Ahhhh, Columbus

Some days
Originally uploaded by norvegal

The much-twittered-about TNNA was a great success. After hours, the Hyatt lobby took on the look of a summer camp with pajama-clad knitters flopped on every chair, chatting and giggling and taking pictures and Twittering until the early hours of the morning.

I have learned the hard way that the later you stay up at these events, the weirder and potentially more unsettling the conversation can become. You tend to wake up the next morning thinking things like, "Did everybody realize I was being ironic when I said I hated all knitters??!" or, "Was she really being ironic when she said I was stupid and obsolete?" Either way, it can unsettle you, especially if you have to mingle among those very same people the following day.

Better to take a bubble bath and turn in early.

In parallel to the summer camp side of things we had some true, serious, well-contemplated commerce taking place on the show floor. Yarn stores were buying. They weren't just stocking more from existing vendors, they were picking up new ones, investing in entirely new companies and lines. And that's a very, very good sign that our ecosystem is on its way to recovery.

When not connecting and reconnecting with a slew of smart, lovely, hard-working people who are trying to make a living as shop owners, designers, yarn company owners, and even publishers, I consumed far too much Jeni's Ice Cream, played barefoot in a big splashy fountain, and watched a gorgeous blue heron slowly wander along the banks of this occasionally septic river in search of fish.

All in all a good trip, but I'm mighty glad to be home.

The Not-so-grand View

Not so grand
Originally uploaded by norvegal

A few months ago, we had quite a stir when a fellow named Donald Crabtree decided to open a coffee shop in Vassalboro. One one of those blink-and-you'll-miss-it towns in the middle of nowhere, Vasalboro's big claim to fame is being in a Bert & I joke. The tourist wheels through town and asks, "Which way to East Vassalboro?" The local replies, "Don'tcha move a goddamn inch." (I don't know, but it's a classic.)

Anyway, the concept of any business opening up in Vassalboro is a great thing, especially something like a coffee shop. But that wasn't the source of the controversy. No, the problem was that this coffee shop, my friend, would be staffed by topless women.

The local reaction was mixed. Apparently 150 people applied for 10 positions (that's job positions), while the more vocal locals insisted it was a moral outrage. It caught national media attention and sparked my favorite new term, "Bare-istas."

Well, last week Donald met with the town fathers/mothers and shared his intention to expand business to be more like a strip club. At which point all patience evaporated and Maine justice, of you can call it that, clicked into action. By 1am, the coffee shop had been burned to the ground. What you see is all that's left.

(Photo blurry because it was taken while driving past at 55mph this morning on my way to Portland. Taking pictures in a moving car is a nasty habit of mine. Don't do it at home, kids.)

Fortunately nobody was hurt (so much for my original post title, "Toasted Titties"), but folks won't be able to get their morning coffee-and-boob fix for a while yet. Donald had no insurance but insists he will rebuild and continue with his strip club plans. The newspapers are gently noting, "Arson has not yet been ruled out," to which I can only say, "Well DUH."

I'm wondering if a milk-your-own coffee bar, with a cow in back, would be better received? You still get your coffee and you'd even get to TOUCH the boobs. As long as the cow consents.

Columbus Beckons

Right now all around the country folks in the knitting biz are looking at their calendars and saying, "Holy crap, TNNA is next week?!" Closets are being overturned, new outfits purchased, suitcases pulled from the attic, emails sent out, press releases finalized, patterns finished, samples darned, materials packed and crated for the journey.

I love the summer TNNA because it takes place in Columbus, Ohio. Those of you who've never been to Columbus or who've only spent times in the drearier parts may smirk or roll your eyes, but I love this city. I love its midwestern vibe, I love its architecturally extravagant convention center, and I love to the point of near distraction its North Market and, specifically, Jeni's Ice Creams.

TNNA also gives me a chance to spend a week among some of my favorite people in the world -- my peers and the sources of so much motivation, inspiration, and support. Most of us work in near solitude the rest of the year, so this is a rare opportunity for us to come together and be goofy.

