He entered his hotel room, and looked around. He noted the King bed and the lack of surrounding space. He dumped his suitcase by the door and threw his coat over the nearby chair. He plopped on the bed and checked its firmness. It seemed ok. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do with six pillows and a log pillow. He decided he'd dump the excess pillows in a pile on the other side of the bed. He kicked his boots off and stared at his suitcase. He reviewed mentally the clothes he'd packed and how urgent the need for him to unpack was. He thought he had packed a couple dress shirts. He paused. He'd hoped he'd packed them. Otherwise, he didn't know what he was wearing tomorrow. He took a deep breath, opened his suitcase and started rummaging. Yes, he had brought his dress shirts and now that he'd found them, he'd have to hang them up. Bother! If he'd kept wondering, he wouldn't have had to start the tedium of unpacking. The more you unpacked, the more likely you were to leave something in the hotel room when you left. The thought of ironing in the morning propelled him towards the closet door and he dutifully hung up his shirts, blazer and dress pants. For good measure, he hung up his coat too.
He checked out the bathroom. As far as a hotel bathroom went, it was nice. It was nicer than his own bathroom. He noted the towel rack, filled with towels, at the back of the bath tub and decided that the water pressure wasn't that strong. He washed up and decided to venture out and locate some dinner.
Upon returning from dinner, he decided it was time to go to bed and promptly got ready. He dumped the excess pillows in a pile and added the log pillow. He lay across the bed and discovered he could sleep in any direction he desired. Then he realised that he could see right into his bathroom. Deciding that gazing at the bath tub was not going to be conducive to sleep, he got up and shut the door. Problem solved. He got back into bed, turned the light out and fell asleep.
He awoke to the sound of his phone ringing. It took him a few seconds to realise that he had asked for a wake-up call. He peered at the clock. An ungodly hour in the morning, what was he doing awake? He was about to roll over onto his side again when he sat bolt upright. Eight o'clock. His first meeting was at 8:00am. He had to find breakfast. He needed to be up now. He scrambled out of bed and threw open the bathroom door. Or rather he tried. The bathroom door didn't open. He pulled on the handle again. Still the door remained closed. He tugged and he pulled. The door moved within the door frame but it refused to open. He put his foot up on the door frame and pulled again. The door refused to budge. He stared at the door. He had to be fully functionning and ready to greet the day in an hour. He didn't have time for this. He needed to go to the washroom.
He headed for the phone. "Er," he cleared his throat nervously, "I can't get my bathroom door open. Would you please send someone?" How embarrassing. He was still in his pyjamas. There wasn't enough space in the room for someone else. What was he supposed to do? Sit in the bed and point at the bathroom door, saying I can't open it? In no time at all, there was a knock at the door. He opened it and greeted the man apologetically. He started to panic. What if the man opened the door without any problem? He would feel like an utter fool. The man grabbed the bathroom door handle, twisted it and gave a tug. He felt an intense sense of relief. The door stayed shut. Then he remembered he needed to use the facilities locked behind the door.
The man contemplated the door and gave it another experimental tug. Then he put his foot up against the bottom, gave a mighty tug and the top came free. Then he opened the door. "Thanks awfully." He glanced at the clock. Time was running short and he needed breakfast.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Monday, November 26, 2007
Chicago and Trains
He looked around. He had only gotten as far as several blocks outside the airport, yet it seemed as though everywhere he looked, the mayor was welcoming him to Chicago. If he had wanted a personal welcome from the mayor, he would have rung him up, told him he was coming and asked him to meet him at the airport. Then he would have gotten a limo to his hotel and he wouldn't be sitting on this beastly train.
It had seemed like the best option at the time. He had thought about it carefully. There was a hotel shuttle: a bus to the hotel that went to all the other hotels, likely hitting rush hour traffic, all the red lights, an emergency vehicle or two and construction. Or there was the subway. The subway would avoid rush hour traffic. There would be the commutator rush but you would still be moving, not stuck on a highway. He could take being wedged in with his fellow men if he felt he was still making progress towards his destination. Red lights were not an issue, in fact the only hindrance to the subway making time was how quickly people could get off and on the cars.
Yet, as he had looked up, it felt as though a cold hand had gripped his insides. Yes the sign most definitley said, " 'Putting Rapid Back in Transport' to be completed by December of 2008. To downtown in 45 minutes or less." Forty-five minutes! He had taken the train to avoid such a journey. Trains were quick; they didn't stop at traffic lights and they didn't run into traffic jams. It seemed that trains had a bigger problem - the rebuilding of their tracks; construction for trains.
