The Wild One-Oh-Four

A ride to work on the city bus is always a unique experience, but a ride on the 104 is a whole different ball game. I usually ride the Linea 48, a safe and more comfortable bus...but the 48 stops for 15 seconds and waits for no latecomer. So yesterday, I ended up taking the 104.

The 104 runs older buses; usually old Bluebird school buses that may or may not have the seats nailed down, rattle like mad, and the drivers seem to be convinced that with open windows and tremendous speed, even the oldest heavily-loaded vehicle might be coaxed into sprouting wings. There are times when not only the passengers and seat bottoms are launched from their usual places inside the bus, but the bus may also go airborne at various times of the day.

There are no shock absorbers on these buses and, I think because of that, you can always tell when the 104 is approaching from the racket of the rattling body, doors and windows. Step aboard and let your hair down...it'll be standing on end in just a few moments! Don't forget to get a good grip on something before take-off.

Linea 48 attracts a higher paid clientele, and due to that, it also attracts salespeople and performers of a higher caliber...or at least with higher expectations. The 48 often has traveling musicians who perform and sell their cds on the bus. The salespeople don't limit themselves to selling candies - they have 30 cent pens, sewing kits, and books. The real talent - the guys who push the screwdrivers up their noses - also finds itself on board the Linea 48.

ON the other hand, the 104 gets the candy sellers, the kids who sing through their mom's comb and a Kleenex tissue, the guy who can't play a guitar so he beats out a rhythm on a seat back with a coin or his wedding ring while singing off key, and the woman who rented her neighbor's baby to beg for money. The good thing is that they don't stay long - it's very hard for an off-key singer to be heard over the rattle of the 104 body panels, no matter how hard he pounds on the seat or the door frame. And women carrying rented babies have a hard time staying upright while the bus is airborne. So usually the beggars and the performers jump on, take a quick turn up and down the aisle, and jump back off. Knitting on board is almost impossible because of the bone-jarring, stitch scattering ride, but most people don't notice. They're usually totally occupied with hanging onto the OMG bars in front of them or over head.

This morning, while on my way home after my morning class, a man got on the bus to beg for money. As he started his speech, the driver said, "Hazlo en breve, amigo. No tendres mucho tiempo de hablar." (Make it brief, buddy. You won't have much time to talk.) No sooner did he get those words out of his mouth, when the bus lurched forward and we launched, rattling off down Abancay Avenue. The beggar seemed to be putting a lot of effort into his speech, but nobody could hear a word he said. Once we were airborne, he had no choice but to cut it short and get off at the nearest landing pad...errr...bus stop.

Small blessings in disguise.

The Men's Room

Public bathrooms here in Peru are not desirable places. Practically all of them reek of bodily waste. It's expected to be so here, but honestly, it disgusts me. I assumed (erroneously) that it was from the fact that the Peruvian sewer system is not set up to handle toilet paper, so the used paper is dropped into a trash can next to the toilet. Most of the time, it is dropped into the trash can...sometimes the aim is bad, and it lands on the floor...also a disgusting fact about Peruvian public bathrooms.

So when my own bathroom began to reek of urine, I freaked out. I'm not one of those people who just assume that the bathroom will stink no matter what. And after a little investigation and sniffing things out (literally) I discovered that not everyone has the same bathroom habits and expectations that I do - and that someone is a man that lives in this apartment. I'll leave it to you to figure out what man I'm talking about, but his first initial is O. And worse, after his friends and family members come over, the bathroom absolutely smells like a ketchpen after branding.

We've had several discussions about the choice of taking aim at the toilet, and actually having a good sit-down, and each time, he assured me that it wasn't HIM who missed the toilet. Well, guess what - there are only two of us living in this apartment, and I don't depend on my ability to make a good shot at the toilet. We talked about it today, again, and no headway was made. I just cleaned it at 11 am, and it already smells like somebody missed and shot the floor instead. Which he did. The fact is that "real" men are expectd to take aim on foot, and not shoot from close-up.

