Yesterday

I don't think I'll ever forget waking up a minute to six on the morning of Wednesday November 5 to the news of this:

Yes, we can. And yes, he did.

Every time tuna is served a cat might get its wings

My dance muscles were sore all weekend.
I had forgotten how a Christmas party with the Big Investment Bank meant a Christmas party with only little time off the dance floor due to a 1:5 ratio of women to men.
Which is good when you love to dance.
Not so good if you don't.
Good food, very good wines, good music. And once in while a sip of G&T.
And I managed to behave myself etc. while having Very Good Fun.
And I had no hangover on Saturday, due to lack of opportunity to drink, and only a bit of soreness in all too rarely used dance muscles. But no sore feet.
Luckily I had chosen to wear my golden dance shoes. I love those shoes.
Far, far beyond reason. Sometimes I take them out of their red shoe bag just to look at them and pet them a bit.

Dance Naturals, Art. 22, 3 1/2". I have another pair but in a slightly more sober black. Bought ages ago when I made quite a bit more money than I do now. And was mildly obsessed with Argentine tango.
I wish I could wear them every day, everywhere.
And I wish I had much more time to dance.

And today my boss at the Big Investment Bank asked if I would like to stay with them after my contract ends December 14th.
And, oh, do I want to stay!
It's a good job at a good place, surrounded by good people. (And the lunch is very, very good.)
And I feel useful. And good at what I do.
I had actually forgotten how you feel when you leave work, knowing you've done a good job, and knowing you're appreciated not just for what you do but also for who you are. We should all be allowed to feel that way every day.

And now even I have admitted that it's Christmas. The fairy lights are up again, and I've bought a poinsettia.

I like those. I think they're pretty. And I don't understand why so many people claim to hate the very sight of them.
Now the fairy lights and the red flower may be the full extent of my Christmas decorating, but at least I've done something about it this year.
And I'm not dreading Christmas as I usually do.
Even if I will not be working Christmas this year which has always been a nice easy escape.
Christmas will never be what it once was. But dreading it will not make it any better, so I may just as well enjoy it and make the best of it.
And I still try to convince the cats to wear some fun, feathery angel wings I bought for them. If only for a minute. Just to make me happy.
But they're not buying into the idea.
Not yet.
But I still have much tuna, and much patience.

Worth waiting for

I went to the library after work.
And they finally had four books I've been waiting for for ever.
Or at least since April in the case of Victorian Lace Today.
The others have been a mere few months to arrive from other libraries.
And once again I had to explain that no, it is no mistake, yes, it is possible for one person to have a keen interest in both cognitive neuroscience AND lace knitting.
The new young man at the library is terribly adorable, though.
I'm deeply grateful to whomever chose to give him the job.
He's sweet.
And I had to go back to him no less than three times to have the books checked as the alarm kept going off when I tried to leave.

I have to get Victorian Lace Today for myself to keep. I don't think I've ever seen knitting book photography that gorgeous. Nor a layout so beautiful and "functional".
The layout of A Gathering of Lace annoys me.
It's too scattered and ... just annoying.
And I have Trimble's The Soul in the Brain. Oh, have I been waiting to get my hands on that one!
Opening line of the Introduction: "If you fear that opening your mind will cause your brain to fall out, then this book is not for you."
Big day!
And I have the monster book of monsters.... or just a bloody big book: The Cognitive Neurosciences (III). There was much happy giggling at the sight of it!
"Uh, this is better than Christmas"
It's one of the biggest books I've ever brought home from the library, and the weight of it made me skip the thought of buying milk and cat litter.
That will have to wait until the weekend.
Oh, what a wonderful weekend it will be.
Cats, books, and no work at the Crappy Call Center! Well, some cleaning is absolutely needed around here, and hopefully laundry can be done, but still.... Cats and books. And knitting.
And right now I have lovely fresh spinach and ricotta tortellini waiting to be tossed into boiling water.
And water on the verge of boiling.
And of course happy cats keeping their bellies warm on top of the radiator.
Life is good.

Count down

In one hour I can leave the Crappy Call Center.
And then I will only have to return once - and then only for another four hours.
And I have the weekend off.
I have not had a full weekend off for as long as I can remember with any precision.
And I have a real company christmas party to go to Friday night.
Not the Crappy Call Center's travesty costing each DKK 100 (USD 20) to cover the bad food and the Bacardi Breezers at a discount, but a real Big Investment Bank Christmas party.
I've missed those.
Even if, as we all know, your main goals when it comes to company parties are to behave yourself, not to get too drunk, and absolutely not to get off with anyone.
And still have fun.
While to some extent succeeding at the three first.
I have nothing to wear of course, and little time to go shopping.
But there's always a little black dress hidden in a corner of the wardrobe.
And I have my shimmery golden, handsewn Venetian 3½" dance shoes.

And more important I have cuddly cats waiting at home.
I don't know if they cuddle more now that it's cold. But they do spend a lot more of the cuddling time under cover, if not choosing the radiator over me.
Skinny little beasts.

What a difference a week makes

After months, and months, and months with laundry done in a bucket in the shower and no improvement to the hole in the ground ... this has happened during the past week:

Tiles and a drain. And hopefully a washing machine soon.
And my beautiful landlord mentioned the addition of a dryer!
I cannot wait!

