Rambles

I always feel the urge to ramble when I ought to be doing something else. Tonight, I ought to be packing.

I am leaving tomorrow for a war. It's a biggie, and I'm very excited, as I haven't been to in it 6 years. I am excited, and nervous, and excited, and happy, and excited. I dropped Punkin at my parents a night early, so I could get some necessary work around the house done - packing and cleaning never wait, but of course, I am making both wait.

My clothing is all packed. I wrote the handouts for my classes today (a cooking class and an medieval midwifery class). My obstetrics handout was 8 pages long. My cooking class? 1 page.

I get so excited about teaching. The two classes I'm teaching are fresh. I haven't taught the cooking class in a really long time, and I've never taught the midwifery one before. I'm bored with teaching people how to sew tunics for the period I recreate. I don't enjoy sewing, so teaching people to sew the tunic is actually a coup for me - if I teach someone how, it's one less person that might ask for help with them. Sometimes that works, sometimes it doesn't. But sewing isn't my thing. Medieval medicine is my thing. So I'm bored and tired and slightly finished with teaching my tunic pattern.

And I'm bored of teaching liqueur making, and documentation, and research skills. They are also popular classes I teach often. Okay - I will clarify - I'm not bored of teaching liqueur making because teaching means sampling, but I would like to broaden my scope. And you know, teach stuff that is my passion.

Another research geek and I were talking at the last war I was at, and I was geeking about how I want to research medieval field medicine or war medicine next. I thought that would be interesting. And the history of surgery. She took it one step further and suggested a pathology of battle wounds. What a neat concept! I'm starting to feel my research groove click back on, and I'm excited to learn these things. I need to spend some time working on other research as well.

And the newest book to add to my collection arrived today. I haven't even opened it yet, but it's a book about the culture and politics specific to the period I recreate. Paint me pink and call me a geek, but I am so excited. I used a gift certificate I won from one of my favourite authors blogs to buy it. I'm sure she probably thought I might spend it on one of her books, but I've already pre-ordered her next release, so I splurged on my geek-passions.

Anyhow. I should get back to work. Miles to go before I sleep and all...

Stupid Cap!

It's times like these, when I know I need a great deal of exposition to even come close to explaining what the hell I'm talking about, that I regret my vow of anonymity. I don't like being obtuse in my descriptions. And here I am, planning on a vague ramble about some sewing frustrations I have.

I'm sewing my own clothing for the royal step-up next month. I recreate a period that not many people in my general region are recreating, which means I'm kind of on my own for the research. There's a couple other people but either a) they aren't very active or b) they charge more than I can afford for custom work. I do have my Laurel to depend on for help with finishing and embellishment (A Laurel is someone who is granted a peerage for their excellence in the creative aspects of the society.)

So yeah. I've been trying to finish my bits and pieces. My tunics are all the same pattern. And they are all finished and shipped off for seam finishing and embellishment. I'm working on caps and veils the past few days, and tonight, the cap is making me crazy.

There is no good research suggesting how the cap should be worn. Nothing I've read suggests how to make the dang thing, but all married women wore it - it was considered a disgrace to not have your hair covered, and it exposed you to infestations by evil spirits to have it uncovered or unbound in public. So I need this cap. Basically it looks like a scrub cap. You'd think that as a nurse, I would know how to knock one of those off. Not so much. I'm not an OR nurse.

So I found a 'chemo cap' pattern online that looked pretty easy. I don't know what the scoop is though. Maybe I have a smaller noggin than I thought because the adult sized cap is HUGE on me, and pointy in places where it shouldn't be. Anyhow. I made two of them tonight out of handkerchief linen before I got annoyed and stopped sewing for the evening. Because I couldn't just leave them weird and pointy. Nooooo, I had to tailor the stinking things. Now they are less pointy.

I also experimented with my veil, and I think I've figured out how to put the veil on so my head doesn't look square underneath the pointy cap. Of course, I also look a little.... nun-like. Which we all know is a sexy look for a princess.

At least I'll be shiny.

I have a few items of jewelry to create in the next few days. They should be fun and relatively easy. I'm heading to a war next weekend and am planning on taking a bunch of my small embellishment projects to take care of myself. I mean, it'll help me get finished - only a few weeks left, after all.

Oh! Here is some news!

I saw the optometrist this week (I got a cancellation appointment, yay!) and he said that my current glasses aren't correcting my astigmatism properly, which would explain my headaches.

He also gave me free contact lenses to try so that I can actually conceptualize putting armour on and fighting (Medieval style armoured combat). Which is good because I've been going to fight practice for a couple weeks now and have been learning to throw shots and all kinds of good stuff, but can't wear glasses in a helm.

