Category Archives: Travel

My Crazy Past

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In a time of insanity, I volunteered to run programming for a local science fiction and linux convention. Why do I mention this? The hullabaloo around the BlogHer’09 problems. DH has forbidden me from doing this again, btw. Many spouses have done the same for their significant others. I wonder why…

I think BlogHer’s conference people could learn from SMOFs. Wait, I need to define SMOFs, don’t I? SMOFs are Secret Masters Of Fandom. Fandom is science fiction fandom. Somehow, on a shoestring budget, fans are able to run a ton of conventions that meet the needs of hobbyists, semi-professionals, and professionals. Of course, all SMOFs are insane.

Let’s take a look at what is involved at a science fiction convention. The leader of the insane is known as the ConChair. This is the person who supervises all of the other lunatics running the various departments. There is normally an assistant or three ConChair as well. These foolishly brave individuals are normally slated to become ConChair in the next year or three. Working that closely with the ConChair means you get a bit of the headache. For some reason, ConChairs rarely last more than 3 years. Hrm…

The largest jobs after the ConChair are those of the Consuite Chair, Programming Chair, and Registration. The Treasurers I have spoken with tell me their job isn’t that bad. I would disagree, but then remember that all of them are accountants and are thus from another planet than me. Publicity and Program Book are reliant on everyone else doing their jobs, so have a different kind of stress.

In Michigan there are our famous ConSuites. The ConSuite is the place paying members can go throughout the conference to find munchies – not meals – munchies. Meals you are on your own for unless you pay for the banquet on Saturday night – or a coffee clutch. If you are over 21, you can even get good beer in the ConSuite. The ConSuite is also where new victims, er, SMOFs, are recruited to run the following year’s conventions. The people who know how to run a successful ConSuite are worth their weight in gold. They always have their own budget and staff.

Next, of course, is the person who negotiates the hotel contract. Believe it or not, Science Fiction Conventions are known for how well-behaved we are compared to other convention and conference goers. We know we freak out hotel staff with our costuming and live action role-playing games, so we enforce most rules with a Zero Tolerance Policy. Hotel contracts get easier with repeat visits to the same hotels. Most of the time, WorldCons are at sites that have larger regional / national conventions so the hotels know what to expect. Everything is nailed out in these contracts. The people that do these contracts are highly skilled. I’m not among them, but, I have great respect for the folks who do this particular bit of preparation.

As to Zero Tolerance? Yes, we do throw people out without a refund. This is a very effective deterrent since that means the person can no longer get to the great food and beer in the ConSuite. For that matter, they can’t attend any of the awesome parties that happen each night.

The negotiated hotel contract is vital for programming to know what space they are going to have, room rates, corkage fees, etc. All of that has to be known up-front in order to avoid a variety of disasters and misunderstandings.

Now, programming, which for some reason I keep blocking out, has several subdepartments. At a science fiction convention, there is usually the general fannish track, the Art and/or Filk Track, the Gaming Track, and, in the case of the linux convention, the Technical Track. Several Michigan conventions also have a Science Track because, after all, it is Science Fiction. Many also have writing workshops with limited sign up space because it is Science Fiction. Each of these tracks will have a sub-head to run the minutiae of the track. The Programming Head often doubles as the general fannish track head, but not always. Larger conventions may also have a children’s track, anime track, etc.

Programming is hard. Think banging head against brick wall hard? You get to wrangle up panelists. You have to come up with descriptions for each of the panels. You have to make certain not to put mortal enemies on the same panel without having someone who can keep them from reenacting Dragonball Z during the panel between them. You have to make sure to give your panelists and GoHs (Guests of Honor) enough time to eat, sleep and take care of worldly needs even as you abuse them to maximize your are trying to create a panel for everyone.

No one is ever 100% happy with your choices. It just won’t happen. The Filkers (type of musician) will complain they were too close to someone whose noise interrupted their quieter group. If they are in a nice quiet area, they will complain no one can find them. Some will complain that there wasn’t enough dinner hour programming while others complain that the dinner hour programming made it impossible to get to the best panels. It really is a no win situation. Oh, and programming gets blamed when life happens such that a panel must be cancelled or changed.

Now, all is not gloom and doom. You roll with the punches and can create awesome new programming from what is learned from the panels of the year before.

