I’m off work tomorrow, and will spend a portion of it at the fourth birthday party of my delectable niece. Upon arriving home, I imagine that I will attack my office with high abandon and perhaps even make room for all of the beads that are currently ensconced on our otherwise lovely dining room table. Most of my stash is living in the sturdy and quite lovely fabric-covered storage boxes from The Container Store. At present, I have seven different colors/patterns and am trying to keep some semblance of control over the stash by keeping all the purple in one box, all the red in another, neutrals, etc. However, after installing ten feet of birch and white elfa shelving on the far wall of my office (all by my ownself!), I deposited *quite* a lot of sock yarn into the sliding drawers, dk weight into another, bulky, yet another. WIPs found a home in another drawer. I added these Colibri sachets to fend off Der Stinkin Moths. I’d prefer something fragrance-free in deference to the asthma-stricken Princess Pyewacket, but the fragrance is what keeps the moths at bay, so I may as well have a scent that pleases me. They contain “100% pure natural botanical essences from tea tree, vetiver, peppermint, lemongrass, neem, and others in a fine sandalwood powder base.” Neem? I lined up my knitting books and pamphletted patterns above the leather dresser shelf workspace, am thinking about a binder for my page-protected patterns,  notions found a one-runner drawer to call home.

I’m feeling manic, more than a little. If I sound so to you, please don’t hesitate to let me know.

In case you’re wondering about my invective, go watch MoveOn.org’s latest ad. It’s pretty freaking powerful.

Walking down Greenwich Avenue toward the park:

Can you pick out the little dimples on the back of her hand and elbow? Too delicious!

We went for dinner at Hanada Hibachi in Mohegan Lake to celebrate my birthday. It was Léa’s first hibachi dinner, and she was appropriately impressed with the chef’s antics. He completely played to her.

Today is E’s (twelfth? thirteenth? I don’t remember which, I’m a bad aunt) birthday. We got her a nice pair of 5mm pearl earrings from W. She loved them.

To that end, I signed up for a jewelry design class at the Westchester Arts Workshop, which is affiliated with Westchester Community College. It is a for-credit class, so it will add to my paltry and widespread transcript. Jewelry design is something I’ve always been interested in, more consistently that any other field in my life. I began at age eight in summer camp, making crude (at first) copper jewelry with Red, the scary (to everyone but me) and ancient Silver Shop teacher. She resembled quite closely the shrunken apple head dolls she made with other kids. With her permission (and that of my parents), I quickly progressed on to working in sterling silver, setting stones (in particular a large picture jasper for Nanny, my father’s jewelry-loving mother), forging a linked bracelet (which I summarily lost playing soccer), each link by hand, never fusing two links together but soldering each one individually. I was Red’s pet, and I worked in the shop a huge lot of the time I was there. Each summer I returned, for six years, to work under the wing of the ever-more wizened, sharp-minded old woman. I continued on in high school, taking Advanced Jewelry Design with Diana, the eccentric art teacher. It escapes me what I produced in high school. Damned Wellbutrin.

To celebrate my fortieth, my father and stepmother provided G and I with a weekend of decadence. A weekend at the Waldorf=Astoria (don’t ask me why they put in an equals sign instead of a hyphen), including the horrifically expensive room service (see photo to see what a $100 breakfast looks like. There are four tea bags there). An amazing dinner with them Friday night at Daniel. “Passing Strange” at the Belasco Theater Saturday night. “Walking-around money” to do with what I would. I had some plans for us in the in-between time; Bodies…The Exhibition down at the South Street Seaport with maybe an excursion to Seaport Yarn, more yarn shopping, perhaps at Purl (we didn’t get there, only Stitches East). My allergies were totally kicking my ass and G’s were as well, so we moseyed down to Battery Park after the Seaport to relax on the green. I conked out for an hour and a half while G read. An exhausting, but fun weekend.

Edited to add: This is what G gave me for my fortieth; the most amazing stop sign ever. 5/8 carat total weight in brilliant, baguette, and radiant-cut diamonds in 14k white gold. No one else is wearing one of these!

and after:

G’s big gift to me made me cry, he gets me every year with something spectacular (an Anya Hindmarch Be A Bag with this picture on it). Good wishes to all in the meantime.

G’s Theraflu is kicking in; time for sleep.

We went to my mom’s tonight for Chanukah (yeah, I spelled it like that. You spell it whatever way you want.) to spend some time with her and her boyfriend B, my brother and his wife, and their gorgeous daughter, Léa. I had my camera with me but forgot to take it out, she was that captivating.  We had a tea party, and she kept feeding me chips with a spoon (“mo’ tsips”). If you asked her for a “bisou” she’d come and plant the tiniest kiss on your cheek. G noticed that she’d say something in English and then repeat it in French. “Two” then “deux.” She had trouble with “ice cream” but none at all with “glace.”

For dinner we had my mother’s famous noodle kugel (ohmygoditwasfuckingdelicious) for which I need the recipe. We had the ubiquitous latkes, and flank steak, and then this dish that one of her residents suggested; asparagus with heavy cream, cheddar, and ham. Really fucking good. She gave each of us couples a 400-piece jigsaw puzzle “made especially for you featuring an extract from the US Geological Survey map base centered on your home. The jigsaw covers an area of 4 miles north-to-south and 6 miles east-to-west.” Your home is at the center, and the centerpiece is shaped like a house. Wicked cool, and I wish I could link to it, but the website returns an error. There are two email addresses on the back of the box, hopefully one will work for those of you interested: In the UK, sales@mapmarketing.com. In the US, orders@historicnewspaper.com. Visits to both of those sites led nowhere useful; perhaps email will. I don’t know how my mother found it, probably a catalog. I’ll take a picture of the puzzle one it’s finished.

We ventured out today to get Christmas trees. There is a lot down on Route 6 that benefits the Delancey Street Foundation, a noble, charitable cause. From their website: “We’re considered the country’s leading residential self-help organization for substance abusers, ex-convicts, homeless and others who have hit bottom.” All the proceeds from the sale of the trees go to the Foundation. G got our trees there last year, and while they were a bit more expensive this year (he got last year’s trees on December 23d for $10 each), the knowledge that the money is going to a worthy cause it heartwarming indeed. Here are pictures of Penelope and Pablo captive on the car, and Penelope, naked, inside (Pablo lives on the porch, pictures of him will come). They are eight and six feet, respectively, are Balsam Firs, and lived in Quebec before living in our humble abode. Welcome to our new additions!

We all ate way too much (I have my nutritionist tomorrow morning, what an idiot girl am I?) and enjoyed each other’s company, and in the end, packed up all sort of leftovers to take to friends (I may feast on stuffing alone yet again!). The Clementines I picked up for dessert weren’t as sweet as I’d have liked, but edible. I’ll have another before bed, perhaps.

—–

On this day: Still good 2005