went to my usual end of warp ploy, cream towels.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt80zyiTP-BEFo7SPd6OcKrOtOXpphrm2BRFK7918HSGToLI984cISiScqT4ApyQbU_X6YJDidm7NkhMlRcABBoGJxkXggWXwga5IL4PdhiQPcotz5naW2c2XlLNiA5gw6H0djQh6gbAk0g4lp8C2PvxJwp43kycfXMlpamF8Ui6z9X3I3u1Tes9PqcpA7/s4032/PXL_20231217_205122055.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt80zyiTP-BEFo7SPd6OcKrOtOXpphrm2BRFK7918HSGToLI984cISiScqT4ApyQbU_X6YJDidm7NkhMlRcABBoGJxkXggWXwga5IL4PdhiQPcotz5naW2c2XlLNiA5gw6H0djQh6gbAk0g4lp8C2PvxJwp43kycfXMlpamF8Ui6z9X3I3u1Tes9PqcpA7/w300-h400/PXL_20231217_205122055.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;">And I wove and wove and wove all day today. I did not take off the blue towels because that would involve tying the warp back to the front beam, and wasting many inches. I just kept weaving the cream.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Every time I looked at the back beam, there were still a couple of turns of warp left. Until suddenly one section had just one turn left! It was that wonderful event that happens to weavers on occasion. One bout is short!</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKifE4By1s9GWh_wroIyOj4795uO4Q5WfLRV9GpYE03M5U9I1C5R_WCRW8Tktn1I4ZtPrRzOQrbqeuee0_47be8eg7xCYa6ITfo_je1MTzMixA4_V7lsBQCmIG6aoE6K-fIZN9E9Vc91PtdZsUQi3PhIoQJdUy5UeriyRyMHb9_-QW78GAy5odc98GrD1-/s4032/PXL_20231217_205149692.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKifE4By1s9GWh_wroIyOj4795uO4Q5WfLRV9GpYE03M5U9I1C5R_WCRW8Tktn1I4ZtPrRzOQrbqeuee0_47be8eg7xCYa6ITfo_je1MTzMixA4_V7lsBQCmIG6aoE6K-fIZN9E9Vc91PtdZsUQi3PhIoQJdUy5UeriyRyMHb9_-QW78GAy5odc98GrD1-/w300-h400/PXL_20231217_205149692.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;">The length of towels is still on the beam. I am too tired to take them off and secure the ends. A job for tomorrow afternoon. As soon as they are finished into towels, they will go on the web site and that will be the end of towels.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">My next project is much more complex. I can weave a 36" width of fabric on this loom, and that will be my next undertaking. It won't be plain fabric; the surface will be a textured pattern very like the leaves of the Hosta plant named August lily.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZjgdeA5PtZYimJLdpO-hz-Xi8n9sUboce6bUX3QzdXau0kyzHKH_S2KOBtPb_QlRUnMBsZ4EPrHr1DHQKomxNes1PtbwPJIH8J4pK1SAlx89d2y0EZmtAxX1ok1wtHdGQE_rXlsM1Cn7nLCPdK0pyYKJu57jQMTyOMcXYelCyAiD36SqndkP7wusg_aC9/s1024/thumb_Blooming%20Leaf%20Overshot_1024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="849" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZjgdeA5PtZYimJLdpO-hz-Xi8n9sUboce6bUX3QzdXau0kyzHKH_S2KOBtPb_QlRUnMBsZ4EPrHr1DHQKomxNes1PtbwPJIH8J4pK1SAlx89d2y0EZmtAxX1ok1wtHdGQE_rXlsM1Cn7nLCPdK0pyYKJu57jQMTyOMcXYelCyAiD36SqndkP7wusg_aC9/w331-h400/thumb_Blooming%20Leaf%20Overshot_1024.jpg" width="331" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: large;">This is what is called an overshot pattern. Every row is separated by a row of plain weave, the over and under of potholder weaving. I'll use the rest of the towel colors. I'm looking forward to this, but it will be some time in coming. There will be 18 bouts to wind on and then thread through the heddles!<br /> </span><p></p>Joanne Noragonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16601010208310707750noreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1920860526738969165.post-91011573601495726192023-12-09T13:53:00.003-05:002023-12-09T13:58:17.465-05:00Adjusting again<p><span style="font-size: large;">At supper last night, Rose busted me for missing another bingo game. "Why weren't you at Bingo?" was the second or third thing she asked. I replied it was the same as ever, "No quarters!"</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">"Why don't you go to the desk and get a ten dollar roll?"</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">"I've lost every quarter I've invested. I even thought I'd break the cycle when Lisa counted out the quarters in the stamp box and there only were seven dollars. I told her not to look for any more, I'd take that magic number and compound it. I lost it in one week."</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-ja3rmNPfklzZ9NR7CxsOmHBMfUsjbdLqrOi0kBPd3Uj_CFjYQWuScQYGrNeLlF5A_SKwVp0ZyM_MrsBD1v4FXIorS3N6Q3_i-lTlK5jdeQdwDnX9Bq21UHgTe5YfdIcJlZyNDXY9hNOV6K1gq-oMAmPl7YVjVTBuBjWuh3PbSMMi88tkpz2hAILWHbsV/s4032/PXL_20231209_163242531.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-ja3rmNPfklzZ9NR7CxsOmHBMfUsjbdLqrOi0kBPd3Uj_CFjYQWuScQYGrNeLlF5A_SKwVp0ZyM_MrsBD1v4FXIorS3N6Q3_i-lTlK5jdeQdwDnX9Bq21UHgTe5YfdIcJlZyNDXY9hNOV6K1gq-oMAmPl7YVjVTBuBjWuh3PbSMMi88tkpz2hAILWHbsV/w300-h400/PXL_20231209_163242531.jpg" width="300" /></span></a></div><span><p><span style="font-size: large;">Rose rummaged in her Rollator seat and thumped this tiny purse near my plate.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">It was deceptively heavy and rattled suspiciously. "Did you pay in pennies?" I asked, because she did owe me for towels. I opened it.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibqWyNvxPmVltcTPFsS7umeW9FnIb6hHcCuqY2ue9OLQsvm3x0sqN49X-6IxnFE4pkQSyqry_N_xhfTYjGKNs1l2RRmZ_1u5GqSawJlbBMjl5T6VPuf0tqP2EK5YSJ4VLW5XnaJDdI-rc7RuQ_thpvHX0VSYOhteouSHFxA2tePpsI4l3fn0Ll9msUJ4aw/s4032/PXL_20231209_163401554.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibqWyNvxPmVltcTPFsS7umeW9FnIb6hHcCuqY2ue9OLQsvm3x0sqN49X-6IxnFE4pkQSyqry_N_xhfTYjGKNs1l2RRmZ_1u5GqSawJlbBMjl5T6VPuf0tqP2EK5YSJ4VLW5XnaJDdI-rc7RuQ_thpvHX0VSYOhteouSHFxA2tePpsI4l3fn0Ll9msUJ4aw/w400-h300/PXL_20231209_163401554.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><p><span style="font-size: large;">"No more excuses!" It appears to be two or so weeks of Bingo. I thanked her, and will play. No one makes a living from Bingo here, and no one goes broke. It takes four dollars to play, and all these damn quarters just circulate among us. No where to spend them. No vending machines. Once I bought a stamp!</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Bingo is subject to statistics. I had discovered a card with frequently called numbers, and made sure to select that card for every game. It worked, until a newcomer with a long bingo background made sure to learn my card's number and made sure to arrive early enough to select that card thereafter. The first time she had it she won the jackpot. The card was due. Now I need either to find another "good" card, or get to the game early enough to secure that card.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I turned over another new leaf in December. When I finished the last loaf of Heinen's bread I put the toaster away in the cupboard and began going downstairs for breakfast. It means getting up half an hour earlier, to be sure Kitty is properly cared for. Not an onerous undertaking, but my schedule is jumbled. Sleep and shower are in disarray. A first world problem, to be sure. Nevertheless, more adjustment is required.