That evolved into a simple conversation on Flickr:

And then my imagination ran away with me:

The take-away:
1) I miss these gals.
2) I am SO ready for festival season.
3) I can't believe they still like me.

So, I'm curious -- what do YOU think Manise was doing with the stick?

ETA: Perhaps I should turn this into a contest?  Since Cheryl, Manise, Beth & Laurie are such good sports (presumably... ), they can pick the best answer and I'll send sock yarn.

Say what? You're single?

Oh ...

really?

It's Freddy the Bat!

Clearly her timing is impeccable. Now, if only I didn't have a g-d-mn lawyer expecting a big fat retainer ... sigh ... and a shitload of people lining up to buy this little guy.  Grrr. Argh. Want. Want.

*** photo taken by and copyright of Maritza Soto and borrowed with permission from her Flickr photos ***

To ensure that there's some Favorite Things Monday action, here are my Flickr Favorites from this past week.

***** THANKS a bundle for all the sweet (and hilarious) comments to my last post. There may be more malaise on the way, so if you keep it comin', I'll keep posting knitting pictures. Deal? *****

and you fell apart if i tugged too hard

in time, i learned how to twist you without breaking you

after a long bath i realized how truly dirty you were

you softened and relaxed and draped yourself across my lap

your twists less sharp, but biased still

because you're a single looking for the way

Not rabid. Which makes feel guilty for having them killed tested. Before my town would finally agree to have them tested for rabies, I had to trap them. This is no small task, but I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar!

Clearly I'm a tough chica, because the local Health Dept. guys were still jumpy when I handed the bats to them in sealed tupperware containers. Pansies.

The Bat Exclusion company says we have a colony in the attic, and they'd be delighted to help me part with several hundred dollars to evict the colony. Shit!

2. Friends

Seriously, Fiber Revival was the best day ever. Go see Maryse, Cheryl, and Adrian's beautiful photos. I taught a woman to knit, and while I was teaching her to cast on, she told me that she wanted to learn because her 3 year old son has muscular dystrophy, a degenerative disease with a terrible prognosis, and she needs a hobby to keep her mind off his health problems. Whoah. All hail the power of wool.

3. Grad School

I got a decent score on the GMAT. I got in, as of today. They offered me a merit scholarship, and I negotiated for a shitload more. Classes start on Saturday. Yes, as in 4 days from today.

4. Wheel

I bow to the beauty of Craigslist. Antique wheel - $50. She's wicked cranky but functional, and she has a story to tell (like me!).

I returned from the seller's house with a fresh bantam egg, german shorthaired pointer paw prints on my capris, slate-colored arabian horse drool on my shoulder, and baby chick pee on my left hand. Her home is idyllic! More details later.

*so sorry that i've been so terrible about emailing lately.

Click on the mosaic to see the photos individually.
make your own with fd's Flickr Toys.

And for those that enjoy Little Man stories, here's one:
We're in the children's section of Borders last night, and I'm once again searching for this illusive book called Art that I flipped through many moons ago, regretted not buying, asked the help desk about several times (go ahead, try asking them for a book called "Art" that resides in the kid's section - there are 18,000 results in the 4-8 age group alone) and have been searching for ever since. Meanwhile, Little Man dashes to the plush section, plays with Curious George and Blue and other harmless plushies for a bit. Fine, great. But then he discovers the gigonza pile of Bratz dolls.

LM: Mommy, look at these dolls! Aren't they cool?

Mafia: No, I don't like those dolls.

LM: Why? They're cool!

Mafia: I don't like them because they're dressed like porn stars they don't look like real girls.

LM: [walks away]

... mere moments later ...

LM: Mommy, look at these dolls! Aren't they cool?

Mafia: No dude. I already told you. I don't like those dolls. They don't look like real girls.

LM: But Mommy, that's OK. They're pretend only.

Mafia: [ummm ... shit ... how do I explain sexualization-of-children to a four year old? ... ] Hey look! It's the Art book! I finally found it!