He has a need to be a "real" man. Hmm...smells like the men's room in here.

of eye glasses and fiber...

The inevitable happened yesterday: I got glasses...again. Yes, I admit it - I have the over 40 eye syndrome. When I last went to the eye doctor, I had just turned 44, and he told me that "everybody goes through this after they turn 40." So I got glasses. And almost never wore them. Then I came to Peru, went camping, and lost my glasses, but didn't realize it till several weeks later. I talked to O about it, but he was no help. So I squinted along, fumbling through things, until July, when I really couldn't see something that O was trying to point out to me. He apparently thought I was joking way back there 3 years ago when I told him that I lost my specs in Canta. We talked about going to the eye doctor (one of his friends is an optometrist), then he promptly put it off until I came back from vacation. I returned and fell over his bag that he left in the middle of the living room. (I'm not really THAT blind, it was dark, though, and I wasn't expecting him to drop his briefcase right there.) He noticed then, and decided that MAYBE I really did need glasses. Then other things happened and my eyes were put on the back burner until this weekend, when I THREW THE FIT FROM HELL and we went to the eye doctor and then to the optical district in Lima Centro.

As it turns out, the vendadora de lentes has a contract with the optometrist around the corner, and the eye exam was free. Then the salesgal did her best to sell me frames that were de moda (in style). She managed to do that, but not before O did some squabbling with her about price. We finally left there with a pair of fashionable glasses, complete with proper prescription lenses, for 80 nuevos soles, about $30 US. Not bad! (wish I'd have had them about 3 years earlier.)

In other news, I've finished spinning 550 yards of fingering weight yarn of Plum & Ginger merino/silk/sparkly fiber, and it's hanging out the laundry room window. Pictures when it's totally dry...maybe tomorrow!

I Owe My Life to My Shoes

Huh. Well, I haven't had much to write in the last little while. There's not too much going on here, now that I'm back from vacation. It's always a little tough to accept the fact that my free time is gone and I'm back to the grindstone. This month I've got 2 regular classes that are 2 hours long, and a third that is 4 hours long. So far, things are going along pretty well!

One thing that I was able to do while I was in the States was to get clothes that fit me. Thank goodness! Here in Peru, the average woman is about 5 inches shorter than I am, so legs and sleeves on clothes are always way to short. Anyway, I got some slacks that fit, some blouses that fit, and some shoes that fit. YEAY! Amazingly, it was the shoe purchase that turned out to make the biggest difference in everything I've done so far.

The shoes are just black lace-up oxfords. Flats. O laughed when he saw them, and everyone at work has looked at them with a smirk or a grimace on their faces. But I love them. Wearing these shoes has resulted in no more leg and foot pain, a lot less swelling in my legs and feet, and a totally happier me! I contribute the fact that my classes are going so well to the fact that I have a better outlook on life, since I have no more pain. Thanks to plain old black leather oxford shoes. No, they're not stylish, but they support my feet and are totally comfortable. I can climb up to the 8th floor and back down without crying. I also got a brown pair of Maryjanes with a thick rubber sole and wide toe - no heel to speak of, either. Yes, they look like little girl shoes in a large size, but I can wear them all day without tears!

I look at the shoes that the women around me are wearing and wonder who thought up such creative torture devices. Watching women totter around on impossible thin and high stiletto heels makes my legs ache. And those sharp-pointed toes...I can imagine my own toes squashed into a shoe like that - brings a tear to my eyes! The cruelest thing about this form of torture is that women have been brain-washed into thinking that these are desireable things to wear and will consciously force themselves to wear them - all in the name of fashion. Old women struggle along painfully in dangerously high-heeled shoes, mincing along unsteadily beside their younger daughters, nieces, and friends who are also tippy-toeing down the sidewalk in similar toe-mashing, leg cramping, ankle twisting foot killers. Never again will I wear anything like that (fingers crossed.)

My last shoe purchase was in Trujillo last weekend. Lily invited me to go shoe shopping, since Trujillo is the shoe capital of Peru. She bought stiletto heeled sandals, open-toed high heels, and a pair of platform tennis shoes. I bought myself one pair of men's high-topped leather hiking boots.