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I prefer a shower in the morning. All the years I was on the road I showered at night, after a long, dusty day in the sun. The shower generally happened even before dinner, giving my hair as much time as possible to dry before bedtime, which was around midnight, with the alarm ringing around seven.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Now I sleep nine or ten hours a night, and generally wake with a start when the alarm rings. Several mornings a week I shower and wash my hair, then dress and dry my hair, prior to all the other morning obligations. Now it's looking as if my only option is to return to showers at night, and drying my hair before I go to bed. As I said, first world problems. However, preferable to getting up another hour earlier </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTJq9RDgyHGOJDZ_kw6j6S8bBTxDdtUCtzU65Dmx4Xcx0xWih4y5DYRAar0jwS7mav2zlroa3Hr81__RW76QVcQoCL7zwgN9k3VnkbVOa-yAD8HMTnR5KtbEFvf8yAmg2WWEI9AsP8Pz5tU5bDATwBaDQi4q459-BWfpcOdapcPBP2jK7Zn2jwPAkqfO-m/s4032/PXL_20231209_153213669.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTJq9RDgyHGOJDZ_kw6j6S8bBTxDdtUCtzU65Dmx4Xcx0xWih4y5DYRAar0jwS7mav2zlroa3Hr81__RW76QVcQoCL7zwgN9k3VnkbVOa-yAD8HMTnR5KtbEFvf8yAmg2WWEI9AsP8Pz5tU5bDATwBaDQi4q459-BWfpcOdapcPBP2jK7Zn2jwPAkqfO-m/w300-h400/PXL_20231209_153213669.jpg" width="300" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-size: large;">It is that time of year, again. I took the holiday ribbon from its shelf and put it on my door again. I will find a larger storage bag at the end of this season, so less fluffing will be required next December.<br /></span><p><br /></p></span><p></p>Joanne Noragonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16601010208310707750noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1920860526738969165.post-30245298752165032062023-11-30T16:03:00.000-05:002023-11-30T16:03:11.386-05:00Two old ladies get a job done<p><span style="font-size: large;">From the table talk, it was apparent to me that Rose wanted an RSV vaccination in addition to the current Covid jab we had here at the Atrium. I wanted the shot, too, and made a phone call to the drug store to make an appointment. I was told the shots are also available every Thursday, without appointment.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Another night at dinner I told Rose I was going to the drug store for an RSV shot today, and if I could figure out how to get her into my car, she was welcome to come along. I thought with <a href="https://cuponthebus.blogspot.com/2011/09/eight-inch-stool-from-projects.html">Uncle Walt's handy little stool </a>and some sturdy perseverance we could get the job done. In fact, we decided to have a dry run of inserting little Rose into the Pilot on steroids last Tuesday.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">As luck would have it, last Tuesday Aurora had a snowstorm on steroids. We had more than a foot of snow, with high winds, lasting to early afternoon. It was so bad I even cancelled my long awaited mammogram. Rose and Joanne did not leave the building. It was do or do not today.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I was in the lobby, with the upside down stool on my walker and the key on my finger, waiting for Rose to come back with her "outing" walker. Nathan came from his office, probably headed for the men's room, and halted abruptly. I know I looked suspicious, and he began a conversation. I told him it merely was two old ladies with adventure in mind. He volunteered someone to bring the car around, warmed up. I handed him the key.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Rose returned, but no car appeared. I told her Nathan had gone to fetch it and I sure hoped nothing was wrong. I hoped the low tire light wasn't on again. I'd promised the dealer I'd make an appointment to fix it in that event. Finally Nathan and the Pilot appeared. He had snow in his hair, and had spent all that time cleaning the car!</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Nathan supervised Rose climbing into the car and even stowed the stool and her walker. We were off.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">At the drug store, Rose led the way, straight to the correct window. There were two people ahead of us, but already shot up and leaving. After the administrative preliminaries, Rose and I were seated in the line of chairs. While we waited, two more people took seats, one on either side of the two of us. The nurse approached, with two (and only two) syringes in her hand, asking who was there for RSV shots. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">The woman who was seated to my right offered her bare shoulder. "Excuse me," said I; "Rose and I were first." The bare shoulder retreated. A clerk called out to her, "Are you registered?" The bare shoulder went back to the counter, Rose and I had our jabs and were off.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Nathan is a new character and if you want to identify him in this charade, he is the Managing Director of Independent, Assisted and Memory Care units. A very nice fellow.</span></p>Joanne Noragonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16601010208310707750noreply@blogger.com35tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1920860526738969165.post-52641316375921518342023-11-25T18:18:00.000-05:002023-11-25T18:18:20.361-05:00Good company<p><span style="font-size: large;">This isn't easy! I was working on a draft for the next weaving project, first working it out, then daydreaming over it; thinking about some interesting colors, or applications of color. Perhaps hemstitching top and bottom. Then my mind interposed: blog before you forget what fun it was!</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">This year the dining room was arranged in two longish tables, consisting of a dozen or so of our square dining tables arranged as two long tables down the dining room. There were plates and napkin wrapped silverware settings on each side of the tables, plus a setting for the head and foot. About twenty settings were put out at each table.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I arrived in the Bistro, and attached myself to Rose, her daughter and son-in-law. In the dining room, Rose was seated at the foot of the table, I was on one side and Lauren and Mike opposite. At the last minute, in came Frank. His party had been ignominiously cancelled, he said, and he was looking for a meal. If he promised not to talk, could he sit by me. I answered "Yes," on the condition he did talk. And so he did.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">The five of us were a very congenial group. Frank and Mike had lots in common and knew a lot of people in common. Lauren and I even had similar interests; we both ride (rode) motorcycles. Lauren has several skydives to her credit, a sport I would never take up. Rose conducted the laughter.