So close, yet soooooo far away.

I am 7 posts away from my 300th post. But I lack energy.

Nothing interesting continues to happen in my house. We went to the lake, we came back, Beaker went back to work, I went back to avoiding the last bits of sewing that need to be done before next weekend. Punkin went back to being Punkin - well, you can't really go back to being something if you've never deviated from the course, right?

My house is still a mess. Punkin has learned a new trick though - she will put away about 6 toys. In order to get her to complete the task though, I have to remind her approximately every 3.2 seconds. And leave a giant bin in the middle of my living room. I keep telling myself it's a start. Which it is.

I've started tidying up the piles of fabric remnants that are cluttering up my living room and dining room. That is going to make a HUGE difference to my state of mind. I have 5 tunics to sew for Beaker, 6 caps (some for me, some for a friend), 2 veils and embellishment on a pair of cuffs and my coat. Then I'll be ready to actually become the princess. In three weeks.

One of my friends built me a medieval tent last week. I know that sounds somewhat blasé, but he runs a tailoring shop and needed a make work project. We'd been talking about a tent, and so he built it - in three days. So now I need to buy the poles for it, and the spikes, and the rope and all that good stuff, and I will have a medieval tent for the rest of the summer! YAY!

August is going to be super busy for me. I need to travel 3 of the 5 weeks of August. One of the 2 weeks that is left? I'm working 4 days straight at my Tupperware booth at the local exhibition. So I don't know how much I'll be posting.

My goal is to reach that elusive 300th post before my birthday in late August, if not earlier.

Lake Review

So the lake was gorgeous.

Punkin moaned and complained most of the drive, and apparently with good reason - the second side of her 2 year molar has popped through. I don't know how normal it is to get a 2 year molar before you have all four front teeth across the bottom, but I like to think she's overachieving.

Once that 2nd side popped through, she was charming. Ish. She threw a complete tantrum where her Daddy wouldn't let her immediately run into the lake at first sight.

"Big Pool! Big Pool!" She cheered as she looked at it from the deck. When Beaker took her down to peek at the water, she rushed towards it and then started screaming and kicking when he wouldn't let her go in, until he relented, and held her hands as she waded in, fully clothed.

The uncles have a beautiful log home. They've furnished it with gorgeous antiques, and the combination, along with the hardwood floors, gorgeous view and enormous kitchen are enough to make you salivate. And almost forget they live 20 minutes out of town. Out of a town of 15,000.

Our little guest house was a riot. I truly do thing it was a converted garden shed. It had a gorgeous little stained glass window on one side, and a big bay window looking over the yard and lake. It easily fit the queen side bed we were in, and Punkin's playyard, with room to spare. It, also, was decorated with some beautiful antiques. Beaker's uncle's partner has gorgeous taste.

Every time we see Beaker's uncle, I'm overwhelmed by the similarity in their appearance. I was more blown away by it this weekend than ever before. They're the same height, same build, same wavy hair, same shape of face - his uncle could be his father or older brother. Despite the fact that Beaker looks nothing like either of his parents, you'd never doubt his place in their family when his uncle is around. Beaker and he are the spitting image of one another. Needless to say, I think his uncle is pretty hunky.

We also got to see Beaker's sister and husband, whom I completely enjoy. They are trying to add to the grandchildren right now... Punkin hardly makes a 'pack of grandchildren' on her own, so I hope they are successful.

And Punkin has finally met one of her Great-Grammas. Beaker's Gramma has been up visiting, and was also at the reunion. For 88, she's remarkably spry, and I quite like her. She can be quite dry and is a fine matriarch.

All in all, the weekend was a success. I think we disappointed Beaker's Mum by leaving really early today, but we had a bunch of errands to take care of before Beaker heads back to The Patch on Tuesday morning. The good news? We made it home without having to stop once! Yay!!!

We. Are. Fa-mi-lee.

Beaker, Punkin and I are heading down to a Beaker-family reunion of sorts this afternoon. It's about 3 hours away at Beaker's uncle's place (which is on a lake). We are staying in 'the guest cabin' which, from its photo, looks like a converted garden shed. I requested this sleeping arrangement because Punkin needs a place where she can be on her own for naps. She doesn't need quiet, but she needs alone.

It is not without a good deal of trepidation that we head down today. Punkin has been absolutely miserable for the last 24 hours. It started with some generalized whinging, and has worked its way up to full fledged moaniness and outright sobbing. She usually awakens in the morning with a burbling giggle. This morning is was sobs. I shoved Beaker and up he ran.