Now, before utter insanity came into being, I often ran the Dance in association with the Masquerade. There are fan groups that are 100% devoted to only the Masquerade and can swoop in and run yours within your guidelines. There are folks who can run Gaming, Filk, and other tracks. It is wrangling all of those folks that gets hard.

The Party Quandary

Now, as to parties. Fandom has parties. Some are official – the ConSuite might be considered a party. Some are private. Some are open to anyone making their way through. Anything that is advertised on the bulletin boards or such must meet certain rules. Those rules vary from convention to convention, but, they all tend to have the same flavor.

Party floors are designated with the hotel contract. If you are going to have a party, you must be on a designated party floor. They are not tolerated on the “quiet floors.” (Because mature SF Conventions tend to sell out hotels – and even overflow hotels – this is rather easily managed.) Badge checking must be enforced at the parties, just like the ConSuite. This enforces two rules – paying attendees only, and no one under 21 at inappropriate parties.

Another thing that is done to encourage public parties that encourage mixing is to hold party contests. A popular prize is that a portion – or even all – of the hotel room costs are picked up by the convention for the winning party. This encourages some truly original parties. These contests may be up for popular vote, or, a group of judges is selected from crusty old fans who have “seen it all.”

As to private parties? There are such things as the Port Tastings and ElvenToast that are invite only that everyone knows about. I’m pretty sure I could get an invite, but haven’t got an interest in either so why bother. There are also the Mad Scientist parties – invite only – where they discuss their continued attempts to achieve low earth orbit from the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. Why yes, they did all go to Northern Michigan University where there is more snow than sense in the middle of winter. Some of the private parties are business related. Some are not. No one even thinks to be offended because they know to be low-key. Well, as low-key as a party at a Science Fiction Convention can be.

SWAG?

Give me a break. SWAG is going to exist at every conference and convention ever that has existed or will exist. That’s the one I think is the funniest.

I think that the BlogHer folks could learn a lot from the fannish convention community. As long as this post is, I have barely scratched the surface of what is involved by an all volunteer organization in creating a place that is welcoming of hobbyists, semi-professionals, and professionals.

You want to know something really telling? I’m not allowed to give out names, but the big convention runners of Usenix all started out running science fiction conventions.

Quality Inn in Alabama

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Well, it wasn’t the worst room I’ve ever stayed in. That still is the apartment at Georgetown University that had cockroaches in the refrigerator. Yes, it had cockroaches in the fridge. Wait, no, that was the second worst room. The first was the one, again at Georgetown, where I stayed in the abandoned (for the summer) student dormitory overlooking the cemetery where they were filming an Exorcist sequel.

Now, normally, this shouldn’t be much of an issue after a drive from Detroit, Michigan to Washington, D.C. But, once you get tired enough, you will find that you might think you hear something that isn’t there. And, filming the sequel to what many still consider the scariest film ever filmed. (And, no, I have never been able to watch it all the way through. And, also, EVERY light in the house is on with me under the covers clutching a Bible to my breast whenever I’m stupid enough to watch it.)

Back to Alabama. This room wasn’t actually bad. It was dysfunctional. It started with trying to find a room with Internet access. That was a failure in that though you could see the network, you could not actually access it despite not needing any special password or software. The DHCP lease actually gave you a valid IP address. (That’s the thing that allows your laptops to show up on any given network a la Starbucks. My network guru husband is trying to tell me technobabble that very few of you would care about. Scary part, I actually do understand him.)

This was the first of a series of delights that awaited.

I was tired but wanted a little wind down noise. I turned on the TV which was stuck at TNT at a specific voume until I figured out exactly how to hold the volume down while pro[erly aiming the clicker. It took longer to get the down channel arrow to work, so I scanned the channels going down without ever going up in number. DH figured out how to get the up button t work by taking the sharp end of a pen and beating on it a few times. This is a highly technical solution that should not be atttempted by non-p[ofessionals.

At some point in the night, DH decided he wanted either the heat or the cold to work. I think it was the heat – at least that is what he claims. I was asleep for this, I think. He does tend to wake up much earlier than I. So when he couldn’t get the heat, or the internet to work, he decided to explore the wonders of the continental breakfast that the hotel offered.

What could possibly go wrong with a continental breakfast? He got the power to go out in the lounge by toasting a bagel. Further, he had an opportunity to enjoy the colorful confersation of Alaabamians who may not yet be in the late 20th – let alone 21st – century when it comes to cultural sensitivity. Though, he was able to disarm the situation by bringing up the treal job off Hilary Clinton – to keep Bill out of trouble. Though many disagreed with anyone’s ability to do such.