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Dinner was good, too. Turkey, ham, baked sweet potatoes with marshmallow topping, mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans, cranberry sauce. Pie and ice cream for dessert. I noted all the marshmallows were scraped to one end of our bowl of sweet potatoes. We ate our way through the feast, and kept laughing and talking. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Finally Mike noticed all the other thanksgivingers were gone, save we five, holding down a table and a quarter. The kitchen staff were clearing the tables of festivities, table cloths, napkins, till only we five were left. It was still a couple more stories, before we took the hint of Rose's and my walkers produced from their parking places along the wall. So, Goodbye, a pleasure to know you, and with a couple of dinner rolls in my pocket, we went our separate way.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">A lot of pictures were taken (by staff), but none have posted yet on Facebook. Here's a picture of our dining room. For the "feast", the staff had a long table down the center strip. It leads to the kitchen. All the square tables were lined up like railroad tracks. The staff distributed bowls and platters of food around the tables, to be passed. It was lovely. And the rest of the time we have dinner in groups of three or four around the individual tables.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTuNAwjwmtQjM7mQcmF01D4TrtsGifT_k0WA1x5L6O5aePYdS78F4saOUbxnAbCrHxLBROGMDaB-2zKfxv3TpLkHVHUyUWqlFWa9yAptijR2BZdkN_REQxrC-5y5uyPpMfQU8EHjQGcutrQMBJ5ddaEm0om6bN-0UPE9bfp1PWuiaCtKcZ_9-Wx1bFn1OP/s301/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="167" data-original-width="301" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTuNAwjwmtQjM7mQcmF01D4TrtsGifT_k0WA1x5L6O5aePYdS78F4saOUbxnAbCrHxLBROGMDaB-2zKfxv3TpLkHVHUyUWqlFWa9yAptijR2BZdkN_REQxrC-5y5uyPpMfQU8EHjQGcutrQMBJ5ddaEm0om6bN-0UPE9bfp1PWuiaCtKcZ_9-Wx1bFn1OP/w400-h222/images.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p>Joanne Noragonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16601010208310707750noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1920860526738969165.post-3733979806141626972023-11-19T15:00:00.000-05:002023-11-19T15:00:19.264-05:00Big Changes<p><span style="font-size: large;">Laura dropped by, with a bouquet of flowers. She called me, a month or so ago, to announce she was back, no longer in Greece. She ended her term prematurely, for two reasons. Her asthma, souvenir of one of her several bouts with Covid, seriously inhibited the twenty minute uphill hike from her residence to her classes. And, she was homesick.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDH76EpXk_yMT-TC18812CvNCh1VlM9elobiRMmIV1i1AXv4T6FMtzfGjPK6HSs9dQxD283n6oHFMJKKkvVjVBBWyMAZNiT2FLHUNIvPe36rDph3vZMlQSOyBxk3tXu33SAGUm1T-9dGB4F64U69Dp8j6vpzZEG0DLtiwwT3iNjU62acTAZ16eT9FPXduX/s3619/PXL_20231119_182553256.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3619" data-original-width="3004" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDH76EpXk_yMT-TC18812CvNCh1VlM9elobiRMmIV1i1AXv4T6FMtzfGjPK6HSs9dQxD283n6oHFMJKKkvVjVBBWyMAZNiT2FLHUNIvPe36rDph3vZMlQSOyBxk3tXu33SAGUm1T-9dGB4F64U69Dp8j6vpzZEG0DLtiwwT3iNjU62acTAZ16eT9FPXduX/w333-h400/PXL_20231119_182553256.jpg" width="333" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><span>She still intends to go to Australia, "which will be very different," but first she has fences to mend and bridges to rebuild with her university advisors. This won't happen for at least a year.</span></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Well, the towels sure are winding down. I began probably my next to last set of towels, garnet. I love this color, and my fond memories of childhood vacations, squatting in North Carolina creeks with my dad, looking for garnets. Fun little stones. My grandma had a garnet necklace I really admired. I'm sure it wound up with my cousin, who never understood that his grandma had another set of grandchildren!</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhol4alNFuWXfQgEEtGgf2FpmfzPTXVHWR3c8dMonv5AKKFJpOD9CZeT3BQ3_5AyLl4UwkAPGtoKuctYaxCKGPkSG_5ip1bpVa2mHmBdokyVtBvvhzZVNLOEdLxX65zsqEvNTUE0pVyMTijbS33myJo8peXWoezad4FpXWbJTww9x_MZf6ZMdU3jaZWbU6y/s4032/PXL_20231119_182633742%20(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhol4alNFuWXfQgEEtGgf2FpmfzPTXVHWR3c8dMonv5AKKFJpOD9CZeT3BQ3_5AyLl4UwkAPGtoKuctYaxCKGPkSG_5ip1bpVa2mHmBdokyVtBvvhzZVNLOEdLxX65zsqEvNTUE0pVyMTijbS33myJo8peXWoezad4FpXWbJTww9x_MZf6ZMdU3jaZWbU6y/w300-h400/PXL_20231119_182633742%20(1).jpg" width="300" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><span>The garnet I started this morning, after a serious round of housekeeping. The only task I cannot do well is to vacuum, and I set about doing laundry, and folding and putting it away, emptying wastebaskets, cleaning sinks, blablabla, with determination.</span></span><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYGQeg1JS7_ZjClMrkvA7UbhyeA3T4DLw9lqr6KSQ8Z6Atk8fjbFWR_Fldoq4bpQhMPsSApFdCt8i215OVNU9SDMHX-IQRKvs1UFCZ5kT6MdNJSC22TkxvdMlt8M1o3ArdWAtt1BmkVXnQIpjuPMa3uiFCk1dg_uhPc1BiABKo-SRziROhTRHkuSPWfqcd/s4032/PXL_20231119_182844126.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYGQeg1JS7_ZjClMrkvA7UbhyeA3T4DLw9lqr6KSQ8Z6Atk8fjbFWR_Fldoq4bpQhMPsSApFdCt8i215OVNU9SDMHX-IQRKvs1UFCZ5kT6MdNJSC22TkxvdMlt8M1o3ArdWAtt1BmkVXnQIpjuPMa3uiFCk1dg_uhPc1BiABKo-SRziROhTRHkuSPWfqcd/w300-h400/PXL_20231119_182844126.jpg" width="300" /></span></a></div><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><span>This is all that is left of that warp Caroline and I wound on last January. Enough for the garnet towels, and possibly a few more cream towels. </span>The black towels are done, on the web site and on the shelf.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWV7BGsObwROh2GNuClQ-n5UcnwnB7agsGIIPLNyASeDv-RQdLGdS5yle-9OylIMmk-LcZU8Gz5sJYRCGgMAatqyId75z_LgQ1UbiLjjpHGffbXaVm1w9j_PqrQOcsE9wvmdpV9b_Rz39Siizys6uN1caa4OELpfNVlTpeVcUSH7qtk30K0Nxx3JAlZffY/s4032/PXL_20231119_182702552.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWV7BGsObwROh2GNuClQ-n5UcnwnB7agsGIIPLNyASeDv-RQdLGdS5yle-9OylIMmk-LcZU8Gz5sJYRCGgMAatqyId75z_LgQ1UbiLjjpHGffbXaVm1w9j_PqrQOcsE9wvmdpV9b_Rz39Siizys6uN1caa4OELpfNVlTpeVcUSH7qtk30K0Nxx3JAlZffY/w300-h400/PXL_20231119_182702552.jpg" width="300" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />In less boring news, I must give you an update on life at the Atrium, a year and three months later. In spite of that time, it's still hard to believe I am stepping out the door into Portage County, not Summit County. It is half an hour to forty five minutes back to anywhere I need to go in Summit County. And since most of those "needs" are doctor appointments, I decided some time ago to find doctors who practice closer to home.