As the train lurched out of the station, it slowly swayed its way into the daylight. It's tracks met the highway and ran inbetween the two opposite directions of cars. His worst fears were confirmed. They were being passed, left, right and centre by the cars. A marvelous sight met his eyes: a traffic jam! Then the train started to slow down. He started to panic. Then the train entered a tunnel and picked up speed. He started to breathe again. Then it slowed as it entered a station. He started counting the stops to his station. He decided it was going to be touch and go. Forty-five minutes was beginning to seem optimistic.
A voice sounded over the loud speaker reminding everyone that solicitating and gambling were illegal on the train and the platform. He watched his fellow passangers. The old man up and to his left was fumbling with a case. He sat up straight and peered at the man. It looked as though the man was about to put his false teeth in. He tried not to stare, and when the man pulled out his hearing aid, he tried not to look disappointed.
The train was now elevated and there were row houses abutting the track. He amused himself by looking at the houses. The neighbourhood seemed like the typical neighbourhood that ends up around a railway; slightly run-down, a bit sad, and a bit rough. He decided it was better to see the back yards to Chicago then its finest bit of pavement in the form of six lanes of highway.
He checked his watch and re-counted the stops. Resigned, he pulled his book out of his bag. He made a mental note that next time, he would phone the mayor and inform him of his arrival. With any luck, he would get a helicopter and avoid the issue of public transport all together.
It had seemed like the best option at the time. He had thought about it carefully. There was a hotel shuttle: a bus to the hotel that went to all the other hotels, likely hitting rush hour traffic, all the red lights, an emergency vehicle or two and construction. Or there was the subway. The subway would avoid rush hour traffic. There would be the commutator rush but you would still be moving, not stuck on a highway. He could take being wedged in with his fellow men if he felt he was still making progress towards his destination. Red lights were not an issue, in fact the only hindrance to the subway making time was how quickly people could get off and on the cars.
Yet, as he had looked up, it felt as though a cold hand had gripped his insides. Yes the sign most definitley said, " 'Putting Rapid Back in Transport' to be completed by December of 2008. To downtown in 45 minutes or less." Forty-five minutes! He had taken the train to avoid such a journey. Trains were quick; they didn't stop at traffic lights and they didn't run into traffic jams. It seemed that trains had a bigger problem - the rebuilding of their tracks; construction for trains.
As the train lurched out of the station, it slowly swayed its way into the daylight. It's tracks met the highway and ran inbetween the two opposite directions of cars. His worst fears were confirmed. They were being passed, left, right and centre by the cars. A marvelous sight met his eyes: a traffic jam! Then the train started to slow down. He started to panic. Then the train entered a tunnel and picked up speed. He started to breathe again. Then it slowed as it entered a station. He started counting the stops to his station. He decided it was going to be touch and go. Forty-five minutes was beginning to seem optimistic.
A voice sounded over the loud speaker reminding everyone that solicitating and gambling were illegal on the train and the platform. He watched his fellow passangers. The old man up and to his left was fumbling with a case. He sat up straight and peered at the man. It looked as though the man was about to put his false teeth in. He tried not to stare, and when the man pulled out his hearing aid, he tried not to look disappointed.
The train was now elevated and there were row houses abutting the track. He amused himself by looking at the houses. The neighbourhood seemed like the typical neighbourhood that ends up around a railway; slightly run-down, a bit sad, and a bit rough. He decided it was better to see the back yards to Chicago then its finest bit of pavement in the form of six lanes of highway.
He checked his watch and re-counted the stops. Resigned, he pulled his book out of his bag. He made a mental note that next time, he would phone the mayor and inform him of his arrival. With any luck, he would get a helicopter and avoid the issue of public transport all together.
Fittings
Sewing is such a highly rewarding and downright frustrating hobby. After numerous set backs, my current project was approaching the final stage. All that was left was the side seams, the zip, facing and hemming. I mentally discount hemming. It's hand sewing and it's the last thing to be done. Side seams are easy. Facing is easy. The zip, well, zips are always a crap shoot.
What was making me the most nervous was the side seams. The literal sewing was going to be easy. However, the pattern had no darts and the only way in which I could adjust the fit was via the side seam. I knew that the waist was going to be too big. I'd had to go up a size to account for my hips. This had annoyed me to no end. I don't look like I have hips, yet in the magic ratios of patterns, my hips are too big for my waist.
Sure enough, the waist was too big and as I don't have hips, the line of the skirt looked funny. It was shaped for someone with hips. Then, I realised that I didn't know if the skirt was supposed to sit on my hips or at my waist. It would make a difference. I started jabbing pins into the seams to try and get it right. I decided that I needed to take five eights off each side. This discovery annoyed me even further. I'm pretty sure that's at least one pattern size down.