The shower was an adventure in both usability and functionality. First, trying to get the water to niether be hot or cold. You know, the warm that won’t burn your skin off. It took a while to get to that point. And, once you got to that point, well, you couldn’t make it tall enough or get the spray to spray away from the wall without actually holding it in you hand. Now, hand held showers are nice when you can just use them when you want to – but this one would not stay in a single, position in order to allow you to stay warm while sudsing.

Now the shower was only one feature of the bathroom. The other major feature being that the door would not open or close easily as they had chosen to put the carpet an inch or so higher than the bathroom floor. This meant that the door could not move easily from an open or closed position.

The bed, it was ok. And, it had a fridge – and the the fridge worked. The microwave also worked. Now, there is the possibility that we were an overbook. But, I doubt it. The hotel was busy, but not that busy.

Now, we paid about 50 some odd dollars for this room. I would value it at about 30. DH would give it between 30 and 40 – if everything worked. This solidifies in my mind, that the independent hotels / motels tend to be better kept overall. They don[‘t have to wait for headquarters to get things done.

Ah, adventurs on the road. What could be better for creating memories.

The Year of Broken Promise – or Revelation

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This has been a very hard year. It did not start out that way. It started with joyful news. Even the loss of my job was joyful in many ways. I was not really happy with the turn the job was taking. My skills were already way beyond the job I had. It was being dumbed down further. It was not a senior level position even though that is the type of candidate they sought. If things had gone as planned, it would not have mattered. Joy was on its way.

I was finally pregnant. We saw this as an opportunity for me to start preparing for our new arrival. We had just started making concrete plans when tragedy struck.

I was showing, so I could no longer hide it. If I had had my way, I would not have told anyone even then – but my body showed the truth of that matter. Some of you know that we lost that very wanted pregnancy at 19 weeks near the end of June. I expect to run into people who will ask about our, now, non-existent, child. It is not a simple matter for us to get pregnant. Endometriosis has made sure of that. The inevitable, “you can always get pregnant,” can, unknowingly, cut someone deep.

While I was still pregnant, I lost my Great Uncle – who I had not been able to see for 5 years. I could not attend his funeral because I was pregnant and working at the time. A trip that long really was not feasible. I took comfort in knowing that I was not attending for a reason that he would have considered a good one. And, now, it just seems like life cheated me of saying good-bye.

Everyone told me how strong I was. How inspirational. I was not strong. Emotionally, I wanted the dead fetus out of me as quickly as possible. The cruelty of carrying a dead fetus was something I felt at a gut level. In truth, I just hurt and wanted to hide away from the world in my own way. This meant I had to take control in whatever ways available to me. I think it was because I knew I had to have a D&C right away. Intrauterine death is not something that always vacates the body completely and safely – especially if your family has a history of hemorrhaging.

If I had crossed the magic timeline that Michigan morons have set so they can torture women I would have made a trip to Canada. I had no desire to deliver a dead baby. None. And anyone who thinks a woman should do that just because of gestational age when other medical options are available should be shot. Such a person is a misogynist, plain and simple. (This law is a result of the Catholic Church’s involvement in Michigan politics.) Another might choose to deliver, that is her right, but to force it upon anyone is cruel evidence of misogyny.

I was so angry and so fed up at everyone – even God. I knew my family had a history of miscarriage. If you have not experienced this, I doubt very much you can actually relate. Granted, I did not know that the when of this history was unusual. Late miscarriages occur in less than 2% of pregnancies. Less than 2% . And the medical community knows almost nothing about the why when the fetus is completely normal.

I also felt alone. Many who I thought might notice and send support were not there. Many others I did not expect were very supportive. My family, knowing this pain, was very supportive. The most painful part was relaying what happened to those I knew who had experienced the same. I knew instinctively they relived their own experiences, and in some ways, that made it hurt even more. It did not help that this happened at a time when many were on vacation or otherwise occupied. I felt like I fell through the cracks. Some of you who knew were there, and you will never know how grateful I was – and still am – of that support. How I hungered for it at the time – while fearing I would offend, or seem needy, if I reached out wanting it. After all, I also had a husband who was dealing with this grief in a very different way.

