Domestic Thursday: Plowman's Progress

My sweater knitting continues. I'm still behind, but catching up. As you can see, I have a few repeats of the body pattern finished already. I'm attempting Laura Chau's Thermal from Knitty Winter 2006, with a fuzzier yarn and looser gauge. We'll see how it goes.

I also have another slouchy beret ready to be mashed upon my head (and rained and snowed and slushed on.) The yarn was a gift - one skein of Manos del Uruguay, in a delicious blue-green shade. Only one skein though, so it had to become a hat. After poking around on Ravelry, I decided on the Star Crossed Beret, and it turned out just fine. It's a little poofier than I had hoped, but not too ridiculous.

And, as always, I've been drinking while knitting, because something has to dull the pain of this weather. (Update on my previous drinking story: the bill was no fake!) Here's the Plowman's Ale from Grand River. It's a good beer to drink in large quantities or with big meals. More malty than not, there's no real bitterness until the end, and then it's very manageable. It's just beer. Simple, delicious beer when the weather is awful, and you just want to sit and knit.

Never Shop Drunk

I was going to do a book pile for my post, but then the most absurd thing happened to me tonight and I figured I would share:

My brother's a busy guy, but we were finally going to spend some quality spending time together last night. Since he's an East Ender, we had picked The Only Cafe to drink in, which only takes cash. Fresh out, I found a TD and withdrew $60. Broke one $20 on booze at The Only, and another on food at Square Boy. These two places are like night and day. Literally. One has neon lights that shine bright as the midday sun on a fleet of cranky Greek man of indeterminate old age, and the other is black as pitch with two young'uns pulling pints behind the bar.

Now in a slightly inebriated state, I went home, but stopped off at the grocery store first. I picked up a green pepper, some hummus, tortillas and fruit juice. Dropped the green pepper in line. Gave the cashier the split green pepper anyway, telling her I'll take it since it was my fault. Feeling pretty classy, I hand her one of the $10 bills I have in my wallet.

"Uh, I think this one's fake," she says.

This knocks me out of my stupor. Fake? Really? I handle the bill. It does feel kind of weird, and as I would later discover, is completely missing the holographs, though it does have the braille pressed on it - glad the counterfeiters care about accessibility!

"Oh weird," I say, "I just got that in change from somewhere."But I have my suspicions. Between the lights and the combined century+ of counter service experience, I doubt it was Square Boy. The Only, on the other hand? I probably wouldn't have noticed if they had returned a $100 bill instead of a $10, it's so dark. (though it later turned out to be genuine - see note below.)

I hand her my other, acceptable $10 and she hands me a bag.

"Don't take it into the bank," she says, "because they won't give it back." Weird, I hadn't asked for a bag, and doubly weird, why should I keep on trying to pass off a fake bill? Should I go to the cops or the bank? Would they care about a fake small bill, or should I just tear it up? These are the questions that keep me occupied all the way home.

So occupied that I don't notice how weird my bag feels. It's only when I'm almost at my house that I look at the bag and realize what's gone wrong. Either the cashier forgot to give the person her second bag, or she left it behind, because the lady in front of me had the multiple cartons of oat milk I noticed on the till, but instead of my tortillas, green pepper, hummus and fruit juice, I had:
One pack of bacon.
Another pack of bacon.
And a whole package of sausage.

So, I'm out $10, and my groceries. But I do have one thing:

MEAT

2/20 UPDATE: The bill was not counterfeit! The police said so. However, the ill-gotten meat remains in my fridge.

February Resolution, Week 1 Version 2.0

So, the frugality thing didn't exactly happen this week, nor will it happen this month.

This is my gentle way of saying that my attempts to save instead of spend experienced a hiccup on Monday, thanks to trivia night, with a bit of a stutter following on Tuesday, before the whole enterprise finally descended into a full-on Hindenberg fireball on Thursday, when I charged a ridiculous lingerie purchase and realized there was no salvaging the resolution for this month.

But, in a way, it was a wake-up call. I didn't spend a ridiculous amount on fancy bras because I wanted to. Instead, I fell in love with the 3 for 2 deal, didn't check the prices of the individual bras, and felt awkward about saying anything at the till. Oh well, I needed bras, and the stiff, backhanded reality check the whole experience provided.

I have learned that I need to become a smarter consumer, and I'm giving myself two weeks to practice before attempting the resolution again in March.

Instead, I'll be attempting to knit a whole sweater in the next two weeks. And since the great failure and shameful reorientation, I have... a bit of a hem:

Crap. February is a cruel month.

Domestic Thursday: Gruit Exploration

If you know someone who pickles their own trotters, and makes oddly herbal bitters, serve them a gruit if they ask for a beer. But, you may ask, what is a gruit? And how is it pronounced? Er, well, I'm not 100% sure on the latter. Seems like you make it into a long "ooo" sound. As for the former, gruit is just math: beer, minus the hops, plus a bunch of herbs. Hops didn't always enjoy their current monopoly on beer flavouring. Before the hoppy takeover, brewers could, and often did, throw in a potion's worth of herbs and spices to flavour and preserve their beer. 