He found her sitting in the corner of her big girl bed (she graduated 2 days ago when she attempted to climb over the crib rail), hugging a huge stuffed moose and sobbing her little heart out.

We think she's teething again.

Her last big teething push was also a miserable week. She cut 5 teeth in 4 days (she has 7 now). So my concern is that she's going to be a miserable little troll at the family gathering. And really? If Punkin is miserable, I will be miserable. And if I'm miserable, Beaker will be miserable (I'm a total be-yotch when Punkin's miserable).

So I'm suddenly looking forward to this about as much as I look forward to a visit with the dentist.

Wish us luck.

Butter Tarts: A Follow-up

Okay, so far, every single comment has been a query about what butter tarts are.

Quite frankly, I don't know how you Americans can stand living somewhere that the butter tart is not a common confection. It is a tragedy of epic proportions. Much like how your Coca-Cola is sweetened with corn syrup instead of the almighty sugar.

So let me describe what a butter tart is.

Butter tarts are a simple tart. The filling is a concoction of brown sugar, corn syrup, butter, egg and vanilla (and sometimes maple syrup to make them extra delicious). Think butter pecan pie filling without the stupid pecans. You pour the goo into the tart shell and bake. Some people add raisins. Personally, I feel that is a violation of the sanctity that is the butter tart, but some people just really like raisins. Or are adding raisins in some pathetic and misguided attempt to make the butter tart seem healthy.

And oh delicious heaven of butter tart. NOMNOMNOM. Seriously.

Butter tarts are one of my favourite treats. They are so sweet though, that I usually only eat one every 6 months or so. It's not a treat that you can gorge on. Your teeth would fall out, at the very least.

They freeze really well, so when I do make them (rarely), they last forever. Or until Beaker finds them.

I'm not classy enough to make my own pastry, so I usually use the pre-made shells. If you want to make your own pastry, go nuts. Use whatever recipe works best for you.

Here's a recipe for the filling:
-2 tbsp butter, softened
-1/2 cup packed brown sugar
-1/2 cup corn syrup (you can play with the ratio of syrup to sugar a bit - more syrup makes them runnier, more sugar makes them more gelatinous - just make sure you have a cup of sweet. This would be where you want to add in the maple syrup if you're feeling so inclined)
-1 egg
-1 tsp vanilla

Mix everything together in a bowl. Really. That's all. Fill tarts 2/3rds full. Bake at 450F for 12 minutes or until filling is bubbly and pastry is browning a bit.

Allow to cool before eating. Molten surgary goo can cause third degree burns. Once cool, enjoy, and make a toast to Canada.

Punkin can camp!

This weekend past, my best friend was visiting from Vancouver. I'd suddenly got this itch to go down to a war near-ish (about 3.5 hours) to us, and camp overnight. I have no idea why I suddenly decided that I needed to camp, or go to this war that I'd previously decided I couldn't afford to go to (time has a HUGE value in my house these days).

Anyhow, I begged and pleaded with my Leila, and she finally agreed we could go. I know Leila hates set up and tear down, so I wanted to make it as easy as possible for her, since she was basically sacrificing her visiting time with me to go to an event. I packed up the car, and off we headed.

We, fortunately, got some good help setting up the tent, which meant Leila was able to run around after Punkin while everything got set up. Finally, at 9:30, after not taking a single nap all day, I put Punkin to bed.

In a tent.

I was nervous as hell about it. Punkin has never camped before. Tent walls are not like house walls - the sound goes right through them. We are a rowdy bunch, and noise is a given where my medieval family congregates. Also, it was cold out. I'd attempted to deal with the cold by dressing Punkin in a polar fleece hoodie and pants, but I was still worried about the cold.

She exacerbated my concerns by screaming after being put down. She carried on for about 10 minutes, and then, blissfully, fell asleep.

She was camping.

She slept until 5:30, and woke up with a moan and some crying. I popped onto her side of the tent and changed her bum, noticed her feet were little icebergs and brought her over to our side of the tent, thinking (stupidly) that I could convince her to snuggle between Leila and I and go back to sleep. Instead, she enjoyed the bounciness of the air mattress, and climbed all over us for a while. When she started to wind down, I put her back to bed, and she slept until 9:30!

My wee Punkin is a camper!!

Butter-Tart: A Canadian Saying?

So, my fellow bloggers...

Those of you not in Canada? Do you know what a butter tart is? Because according to a book I saw at the grocery store tonight, Butter Tart is part of the Canadian lingo.

Weird.