Now, the obstetric surgeon who performed the procedure was incredibly compassionate. As were the nurses and anesthesiologists involved. My MIL was great as well. My heart ached for my husband. Did I feel guilt for the miscarriage? Eventually. Of course, I knew that was just part of the 5 stages of grief. I was still numb for awhile afterwards. The best thing to do when dealing with something so huge you don’t want to face it is to keep going with the everyday things – and occupy yourself with activities that use your brain in other ways.

That day I came home and baked cookies. For the next three months, I canned like a madwoman – everything from pickles to ketchup to jellies and jams. I don’t really know why. Maybe so I wouldn’t feel so empty. Maybe so I just wouldn’t be able to think about anything but canning – something that is very dependent on weights and measures if you don’t want to poison someone. Knitting was too meditative. It left too much room in my mind to think. To dwell on the pain that could, if I was not careful, consume me.

Our baby was chromosomally normal. DH and I immediately contacted our reproductive endocrinologist to inform him, asking how soon we could start again. Three months until my body would be ready. In three months we could think about starting again. This was a second trimester miscarriage. The vast majority of miscarriages occur in the first trimester – it takes longer to recover from a second trimester loss.

I decided that I wanted the full miscarriage panel and was very, very angry that when I had asked previously about that – mentioning the family history of miscarriage – I had been shrugged off. I had told the reproductive endocrinologists this. I had told the obstetricians this. I had even told the high risk pregnancy specialist this. It seemed to me that none of them heard me until after I lost the baby. I should say that all of the doctors – except, maybe, the high risk specialist – are doctors I trust and whose abilities I believe in. I was, once again, the statistical outlier. A family history of late loss (some with living children) is nowhere documented in the medical literature.

I had the miscarriage panel done and found out I had two blood clotting genetic tendencies. Now, I trust a reproductive endocrinologist to help me get pregnant – but they are not a hematologist. I decided to get a referral to the hematologist. I got more blood tests and he found another gene that read like my family’s medical history. It was fascinating in a morbid kind of way.

With this knowledge in hand, we tried again. We failed. I had to stop. The failed cycle was the definition of Murphy’s Law. All that could go wrong, while looking like it was right, did. I think my mind and body rebelled. I’m pretty sure I had messed up my medications. When the doctor went in for the eggs, there was one egg and lots of endometriomas. Endometriosis ate my ovary. By some miracle, we made it to transfer. I’m not sure how or why. Of course, the cycle failed anyway.

At this point, I was just numb, exhausted, and broken. I had been moving forward and moving forward because I couldn’t stop. If I stopped, I would feel all of it. The full weight of the disappointment and hurt of this year. A year that had started with such hope, only to have it snatched away by an ultrasound.

I achieved nothing that I set out to do this year. None of the challenges. I sought refuge in my urban fantasy novels and graphic novels. Vampire Urban Fantasy is mostly safe from pregnancy storylines. I couldn’t even handle historicals that were written by childless authors. Anything too close to reality caused pain. Surprisingly, even Battlestar Galactica – when I started rewatching parts of Season 3 – had a tone about reproduction that made me feel a knot in my stomach. If it wasn’t light and fluffy – except for Planet Hulk , I couldn’t take it. Movies that had never bothered me before, were too dark and violent to handle. Something inside me seems to have changed.

Our baby would have been born around Thanksgiving if all had gone as planned. We should have been celebrating with our baby this Christmas instead of being trapped in Michigan. Neither of us felt like going to any parties where there might be children to remind us of our loss. It was too raw all over again. The Holidays are hard for those who have had losses – and to expect people to choose to be happy is incredibly immature on the part of the other.

When the blizzard came, it felt like the world, itself, had turned on us. We had a short window to make a very long drive – if we missed it, we could not make our trip. A trip we very much wanted to make – or at least I did. (DH does not like long car trips. I don’t like plane trips.) The entire northern half of the continental US was under a blanket of snow and ice making driving treacherous – possibly deadly. When roads are being closed and flights are being canceled, it is wise not to try to make a trip happen.

I was going to knit a sweater and knit down my stash. The only thing left that I am knitting is a pair of socks. I started the socks before we conceived this year. I was knitting them while I was pregnant with the intention of having them for labor and delivery. As odd as it sounds, a part of me thinks that if I finish this pair of socks, it will be easier to put all the failures of this year behind me. Ironically, they are orange and green – the colors of fertility. Isn’t it odd how we relate unrelated things to events and tragedies? I do not want to carry knitting these socks into 2009. I am down to the edging and I have two days. I think I can finish. If you knit, you might understand what I mean. But, then again, maybe not.