That's 8 skeins of Debbie Bliss Pure Cashmere and 1 ball of Reynolds Odyssey in a color that I've been ogling for months, and it cost me just over $30. Meow.

ETA: Sorry for being unintentionally vague.  I got this haul on Saturday at Three Bags Full in Newburyport.  The shop is closing and Saturday was literally the very last day, so everything was 70% off.  I didn't expect to find anything, considering that the shop started with 20% off sale pricing many weeks ago and has been slowly offering better and better prices.  But it wasn't totally picked over.  Hooray!

The problem is: while I'd love being a professional mason, the business would fail horribly. I'd spend way too much time standing back and squinting at the job, and my projects would take forever to complete. And as I discovered this weekend, I do not enjoy horizontal stone projects.

First stop -- Saturday evening -- the entire clan of Wifey's gay sisters (there are now 4 out of 4 on that side of the family) plus partners (me & one other) gather to install a small flagstone patio in my step-father-in-law's teeny Boston backyard. Yes, that makes 6 lesbians, one small urban backyard, several shovels, dirt, stones, one tamper, and several tattoos.  [stop drooling]  With little or no drama, a couple hours later, there was a patio. We still have to buy and plant a truckload of irish moss to fill in the space between the stones, but that's a project for another weekend. Even without the moss, it's pretty.

Next stop -- Sunday -- It's 10am and I'm already bored. All spring, we've discussed putting a stone patio underneath our pergola, but haven't had the time or inclination. Yesterday, for whatever reason, we decided to install the patio. I started digging and Wifey drove off in search of stones. We dug and leveled and toiled and measured and arranged and re-arranged. Many hours later, Wifey went back out for 4 more stones, and I was left to work on leveling everything. Perhaps I was sun-fried, but I could not get the stones level. Under any circumstances. It was horrible. After an hour, I nearly threw myself on the stones. Luckily Wifey came home, sent me inside with Tylenol and Diet Pepsi, and Little Man asked me to play with blocks (mainly I just laid on his bed, moaned, and encouraged his castle building). While I wallowed, Wifey finished the job. We still need to move the excess dirt and plant a flat of creeping thyme that will grow the fill the space between the stones, but for now, I keep standing back and staring.  Isn't it pretty?

Perhaps I'll stick to vertical stone masonry from now on.  Anyone need a retaining wall?

* if you're interested in our veggie garden, there are tons of new pictures in my Flickr garden set.

1) Hooray Massachusetts. How I love thee! Thanks for allowing me to legally harass on a daily basis legally stay married to the woman I love.

2) Your comments.  Truly. Wonderful. Heartfelt. Appreciated.

3) As I mentioned about a year ago, I'm a professional fundraiser, and one of my clients is the primary force behind this victory. Simply stated: I raised a lot of money so that Arline Isaacson could eat/sleep/breath gay marriage lobbying. So this feels like a professional victory too, one that I'm very proud of. This picture (stolen from the Globe site) makes me weak with joy.

No matter what you may read, these two women are the power behind this victory. Arline Isaacson (the one who's weeping) is the co-Director of the Massachusetts Gay & Lesbian Political Caucus, and Norma Shapiro is the lobbyist for the Massachusetts ACLU. They've been lobbying on this issue together for years. In addition to the current-day consulting I'm doing, I worked very closely with them professionally about six years ago, so I know first-hand how hard they work, how powerful they are, and how much this means to them. The Globe wrote about the power of everyone who called, emailed and visited their legislators, and clearly, that won the day.  Thanks to MassEquality for that!  But I happen to know that Arline & Norma played a huge role in this victory and that they're too humble to highlight their own impact. So I say -- Thank you and Congratulations!! I'll be calling donors tonight, and I plan to ask a particularly helpful donor to buy Arline a weekend at a spa. She really needs a weekend away.