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I saw the first of these "new" doctors Friday, a new kidney doctor. He told me I presented well, certainly not like an eighty year old. Who recommended me to him, he wanted to know. And I told him he'd met my basic requirement, the first available appointment when I'd called scheduling, months ago. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">He warned me about trusting to luck. And I told him another requirement had been fulfilled when I scheduled a new primary. The scheduler told me the first primary available next February was Mary Grace..."Tell me no more," I said. Mary Grace Charisma, repeated the scheduler. When I finally looked it up, the spelling is totally different. But who cares.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">And last, and least, a look from my window (and Kitty's):</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbu21vME3_0iMkH0PZVWiQexEQSa6yX7BSbbiw8JXzLNfYAO_UUr2EtSu9a4dgGoHdY_Zd_kvYB1_5bApbELFtacy7ndjLXl0ajrv3hFEpn3YINxzJGDnfXDqg48sMB258dHN2DYaPcTsvPraD3ZkSFAxlOQRM_acXVsWReKELvJR1z9s6dMw-v0tXykoA/s4032/PXL_20231119_182814435.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbu21vME3_0iMkH0PZVWiQexEQSa6yX7BSbbiw8JXzLNfYAO_UUr2EtSu9a4dgGoHdY_Zd_kvYB1_5bApbELFtacy7ndjLXl0ajrv3hFEpn3YINxzJGDnfXDqg48sMB258dHN2DYaPcTsvPraD3ZkSFAxlOQRM_acXVsWReKELvJR1z9s6dMw-v0tXykoA/w400-h300/PXL_20231119_182814435.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><p>My green area grows smaller and smaller. That's not just a drive way to the two back doors. It's a parking area for about five cars.</p></span><p></p><p><br /></p>Joanne Noragonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16601010208310707750noreply@blogger.com29tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1920860526738969165.post-83954350237340585692023-11-11T13:17:00.001-05:002023-11-11T13:17:15.760-05:00Table talk<p><span style="font-size: large;">I've been here something over a year. That and a contentious election helped me settle a couple of issues. Last fall I approached the activities director to see if she could help me sort the more liberal from the more conservative. Her response was to pull up her tortoise shell. All the residents are old, she said, and mostly more conservative. Hell's bells. I could deduce at least half of that for myself.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Conversation around our dinner table was friendly, non committal and restrained after my outburst about forced vaccinations. Then one evening Rose and I lingered after Betty left. Margaret was semi gone; she moved to a condo with her daughter, but seemed to be here all the time, with Frank.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">In short order Rose confessed she was voting for both the abortion right and marijuana consumption bills on the November ballot. I confess it was wonderful to hear that from someone ten and more years older than I. I know Marilyn, my next door neighbor, and Madi, a floor mate, agree, but I don't have opportunity to be together as much with them.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">And now both bills have passed, and reproductive rights are a constitutional right in Ohio, our Republican legislature is having none of it. The mildest remark has been it all must be tested in the courts. But the extreme right position is to overturn it or ignore it. So, the fight goes on. I wonder how many more liberals I'll turn up.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">My sister made a quilt for Kitty. She diabolically used a wool batt to quilt the little thing. We both know, from a long history with cats and wool, they find it irresistible. I was not here, and Kitty chose to hide when Jan delivered her little goodie. When I came in:</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_Udz0N5Rd7okaE1qMUs4vKmUWtsZVlRhiVJSaBcnYmD3ejX7iuNJLNG7JcddiquFy1q6dkVndi6DlyYLYU673MOyNr-WAwka0pDRcpB2pP1G04yTRBQ0qdy0_YMDZGpgHSGanFCJxY9xtRvV7I8quGfVIk2X6nf-FZTfvjzxhinBmG1aMkTNCefpK1tFt/s2970/PXL_20231106_171850789.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2970" data-original-width="2539" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_Udz0N5Rd7okaE1qMUs4vKmUWtsZVlRhiVJSaBcnYmD3ejX7iuNJLNG7JcddiquFy1q6dkVndi6DlyYLYU673MOyNr-WAwka0pDRcpB2pP1G04yTRBQ0qdy0_YMDZGpgHSGanFCJxY9xtRvV7I8quGfVIk2X6nf-FZTfvjzxhinBmG1aMkTNCefpK1tFt/w343-h400/PXL_20231106_171850789.jpg" width="343" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;">And after supper, when Kitty usually is busy at play,</span><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZE_fQSfq_loG-IBJBx3CiYEa_Haw1rojnaMKXYh_37fmho9Li_vyuvk60BOdTeGn-Vf41zaSV1yAe20gcDd3Wk05APn_Su4dT2Y-nayG9yWU-KV1PQltfvBpCWadNgOENweq7J1JFmNTlNzDk9geoUTvxjidJ79T1dAwkUZL1PVELzpdu0h5HoLe481dt/s3024/PXL_20231106_192206792.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2949" data-original-width="3024" height="390" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZE_fQSfq_loG-IBJBx3CiYEa_Haw1rojnaMKXYh_37fmho9Li_vyuvk60BOdTeGn-Vf41zaSV1yAe20gcDd3Wk05APn_Su4dT2Y-nayG9yWU-KV1PQltfvBpCWadNgOENweq7J1JFmNTlNzDk9geoUTvxjidJ79T1dAwkUZL1PVELzpdu0h5HoLe481dt/w400-h390/PXL_20231106_192206792.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;">I bought Kitty a bed, a sung little igloo (in size large), and set it up on the other end of her sofa. The next morning I found it in an ignominious lump on the floor. Not only dumped, but beat up. Tomorrow Jan is bringing a new quilted igloo floor with wool batt to fit the bottom of Kitty's new room. We'll see.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p>Joanne Noragonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16601010208310707750noreply@blogger.com41tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1920860526738969165.post-88522258648664193902023-11-01T18:38:00.001-04:002023-11-01T18:38:15.419-04:00Better luck next time<p><span style="font-size: large;">Yesterday I made a list of all I wanted done. Top of the list, "Ask Diana how to use the new washing machine." It was my day for housecleaning, my best opportunity to find Diana and myself near the machine at the same time. It's pretty much the opposite of the old machine. Instead of turning on the machine last, turn it on first. That activates the panel to make the selections.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">It was a fairly long list of mundane jobs I would forget or overlook otherwise. Get gas. Pick up script. Etc. The job I didn't put down, because of course I would remember it: Put snow scraper in car.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMR9NrPWLU0drzagn-zRBhOd_fuFQBFRsu2rY_li0RDu3VxpuQxI6-nG5oHb5SThbFzXYuIYPMAIKDI38eUM0ocHzdVw5AYTCOK8W8xSlGqLDB_HCDDnG4uOl-NNrmZcFnACCB_I9gzl_LCDfsclywsVzOjfE7oe-znY-3g5mCVMwZBO6xpH6peCYi62m1/s4032/PXL_20231101_124347962.