Lily sighed and rolled her eyes. She's always considered me to be a complete loss when it comes to following fashion trends. I say thank God for black leather oxfords with no heel.

Peeee-uuuuuuuuu!

Not much happening here, except some spinning and Celeste's eau d'rot. She rolled in something dead or rotten. She reeks and doesn't get what the big deal is. O had her at the park when she discovered whatever it was, and took a nosedive into it. Then, heh, he put her in the car and brought her home. It's just a short ride, but the smell was nearly overwhelming for him. He came into the house a little cranky and disillusioned with his dog, once again. This time wasn't as bad as the time that she ate poop, but it still made him gag.

It's days like this when I wish we had a backyard so Celeste could spend her days outside, letting the aroma fade away.

Sunny

from fresh air and open range...

...to car exhaust and exhaustive traffic.

I'm back from vacation. It was kind of a working vacation. After the renters left my house (after they stopped paying rent and water and trash pick-up and I evicted them), I found out that I had to repair the back yard and have sod laid, and clean up what seemed like a year's worth of trash in the house, and wash and paint the walls and ceilings to get the odor out of the house. The little Chinese Elm tree in the back is struggling after a dog took all the bark off it. I wonder if it will survive. The landscaping & sod guys said that if I trim out the dead stuff and cut back the live branches some, it would probably make it, so I did. I hope it makes it. And the majority of my roses survived, too, inspite of a dog digging them up and chewing them up. That makes me very happy. I hope the sod has a chance to form a root system before it freezes. I have the impression that the dog's people just threw him out in the backyard and forgot about him, so he began to chew up everything he found. Celeste tells me that dogs do that when they feel abandoned and lonely.

After working on it a bit, I went to talk to a property manager about renting it again, and after speaking with that gentleman, I decided against renting at all. It seems that there are MANY renters that totally trash a home just because they can. So no more renters for me. I was totally dissillusioned and I felt violated when I saw the state of my home after those people were through with it. My house will just be closed up until I return next year. I had a huge rant all typed out about these particular people, but thought better of it just now and deleted it.

Anyway.

Poor Celeste has a boo-boo. O found a couple of hot spots on her head while I was gone, freaked out (luckily), and took her to the vet. The vet said it was fungus, shaved her head and applied some meds. She looks like a punk rocker, with pink and purple colors on her reverse mohawk haircut.

And my little Sunny left us, too. He was my basset hound that stayed on the farm. I'd tried to take him with me 2 or 3 times to Peru, but each time, the weather was too cold or too hot, and the airline wouldn't let him travel. So he waited for me on the farm. This month he traveled with me every day from the farm to the house in Cheyenne and back, supervising and playing and having a good time. I noticed that he wasn't dancing anymore, and he didn't seem to be the same happy little guy he had always been before, but still, every morning he charged to the house and waited at the car till it was time to go up to Cheyenne and work. Until he began to decline to eat. I took him to the vet and she found a mass in his stomach that had closed off the intestines. She also said he had "messy lungs", and thought that it might be cancer, from whatever caused it in his stomach, that was spreading to the lungs. So the decision was to put him down before he had much more difficulty or pain. It was the right thing to do, but it hurt to do it.

Sunny touched so many lives in his 8 years. The neighbors in Cheyenne knew him and loved him. He worked periodically at Triangle Cross Ranch with disabled people, who loved him, too. He taught us to love forever and forgive quickly and to let go of grudges. He even loved someone who didn't particularly care for him, ignored him, and called him ugly names.

I'm glad he waited for me to come home before he had to go. I'm thankful that we had some good times together this month, too. I'm glad that I was able to notice that something was really wrong and make that decision before he was in too much pain. I still cry when I think about him being gone.

After I'm done being sad about Sunny, I'll write a little more about my vacation. Just now, though, I need to go deal with my tears.

frustrations

Okay. I just spent the last month teaching 100 students pronunciation, grammar, vocabulary, and colloquialisms in the English language. Yesterday, I asked each of them if they had done their homework, and fully HALF of them said, "No teacha, I ause yeseday," (No teacher, I was absent yesterday.)