 

And, now that we can drink like King Midas thanks to spectrometry, it's not surprising gruits are back as well. I tried my first, a special from Beau's called St. Luke's Verse, at the beginning of the month. It contains lavender, thyme and rosemary, and I liked mostly for its striking resemblance to Brio. Maybe it could have used a heavier, malty base. That's what the bartender thought, but I also think it would have been perfect as is, if only in the summer. 

My second is also from Beau's, but the Bog Water is easier to come by. You might still be able to find it on the shelf at the LCBO, and it features bog myrtle from a real Ontario bog. This beer is an odd one. The taste made me think of spicy floral, and I could feel (instead of really taste, somehow) a bitterness at the back of my throat. And yes, I drank it out of a mug because why be fussy about the glassware of a gruit? It comes from a freaking bog!

Interestingly, both of these beers contain something you would expect in a regular beer, but maybe not a gruit: hops. Turns out that hops are just better at preserving things, including the tradition of the gruit. 

February Resolution, Week 1

Frugality! A worthy quality, a noble goal, and something I have never, ever managed to achieve. Learning to budget and save has been a constant life goal, appearing annually on my list of New Year's Resolutions, but disappearing quickly (along with the money in my bank account.)

So why not try being frugal again, but this time only for a month? Then I wouldn't feel so bad when, inevitably, I use my credit card to shop away my feelings.

That was my thinking when I started the month. I was helped in my endeavour by the greatest saving strategy ever devised: Having Just Paid the Rent With the Next Paycheque Still Seven Days Away. Eating out is one of the largest drains on my money, so I decided to drop the number of times I bought my lunch to one, and eat all of my breakfasts at home. And I did it, even though I barely have the energy in the mornings to chew.

Still, good intentions can't overcome all obstacles. And on a hectic Saturday morning that would soon transmogrify into an awful Saturday shitstorm, I had to take a taxi. Four lunches later (er, if you get pizza) I arrived at my destination.

Oh well, this was only week one. Onward and upward with the savings! Plus I can always sell one of the less essential organs if I fall off the wagon again.

January Resolution: Week 4, and Conclusions

With the phlegm cleared (sort of - I'm still coughing up some ectoplasm even now) the last week of my January resolution went better than the whole month that preceded it. Have a look at how the week broke down, yoga-wise, in diary form:

Monday: I gamely stretched along to an Ekhart Yoga YouTube video and Esther Ekhart's weirdly calming accent. Trying to get a home practice going has somehow been more difficult than going to class. At least in class I'll commit to the whole thing. At home, anything longer than twenty minutes seems like a gross imposition on my time. Can you put a price on nirvana? No, but a time cap seems promising Still, I found one benefit to practicing at home: if you have cats, they'll attempt to join your practice, mostly by standing under you when you're in your downward dog. Aww.

Tuesday: Off to Perfect Butt Station with my girl Chloe for a Gentle Hatha and Meditation class. Farts were kept in check throughout the yoga portion. I couldn't keep my thoughts in check during the meditation part though. Never try to meditate while hungry.

Wednesday: Meditation. It's important to balance rest and meditation with more active forms of practice. Also: sometimes you get tired of dragging your yoga mat around Toronto. My meditation was guided by the Stupidest Article Ever Written About Yoga. Here's a synopsis of the article: white girl goes to yoga class, a Black woman sets her mat down behind her. Then the white girl can't concentrate on her practice because she feels bad at how whitewashed her studio is, and is convinced that the Black woman is hating her, specifically her, for it. Two real problems are identified in this piece, but only one was done so intentionally. Something has gone sour with yoga (at least as practiced in the West- can't speak to the rest) and who feels like they can practice it. There's a reason why Kula, my favourite studio in Toronto, started some positive space programs. However, there's another problem in this article, and it's that people with privilege often think being an ally means being a spokesperson. They can authoritatively know how everyone else is feeling, and what they're thinking - and, of course, all those thoughts must be about them!

My meditation got stuck on how I could avoid doing that. Was I a good ally, a misguided person, or was I sometimes an ugly racist? Also, what to do with the outrage accelerator that is the Internet? Oh, to think about food again. I think I just ended up falling asleep as I listened to the guided meditation, all of my questions left unresolved.

Thursday: To Perfect Butt Station, Downtown Branch, for a Core Yoga class. I'm concerned that it will just be pilates with added gongs, but fortunately it's an enjoyable, flowing class. I also experience the odd sensation of sweating while being completely cool. It feels damn weird.

Friday: On the last day of my resolution, and unable to schedule a real class with all of my other commitments, I give up and just do a few sun salutations to wake up. Marvin keeps me company. Waking up this way isn't as effective as an espresso, but it's at least on the level of a strong cup of tea. I'll try and do my sun salutations more often.

And with that, it was February. I've continued to go to yoga classes since then - once on Sunday, and again today. In a development that would shock absolutely no one, I am not perfectly calm after 30 days of B-grade practicing. However, I am somewhat more limber, and perhaps a touch more reflective, which seems like a B+ result.