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMR9NrPWLU0drzagn-zRBhOd_fuFQBFRsu2rY_li0RDu3VxpuQxI6-nG5oHb5SThbFzXYuIYPMAIKDI38eUM0ocHzdVw5AYTCOK8W8xSlGqLDB_HCDDnG4uOl-NNrmZcFnACCB_I9gzl_LCDfsclywsVzOjfE7oe-znY-3g5mCVMwZBO6xpH6peCYi62m1/w300-h400/PXL_20231101_124347962.jpg" width="300" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><span>I pass it on the way to the door. Easy peasy. I needed a new snow scraper because the old snow scraper went to Minnesota, with the Subaru. Did I remember it? No! Did it snow? Yes!</span></span><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCUbvIBWvi7Rc-831ydK6933JBKRMIcPSxBnmPPNXGcwD8bbmNiLhpch55IE7LzpDdxxXSzSI4u8pLb-LC6NBKRhqP_5kGLJo_znqYdH7mT0_QZDpIGxU39tKNtGqWTYtqp9jiBey0YT21kPkzxDlMVUovQsM4iZ7NfnE6E9tn4TwL6CWk92kYXs9fL97H/s4032/PXL_20231101_124210532.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCUbvIBWvi7Rc-831ydK6933JBKRMIcPSxBnmPPNXGcwD8bbmNiLhpch55IE7LzpDdxxXSzSI4u8pLb-LC6NBKRhqP_5kGLJo_znqYdH7mT0_QZDpIGxU39tKNtGqWTYtqp9jiBey0YT21kPkzxDlMVUovQsM4iZ7NfnE6E9tn4TwL6CWk92kYXs9fL97H/w400-h300/PXL_20231101_124210532.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><span>The good news is I have nowhere to go for a week, and after the weather gets over snowing, then rain, it will be sunny for a few days. And yes, it is an unholy trash mess out there, as we go into the second winter of construction. In my lifetime there will be a lovely green courtyard from out the window!</span></span><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ4_1fndr1PwHZDL37uK6F4-khX33ubIi8Wu4DoeoHyj4zY7nUKd1QbAcNN4jvmYWRPQyRRqTz-ufohPZdeVy4lzjXnCgZaTaaGBLsITAyJqrM47E3oVh-xRGgZ_x9o5rUaXOOsyd5fsersF1cOWAoXwfBhgOKhZeRkuYh6bM6ujVyozqFaUQ3PxHFT1Fs/s4032/PXL_20231101_135010071.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ4_1fndr1PwHZDL37uK6F4-khX33ubIi8Wu4DoeoHyj4zY7nUKd1QbAcNN4jvmYWRPQyRRqTz-ufohPZdeVy4lzjXnCgZaTaaGBLsITAyJqrM47E3oVh-xRGgZ_x9o5rUaXOOsyd5fsersF1cOWAoXwfBhgOKhZeRkuYh6bM6ujVyozqFaUQ3PxHFT1Fs/w300-h400/PXL_20231101_135010071.jpg" width="300" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><span>Kitty now is the mistress of most of her domain. She holds her post on the sofa no matter who comes through the door. She watches them carefully, and only leaves if the new person approaches with outstretched hand. Fair or foul, she leaves. And petting still does not please her. One stroke and she leaves. She also leaves for the vacuum cleaner, the other intolerable intruder.</span></span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">I guess she's also in charge of me. I've quit buying what I think she will like and stick to what I know she will like. The banana toy, for example. It's just a fabric banana stuffed with catnip. She loves it. Oh, great, I thought, and bought a fabric pickle, stuffed with catnip. Total disdain. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">The old banana is worn out, chewed flat. I bought a new new banana toy. It's being thrown about the living room at this moment.<br /></span><p></p><p><br /></p></div>Joanne Noragonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16601010208310707750noreply@blogger.com39tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1920860526738969165.post-30491745805495044602023-10-25T19:29:00.003-04:002023-10-25T19:30:36.387-04:00Muffins and more<p><span style="font-size: large;">I learned over the summer that my sister Jan had fallen into the apple sauce muffin trap. First, on a trip to Amish country last summer, she wound up with a lot of apples. In her amble in an apple orchard, she picked up a peck of apples. When she returned to the car, or more accurately, when Tom returned to the car, too, it turned out they had three pecks of apples. Or maybe four, I don't remember.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">At home, she made apple sauce. And apple pie and apple crisp. And more apple sauce. Then she heaved a great sigh, bought a supply of half pint jars, and began canning applesauce. I heard Tom enjoyed the apple sauce and occasionally had a jar for lunch. She gave me a little jar, and it was darn good. (I must return the little jar!)</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Then she told me Tom asked again for apple sauce muffins. Talk of nostalgia. When Mom was still alive, up to 1989, she made me a dozen apple sauce muffins to take to a show. They were my breakfast, and supplemented cheese sandwiches for lunch.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">The muffins are made with apple sauce, oatmeal, raisins, some cinnamon. Fortunately Jan knows the recipe; I don't. However, I think that is the basic recipe. No flour, no sugar, no shortening. Or as an exhibitor friend who took one for breakfast said, "women always know how to put a days worth of essentials down your throat by breakfast!"</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">One day I came in from an appointment and found a dozen muffins on my counter. I also found a message on the phone: "I left muffins on your counter!" I called at once to thank her. I had one for lunch every day. The day I ate the last muffin I also called her because I hadn't had a word with her since the day the muffins appeared. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">We caught up the news and then she said "How are your muffins doing?" and I had to confess the last one was gone. "Well, you're muffin-worthy," she said. And today I had a text, "I'm on the way over with more muffins." Since I seldom read my texts, I had no idea until there was a knock on the door, and Jan with a dozen muffins.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I'm down to one table mate at dinner this week, Rose Marie. Rose is a tiny little lady with snow white hair, who uses a bright red Rolator style walker. In good weather she tries to take a daily walk and generally goes around the building. Two sides of that walk involve public sidewalk. Yesterday Rose told me that as she came up along the side road a car pulled off the road beside her and asked "What are you doing here?"</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">"I live here," from Rose. "But what are you doing outside?" "Taking a walk!" said Rose and proceeded on her very slow way. The woman exited her car and confronted Rose. "Should you be outside?" Rose realized she thought she was a Memory Care or Assisted Living resident, and told her the very large building behind her was the Independent Living facility, where she lived. Rose isn't sure she convinced the woman, who thankfully left. Probably to go around the corner and call The Atrium.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLSDItR4Q4aixb2byyCjnDQLYBGqDZWIaC98rAl57_JGBWbMttpZvLijc8AB_ZlxMz6MRal4xSKwkX42MlE-d47B98FxwdsQ5vbMkiPoQ4YEv1FwF1e56M3KWc_HoI91cDmSDcxxddJj3venT4CiukyDTECabKKrQTvKMfAr9UZ6Ia38f31bwh_qi8qTeX/s444/2btnwhit.