knitting kitchen

After the Jackson 5, I was never a huge fan of MJ.  These days, I feel as if I am the only one.  M says the reason so many people are broken up about the latest turn of events in his story is that his death at age 50 forces them to realize that their childhood pop idol was a moral human who was old enough to die.  While we can’t sit shivah with the Family Jackson, and we were never really fans of Beat It! , we can be supportive of the grieving members of our planet in our own way.

Whip It!

I finally worked out the perfect pizzelle recipe (which I will post later).  Coming from a long line of people who can’t just leave well enough alone, I daydreamed about improving our pizzelle experience.

On Friday, we took a ride to Cornwall, CT in search of the gravesite for Civil War hero Major General John Sedgewick.  M has recently been reading everything under the sun about the Civil War.  It began for a grad school class he is taking, but he is the same way about his pursuits as I am, that is, a bit obsessive.

On our way back through Litchfield, we stopped at the kitchenware store because I knew, if anyone had a cream whipper to sell me, it would be the kitcheny ladies there.  I was right.

Before I knew what hit me, an isi cream whipper and a box of chargers were being rung up at the check out counter. You didn’t hear me protest.  And despite the fact that an internet search may have turned up a lest costly whipper, this one brought us quite a bit of enjoyment this weekend and the local shop may just continue as a local resource that much longer.

Lest you think all we eat are waffles, we also made meat-filled pierogis on Friday. Jessye was home for a visit so we wrapped her up in an apron and put her to work.  We were grateful for the extra set of hands when it came time to fill the pierogis. I can see that this is best done by a small army.

When M left for his grad school trip to Gettysburg last Monday, I began a sweater out of natural-colored yarn. It is another take on the classic baseball sweater which means swathes of stockinette. All too boring to share. The great part is it can be knit while unconscious and I am done with the back, one of the fronts and half of the other front. I do not remember knitting it except that I keep finding bits of yarn and scrawled note on the coffee table.  Also, continuing in the vein of unconscious knitting, plain vanilla, top-down, knit 3, purl 1, men’s socks.  These were knit over the course of a few days and I’ll swear, except during an episode of I Spy when I suddenly realized I was knitting really fast as Eartha Kitt was about to be caught by her drug-pushing boyfriend, I barely remember having them in my hands.