I should have done a mock. I know this. But when you've had to trace out each pattern piece, it seems easier to adjust the garment once it's constructed rather than trace out the pattern twice, make two mocks and then the final garment. It takes me long enough to make one garment, let alone making it three times. Apparently, this is where the concept of a wearable mock comes in. My feeling is that it all depends on the expense of the final fabric you intend to use.
I now have a garment that I need fitted. It's going to take a bit to get it fitted. This is why sewing is such a long process. Sitting at the machine and zipping the fabric through is easy. Ironing all the seams and fitting the garment make it so much more difficult.
What was making me the most nervous was the side seams. The literal sewing was going to be easy. However, the pattern had no darts and the only way in which I could adjust the fit was via the side seam. I knew that the waist was going to be too big. I'd had to go up a size to account for my hips. This had annoyed me to no end. I don't look like I have hips, yet in the magic ratios of patterns, my hips are too big for my waist.
Sure enough, the waist was too big and as I don't have hips, the line of the skirt looked funny. It was shaped for someone with hips. Then, I realised that I didn't know if the skirt was supposed to sit on my hips or at my waist. It would make a difference. I started jabbing pins into the seams to try and get it right. I decided that I needed to take five eights off each side. This discovery annoyed me even further. I'm pretty sure that's at least one pattern size down.
I should have done a mock. I know this. But when you've had to trace out each pattern piece, it seems easier to adjust the garment once it's constructed rather than trace out the pattern twice, make two mocks and then the final garment. It takes me long enough to make one garment, let alone making it three times. Apparently, this is where the concept of a wearable mock comes in. My feeling is that it all depends on the expense of the final fabric you intend to use.
I now have a garment that I need fitted. It's going to take a bit to get it fitted. This is why sewing is such a long process. Sitting at the machine and zipping the fabric through is easy. Ironing all the seams and fitting the garment make it so much more difficult.
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Bubble Tea
When I first saw it, my eyes lit up. This was way too cool. My own personal make-it-at-home bubble tea supplies. They had the tapioca balls, in rainbow colours; they had the assorted flavours and they had the straws, made wide to allow you to suck up the tapioca balls. In short, you could make bubble tea, just like in the stores.
I don't remember liking bubble tea. But I am a sucker for a complete package and pretty packaging. The ability to get strawberry flavoured mix, with red and white straws and pink and green tapioca balls seemed an opportunity not to be wasted. I would be the only one of my friends who could offer bubble tea to her guests. My friend, who also doesn't remember liking bubble tea, was also enamoured with the idea. However, his conviction that it was a good idea extended as far as me having it and him trying it.
The bubble tea was worse than I remembered it. It tasted like flavoured water, which in fact was what it was. Despite now having a capital investment in bubble tea, I was not perturbed. For now I could experiment. I discovered that tapioca can be used as a thickener. I experimented with the idea of boiling the tapioca in milk, and adding the flavour so that everything took on the flavour. I didn't like the consistency of the water and I didn't like the blandness of the tapioca. Perhaps boiling the tapioca in milk would fix this. I resolved to experiment with this at some point in the future.
Now my friend does everything in moderation, especially moderation. He does moderation when he remembers it exists, which isn't too often. So the next thing I know, from being skeptical about the idea of home-made bubble tea, although willing to try it, he's now a fanatic. Except his conviction that its a good idea for me to have still hasn't changed. Therefore, one day I had no bubble tea, a week later, I've amassed the whole set.
I've learned that tapioca is more trouble than its worth and I still think that bubble tea has a funny consistency. But I've got the complete set, I've got the matching straws, and I can make bubble tea. The coolness factor totally trumps the hassle factor - just.
I don't remember liking bubble tea. But I am a sucker for a complete package and pretty packaging. The ability to get strawberry flavoured mix, with red and white straws and pink and green tapioca balls seemed an opportunity not to be wasted. I would be the only one of my friends who could offer bubble tea to her guests. My friend, who also doesn't remember liking bubble tea, was also enamoured with the idea. However, his conviction that it was a good idea extended as far as me having it and him trying it.
The bubble tea was worse than I remembered it. It tasted like flavoured water, which in fact was what it was. Despite now having a capital investment in bubble tea, I was not perturbed. For now I could experiment. I discovered that tapioca can be used as a thickener. I experimented with the idea of boiling the tapioca in milk, and adding the flavour so that everything took on the flavour. I didn't like the consistency of the water and I didn't like the blandness of the tapioca. Perhaps boiling the tapioca in milk would fix this. I resolved to experiment with this at some point in the future.