So, why go to all the trouble to present this stuff, if they are so willing to throw it aside when they have the opportunity to use it in a more authentic way than a contrived dialogue written in their textbooks? Never mind the fact that most of them WERE NOT absent - why NOT add what they learn to their repertoir, rather than stick with the "I ause yeseday"? What better way to personalize and make an authentic conversation than to talk about something real for them?

Today they have their final written exam, tomorrow they have to present a project in spoken and written form, and on Thursday, they have an oral exam in which they have to make use of all the language they have in their lessons. "I ause yeseday" gives me no confidence at all that they have learned or have tried to learn anything. I guess I'll see.

I've been told by the administration that I'm too demanding and that I expect way too much from my students. I wonder if that's bad. I expect them to be motivated and study. I expect them to come to class. I expect them to do their homework. I absolutely expect them to respond in some way, be it a correct answer, an "I don't know," or even "I don't really care." At the end of the cycle, many of them try to wheedle a better grade out of me by whining and tearing up or batting their eyes and flirting with me. Some try to intimidate me into raising their grades. Still others use guilt trips and head games, and one even resorted to the traditional Peruvian way - bribery.

I don't remember school or the few college classes I took being anything remotely like this. Maybe all those years working for the Air Force made my world too sheltered and structured. What ever happened to integrity, responsibility, and impeccability? Actually, I'm not that hard of a person. If I can see some TRY in a student, I'm willing to give him or her the benefit of the doubt. But to spend the cycle piddling around, talking about boyfriends, trying to sleep in class, or just not coming, and THEN try to squeeze extra points out of me? Sorry baby, I'm not that easy.

New spindle!

Here's my new spindle from ButterflyGirlDesigns. It's beautiful! Now I can get on with spinning the Plum and Ginger batts from ArtemisArtemis!

a bunch of random late night stuff

1. I'm still working on the knitted roving bag. I think it will felt very nicely, since it seems to be felting right here in my hands.

2. Still spinning Waltzing Matilda. Gads, lambkins can be spun for frickin' EVER and still have a pile of roving left in the bag.

3. Still spinning on Rough Cut Diamonds...less than 2 ounces of the original 6 to go. Hoping for enough to make some nice long socks.

4. Still spinning on ArtemisArtemis Ginger and Plum...kinda held up while waiting for my new Butterfly Girl spindle to come. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it. WHERE IS IT??? I've got the mailman traps baited and set out, but haven't caught anything yet.

5. Have 8 ounces of beautifully rustic rambouillet roving from Fat Cat Knits to spin up into stockings, if I ever get finished with what I've got on the spindles already.

6. Celeste has a beautiful cushy new bed and where does she sleep whenever possible? (Hint: NOT in her own bed.)

7. No Bubys or Butsys in my classes this month. Only 7 Luises, 5 Maricruzes, 4 Jorges, a whopping 15 Joses, but just 1 Miguel. After calling on Jose 1, Jose 2, Jose 3,4,5, and 6, I'd give my eye teeth for just one Livinton or Wasinton. I'd even settle for a Dooby or a Dohboy, just to break up the monotony. (They're one's in someone else's class. Such a pity.)

Just quickly...

Damn this day job! It interferes so much with my REAL life, my fiber life. Between a correspondence course on line, a presentation and class observation with another instructor, getting evaluated, and a full day of teaching, I'm not getting the proper quality time with my projects. Knitting with the mermaid blue/green/purple roving has become so addicting; just watching those gorgeous colors slip through my finger is mesmerizing. It's been quite an interesting experiment so far. I'm not advancing as fast as I'd like, partially due to a little vegetable matter (VM) that's cropping up as I split the roving and draft it out to the thickness that I want for knitting. And partially due to the fact that I spend a lot of time just staring at the colors and imagining that I'm in a clean, clear river in the mountains.