4) In celebration, I got a wee present for myself. Additional background: I was supposed to start teaching again in 10 days, but my class was cancelled for under-enrollment. Yet, I'm teaching another summer class that starts in late July, so I have a small window of freedom. Yippee! A little freedom + a historic gay marriage decision + Little Man's need for a quilt + my guilt about ignoring said need for a year = a little of this

a little of that,

a little of this,

and a heaping pile of that,

which will also become pj pants for me. I've been absolutely lusting over this Hippie Bus fabric for months.

5) Hello Yarn Adrian's Ireland vacation photos. I'm mere moments (and a sugar mama) away from buying three plane tickets to Ireland. In the meantime ... does anyone know if Ireland has a right-of-return policy*? You know ... just in case another Republican wins the Presidency?

*[it does, but I miss it by one generation. hrumpf.]

6) Soulemama's newest creation. I really want those little green trees and the plump green apples. Must find that fabric, despite it being sold out on Superbuzzy.

7) Kat's amazing photo of the Boston Public Garden.

8) The delight of waiting for Kate Gilbert's Marina Piccola sock pattern, which I intend to make for my SockPal using Sophie's Toes in the Fresh Air colorway.

See? I told you I was bursting with joy.  Have a great weekend y'all!

Yesterday, while Little Man took a rare afternoon nap (3 hours!) and Wifey took the dog for a ride to Target, I spun a bit more of the mystery practice fiber (that Cheryl gave me) onto a new bobbin so I could try a 2-ply on the wheel without dealing with andean plying preparation. With two thick-n-thin singles on separate bobbins, a lazy kate, and some alone time, I started. I have no idea if I did it properly, but I'm ridiculously proud of it nonetheless. It's about 58 yards of worsted (heavy worsted weight?)*.

When Wifey returned, we started a new family tradition: spending Sunday evenings with a picnic dinner at the beach.

*Yes, Beth, I brought it with me so you can fondle it on the train.

Here are the 34 ends that I wove in tonight (which doesn't count the 16 (?) that I did in the early virtuous days of this project.

Now that you've feasted on the glory, let's talk about pain.

1) The bottom edge really wants to flip, and it's totally my fault.  After the garter edge, I accidentally added two rows of green before I changed needle size. Those two rows are actively biting me in the ass right now.  ouch!  But see that orange grosgrain ribbon? Let's see who's biting whose ass when I'm driving a sewing needle in and out of said edge. Just sayin.  [thanks to the wonderful old lady at Windsor Button who suggested it.]

2) When I cast off for the front neck edge, my stitch count was off. After serious gnashing of teeth, I decided there must be 5 center steek stitches. I only had 4. So I grabbed a stitch from the bottom of the steek column and laddered all the way up. Now I have a SteekRidge Mountain from the tension of the floats. Whatev'. I'm gonna cut it anyway, right?     [ ... right? ... ]

3) So I drop-kicked it into the Eucalan bath. A full soaking. A towel squeeze. And we have 19" long by 14 3/4" wide. Good lord!!

With a little shaking and puffing and stroking and sweet talking, I coaxed it back to 17 3/4", which is still much longer than the 15" it measured prior to the bath.

Mind you, I realized my gauge was off weeks ago, but I was running the right size for 24 month. So I followed the instructions for the 24 month size instead: 15" long and 14 3/4" wide. When I finished the body, it was right on the money. Did it really grow by 2 3/4" after the bath??

In any case, it's done. A big chunk of this sweater is done. I've reached a major milestone in this project, and in my first true stranded colorwork.  I've done it in the round. I've done it back and forth. I've done it on the train and on a bus and on plane*. I've done it here and there. Hell, I've done it everywhere. And I do like colorwork, Sam I Am.

*not really on a plane, but I couldn't resist the rhyme.

and I laughed my ass off.

Ever since, I've been wondering who called. Well today, Big Brother called again. Yes, as you probably already guessed, it's Big Brothers Big Sisters, doing the lovely community service of calling to see if I have any clothes to donate, because they'll be in my area and can pick them up.