Now my friend does everything in moderation, especially moderation. He does moderation when he remembers it exists, which isn't too often. So the next thing I know, from being skeptical about the idea of home-made bubble tea, although willing to try it, he's now a fanatic. Except his conviction that its a good idea for me to have still hasn't changed. Therefore, one day I had no bubble tea, a week later, I've amassed the whole set.
I've learned that tapioca is more trouble than its worth and I still think that bubble tea has a funny consistency. But I've got the complete set, I've got the matching straws, and I can make bubble tea. The coolness factor totally trumps the hassle factor - just.
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Guilty Pleasure
I have discovered a new magazine. It's glossy and it's about fashion. It really isn't new but it's new to me. Like most fashion magazines, there are the nice shots of models, the clothes that you try and figure out when and where you could get away with wearing something like that and then you wonder where you could buy it.
Here's the kicker. You can't buy it anywhere. The wonderful dress that would be perfect for the office. Yep, you can't buy it. But you can make it. That's right for under $10 you get lots and lots of patterns for new and fashionable clothing.
My pet peeve with sewing was the patterns. They weren't on the cutting or leading edge of fashion. They weren't even remotely near the latest fashion. You'd read that romantic blouses were the item for Spring in Vogue and do you think you could find a pattern? If you wanted to make something, you had better be ready to make something classic. It was the only way you were going to wear it.
Then I found the Burda magazine. It's European and it's up-to-date fashion. Which means, drum roll please, that in Canada, you can make clothing that is ahead of the fashion curve. Sixties clothing, men's styling, bright gemstone colours, yep, I've got them all. My mother found the magazine about the time that I did. She found it in Polish. She sent it to me anyway. I missed last month. I found it in French. I have a French dictionary and a French-English dictionary. I thought I could figure it out. I bought it. I paid more for it than I would have for the English version. I didn't care.
The magazine shows you all the styles in multiple variations. Then in the middle of the magazine, it gives you the instructions on how to put the garment together and the pattern pieces. You have to trace the pattern pieces out and add your own seam allowance. But when out-dated patterns cost $15 or more (depending on the sale at your local Fabricland), I'm willing to put up with a little inconvenience to get about forty different patterns. Especially when I want to make them all.
For instance: I could make this coat - if I could afford the fabric.
Need I say more?
Here's the kicker. You can't buy it anywhere. The wonderful dress that would be perfect for the office. Yep, you can't buy it. But you can make it. That's right for under $10 you get lots and lots of patterns for new and fashionable clothing.
My pet peeve with sewing was the patterns. They weren't on the cutting or leading edge of fashion. They weren't even remotely near the latest fashion. You'd read that romantic blouses were the item for Spring in Vogue and do you think you could find a pattern? If you wanted to make something, you had better be ready to make something classic. It was the only way you were going to wear it.
Then I found the Burda magazine. It's European and it's up-to-date fashion. Which means, drum roll please, that in Canada, you can make clothing that is ahead of the fashion curve. Sixties clothing, men's styling, bright gemstone colours, yep, I've got them all. My mother found the magazine about the time that I did. She found it in Polish. She sent it to me anyway. I missed last month. I found it in French. I have a French dictionary and a French-English dictionary. I thought I could figure it out. I bought it. I paid more for it than I would have for the English version. I didn't care.
The magazine shows you all the styles in multiple variations. Then in the middle of the magazine, it gives you the instructions on how to put the garment together and the pattern pieces. You have to trace the pattern pieces out and add your own seam allowance. But when out-dated patterns cost $15 or more (depending on the sale at your local Fabricland), I'm willing to put up with a little inconvenience to get about forty different patterns. Especially when I want to make them all.
For instance: I could make this coat - if I could afford the fabric.
Need I say more?
Where did they all come from?
It struck me today that my life can easily be split in two: that which I have accomplished and that which I have yet to tackle. I wish that I was taking about major life goals, such as getting a PhD, or running a marathon. I'm not. I'm talking about coconut milk, rose water, and corn syrup; silks, wools and cottons in various patterns and colours; ribbons and thread; and more, much more.
I went to take a can out when I discovered the coconut milk. I know when I bought it. It was some time ago. I wanted to make Thai. I needed coconut milk to do so. I bought the coconut milk, put it away and promptly decided to ignore its existence. I would make Thai in my own sweet time - when I was good and ready. The can still sits there waiting for me. The potato flour next to the coconut milk had lain waiting for quite some time. It was to make bread. It is now open as I have tackled making bread. I wouldn't say that I have accomplished a wonderful loaf but I have tried. The corn syrup however is still waiting. It is waiting for me to start making candy again. Making candy is a winter activity in my mind. Standing over boiling sugar in the summer just seems silly. You want to steam the place up when its cold and dry.