The only dark side to TNNA, for me anyway, is being the reviewer among many of my reviewees. Not because of anything that I've written, because I never write anything in a review that I wouldn't feel fully comfortable saying to that person face to face. But because it can, on occasion, present an awkward dynamic. And being around folks whose products I have intentionally (or for mere logistical reasons) not reviewed, but who may have expected something, can cause knots in the ole stomach.

Of course none of this would matter if I were more of a prickish, arrogant figure, like Sheridan Whiteside in The Man Who Came to Dinner. I'd wheel through the hall, ordering people about, issuing witty and cutting retorts, and swishing out of the room to the laughter and applause of the audience.

Thankfully I'm not that character, but I do feel genuinely bad when I'm not able to bring another person's high hopes to fruition. That doesn't stop me from doing it all the time, since editorial trumps codependency any day of the week. But TNNA does put a human face on each of those decisions.

Now, a bigger question: What should I pack?

P.S.--Hey Columbus knitters! Won'tcha play hookey with me on Wednesday, June 17th? I'm teaching a course about yarn at Knitters Connection and I understand we still have room for a few more people. I haaaaaave swwaaaaaatches.....

Has it really been 31 days already? Indeed, if my calendar is correct, today is the last day of my self-imposed post-a-day challenge. Sound the trumpets! Toss the confetti! Bring cupcakes!

It’s been quite a month, and I am so grateful to those of you who bravely rode the blogwagon with me. Honestly, I think it’s far too much to ask of people, this posting every day business. You’re busy. I feel a bit guilty about routinely pulling you away from more important things just so I can wax poetic about a biscuit recipe, blooming lilacs, a grandfather you never knew, or an MRI machine that looks remarkably similar to a tanning bed I’ve never seen.

Still, I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you again. I appreciate the experience of sitting back and reflecting on each day, which became a meditation of sorts. I am happy that the “blog clog” has been undone and that my words are flowing quickly and more comfortably again. And I really enjoyed this chance to share a little more of my world with you.

Generally speaking I’m not the kind of gal who likes to put a giant sign on her head that says, “Look at me!” (I’d much rather hold up a sign that says, “Look at the yarn!”) But this month has shown me that it is possible to share elements of yourself in a way that helps connect others to themselves, if that makes sense.

So much is interconnected. Rho and her clam pie, Melanie and her grandma’s song about white lilacs, Sue and her artichokes with lemon garlic mayo, Rosi and her paper take-out box of fried clams, Thanh and her Vietnamese chicken porridge, Amy nursing her family with homemade miso porridge, Abby and her Penn Station artichoke sandwiches, Minh and her tarte a la moutarde, and Cat and her complete love of digging her hands into dark loamy soil in search of the magical potatoes that lie hidden beneath.

(Hmmmmm, I guess you could say I’ve written a bit about food this month?)

Please know that, though perhaps not daily, our journey shall continue. And if you need to reach me, you can always find me here.

Thank you, my friends!

catching up

lilacs
Originally uploaded by norvegal

Spring isn't an easy time in Maine. While the rest of you are bragging about your daffodils and tulips, we're still shoveling out from the latest snow storm. By the time we finally catch up with the rest of the country, you're already in your bathing suits headed to the beach. When the lilacs finally bloom, which is happening right now, most folks can only reply distractedly, "Lilacs? Huh? Oh yeah, I remember those."

The lilacs represent a particularly special time here because they take hold of my life for one intoxicating week. My house is bordered by two enormous lilac hedges. By "enormous," I mean that each hedge is literally the size of a small house -- in fact one hedge surrounds a cellar pit where an old cape used to stand.

When these lilacs bloom, which they're in the midst of doing right now, everything smells of lilacs. If I walk out onto the porch, I am engulfed in that warm sweet powdery fragrance. Not a stenchy, headache-inducing synthetic perfume but the real deal. I can't see a single lilac from there, but I can smell them as clearly and intensely as if a huge bouquet were right beneath my nose.

