Fermenting

Im sitting at a railway station, knitting. 

And I'm slightly bored. So I pondered about my knitting notes backlog on Ravelry and it occurred to me that, well, I'm using Noro Maiko, introduced in around 2008 and long discontinued, and Ganpi Tape, which may or may not be in production and certainly not available outside Japan since a long time ago.

And then I tried to remember the last te when I used yarn that was actually in production.

I get most of my yarns on sale, on fleabay  and otherwise second hand so it may be discontinued when it reaches me.

But, most importantly, I design stuff based on yarn which I actually have. Which may lead to frantic search for one more ball of something that has already disappeared which would be somewhat easier if my preferred colour was orange, not the blue-green-black-white area.

I got the cyan Maiko at Webs or at Little Knits about a decade ago. The Ganpi Tape has been living in my stash for years as well until it clicked in my head. 

The other stuff in the making is in Taiyo Sock (hunt for more of that colourway included) and King, another in Tennen, discontinued but still available here and there, Ginga, discontinued about two years ago and not seen often, and Tabi (sold as Hakama in Japan in smaller balls for some reason) in col. 6, which got discontinued and I had hard time getting more - this could be counted as current yarn because it was when I started it.

Apparently, I need yarn that has been sitting around gathering dust and cat hair and maturing to its proper state to be used.

Good morning, world

 I shaked off the cats, picked the assorted mess they caused during their night runs and now I'm sitting with my coffee and sorta watching the world go by. The usual business, so much to do, where to start. 

Which lead me to the thought of how this blog started. I got a scholarship to Florence, something sponsored by the Italian Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and it was just in time because about half a year before, I was hanging out with this guy who raped me and stalked me and accidentally, two blocks from my place, a stalker beat her colleague with a stick after he waited in some shrubbery in front of her house. So, moving across half of Europe, changing addresses and phone numbers and everything was pretty good thing. Still, I sometimes looked over my shoulder whether someone wasn't following me. Unpleasant times.

Many years after, we had one of those heated debates with my mother, she asserted that stalkers don't really deserve to be kicked in their shins and fed to lions because what's the harm. I explained how exactly I felt harmed. My mother said Oh, poor boy, he must have been so much in love to be this persistent and you were mean to him, and poor guys these days, everything is stalking and harassment and we'll soon be like those poor people in 'Murica where holding the door for the lady will mean immediate arrest or something.
It went to and fro for a while and at the end, I just gave up reasonable debate and yelled You are my goddamn mother, you should be on my side!!!!1!!!1!
Which won me the argument. I, a person who doesn't understand her own emotions, won an argument by appeal on emotions. I wish I had actual manipulating skills, it would make life easier.

It's a gloomy winter day, I'd love to go to Italy in spring to do a bit of research for my thesis and to hang around. I don't mind sitting at home, not meeting people and doing my stuff, actually, I love it, but due to plague, libraries are closed and I feel that I'm losing the teensy bits of social skills I had so getting outta here is getting scarier. At least I've saved a bundle in dry cleaning.

Anyway, back to virology lectures and knitting.

Chaos. Someone bring me a shovel.

 I went to see my parents for a few days and life happened. I ended up in hospital, then hung around parents' because they were basically panicking that I'm oh-so-sick. All I needed were three days of sleep. Meantime, plague struck and said parents got paranoiac about me catching it. Of all people. Not my dad who has chronic bronchitis, smokes three packs a day and is a social.

It took me some time and cunning to implant the idea in their brains that I'll be fine at home so on Thursday, dad drove me there. Mom insisted that I take the whole fridge and half of the larder so that I don't starve, I had a few things that I had moved to parents' from Thomas' which belong to my place so I appreciated the lift.

But, remember, I have three cats. A friend graciously came to feed them and to water the plants but the place... well. And I had been pretty unwell for several weeks before I left so the usual storage method was first available surface. In other words, the place was a godawful mess.

I sighed and vacuumed a path through cat hair, dust and grains of litter and an occasional dried-on puddle of cat puke to open the windows.

It's Sunday. After about 16 rounds of vacuuming, there are no fluffs of cat hair floating from nowhere. I mopped the hallway - the stain cleaner rocks, it makes the puke peel off in one piece - and adjacent stains, took out the recyclables, did a bit of laundry and dusting and now, my place is not an exhibit of small carnivores but... let's be frank, my place is to neat what People of Walmart is to high fashion but at least it's livable. Three inquisitive pairs of eyes were watching me why I'm disturbing their circles and not unfrequently, one of the felines got in the way. Obviously.

Now, something got done, I'm making a bit of lunch, three puddles of cat fur landed in quiet places to have the 17th nap of the day and I can get back to work.

Lunch, meet book.

The box was supposed to be waterproof but it stealthily leaked to a bag which held, among others, library books.