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="444" data-original-width="310" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLSDItR4Q4aixb2byyCjnDQLYBGqDZWIaC98rAl57_JGBWbMttpZvLijc8AB_ZlxMz6MRal4xSKwkX42MlE-d47B98FxwdsQ5vbMkiPoQ4YEv1FwF1e56M3KWc_HoI91cDmSDcxxddJj3venT4CiukyDTECabKKrQTvKMfAr9UZ6Ia38f31bwh_qi8qTeX/w279-h400/2btnwhit.JPG" width="279" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><span>Long ago, in a chat about my weaving days, I published this picture. In the olden days we applied to shows with slides of our work. Here is my photographer's model wearing one of the shirts in a size too large. Sigh. Anyway, this was "cool" in the '80's and '90's. There is no describing the "feel" of the cotton fabric. It had great hand.</span></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I know the work of many artist friends from thirty, forty, fifty years ago routinely comes up for sale on EBay, but I never considered Jan's and my work to be that sort of stuff. It was way more "feel good" than artistic. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Imagine my surprise when my daughter texted me this:</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7FbfzpgRri-vV761EcveefiLlhka96nPh5sxVH8lkcD_oujizhnq7GaSMbjCZx2ZIJl0jO35IMdpf94UsyduNXenWUpapWnSNS6MNqbGqkcD9XCsFMvbX58HGYzb07FckQ1Ks_LE_jWMzMsPRiLC8jgJoWecGITkH_WFfnqNd5_VTskj5jdDLGRpz2fX8/s1457/3button.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1457" height="330" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7FbfzpgRri-vV761EcveefiLlhka96nPh5sxVH8lkcD_oujizhnq7GaSMbjCZx2ZIJl0jO35IMdpf94UsyduNXenWUpapWnSNS6MNqbGqkcD9XCsFMvbX58HGYzb07FckQ1Ks_LE_jWMzMsPRiLC8jgJoWecGITkH_WFfnqNd5_VTskj5jdDLGRpz2fX8/w400-h330/3button.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><span>This seller knows nothing about presentation! Grrrrr. This is a lovely jacket, and looks nice hanging, without the wrinkles. The hem hangs even; I know, I pulled every thread for the straight of grain. I even painted the blue wooden buttons. Forty years ago we sold this jacket for about $125. Beth found it on EBay for $225, down from $250. I'll keep an eye on it and let you know.</span></span><p></p>Joanne Noragonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16601010208310707750noreply@blogger.com36tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1920860526738969165.post-53329725269195410022023-10-20T19:43:00.000-04:002023-10-20T19:43:29.819-04:00Good grief<p><span style="font-size: large;">Next Tuesday, then again in November vaccines will be administered here. That is excellent, save the page of tiny print we have to fill out. So much of it runs together, I think it is unintelligible. So I will take my wallet of cards with me. They can white out and re-enter the info, though why it cannot all be done on a tablet I don't know. We all are quite adept at signing electronically--I think.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Another weekend has come around. As none of my relatives has offered some recreation, I guess I'll stick with slipping in my load of laundry on Sunday morning. I thought I'd rustle up Ruth and arrange a lunch at the Cabin. But I found her without car, as I had been early in the week. My problem was resolved on the day, but hers awaits a part. So, I'll wait for her call.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I think I must order a small, cozy bed for Kitty. She is making herself crazy trying to build a nest behind some of my studio shelving. Far be it from me to argue with an eight year old street cat. She will only sleep under the goose duvet when I am not here. She won't sleep on it. For one night she slept at my feet, and I thought Hooray, settled. But I guess it didn't suit, and nothing has since. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">All summer Kitty contented herself with the furniture, the sofa, a chair, my desk chair. But now that it's growing colder, she's on the hunt. Last year's winter nest of a carpet on a shelf is turned down this winter, and she's busy pulling my shipping envelopes down behind the shelving, trying to fashion a nest. I guess I must intervene.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">In other news, romance is in the air. A former dinner mate, Margaret, now dines exclusively with Frank. Her former dinner mates are kicked to the curb, as is said. Both arrived here about the same time last winter. Margaret was seated at our table. Frank sat next to me in exercise class and we introduced ourselves. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Frank told me his very first girlfriend, in the third grade, was named Joanne. But then Margaret recruited him to help her campaign for that supermajority constitutional amendment, and he went to sit by her. I figured it was just a pick up line, but I never did ask Margaret what his first girlfriend was named. And the supermajority need for an amendment failed. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgpXfHG0el7fcOcgEc6VazEtGiMJbfAwAuPxb6_6EmvfV6tCP7kCZxu0yw_22LwQ8vYw8dfBe5OUv5dBzwWGUGr6ePORtUeqnKToejVjJ2whwhuJ7G_fvPlRVIcDp7fT0jxk3w6sd4XWTNid2MPSYgAa7YWY9EICJa2deeRSYpw5FUSNR3kzvWe2ckaY5n/s2586/happyhour.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2586" data-original-width="2507" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgpXfHG0el7fcOcgEc6VazEtGiMJbfAwAuPxb6_6EmvfV6tCP7kCZxu0yw_22LwQ8vYw8dfBe5OUv5dBzwWGUGr6ePORtUeqnKToejVjJ2whwhuJ7G_fvPlRVIcDp7fT0jxk3w6sd4XWTNid2MPSYgAa7YWY9EICJa2deeRSYpw5FUSNR3kzvWe2ckaY5n/w388-h400/happyhour.jpg" width="388" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /> In good news, remember Craig and Debbie? Craig has been carrying around a wedding band in his pocket since forever, and can't get her to say yes. Well, they are getting married, right here at the Atrium, in January, and we're all invited. He's one smiling man.</span><p></p>Joanne Noragonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16601010208310707750noreply@blogger.com32tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1920860526738969165.post-47492449829433619612023-10-14T13:12:00.000-04:002023-10-14T13:12:20.042-04:00It's been a year!<p><span style="font-size: large;">Hard to believe--one year ago Kitty went to the vet for the first time. One year ago I had no car and was resigning myself to scavenging for rides. I wonder where I was going with that. I stopped to make lunch and lost it completely.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I did some housekeeping this morning. I looked in every cupboard and found my stash of light bulbs in the second drawer I opened. I replaced a lightbulb that went into the lamp when I bought it, probably about 2018. It's been in use all day every day. These bulbs are crazy long lasting now. And cost fifty cents each to throw away at the recycling center.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">First thing this morning, after breakfast and the cat station, I went to the local BMV and transferred my old license plate to the new car. The road hog. The beast. The Honda my dinner mates assure me will drive on and on and on. I've had Honda motorcycles, though never long enough to test super mileage. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">My brother Walt once rode a Honda 750 year round, through sunshine and snow storms. He was being macho, as only Uncle Walt could, and rolled who knows how many thousands of miles. He finally got tired of carrying groceries on the bike, and went back to a car.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">The Honda gets its first inspection Monday, by a local car dealer that will be its forever mechanic if I am happy with their work. In fact, I am so far. I took the Subaru to them when lights came on and they returned with a list of which I was already aware; it came with the car when I bought it. To sweeten the pot, when I explained the Honda's complaints, they said they would come for it. That way they have a ground zero to work from.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7TWTFZQFN9uvIeQFd-hAbAhjBaL8fZexdTCyOyvSVjQANOzxdETZ2C6RtozWBmljJxPQZYL3UXkvM0M6LSu3kcXOaYR0EoeWnS1sMmNFJpXrA7KznS9Util4Byu2nd-6h5FPdxiZmH8zr0DcL5UT97lZ9ZkSXSBWxNhn9wylSK4cMbdTb1bJ0PMQpRkIJ/s4032/birds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7TWTFZQFN9uvIeQFd-hAbAhjBaL8fZexdTCyOyvSVjQANOzxdETZ2C6RtozWBmljJxPQZYL3UXkvM0M6LSu3kcXOaYR0EoeWnS1sMmNFJpXrA7KznS9Util4Byu2nd-6h5FPdxiZmH8zr0DcL5UT97lZ9ZkSXSBWxNhn9wylSK4cMbdTb1bJ0PMQpRkIJ/w400-h300/birds.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;">We had a mild winter here last year. I have no sense of what this will be. Like finding a new DMV, I don't know my way around Portage County. It's still very more rural than Summit ever was. Sort of the Summit County of my childhood. The Atrium, where I live, was the Sea World hotel. I visited Sea World with my children, and later with my mother, and we never would have considered staying at a destination hotel.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I look down on this courtyard every time I go to the elevator. I see friends basking in the sunshine down there, through the summer and early fall. Now I am seeing lots of birds gorging themselves on sunflower seeds, from the several plants residents have furnished the little buggers. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">It seems they also find sustenance on the top of the table umbrella and even under the rain guard. Yes, those are little birds backing out. Perhaps it only had something to do with sparrows, who I believe will inherit the earth.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p>Joanne Noragonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16601010208310707750noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1920860526738969165.post-73496450396137460142023-10-10T19:47:00.000-04:002023-10-10T19:47:46.804-04:00Gone grippe<p><span style="font-size: large;">Did anybody's grandma get the grippe? Once when I went back to bed several mornings in a row, my beloved grandma told me I had the grippe, and to just sleep it off. That's not quite what I did, having a toddler and a husband, but tonight I can tell you, she was right! </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Kitty was so patient! Her box was cleaned once as late as two in the afternoon, when I finally got the meaning of the long, hard stare. Then she danced and chirruped around my feet like a new baby chick. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Monday evening I was ravenous and sat in a stupor at dinner, eating all but the napkin. I excused myself and came up to bed, though I do recall Margaret patting my head on her way by. One last thought before I drifted off..."Tomorrow you will get up and get something done!"</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">And, I did. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">The periwinkle is off the loom, washed, dried, cut into twelve towels to be hemmed tomorrow. And now, a quandary. Some time ago I promised to weave colors in the order they were called out.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnY6BljN_VRCQm_kpTQn8Z1C4kmUU1JqcRegMRWWPPI7sQBOczPkap9Eh-OV_RnEjuKij7UDWsGkaZH_EVLoyuSg-9AtiVagqpqbe2HTSVkQqizR6Nv2d7zDCfk7QQyCcdGaPryS8kgu7-MMLtmeEFcjJ7sqjrnEL5CdlYBrZbWDQtsZpiqiAzal3bIX3G/s3559/PXL_20231010_173652673.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2916" data-original-width="3559" height="328" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnY6BljN_VRCQm_kpTQn8Z1C4kmUU1JqcRegMRWWPPI7sQBOczPkap9Eh-OV_RnEjuKij7UDWsGkaZH_EVLoyuSg-9AtiVagqpqbe2HTSVkQqizR6Nv2d7zDCfk7QQyCcdGaPryS8kgu7-MMLtmeEFcjJ7sqjrnEL5CdlYBrZbWDQtsZpiqiAzal3bIX3G/w400-h328/PXL_20231010_173652673.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><span>Under that scheme, the next color will be khaki, the grey/brown under the black, third from left, bottom. I have enough warp left for at least three more towel colors (an enthusiastic grandchild can wind a lot of warp!), so let's see what you like. Fair warning, that turquoise top row, second from left, actually is Christmas green. Everything else is pretty much as represented.</span></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">While I washed and dried the length of toweling, I amused myself with the saga of the washing machines. Here is the machine I use:</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimyVQX4cn_rUHRc1PqDwj023M6Yb-wx-_fEyUdhO18n22eaBp-whaqmEON5EFFdckSGrIfZ30MxW90mn5oq_Iuz0qYEjGrrEtnDgoWFlgjazotsq7POQjMClh_VdzGWTY6biQNPPSe7mgTcTkuZY09kN3NT7yq9ffOgRnOPbrMx8U2f5vCSbc8bFfTNJOP/s4032/PXL_20231010_174509701.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimyVQX4cn_rUHRc1PqDwj023M6Yb-wx-_fEyUdhO18n22eaBp-whaqmEON5EFFdckSGrIfZ30MxW90mn5oq_Iuz0qYEjGrrEtnDgoWFlgjazotsq7POQjMClh_VdzGWTY6biQNPPSe7mgTcTkuZY09kN3NT7yq9ffOgRnOPbrMx8U2f5vCSbc8bFfTNJOP/w300-h400/PXL_20231010_174509701.jpg" width="300" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><span>The first dial is for water level, then temp, then type of load, then start. For an entire year we residents worked out how to get our laundry done with one machine, the other being broken most of the time. It was identical, but past its prime. </span></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Then we had an influx of new residents, some of whom considered themselves laundry police. Apparently they were good for a little more than "monitoring" laundry. One day a new machine appeared!</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9ps9Qu-XjXqew0gaaeVbD6aYydRWy6EvpZ7FPl4kkXMOSjSAwMTRhhiq8V-X_TvqYmQRSgW0R6MZ-LFun1InawlNQ6-ok77eHwT599wxvs8y9jYdrzFYZxhYgTx2Q1CSpnKW_ppfQ6Pg5WYPxleFOKLEd_8qNGizoitNsMmjetXpjS3Ys4RNzYAient04/s4032/PXL_20231010_174546585.