Community service, whatever.  They ruined my paranoid delusion that Big Brother had finally found me.

Attendees link love: I spent glorious time with Pi Grrrl, Suzanne&Co, Cheryl, Terry, Kellee, Melanie, Kristen, and Julia, and unfortunately missed Pippi and Kat. For the record, Suzanne's DH is a great festival man -- kid wrangler, enabler, and bag/wagon tender. We love him. And Little Man is turning into a festival man too. He was remarkably well behaved. Seriously. Except for one key exception.
At Grafton Fibers booth, Little Man met the needle felted mermaid.  After a sedate round of questions and gentle touching of the mermaid:

Little Man burst into some intense mermaid-lusting misbehavior. After eagle-eyeing his gentle touches, I looked away for one split second and he grabbed the mini-mermaid and started swinging her around by her arm. AHHHH!!! I freaked. I saved mini-mermaid. I scolded. I was horrified. But Linda(?) said to me, "Don't worry. I have three kids. Don't freak out." Then she turned to Little Man and said, "{his name}, do you like wool?" He stopped jumping around, nodded and came closer. She reached behind her, pulled out a handful of fluffy pinky purple fiber, handed it to Little Man, and said "Now you cuddle that, OK? You play with your own wool so your Mom doesn't freak out, OK?" He grinned, nodded and smooshed the wool under his chin and snuggled it tightly. For the rest of the day, he snuggled that wool.

After he fell asleep last night, I was able to steal it and take a picture.

Linda(?) has to be the most generous vendor ever.  For all the parents out there -- please buy from her.

But the big news is -- and I hesitate to write this -- I've officially fallen. With zero prompting, and even less consent, an innocent conversation about the unused drop spindle that I bought at last year's NHS&W turned into plans for a golden winged chariot to carry a wheel to my house at some point in the next couple weeks. I'm afraid. Perhaps I shouldn't tell them where I live?

Just in case they have the magical powers of Santa Claus (which I suspect they do), I had to prepare myself.

I can practically hear the knitters-turned-spinners howling with laughter from all sides of the globe. [shut up cate] Feel free to unleash the laughter on Danielle, who has her own story to tell.  Just sayin'.

Despite my terror, I'm also wicked excited.  So I'm releasing that excited energy by doing the Cheryl dance: "Cheryl's the best!" [wiggle wiggle], "Cheryl's the best!" [jump jump], "Cheryl's the best!" [twirl twirl].

_________

*It's a lie. She worked her tail off on Mother's Day. First of all, we're having a hard time determining how to split the day, and then she said we don't have the luxury of celebrating. I think she might be referring to the state of perpetual DIY renovation. To that point, for Mother's Day, Wifey got a really sassy pair of rain boots, and I got a lawn mower, a hedge trimmer and a Bleeding Heart plant. Yeah baby. Thank god for gay marriage. Everyone should bask in such luxury.

** Other news: I got into Ravelry and I'm a woman possessed. Truly. It's divinity.

*** Even more news: I've been playing with Dana&Co lately and I adore them. Welcome to mecca Massachusetts, Dana.

So I knit a hat. And instead of knitting something that I would like, I knit something that they would like. Whoah. People - this is a big development. I would never knit a picot edge. I would never knit a flare. I would absolutely never knit in shocking pink. But they're fairly traditional people, so I knit something pink and frilly. Caah-razy.

Details: Lion Brand Cotton Ease (leftovers from knitting the Womb)
Pattern: My own
Needles: KnitPicks Circs size 4 (I think)
Started: May 3rd
Finished: May 4th

(decreases stretched out by Little Man's Ted Kennedy head)

Then Wifey put together an amazing basket with a stuffed dog, yellow tulips, artisan bread (wrapped in muslin and tied with a pink bow), hummus, grapes, a block of cheese, and some other stuff in the bottom of the basket:

I know. She's good, isn't she?