I did not need those so I noticed an issue only after I wanted to return them. I decided to play it cool and pretend nothing had ever happened, hoping that the librarian will miss the faint stain and that giveaway waviness of the volume. The third volume, which developed a characteristic odour and some fungal growth, was exposed to some sunshine in expectation that lycopene would be bleached and the book would stop stinking.

Nope.

I was fined for light stain on the dictionary of law and the slightly moist volume was passed to the head librarian to evaluate.

Obviously, it was a study on swamp forests or forest swamps which was published as a part of some grant and it was not meant for sale.

The head librarian mailed me on Monday announcing that the library historians need to evaluate the book so that they could charge me for the loss.

Meantime, I made a few phone calls to the university, the publishing office informed me that these books are kept by the author, I mailed the author and in the subsequent exchange, he told me to drop by at the beginning of the winter semester and I promised him my history textbook; he wanted to be an archaeologist, he said.

The moldy book was published by my uni so I went to the bookstore. The shop assistant advised me to lend it from the library - it's been sold out for years. 

Well, internetz to the rescue, at Google page 23, I found an advert.

The head librarian knows me by name, I'm a notorious offender, not in damaged books but in late returns, I study elsewhere, and she thinks I'm cool. Gotta bring her a box of chocolates.

News on the cat front

The other day, Alvar had a bit sore eyes so I checked, flushed his eyes with artificial tears, yes, the cat let me use eye drops, and noticed that his breath smells of July dumpster. I checked his gums, yes, the cat let me stick fingers in his mouth, although he was not particularly happy, and the gums and teeth did not look exactly stellar. Swelling, some calculi... so I called the vet. After all, no idea whether he is chipped or vaccinated or anything.

Poor creature, half of his teeth is rotten. He got antibiotics, antibiotic ointment and on Saturday, the bad teeth are going to be removed. I bought soft food, too, because it somehow did not occur to me that he was not eating because of achy teeth. And I was angry at the shelter, I got him five days ago with a clear bill of health, or, to be exact, No visible traces of health issues. Apparently, nobody bothered to open his mouth. Or sniff around.

Alvar must've been hungry, he inhaled almost a whole can and trotted around, visibly happier. Later on, I found out that he neatly threw it all up, almost untouched, on the bathroom mat. Well, I needed to do the laundry anyway. Alas, he doesn't consider the medication a treat so I need to feed it to him, which includes holding his mouth open and it apparently hurts, today morning, he screamed to high heaven. Eye ointment is fine.

Zoe wanders around and when she sees me, she runs away. Half of the time, I have no idea that she's there so if she sat still and pretended to be a stone, I wouldn't notice at all.

Cat update

I was approved to adopt Zoe. The owner needs to surrender her because she's on a diet and when she eats normal cat food, she pees all over and when she's isolated from the other cats, she is angry and sad because she likes company... and I proved to be sane enough, or the owner just liked me.
The British Shorthair's name is Adam and I'm picking him on Thursday. I hope he and Zoe get on well.
I mailed that friend of mine and told her that, well, sorry for the delay but I needed to think about it, you know, the cats just heaped on me and such, but I'll take Agata, two or three, it doesn't matter. Oh fuck, she said, just today morning, a lady took her for a trial run. With said friend, I have an abysmally bad timing, apparently. She offered me Cake the Pirate Cat but only to go with her best friend Pig (a cat called Pig, to be exact) and while Cake is a dear, I don't want four, for goodness' sake.
Off to buy a cat tree. Pictures will certainly follow.

When it rains, it pours

The Central Registry of Cats aimed its eyes or radars or chemoreceptors at me.

I was intermittently whining to a friend how much I miss Max. On Monday, she said I have a cat for you and pointed me to an offer of a Russian Blue commenting that she's not exactly British but blue enough, and she's even on a diet. I was thinking about it, after all, life has been a bit messy and maybe adding a cat to it might not be the best idea but then I thought that damn it, a cat won't make it any worse and contacted the shelter lady who gave me more information, vouched for me with the owner... and the thing started getting rolling.
On Tuesday, the shelter lady from whom I got Max messaged me whether, just in case, I would not want another British Shorthair. Oh fuck, I thought to myself, I was sort of vouched to adopt the Russian, looked at the picture (squee! Plushy kitty! The widdle ears!), thought about it for about two seconds whether it is reasonable to get two cats and decided that bite it, asked vet friend whether a healthy cat can eat urinary protection diet - yes, sure, it's a good prevention of urinary problems - and said that, well, yeah, I'll adopt him. After all, the Russian likes company.
On Wednesday, I told about this to a friend and she responded Oh fuck, I just wanted to ask you whether you wouldn't adopt our Agata, the other cats bully her and don't let her pee and eat... I told her that, ahem... well, I'll think about it.