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9ps9Qu-XjXqew0gaaeVbD6aYydRWy6EvpZ7FPl4kkXMOSjSAwMTRhhiq8V-X_TvqYmQRSgW0R6MZ-LFun1InawlNQ6-ok77eHwT599wxvs8y9jYdrzFYZxhYgTx2Q1CSpnKW_ppfQ6Pg5WYPxleFOKLEd_8qNGizoitNsMmjetXpjS3Ys4RNzYAient04/w300-h400/PXL_20231010_174546585.jpg" width="300" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><span>I've heard the cleaning staff will give personal instruction on the use of machine. I've found there is enough interest in the beast to ease the use of the old machine, busy with my load of towel fabric in the picture.</span></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p>Joanne Noragonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16601010208310707750noreply@blogger.com32tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1920860526738969165.post-61247616534686473152023-10-08T15:52:00.002-04:002023-10-08T15:52:58.237-04:00Sick<p><span style="font-size: large;">I hate being sick, but I am. It all started with a mortified toe and a long wait for the podiatrist appointment. An x-ray was OK, but the lab work showed staph. In the meantime, I was on a course of doxycycline (because I'm allergic to penicillin), and that was the real problem, I think. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">By the end I barely functioned. Burning up, can't stay awake, weak. I guess I add it to the "cillins" I don't take. Fortunately this is the weekend. Both days the alarm rang at eight and I got up at nine thirty. Yesterday I even took a two hour nap. I'm burning up and don't have a temp, and I don't have covid. I brushed a year's worth of dust off that box to open it.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">And poor Kitty. She says little, but puts on a class woe begone act that did not register with me until yesterday afternoon. Today I got her food and water done after breakfast, on schedule, but didn't get to the litter job until after a nap and lunch.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIuaf3ARM1aP7RTKUDQzzEhWI_BSHwoFpyeUusIW6LkvBblnO2SeimqWmqkGdKrFI3ZUbcfXDTl2Lddiw8TbqU9UZXD_ecvySEz9RdMyiMgcman5_LEnB-DKgunlrlpyFDLSUGt_7S9bdq7GCgLmRN0yvz1HHoC6zk35XfRa-UyOIaJUpKZQGuH0-65b7Q/s3490/PXL_20231008_192318743.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3490" data-original-width="2994" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIuaf3ARM1aP7RTKUDQzzEhWI_BSHwoFpyeUusIW6LkvBblnO2SeimqWmqkGdKrFI3ZUbcfXDTl2Lddiw8TbqU9UZXD_ecvySEz9RdMyiMgcman5_LEnB-DKgunlrlpyFDLSUGt_7S9bdq7GCgLmRN0yvz1HHoC6zk35XfRa-UyOIaJUpKZQGuH0-65b7Q/w344-h400/PXL_20231008_192318743.jpg" width="344" /></a></div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><p>To add insult to injury, I lost one of the ski pads from my walker yesterday. Anywhere from the doctor's parking lot to mine. I arrived half way through a very good pizza supper and was struck by a giant wave of sick several bites into a marvelous white pizza from one of the Chicago or New York natives in the kitchen. Fortunately Amazon delivered another set yesterday, but I still need to muster the strength to make it happen. My daughter put on the last set.</p><p>Now the news. What the hell is going on? Why is Hamas putting Yael's life in danger. And by extension, her children and grandchildren. I cannot tell if she is in a town being evacuated, though I see all the towns along the Gaza Strip are being evacuated of civilians. Israel has responded with a declaration of war. Yael has posted she is safe so far, and frightened.</p><p>Keep her in your thoughts and prayers.</p></span><p></p>Joanne Noragonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16601010208310707750noreply@blogger.com35tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1920860526738969165.post-9029545657674679872023-09-29T16:46:00.001-04:002023-09-29T19:32:03.588-04:00Waiting for dinner<p><span style="font-size: large;"> <span>For lunch I had a banana and a dish of coffee cookies and cream ice cream. The latter was wonderful and a banana is generally OK. Nevertheless, I'm hungry. I probably concentrated too hard at Bingo, to no avail.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I came back upstairs rather than stay around for happy hour. I think it will be close to pandemonium down there, and so I left. The kitchen is short staffed, so dinners are being served in our rooms or in the Bistro. I've had dinner there one time, and I didn't enjoy it. Too noisy. The ceiling is low and noise bounces and bounces and bounces.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Kitty greeted me, expecting her after dinner treat. I showed her my empty hand, which she associates with no treat, and she left for the sofa. </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmqzlwbAhy5sxRiJIvUKnvWFUhy29Yt8DgZtUk68RDWWQgP0NfI4WeCheLXi7i3FeyY0PM-hcbCVKgXfhyphenhyphenWTcwRXlAIa5IM3mcs2WtzvP0GvgcgF27VVu6IaOsY_3ndVyqEL4B-ECXiI2hgmuhqb0alTreY1QAtiOEP_wmlnVJgSfCqhgY7dyxaN26-_M0/s2419/PXL_20230929_165654173.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1868" data-original-width="2419" height="309" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmqzlwbAhy5sxRiJIvUKnvWFUhy29Yt8DgZtUk68RDWWQgP0NfI4WeCheLXi7i3FeyY0PM-hcbCVKgXfhyphenhyphenWTcwRXlAIa5IM3mcs2WtzvP0GvgcgF27VVu6IaOsY_3ndVyqEL4B-ECXiI2hgmuhqb0alTreY1QAtiOEP_wmlnVJgSfCqhgY7dyxaN26-_M0/w400-h309/PXL_20230929_165654173.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Like all cats, she has to sleep in/on whatever is available. If that red cushion were down, she would be on that. When supper arrives, she will ask again or wait till I clear up. In short, we rub along quite well. I'm anticipating "very well" in another six or eight months.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Outside my window there is moderate progress. The front end of the building looks much closer to occupancy than the back end here by me. My end is looking seasonal, with yellows, orange, reds, and not even on the tree.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCpRUHgbtZiYoqoWcxAkSdID0xYfpZnAhwk-cpL3Uisvfq4M_xVegJv88kpS4I4SuUhpXSD7SVftmz1kaV04CJ-vEDTIkwQ9aeneKk7PYmO17deKn5NdzId_Plwcnbi6WWUzrZgkuy_pih83beUx4QKG9xgGkPpFl2nkbPdFhhl8A7zs-fajabZ940jsL6/s3107/PXL_20230929_171344023%20(2).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2808" data-original-width="3107" height="361" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCpRUHgbtZiYoqoWcxAkSdID0xYfpZnAhwk-cpL3Uisvfq4M_xVegJv88kpS4I4SuUhpXSD7SVftmz1kaV04CJ-vEDTIkwQ9aeneKk7PYmO17deKn5NdzId_Plwcnbi6WWUzrZgkuy_pih83beUx4QKG9xgGkPpFl2nkbPdFhhl8A7zs-fajabZ940jsL6/w400-h361/PXL_20230929_171344023%20(2).jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><p>I'm pretty close to having all my blog posts reinstated. Probably the person most interested is me. Most I can just republish, but some I have to reread and relive, remember. There were about nine hundred when I began and I'm down to two hundred and fifty-ish. It's 4:45, and my banana and ice cream wore off long ago, so I'll go work on blogs until my doorbell rings!</p></span><p></p>Joanne Noragonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16601010208310707750noreply@blogger.com33