And it's all happening right now. At this very moment, as I type these words, everything smells of lilac. Fresh flowers are, for me, the absolute epitome of luxury. (Well, that and freshly squeezed orange juice, clean sheets, and sweaters that never pill.)

So this is my favorite brief and enchanting period of time. It feels almost magic, as if fairies have been allowed to take over the world for a week. It is decadence and abundance, the floral version of suddenly having a machine that spouts $100 bills, or a faucet that offers up hot chocolate and fresh chilled lemonade. I only wish this blog had smell-o-vision so that you could enjoy it with me.

creative tides

by the sea
Originally uploaded by norvegal

Remember that little window of space I mentioned at the beginning of this month? Sadly, it is beginning to draw to a close. External commitments once again are starting to lay claim to my creative energy. Not Knitter's Review, which is such a near and dear part of my life that I almost forget it is a commitment. But other projects that I've been lucky enough to snag. Most of them were anticipated and scheduled well ahead of time, but a few came on as last-minute surprises, which upped the tension sooner than expected.

Having had a remission from my chronic overcommitmentitis for the last few weeks, I'm fascinated to feel -- actually literally feel -- how the return of tension and deadlines impacts my inner ecosystem. I'm not talking "boo hoo vacation's over" stuff. But rather, and this may sound hokey, I can almost feel where those creative commitments pull their energy, and what other creative pursuits can no longer manifest themselves as a result.

No matter what we'd like to think, we humans are not eternal fountains. Our energy is not limitless. Tug on a wire and some lights will flicker. Push that button and a toilet flushes somewhere in Singapore. Add two unexpected but welcome writing deadlines within the next week and the home-made bread and fully decorated cupcakes must go. Not just because there's no time, but because there's no juice in that creative well -- it's being used for other things.

I have no answer to this quandary, I can only offer it as an observation. Everything really is interconnected. All we can do is try and tend our inner gardens as best we can.

Speaking of which, guess what just sprouted?

the world's greatest buttermilk biscuits

on this weekend's menu
Originally uploaded by norvegal

Seeing as we've become the bestest of friends, and seeing as another weekend is almost upon us, I thought it my duty to share with you The World's Greatest Buttermilk Biscuit Recipe.

I've made it several times already. The first time was so good I was stunned and convinced that it had to be a fluke. But the second time was even better. And from then on, I knew that this would become that secret recipe I pull out when I have a last-minute culinary emergency and want to look like one of those women who knows what she's doing.

This recipe comes from Susan Wyler's Cooking from a Country Farmhouse, an out-of-print collection of recipes that looks at first like it'll be one of those gratuitous "I moved to the country and learned to cook" books but is actually very good. I like Susan because she, too, lives in a restored farmhouse. We crazies need to stick together.

Anyway, you start by preheating your oven to a toasty 450 degrees and smearing a small amount of butter onto your favorite cookie sheet.

Now, sift together 1 cup flour (all-purpose is fine), 1 tsp baking powder, 1/4 tsp baking soda, and a wee pinch of salt.

Cut a mere 3 tablespoons of unsalted butter into the mix. Three tablespoons! In the baking world, that's nothing. When the butter feels like little flakes of oatmeal in the flour, pour in 2/3 of a cup of buttermilk. The first time, I put in 3/4 of a cup by mistake and it was fine.

Mix just to the point where everything is blended, and then STOP. Put the spoon down! Resist temptation! This does not want to be mixed any more than absolutely necessary.

Finally, take your favorite soup spoon and scoop out a moderate sized dollop of batter (dough? batter?) and drop it on the cookie sheet. These guys like to spread, so give each one a few inches of personal space. If you need a second sheet, go for it.

Slide in the oven and bake for 12 minutes. Or 14 minutes if you have my oven. You want them to be nicely gold with a little crust on the bottom.

Oh, and if you want a little extra excitement in your life? Grate 1/4 cup parmesan into the flour mix before you add the buttermilk. Your life will never be the same.

And that, my friends, is absolutely it. This recipe is almost criminal in its speed, simplicity, and deliciousness.

Bon appetit!