You know what else is weird? When you and your best friend (who is visiting from Vancouver) are standing in the book section of the grocery store, reading a book on Canadian words, and a man walks over to his wife, who is not 5 feet away and lets rip a mighty 'fluuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurrrrrrrrrp!'

I looked up in shock, thinking he must have just blown a raspberry at his wife or something. Then she hit him in disgust. But rather than move away from his offending smell, they stood there, soaking in the funk from his bottom-burp.

I made the mistake of making eye contact with my friend. Her face was red with the exertion of not laughing. Her shoulders were shaking. Tears were brimming in her eyes. I quickly covered.

"Bargoon? How is that a 'Canadian saying'?" I asked.

"Bwahahahahahahahaha!"

The couple must have thought we were crazy, laughing at something so not funny. But we were both gasping with laughter. Even Punkin laughed. And made this sound with her mouth:

"Pththththththththththththtp!"

No thanks, we have enough crazy already

Last night, a minor miracle occurred. I made it to bed before 1am. Consequently, when my stomach lurched into gear this morning at 7:20, I just got up, instead of heading back to bed. My guts are roiling. I have no idea why, or what from, but yipes. Thank goodness for imodium, and a place where none of you really know me so I can say I needed it this morning.

I have been having insane dreams the last few nights, all of which culminated in 'CrazyDreamFest 08' last night.

Dream the First:
Someone was trying to convince me to eat an egg. I was all about eating the egg. I like eggs. Then I looked at the egg, and it was cracking. From the inside out. And then? A little moist chickie head popped out of the egg. I shrieked and dropped the egg, and the chickie wandered away. Ick. I'm feeling a lot less fond of eggs this morning.

Dream the Second:
Oh the crazy!
I was in Edmonton. Which then turned into Calgary. And then turned into this weird city that exists in my recurrent dreams. It's DreamCity. And it has the best DreamMall ever in it, by the way. Anyhow.

I was waiting for the bus at the super awesome transit loop of awesomeness (because DreamCity is perfect), and this woman approached me. And offered me a bag. It looked like there was a blanket in the bag. But there were also a bunch of spiders in the bag. I don't like spiders at all. So I said no thanks (only it sounded more like "EEEEEEEEEEE! Spiders!") Anyhow, suddenly I noticed the woman had abandoned the bag of spiders, and while her back was turn, I grabbed it and took it.

I was walking away from her when this old lady came up and started harassing me, and telling me I wasn't allowed to abandon a tire at the awesome transit loop of awesomeness. I kept telling her I didn't have a tire, and finally she grabbed the bag of spiders and shook it. And it tore open and a black lab puppy flopped out (don't worry, he was alive). I picked him up to give him a snuggle and he started to heat up and change colour from black to brown to red to orange to white. He was some sort of phoenix-puppy cross, and he was super smart - you could tell him that he needed to calm down, and he'd go back to being a little black lab.

Anyhow the old lady wanted to know what his name was, and I told her it was 'never surrender' (except I told her the latin for never surrender, which I don't actually know, so I can't tell you).


So yeah.
Don't come selling your crazy at my door. I have enough already.

Roomba Attack

I preface this post with a 'bad mommy' disclaimer.

Punkin is currently having a temper tantrum in her crib. Here is why:

At christmas, my parents gave me a roomba. It was awesome, for the first week. Then the battery died. Apparently the version of the roomba we had was known for battery issues, so costco was happy to return it for us. I think I used to money to buy Punkin a portable DVD player that never gets used because she doesn't know what TV is.

Anyhow, I was helping Wynn organize her house on Saturday and she said, kind of randomly "do you want my roomba?"

Uh... Is this a trick question? Her roomba works, never had a problem. It's also shiny and white, and looks slightly cooler than my green roomba did. The only reason Wynn didn't want it anymore is because her upstairs is all hardwood. Not one to look a robot vacuum in the eye and say no, I nodded eagerly.

So I brought the roomba home, and set it to charge. Punkin is fascinated with buttons.

The first time she wanted to push the button, the roomba's battery was too flat, and nothing happened.

Then about 30 minutes ago, she followed me into the spare room (where the roomba docks) and saw the blinking button. While I ran back out into the living room, she tempted fate, and pushed the button.

And the vacuum roared to life and came at her. To an 18 month old, it must have been terrifying. I admit, I kind of find the damn thing creepy in its movements, so the scream of terror wasn't much of a surprise. When I turned back into the room though, I totally cracked up (hence the bad mommy).

The roomba appeared to be chasing Punkin around the bedroom. I know it wasn't, really, but Punkin was trying to get away from it and using the same simple 'obstacle avoidance logic' that the roomba uses. Result? She was running just 2 steps ahead of the damn thing, screaming her head off in terror.