Septimus Heap is over for now. Wah. It was a fast and fun read, but now I have to wait to get the next volume until I go visiting Barnes & Noble when I go home next month. The SH series is a result of the Harry Potter craze, but these books are a little more gentle and less violent. Not that there's a lack of danger and adventure - there is plenty - but it's handled in a way that's more suited for a younger reader. So it focuses a little more on the fun aspect of the magical imagination than Harry Potter does. Things also take place outside of the walls of the castle, in the forest, in the Marsh, in the Badlands, and in the Ramblings, and things seem a little more verdant and fresh, and not so dark. Plus the characters are kind of different. The story is a little less sophisticated than Harry Potter, and so are the characters. I definitely recommend The Septimus Heap series if you want a fun, quick read! The good thing is that there doesn't seem to be an end to the series looming on the horizon.

And, speaking of going home, I really cannot wait to go! It's been 2 years since I've had a vacation, and I'm ready. It's been 2 years since I've spent much time at all out of the smog and car exhaust. I need a few lungfuls of clean country air, even if it's flavored with eau d' dairy cow, goat, or alpaca. Plus, I need some clothes. My work clothes are getting worn out and I seem to be too big to be able to find affordable clothing and footwear here. My tennis shoes have several holes in them now and the soles are so smooth that I get no traction at all with them.

*Sigh* It's time to get ready for work again. See you later.

a little progress

I've never been able to stick to just one project at a time. I've been playing with the rovings bag, knitting little here and a little there. I've also been spinning on two sets of batts, and I've got a crochet project in the works, too. Project ho, here. And, I've been reading. I'm in the middle of the second volume of the Septimus Heap series, Flyte. I know, it's a kid's book, but it's also a LOT of fun. And I like fun with no strings attached. A kid's book - just what I need for these gray, damp and fungusy, dreary winter days!

So here are some photos of the experiment of knitting with roving, so far (and a little peek at Flyte.) I like it, but I need to devote a little more time to it. This is how it's going so far:

The mermaid roving.

knitting with roving

Well, today's my last day of the Independence holiday. As usual, I've been drop-kicked by a bug too small to see. A head cold. Luckily, today is the first day in a week that I've felt half-decent. I've had WAAAY to much caffeine and have too much energy for my own good. I've had a ton of projects bouncing around in my head, but so far, all I've managed to do is get groceries, get some laundry washing, and take the latest spinning project down from the drying rack and bag it up.

So I have some really gorgeous wool roving - mermaidy colors in blues and greens and purples - that I've been working with. There's a LOT of it and I'm kind of spun out on it for the time being. And I've been, of course, reading a lot on Ravelry and getting a hankering to felt something. I want to make a bag with this roving, but I'm so sick of spinning it that I've decided to go with just knitting the roving. I've pulled some down to pencil roving size, more or less, and begun to knit it on US size 11 straight needles. They're the biggest needles I've got for now. It's going surprizingly well! I had some misgivings about it at first, envisioning the roving falling apart, but this fiber still has a little sheep grease in it, I think, and it's kind of sticky. That makes it a little hard to spin, but it's making it fabulous to knit with! So far, no falling apart, and when I was pulling it into smaller sections, if it broke, I just rolled it between my hands a couple of times and PRESTO! it's whole roving again!

The only drawback to this whole process is that there's no hot water plumbed into the laundry room. I'll have to heat water in the teapot to carry to the washer for my felting process. Plus the fact that every time I pull it into pencil roving, I want to grab a spindle! This fiber is just beautiful! I'll have pictures of this experiment later. Right now, I've gotta get my overly-caffinated brain back down to the ground!

Handspinning Sunday

Superwash merino, 64 ct, Waltzing Matilda colorway, from Enchanted Knoll Farm
Superwash merino and sparkly stuff, Rough Cut Diamonds colorway, from Enchanted Knoll Farm
70% bamboo, 20% firestar sparkles, 10% sari silk. Colorway "Riot", from Butterfly Girl Designs.

The thick and the thin of it all...

Harry made me do it.