This picture came from a calendar. I don't remember what calendar. I don't remember what year. Considering that I've owned it for at least 8 years, I'm guessing it came from a political paraphenalia supply house of some sort or another. 99% of my political posters have relocated to a lovely cardboard box in the basement (as yet not the recycling), but I love this image so much that I cut it out of the calendar, framed it, and it's hung in every home that I've lived in. Today, it seems particularly appropriate.

More favorites from an awesome weekend:

• a bottle of red wine with Wifey (yeah no preggie!);
• took Little Man to the lumber yard;
• re-built an 8'x10' grape arbor with Wifey (yeah no preggie!);
• engaged in some dick swinging at the plumbing supply house (a story for another day);
• fixed the last bit of plumbing in my upstairs bathroom;
• rediscovered my local FreeCycle and scored a free lawn mower;
• celebrated a family birthday;
• knit the Dale;
• pulled the toe off a Monkey (that sounds bad);
• used a circular saw for the first time and didn't lose a limb;
• used a chisel for the first time;
• felt like a baaaaadaaaaaaasss for most of those 48 hours; and
• got my SOCKPAL assignment!!

Mother Nature, thanks for that nor'easter that kept me in my ankle-deep basement for 12 hours on my day off. You're the best.

Hardware Pimp, why do you greet me with flowers every time I enter your shop? My basement thanks you for the new jumbo jet sump pump and industrial strength dehumidifier.

Kohl's, thanks for those $5 end-of-season rainboots that I impulse-bought back in October.

Wifey, thanks for being the best MacGyver a girl could ever wish for. You may not be willing to put your hands into a 14 inch hole of muddy water, or snake a hose through the spider zone, but hotdamn, your clothes-pin mastery* makes it all worthwhile.

Hurricane Katrina, thanks for keepin' it real in the Mafia-house today. Without you, I would've withered and cried at hours 4, 7, 9, 10, 11 and 12.

For additional details, click on the pix. With any luck, I'll be back to knitting posting soon, including the story of the Sneak Peek and the continuation of the Demolition Derby. I know ... I'm a big tease.

*ETA: You dirty girls (roro).  I posted the photo & story of the "clothes pin mastery" story, but I'm warning you now -- it's v.boring.

This morning, with plans for Favorite Things Monday dancing around my little brain, I logged on and found an email from a colleague. She tracks Overheard in New York and sends me the really funny ones. Today, I got this one. Seriously, I almost peed in my work pants.

Then I read Nina's blog, and clicked through her photos of her weekend excursion to NYC. Memory lane. Fun times.

Then I read AfterEllen's Happy Birthday to Cynthia Nixon post, and with a few clicks, came to this post with photos of Cynthia Nixon and her girlfriend. I know I'm being a mega-beeatch here, but seriously, Cynthia honey ... I'm heavy and frumpy and androgynous and politically minded. Why not me?

Only in NY . . .

ETA: Okay, I feel bad.  Cynthia Nixon's partner is actually kinda cute in this picture.  Nice rosy cheeks. And I'm sure she's very smart.  And a rockstar in bed.  At least she'd better be.  Damn it Mafia.  Stop that!

This tiny rocking chair came from PapaTime (Wifey's Dad), a lover of antiques and family history. As the legend goes, PapaTime's parents bought a rambling old farmhouse on a stretch of land in the country near Watertown, NY. Another structure near the main house, previously used as an antique store, became the "Bunk House" where PapaTime and his brothers (the Bro's) slept. The former owners left several antiques in the attic of the Bunk House, most of which were incorporated into family life. This little chair was one of the Bunk House finds, and throughout the years has comforted most of the small children in the family. Shortly after Little Man was born, PapaTime brought the chair to our home, thrilled to pass along a family treasure.

The little quilt was a wedding gift from Wifey's best friend's Mom, who was also Wifey's Mom's best friend. Make sense? At first, I was unsure where to put a small quilt. For a couple years, it hung on the wall. But when the chair came home, the quilt found the perfect location. The two pieces together, despite getting little use, are a central part of our living room decor.