The rose water has been used. I used it to make a dessert. My aunt also has rose water. She hasn't used it. She won't let my uncle throw it out. He doesn't understand. But her and I both know - one day, she will have a recipe or the urge to use it and she will need it right then. Right now, it represents a well stocked kitchen and the possibility of doing great things, an opportunity waiting to happen.
I have numerous sewing projects started. The lack of progress I blame on my sewing machine and my cat. My sewing machine for having suddenly stopped working properly. The tension is off. My cat hinders my cutting out efficiency by lying on top of the fabric and the pieces. She swats and attacks the scissors. She loves sewing. She has even discovered that lying on top of the fabric while it is being sewn is fun. When I used cheap fabrics, she never ever tried this stunt. This stunt is new and coincides with the purchase of expensive quality fabrics. She loves silk, she loves wool and she makes do with cotton.
I have numerous other projects on the go, waiting for their turn to be dusted off and re-attacked. I have a treadle sewing machine in parts waiting to be reassembled.
Yet I have several skirts that I wear that I made. They are accomplished. I have several needle-points that I have finished. They are accomplished. I have tried to make some interesting edible things and inflicted them on all my friends. I still have friends - the same friends. This is an accomplishment. I have finished my transcribing for my paper. This is the start of an accomplishment.
Perhaps this New Year's while everyone makes their resolution list, I too will make a list. While other people list such things as "Lose ten pounds. Clean the bath tub regularly. Go to the Gym. Be on time. Be nice to children and small animals, regularly," my list will be different. It will state, "Bell Pull. Afghan. 3 shirts. 3 Dresses. 1 pair of pants. 2 coats. Ribbon Picture. Taffy. Jellies. Running chassis. Mending. Clean bath tub." Suddenly it all becomes clear. The first item on my list will be "No new projects." My goal is now to start tackling, so that I shall have more accomplished.
I went to take a can out when I discovered the coconut milk. I know when I bought it. It was some time ago. I wanted to make Thai. I needed coconut milk to do so. I bought the coconut milk, put it away and promptly decided to ignore its existence. I would make Thai in my own sweet time - when I was good and ready. The can still sits there waiting for me. The potato flour next to the coconut milk had lain waiting for quite some time. It was to make bread. It is now open as I have tackled making bread. I wouldn't say that I have accomplished a wonderful loaf but I have tried. The corn syrup however is still waiting. It is waiting for me to start making candy again. Making candy is a winter activity in my mind. Standing over boiling sugar in the summer just seems silly. You want to steam the place up when its cold and dry.
The rose water has been used. I used it to make a dessert. My aunt also has rose water. She hasn't used it. She won't let my uncle throw it out. He doesn't understand. But her and I both know - one day, she will have a recipe or the urge to use it and she will need it right then. Right now, it represents a well stocked kitchen and the possibility of doing great things, an opportunity waiting to happen.
I have numerous sewing projects started. The lack of progress I blame on my sewing machine and my cat. My sewing machine for having suddenly stopped working properly. The tension is off. My cat hinders my cutting out efficiency by lying on top of the fabric and the pieces. She swats and attacks the scissors. She loves sewing. She has even discovered that lying on top of the fabric while it is being sewn is fun. When I used cheap fabrics, she never ever tried this stunt. This stunt is new and coincides with the purchase of expensive quality fabrics. She loves silk, she loves wool and she makes do with cotton.
I have numerous other projects on the go, waiting for their turn to be dusted off and re-attacked. I have a treadle sewing machine in parts waiting to be reassembled.
Yet I have several skirts that I wear that I made. They are accomplished. I have several needle-points that I have finished. They are accomplished. I have tried to make some interesting edible things and inflicted them on all my friends. I still have friends - the same friends. This is an accomplishment. I have finished my transcribing for my paper. This is the start of an accomplishment.
Perhaps this New Year's while everyone makes their resolution list, I too will make a list. While other people list such things as "Lose ten pounds. Clean the bath tub regularly. Go to the Gym. Be on time. Be nice to children and small animals, regularly," my list will be different. It will state, "Bell Pull. Afghan. 3 shirts. 3 Dresses. 1 pair of pants. 2 coats. Ribbon Picture. Taffy. Jellies. Running chassis. Mending. Clean bath tub." Suddenly it all becomes clear. The first item on my list will be "No new projects." My goal is now to start tackling, so that I shall have more accomplished.