Well, I should NEVER go to see Harry Potter movies. The problem is that I like them too much. They get me thinking about all the little stories I told myself when I was a kid, and all the little stories I told my daughter when she was a kid. See, I happen to think that we ALL have a little magic in us, especially women. It's just that we often forget about it, what with growing up and boyfriends, and husbands, and kids and responsibilities. In fact, I think we have A LOT of magic in us, if we just slow down enough, often enough, to remember it. I've been playing with my sparkly ladybug magic wand these last two days. I'm not so proficient with it and spend a lot of time sparkling things up. Luckily, Celeste knows when to dodge the magic wand sparkles and when they're just sparkles that are falling out of my spinning batts. She's only had sparkles from one or the other on her a couple of times. Both, I might add, are equally magical!

I remember that huff and fluff that was going on in the various churches some years back, when they decided that Harry Potter stories were DANGEROUS to kids and threats to God and the church. I thought it was ridiculous then and I still do. As I was perusing the Harry Potter books on Amazon.com this afternoon, I noticed that right there, among all that printed magic, was a book that warned about the dangers of Wicca to children. Well, I have to say that Harry Potter has nothing to do with Wiccan beliefs. While listening to the hubbub about it, after my sister got kicked out of her church because her kids revealed in Sunday school that they had indeed read ALL the Harry Potter books (gasp!!!), and when I discovered Lynn V. Andrews's books, I did some in-depth digging into the Wiccan religion and investigated. Just call me "Super Sleuth".

Wiccanism's nothing to do with Harry Potter. I have no judgements to proclaim, except to say that I just can't get into it as a religion. It's not for me. It is very interesting, though, and I think that before condemning it, one should know about it.

But anyway, because Harry was so good for me this week and lifted my spirits so immensely, I ran right over to Amazon.com, as I was saying earlier, and looked for some more fun and magical books. I haven't read all of the Potter series, and intend to do so when I get home in September because, you know, those corrupted children in my sister's house have all the stories, PLUS the Spiderwyck series!!! At this point, I think I need to point out that I corrupted my own daughter at an early age with the Wizard of Oz and later, with Magyck (the Septimus Heap series opener), Phillipa Gregory's book The Wise Woman, and Monica Furlong's Wise Child and Juniper. Even later, I turned her on to Diana Gabaldon's Voyager series and she traveled through time in her dreams.

She didn't tumble headlong into Wicca because of it - but she DID name her dog Juniper.

And when my mom was alive, all the women in our family, from age 7 to seventy, stumbled into a magical store in Olde Town in Fort Collins (just to the right of platform 9 1/2) to get a price on a Nimbus 2000 and wands similar to those used in the movies. Luckily for us, they were priced WAY out of our Christmas shopping budget. If they had been more affordable, we might have spent that Christmas zapping one another. Then the Church would probably have sent us all to hell, post haste. Good thing that fate intervened, isn't it?

Back to the search through Amazon.com for a Harry Potter-like magic fix. It turns out that I only glanced through Magyck in a very cursory way and don't remember much, if any, of the story. So I ordered the first two books in the Septimus Heap series, and then pre-ordered the one that's due out in a couple of months. And then I ordered Abby Franquemont's new spindling book, too, due out in December. Sorry, Abby. I didn't order from your website, even though I'd love to have your autograph. The money I saved by not having you sign the book will go towards the shipping costs. Spindling is a magical process in itself.

There. I said it. I admit it. I blew my fiber budget for next month on frivolous magic and IT'S ALL HARRY'S FAULT.

Tour d' fleece spinning

Here's my last photo of TdF spindling. Rough Cut Diamonds:

This is about 1 ounce of sock weight singles. Unfortunately, I still have 5 ounces to go.

Rough Cut Diamonds is superwash merino with sparkles, from Enchanted Knoll Farm.