I scooped her up, and comforted her, and held her in my lap for a few minutes. She settled, I put her back down. She saw the roomba, and freaked again. Then it disappeared into her bedroom. Now she's really hysterical because she thinks the bloody thing is going to eat her toys or something, so she stands between her room and the spare room screaming at me, and pointing at the attack roomba.

I repress my snickers, and scoop her back up. The roomba gets hung up on a piece of lego, so I turn it off and carry it, and her, back to the spare room. I put the roomba on the charging dock, and Punkin on my lap, where she can't see the roomba. Then she settles again. And I put her back down, and she takes one look at the roomba and starts freaking out again.

So I picked her up, and plopped her in bed, closed her drapes and shut her door. She's finally stopped screaming, and is just moaning now (a sure sign she's overtired), and I'm finally getting to my paperwork.

Clearly this is something we'll have to work on. I wonder if the roomba would be able to move if I sat her down on it or something. Hmmm.

Sharing A Moment

Sharing a moment (and a waterbottle) at the war - the man who would make me princess with his princess in waiting.

...

7 cones of serger thread
8 spools of guttermann in blue, brown, white, green, red, pink
50 metres of linen
20 metres of wool
3 metres of shiny expensive brocade
2 sewing machines
1 serger
1 iron
1 ironing board
2 washing machines
2 dryers
23 2-litre bottles of diet coke
4 measuring tapes
2 pairs of scissors
3 days of babysitting
4 olfa cutting mats
3 olfa rotary cutters
2 new cutting blades
4 people sewing
4 different sets of measurements
1 shiny new passport

This has been my life since June 9th.

I haven't eaten a meal at my dining room table since June 9th. I haven't put my serger in its designated place in the basement craftroom, I haven't put my box of thread away, I haven't put my sewing machine away. I haven't vacuumed up the thread bunnies, I haven't collected the scraps of left-over fabric in at least 2 weeks.

I have been consumed by costuming.

Just when I saw the light at the end of the tunnel for my sewing for my reign, I realized I have some events I need to go to before step-up, and I really have a limited wardrobe right now. So I've started to attempt to increase that wardrobe as well. Last night I sewed a blue tunic and a gorgeous chocolate brown apron dress (norse style stuff). The apron dress is a squinch too small, so today I will be letting out the seams as much as I can (which might be 1/4 inch each. If I'm lucky) and will also start eating more rabbit food for the next month so it fits more comfortably.

Also, while I was at an event last week, I discovered that one of the newer people in our local group only has winter weather clothing - it's lovely (I made it, so I am biased), but it's dark, heavy wool. So she needed some new stuff too. I made her a buttery yellow tunic and chocolate brown apron dress because she wants norse. Yay! Now she has some clothing that won't cause her heat exhaustion. At the same event, my standard white under-tunic got a burn hole in it from a crackly fire. So I need a new white undertunic as well. I have that cut out and will be sewing it later tonight.

I also have a bunch of embroidery I need to do on my new coat (gorgeous and will be more gorgeous when it's finished).

In short... My absence? Hopefully it's making your heart grow fonder because I don't know if I'll be able to knock off posts as quickly as I used to. The sewing is going, finally, but next week is booked with 2 other projects (and my best friend is flying up from Vancouver, and she needs to sew too).


Next week:
'generic wench' for a friend
'generic wench' for me
more tunics and apron dresses for my best friend

The week after that, Beaker is home and we're headed to a family reunion. The week after that, thankfully is free. And then the week after that we're into August. I'll be busy every weekend in August. Every, single weekend.

FYI - I'll be in Seattle over the labour day long weekend.

Bacon Shoulders

So, I got sunburned on Sunday. Badly.

The least of the sunburn is tentatively beginning to turn.... BROWN.

I have never had a suntan in my entire life, and I don't necessarily think that this burn was the way to get it, but hey. I'll take it if it actually turns out that way. There's something viciously unhealthy about a person the colour of typing paper in July.

The worst of the sunburn? Starting to blister. I can't wear a bra (the girls are not enjoying the heat, either, I might add), and in all honesty, if I could get away with it on any level, I'd probably hang out topless. Because my shirt keeps sticking to the crispy nastiness of my shoulders.

And my chest is. Still. Scarlet.


It'll be a long week, I hazard.

Thank goodness the +30 (today it was +33 [96F]) heat has finally broken (I know, it doesn't seem bad to those people suffering the higher temperatures, but the reason I live in northern Canada is because I don't like heat).


We're getting a delicious thunderstorm right now, and I'm fighting the urge to go dance in the rain.