This weekend, in the midst of crazy crafting, Little Man and I did some excellent snuggling on the couch, while Wifey perched on the matching chair. When Little Man decided that he was finished snuggling and turned the couch into a trampoline, I vacated. With no place to go, I tried to convince Little Man to stop jumping. Instead, he offered the rocking chair. When I explained that my bum was too big for his rocking chair, he said, "well you can try ..."

"Well you can try" and all its various iterations has become something of a Mafia Family mantra lately. Little Man started it, and now Wifey and I catch ourselves saying it too. There's a very specific Little Man intonation which is challenging to mimic. But mimic we do.

For the most part, "well you can try" is charming, loving and supportive, all characteristics that I attempt to nurture in my boy. But occassionally, as in the case of the big ass vs. small rocking chair situation, he's actually trying to manipulate the situation. He's taking a cute little family mantra and trying to turn it around on me, the wee beastie. In full knowledge of this, I just walked into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. I was halfway there when he jumped from the couch and ran after me, completely forgetting about his trampo-couch and the attempts to lure me away from it with the carrot of a too-small chair.

Every time I had the opportunity, I stole a glance to grab another detail. Hair? Skin? Eyes? Clothes? Shoes? Bag? Louis Vuitton attache. Sunglasses? Christian Dior. What is he reading? Jackie Collins Lovers and Players (of course). After seeing the book, I was tempted to slip this note into his bag:

Only at the end of the train ride did I realize why I was obsessing about this boy: I have a thing for well-groomed androgynous boys. My name is FemiKnit Mafia and I like Pretty Boys. It all started with this guy -- my first boyfriend:

We started pseudo-dating in 6th grade, when he moved into my school district and I practically assaulted him with my subtle-as-a-sledgehammer preteen sexual advances. We broke up at the end of 8th grade because I realized he was gay. Of course, at the time, calling him gay was an insult, in addition to completely presumptuous. As it turns out, I was right. If only I'd had such insight into my own identity, I could've saved some other teenaged boys the embarassment of lackluster sex. Or perhaps they didn't even notice?

Anyway ... my little Pretty Boy this morning reminded me of my first love, and there is something terribly sweet about that. I wanted to protect him. To pet his lintless black double-breasted wool jacket. To squeeze his perfectly tanned little cheeks. To treat him like a paperdoll and dress him in Diesel and Kenneth Cole.

But what do I look like to him? With my hair growing longer, my wattle getting fleshier, and my knitting in my lap, I probably looked like any other 30-something suburbanite. I wanted to yell, "hey, I'm a dyke! can't you see me in here? did you see my manly shoes, my white button-down shirt, and my confident stride?" Yeah, he probably did. He's observant. Pretty boys always observe, even if judgmentally. And to be honest, I didn't care.

But when the click-click of the conductor's hole punch got closer and I realized that this morning would be all the better because my conductor-crush was working my train, I began to care. Does this cute-super-cute lesbian conductor notice me? Hey cutie conductor - I'm in here! Look closely.

Perhaps that's my personal task for today: to stop caring and to look closely.

And yet, even as that idealistic goal is stated ... I still wish the wicked-cute lesbo conductor would notice me. Just one raised eyebrow, up-&-down assessment will satisfy me. See me? I'm cute!

These pix are housed in a multi-photo frame that ordinarily hangs in a prominent location in our house. I say 'ordinarily' because all of our wall decor has been in boxes since October. This photo set is one that I particularly miss, so it's a relief that I have access to a digital version.

Taken at Carrie & Hag's house a couple years ago during a weekend trip to the Cape, these pictures show Wifey and Little Man in a moment of pure joy. On the floor. Being silly. Playing with dishes, as opposed to conventional toys. Laughing.

It shows Carrie & Hag's manner of living. Rustic. Cluttered. A little bit dirty. Organic. Homemade. Lived in. Loved. Simple.