Have a drinky-poo

Everywhere on the west coast of Peru, people use the diminutive when they speak. "Quesito?" (A little cheese?) When I was first learning about this phenomenon, I read that it is used to express endearment or cuteness. An example would be "tengo un perrito" (I have a cute little dog). Okay. I could understand that. But typically, I hear things like this: "Aqui estamos en el mercadito. Gaseosita? Solamente cuesta un solcito. Toma esta bebidita. Y carnecita? Come un poquitito y regresamos en la nochecita, amorcito. Llegamos a la casita en un ratito. Y entonces jugamos con tu perrito. Es presiosito!"

I translate this in the most literal way, because that's mostly the way my mind works, and because it makes me laugh. Then later, I go back and think about what the person really was saying. So at first, the Spanish comes into my mind like this:

Here we are in the cute little market. An itty bitty soda pop? It only costs one cute little sol. Have a little drinky-poo. And a little bit of meat? Eat a little bitty bit and we'll go back at nighty-poo, my cute little lovey dovey. We arrive at the housey-poo in a little minute-winute. And then we'll play with your little doggy-poo. It's so cutie-wootie!

Yeah. Makes me laugh and then makes me gag a little bitito. Too much sugar makes me ill.

Sunday

Well, this is the last day of the Tour d' Fleece, and I've definitely bitten off more than I could chew. I managed to complete the Cabaret yarn, and filed a spindle with Rough Cut Diamonds, but only one, and I've got a private English lesson coming at 11, and a correspondence course on the puter that I've got to work on. Wah. I need to learn to stop over-committing and pace myself. I'm a non-finisher. But at least I've got 900 yards of really pretty sparkly yarn for a shawl and matching socks, probably...and the Rough Cut Diamonds is going to be nice, too. I should probably do some housework and laundry, too, before the lessons show up in a couple of hours. This apartment smells like STINKY DOG FEET.

And, I've been reading the Yarn Harlot's blog. She has a troll. Terrible. You may remember that I had a troll of my own a while back. I have sympathy for her, but Steph is lucky in that her troll doesn't personally know her, so cannot personalize her nastiness to the extent that mine did. I think, though, that she will be able to get past the ugliness by not responding to it. Delte all the ugly comments without posting a one, and not responding in any way to the comments or e-mails. I wonder what moves people to be so ugly on line. I wonder why they always feel so justified in their written attacks on others. I've had a lot of time to think about it, and I know that it has to be some kind of mental imbalance. After doing some research, I have learned a lot about Borderline Personality Disorder, and I feel like this fits my previous troll to a T. If you Google this, you will find a wealth of information on it. I can't think about this anymore - it still bothers me - so I'm moving on to another topic.

I went to see Harry Potter and The Half-blood Prince last yesterday afternoon. I loved it! I went kind of apprehensive, because all those child actors are growing up and I wondered how good it might be. I hoped the movie would still have all the charm that the first couple did. And it did. The ending is left open for the continuation, so I imagine that another one will be on the way in the next year or two. No spoilers here. I'll just say thank goodness there was no extended quiddich game. Just a short, quick match to prove the power of the mind.

names...

So, I'm on my lunch break at work now. I've been thinking about my students a lot lately. Some of their parents are sending them to study here because they want them to travel to the US and have a better life than they could have in Peru. I think they must have always wanted that, because of some of the names they give their kids. I think (and I could be completely wrong about this) that they want them to have good American or English names, so they do their best. For example....

I have a student in Basic 9 this month whose name is Buby (pronounced "Booby"). The poor guy insists that he be called "Moises" (the Spanish version of "Moses"), which is his middle name. I gladly oblige him. I can't imagine waking up with a name like "Booby" every day, either.

I have another student named Rut. I believe it is meant to be Ruth. And there's Grake...Grace? Butsy...Bootie or maybe Betsy? Parents, parents...please check your spelling!

I found out that there was a period of time, about 1960, when in Peru it was illegal to name your child anything except a Biblical name. If it wasn't found in the Spanish version of the bible, it was illegal, and the application for a name would be rejected by the governmental agency for vital statistics. Goodness...talk about control freaks. No wonder there are so many women named Maria and so many men named Jose and Jesus!

spindling Cabaret

300 yards of Cabaret; superwash merino fingering weight yarn. Only about 1.5 ounces to go.