Richard the Lion-Hearted and Warren Zevon
In knitting news, I'm still working on the things I was working on earlier; leper bandages, vintage cardigan,
elaborate "Margaret Tudor" sweater. This last is being tedious, even at the beginning. Starmore's gauge is notoriously difficult to get right, and I'm not happy with mine. I can get it right across, but not up and down. I think I'll go up a needle size, and make it slightly bigger. Won't be off by much around, but in a pattern in which you create length by number of pattern repeats rather than by measuring length, it's crucial to get the damn thing long enough. I do NOT want to be wearing a cute "Margaret Tudor" sweater that rides up over my belly button. Just plain don't.
Although it's the Nativity of the Virgin Mary today, none of my saints' day cookbooks (yes, such a thing does indeed exist) mentions any food customarily eaten on this day. This seems odd to me. Shouldn't there be some medieval custom, oh, from Italy, let's say, or maybe France, that covers this? The day we eat apple pie, maybe, or some sort of nice pasta dish? But no.
So instead, we're commemorating the birthday of Richard the Lionhearted. This is a nice flexible sort of day -- one could easily cook English Food, French food, or Middle Eastern food -- since, though an English king, he spent most of his time in France, when he wasn't harassing Salah ad-Din in the 3rd Crusade. My choice? We're having a nice Greek salad, which, though it doesn't precisely fit any of the categories open to me, will taste good.
Then, on the other hand, yesterday was Elizabeth I's birthday, and we had pasta with roasted peppers. I use the commemorative days as guides and suggestions, not as rules.
****************************
Warren Zevon is dead. He was very ill for some time, and I've been keeping an eye out for the news. All the stories I've run across connect him with "Werewolves of London," apparently his best-known song.
Is it? I didn't know. I appreciated him best for his accurate portrayal of the seemingly-interesting-but-in-reality-deathly-boring state of addiction. He was very good indeed at singing about that -- songs such as "Desperados Under the Eaves" and "Carmelita" (both off his self-titled first album) combined bravado, desperation, denial, and acquiescence precisely. Anthems for the drunk and strung-out.
Well, the smoking got him, but the alcohol didn't -- he was 18 years sober. He got to have two very different lives -- the screwed-up drunken rocker, and the "sober dad," as he put it.
I wouldn't wish addiction on anyone -- it's too chancy and it's too dangerous, you're a horrible bother to other people, even on the best of days, and you've got no guarantee you'll come out the other side. But I appreciate having had two lives, too. Zevon articulated both, and I'm grateful for it.
May great mercy be shown to him.
And I will go off to work, and enjoy my second life.
elaborate "Margaret Tudor" sweater. This last is being tedious, even at the beginning. Starmore's gauge is notoriously difficult to get right, and I'm not happy with mine. I can get it right across, but not up and down. I think I'll go up a needle size, and make it slightly bigger. Won't be off by much around, but in a pattern in which you create length by number of pattern repeats rather than by measuring length, it's crucial to get the damn thing long enough. I do NOT want to be wearing a cute "Margaret Tudor" sweater that rides up over my belly button. Just plain don't.
Although it's the Nativity of the Virgin Mary today, none of my saints' day cookbooks (yes, such a thing does indeed exist) mentions any food customarily eaten on this day. This seems odd to me. Shouldn't there be some medieval custom, oh, from Italy, let's say, or maybe France, that covers this? The day we eat apple pie, maybe, or some sort of nice pasta dish? But no.
So instead, we're commemorating the birthday of Richard the Lionhearted. This is a nice flexible sort of day -- one could easily cook English Food, French food, or Middle Eastern food -- since, though an English king, he spent most of his time in France, when he wasn't harassing Salah ad-Din in the 3rd Crusade. My choice? We're having a nice Greek salad, which, though it doesn't precisely fit any of the categories open to me, will taste good.
Then, on the other hand, yesterday was Elizabeth I's birthday, and we had pasta with roasted peppers. I use the commemorative days as guides and suggestions, not as rules.
****************************
Warren Zevon is dead. He was very ill for some time, and I've been keeping an eye out for the news. All the stories I've run across connect him with "Werewolves of London," apparently his best-known song.
Is it? I didn't know. I appreciated him best for his accurate portrayal of the seemingly-interesting-but-in-reality-deathly-boring state of addiction. He was very good indeed at singing about that -- songs such as "Desperados Under the Eaves" and "Carmelita" (both off his self-titled first album) combined bravado, desperation, denial, and acquiescence precisely. Anthems for the drunk and strung-out.
Well, the smoking got him, but the alcohol didn't -- he was 18 years sober. He got to have two very different lives -- the screwed-up drunken rocker, and the "sober dad," as he put it.
I wouldn't wish addiction on anyone -- it's too chancy and it's too dangerous, you're a horrible bother to other people, even on the best of days, and you've got no guarantee you'll come out the other side. But I appreciate having had two lives, too. Zevon articulated both, and I'm grateful for it.
May great mercy be shown to him.
And I will go off to work, and enjoy my second life.
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