It shows Wifey's completely natural relationship with her sister Carrie. Whose house can you visit and feel comfortable in randomly pulling dishes from the cabinets to entertain your toddler?

This is my Hoosier cabinet. I love it. I love it dearly. My Mom found it at a yard sale in about 1990. It was painted red. [Yes, someone painted it. Oy.] In addition to it's overall charm, Mom noticed the original Sellers tag, most of the original hardware, the sugar dispenser, the covered tin bread drawer and several original glass spice jars. Recognizing the value of the piece, MafiaMom found a talented restoration pro, had it stripped and refinished, and had one of the glass doors replaced. While the restoration may have diminished its value in the official antique marketplace, it revived this old lady, and brought an antique gem into our family.

Several years ago, MafiaMom visited my apartment in J.P., saw the perfect spot for the cabinet, and offered to sell it to me. At first, I was conflicted. I didn't love the style. It was heavy and old and expensive and fiddly. But Wifey loved it, so we bought it (and spent the next several years paying Mom in dribs and drabs).

I've had Hoosier Cabinets by Philip Kennedy on my Amazon wish list and someday I'm going to buy it. Among other things, it'll tell me what year my Hoosier was built, which parts are original and give me a roadmap for maintaining my little antique gem. I've started hunting eBay for replacement hardware because the old hardware on Ms. 1890's kitchen cabinets is similar, and when we renovate the kitchen, I'd like to use antique hardware that matches my cabinet. In addition, I'm saving digital copies of vintage ads so I can design my kitchen with the period in mind. Without that classic text about my cabinet, I've been completely ignorant of her history. Even without the book, I've very recently started to find her history here and there.

Hoosiers are generally considered 'depression era' pieces, so I always assumed it was built in the 1930s. But I've recently discovered some Sellers advertisements from the early 1900s, and I'm fairly sure mine was built in 1917. I used to envision the kind of family that could afford such a beautiful cabinet during the depression, and I couldn't relate to their life at all.

But now that my cabinet was born in 1917, I envision a world of possibilities. Was her first owner a wife and mother? A wife and mother and activist? A lady in a boston marriage? Instead of envisioning a woman kneading dough to feed her family, I envision Mrs. Agnes Moray, Miss Janet Fotheringham and Miss Lucy Burns perched on stools over the porcelain counter, writing letters, planning demonstrations, coordinating support for their jailed sisters, succeeding in NY State -- not realizing that they would be jailed together at Occoquan. And then I envision them, three years later, setting glass goblets on the porcelain counter, pouring cordials, and toasting their victory.

Little did these ladies realize that 90 years later the same porcelain counter would hold poster paint belonging to the boy child of lesbian moms, and the glass cabinet would house a porcelain mug inscribed with Votes For Women in honor of Alva Vanderbilt Belmont's sassy hospitality:

Mrs. Alva Vanderbilt Belmont (1853-1933), born in Alabama, grew up as a Southern lady. Upon marrying into the wondrously rich Vanderbilt family, Alva focused her impressive energies on winning over New York Society. Her divorce from William Vanderbilt and ensuing marriage to, even richer, Oliver Belmont caused a sensation. The scandal forced the hitherto sheltered society dame to reconsider women's position.

When the Women's Trade Union League in 1909 supported the garment workers' on strike. Mrs. Belmont personally went on the streets of New York City; into the city's jailed and bailed out the arrested strikers. This strike was her initiation into the woman's suffrage movement. She established her own Political Equality League, paid for the office space for a national NAWSA office in New York City, and underwrote a national press bureau for the association. While her sudden plunge into the movement aroused some skepticism, her commitment proved enduring.

When radical Alice Paul broke off from NAWSA, Mrs. Belmont left the NAWSA to become one of Paul's most significant supporters. It was at her famous home, Marble House, in Newport, Rhode Island that Alice Paul and her cohorts formulated their plan to hold President Wilson and the Democrats responsible for the lack of progress on woman suffrage.