On a roll

This has been an extraordinarily good week.
First good thing:
Tuesday I quit my job at the call center.
Out of anger and frustration and fed-up-ness.
I've never been overly fond of it, but it has offered me the flexibility needed to follow courses at the university while working a full week (as needed in order to feed cats and pay rent and buy a bit of yarn now and then). And I've liked a lot of my colleagues. A lot.
And most of the time I've really enjoyed helping the people calling.
Although not the incredibly rude and aggressive ones.
But the pay has been bad, the environment less than charming, and it has been rather draining and tiring. And to make matters worse we got a new so-called team leader a few months ago.
A very ambitious 23-years old girl. And she wants the best team, she says. But only with regards to quantity not quality.
She shows absolutely no knowledge of how to lead or motivate - nor any respect or consideration for neither her colleagues nor her team members.
And Thursday I finally got fed up. Probably as I found no reason in being asked to explain my lack of efficiency in the two weeks following the endoscopy-gone-bad.
I've been told never to quit a job on impulse or in anger. But it felt rather good.
At least until I started worrying. The next day.

But then all tests showed great improvement in the pancreatic and spleenish areas. That is good thing number two, by the way.

Good thing number three: The library finally got me Lace Style.

And number four: Today I dragged my monster of a king-size duvet to the laundromat for its pre-winter washing.
And listened to Bach and knit a bit while watching it whirl around, trying not to think about my being nearly unemployed in less than a month.
And so tonight I have a perfectly clean and fragrant duvet.
And I gave a nice, elderly woman a good laugh as I tried in vain to make the duvet fit into the centrifuge. Not possible. But a good clown-act - and thus good thing number four and a half.

And I do indeed have a new job. That is good thing number five.
Years ago I worked with an investment bank. It was my very first real real job.
Working full-time, 9-5 (or rather 7-21, as it became most days).
And I loved it. During the first two years I took only one day off, and I missed my colleagues. That's how much I loved it.
Until ... I fell in love with a young man I met at a yoga retreat, my step-father was diagnosed with terminal cancer, and suddenly working so much wasn't as fun as it could be. And had been. Of course I had also been burning the candle at both ends for far too long.
And when everything seems to close in on you, well,... I decided the one thing I could change was my job and so I did. There were other reasons. Of course.
But it's a place I've been proud of having been employed with.
And it was, and still is, my favourite job ever. And sometimes I miss it.
And this afternoon I got a call from them asking if I would like to come back, part time, my terms. They understand I have courses and exams.
Of course they would like me to start Monday, but with a bit of work Tuesday should be possible.

I really wish I could have a glass of wine to celebrate. But in a few weeks that should once again be possible.

Oh, yes. Good thing number ...six. My hyacinths, which I have for too long left for dead yet not quite remembered to throw out, have decided to give me a repeat performance.

I just wonder if I should make them little paper hats as you see in photos.
But you never see hyacinths with paper hats in nature, so they should be able to do what they do - without accessories.

Oh yes, I've started knitting the jacket from Norsk Strikkedesign. I'm nearly done with the sleeve. And I'm besotted.

My choice of colours is quite different from the original, and I want to make it into a tunic rather than a jacket. I don't do jackets much. Coats yes, but jackets and cardigans not so much. And I like something I can just slip over my head without fiddling with buttons.
It's very addictive knitting.
So far there's only a tiny bit of puckering and unevenness, but I don't care too much. I still look at it and pet it a bit and feel very proud for being able to manage more than one colour yarn at a time, and for mustering the courage to start it.
And I think I read somewhere that in the good old days they didn't give a f*ck about a bit of puckering here and there as it would all even itself out once given a good wash. I hope it's right. And not just something I dreamt.
And, as I said, there really isn't too much of that anyway.
That has to be good thing number seven.

Female Intuition vs. Tech Support: 1-0

It worked!
It really, really worked.
The package was delivered shortly before noon.
And now my Powerbook is once again humming happily.
Watching the post-install countdown to restart was extremely nervewrecking.
If I were a nailbiter, I wouldn't need any dinner. For a few days.

So I guess this is 1-0 to Female Intuition vs. Tech Support
The nice young man at AppleSupport wasn't exactly convinced, but still happy to play along and send me the upgrade.
And I promised to let him know if I was right.
And I was.
And I will.

I need to go get some ice cream!
I got a bit hot and bothered by all the excitement.

In love again

"Everything we see disperses and vanishes, doesn't it? Nature is always the same, but nothing remains of it, of what we see. Our art has to inspire a feeling of permanence while still showing the elements of all its changes. It has to make us sense it as eternal."

I am reading Paul Cézanne's letters.
A small book, very small, published in 1942.

I have decided to let the Cézanne paper be a somewhat "pure" dialogue between the master's own words (and works) on one side and cognitive and perceptive theory on the other.
This way I will be able to focus on the subject, which is first and foremost neuro aesthetics, and I will not be tempted to touch upon the subject of cubism.
I'm so thrilled to be thrilled about a paper again.
And happy.

"They like having their portraits painted. It's as though they sought your forgiveness for becoming discoloured. Their essence is emitted with their perfume. They come to you in all their odours, speaking to you of the fields they've left behind, of the rain that's nourished them, of the dawns they've witnessed. In defining with fleshy touches the skin of a beautiful peach or the melancholy of an old apple, I glimpse in the reflections that they exchange the same tepid shadow of renunciation, the same love of the sun, the same recollection of dew, a freshness."
And this was the man they called Le Sauvage
"Still Life with Curtain and Flowered Pitcher", c. 1899, Oil on canvas, 54.7 x 74 cm, The Hermitage Museum, Leningrad, Venturi 731