Mrs. Belmont commissioned her own set of "Votes for Women" china for a major Suffrage dinner party at Marble House. When the dinner was over, each guest was given a place setting to take home. "

source

Since I will not be spending $6500 on 4 pieces of the original china ( ... don't think I didn't consider it ... ), perhaps I should start collecting the reproduction Votes For Women china. Wouldn't that be a wonderful way to honor the history of my Hoosier?

After spending the last couple months on the house, I decided to give myself a wee break this past weekend. So I asked Beth if she wanted to go, and we convinced Cheryl to join us. Fun times had by all. Seriously fun times. And in case anyone is wondering, Cheryl -is- that beautiful in person too. Sorry to make you blush, Cheryl, but it's true. I'm an expert in such matters.

On my luxurious $50 spending spree, I grabbed some navy Cascade 220 to finish Little Man's winter hat, the Fiber Trends felted slippers pattern, enough Cascade Eco Wool in spring green and navy to make slippers for me, Wifey and Little Man, and 5 balls of Jawoll in blue, white and yellow for a secret experimental sock project.

On Sunday, Danielle came by to liberate Ms. 1890 from the cardboard sculpture, and brought us a present. Yeah -- I was shocked too. As soon as she entered the house, Little Man exclaimed "Wow! That's a BBBBIIIIIGGGG present!" I was hoping for "Hi Danielle. How are you?" But he's only 3. I have some time to work on his manners.

Anyway, since I haven't been home during daylight hours, I'll steal Danielle's photos from her blog. Aren't they amazing???!!

Go read the cool knitting story too. I've very proud of my Type-A friend for being so zen in designing these.

And for another daylight issue - for the past week, I've been hoping to get a daylight photo of another prezzie. No dice. So here it goes: last week I stayed home sick and called Nina to see if she wanted to come visit. With no heat or stove upon which to make a decent cup of my lifeblood tea, I asked if she'd bring me a large tea from Dunkins (two bags, lotsa sugar). Well, she showed up with the tea AND the most adorable little homemade lunch: tuna sandwich, pasta salad, a fork wrapped in napkins, jolly ranchers and twizzlers. Nina - will you marry me?

Anyway ... her Most Adorable Father Ever was in tow and said, "I brought you a present too!" with a jolly twinkle in his eye. He led me to the mom-van, opened the trunk and I nearly fell over. This was my present:

Can you believe that??? I've been talking about getting a new dresser for over a year, but since I'm too cheap to buy a new dresser I love antiques, I asked Mr. Former Antique Dealer/Most Adorable Father Ever for advice. I asked a year ago (!) and he still remembered. Puppa - will you adopt me?

In the spirit of love and gift-giving, Nina and I are heading down to the Bazaar Bizarre this Saturday. You going?

Just a tip: don't stand between me and a cute messenger bag, and no one will get hurt.

Ms. 1890 was seriously cold. But today, at 8am sharp, this van dropped from the heavens:

After some grunting at a big ass pipe wrench and the installation of a couple air vents, we have functional radiators. Thanks to This Old House, I was able to have a real conversation with the plumber about the new air vents. See those little dials? If you have steam heat, get them.

Armed with that knowledge, and a spare $200, I'll replace the remaining 8 vents at a later date.

The plumber also hooked up Wifey's newest love:

You should've seen her when Sears arrived. She danced around like a little kid. Granted, she held the 7mo surro-preggo belly while dancing, but dance she did. As soon as Sears left, she ripped the tape off and set up all the little gadgets. When I offered to help, she snarled at me like a wolf over fresh kill. Backing slowly away, I worked on setting up Little Man's playroom. So far, so good:

I plan to paint a tree on the wall, like this one but less spindly. Very much like this one.

For my last bit of house news (phew!), I present my favorite sculpture in progress:

Isn't she lovely? Danielle, they're ready when you are.

Knitting News: I'm 15" into the back of Arwen! Hooray!

Now 'd better get dressed for work before this 1/2 day off turns into a full day.