Of course, there all of the things that I have been avoiding returning to – cleaning out our basement, organizing my craft supplies, and, various and sundry tasks that were being done in preparation of a new arrival. Many of which were not nursery based. They are still reminders of our failed pregnancy.

Believe it or not, I am not actually depressed. I am sad. I don’t like being sad. I keep reminding myself that, as a Christian, Christ did not promise this life would be one of prosperity and ease. No. He told us that to follow Him was to pick up our own Cross to bear just as He had borne the Cross and the Crucifixion so that He could be reborn and allow us that same opportunity.

I will not pretend that this year has not been hard. It has been incredibly difficult, physically and emotionally. How can I compare my trials to the trials of Christ? It sort of puts things in perspective. Will we try again? I do not know. I will not discuss that in a public blog. I chose to share this to show that despite some pretty difficult times, I can persevere.

In 2009, I am hoping that I can leave this hurt behind me and find new hope and new beginnings. Where they might take me, I don’t know.

Christmas Eve 2008

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Trapped.

We are trapped at home. We had planned a trip to Florida but with 15 inches falling in one day that was not meant to be. No. Of course, February weather has happened in December – with no signs of stopping. We have had another 6 to 12 inches fall since that Friday. And, what is it doing now? Why sleeting to compact the ice down!

So, the trip to Florida to surprise my folks was not meant to be. No, the weather conspired against me. I fear this was the topping to a very bitter dessert. This year has been filled with all sorts of hurt. Most of which I have not shared on the public blog. Leave it at being a year where promises and hope were simply snatched away and denied. This was a year where losses occurred all along the spectrum. Some expected; some planned for; some, so unexpected that nothing can really prepare you for them.

Of course, we have also had blessings that cannot be discounted. Good friends and family that came through when we were at our lowest. Many were not who we expected – and some we looked for were not there in person or even in spirit.

So what is one to do when trapped by snow? Why, bake, of course!

The cookies shown at the far upper right are a snickerdoodle base with a raspberry preserve filling. And, yes, the preserves are homemade. Part of my mad canning spree in August through September.

The middle cookies are oatmeal raisin cookies with home dried raisins. No, I did not grow the oats myself, but, if DH would let me, I would have a farm. Of course, my allergies might make that hard!

The six cookies circling the plate are mini-cinnamon roles. I use a basic hearth bread recipe with cinnamon and sugar filling. So, those with dairy allergies need not worry.

The plate was a wedding gift from my Great Aunt. I have way too few opportunities to use them. The set is one of the most beautiful sets of stemware and cocktail dishes I have ever seen. DH is afraid of them and thinks they will break if he so much as touches them! I try to point out that there is no point in having beautiful things if you don’t use them. (If anyone knows the name of the pattern I would be grateful for that knowledge!)

Of course, I also put together packages of preserves to give away as Christmas gifts. Everyone wanted ketchup all year. So, from August to October I canned ketchup, preserves, and pickles. A few have said I should sell my ketchup and pickles! And even knitted a few dishcloths that are being given as gift to family.

 

The snow is higher than my beloved SMR. His attitude towards getting up and going out is best displayed by him hiding under covers.

So, if you are on the road, stuck at home, or just visiting around town, have a very Merry Christmas!

Yarn Haul!

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20071218 023While waiting between procedures, I went to some local California knitting stores and found myself buying more stuff than I should.

Hand-dyed and from Hissy Knits – a store that is in a renovated barn in a suburb of Los Angeles – is where I picked up the yarn. I also checked out Unwind (made famous in the book by Crazy Aunt Purl [soon to be reviewed]) where I picked up two patterns – one exclusive to Unwind. 20071218 034

The hand-dyed yarn includes the sock yarn in yellow, green, pink and white (shown left). The other hand-dyed yarn is the angora and silk autumn colorway and pink and purple colorway (right). I also picked up some cotton yarn that had some very nice socks knitted up as samples for some folks who tell me they are allergic to wool.

I got two patterns from Unwind, one a shrug that I plan to knit up in the purple/pink colorway, and a very sexy sock / knee high / thigh high lace that I am going to knit up eventually.

In my perusing for books that I have been voraciously reading, I picked up Scarf Style and am planning on doing the Lady Eleanor shawl in the autumn colorway. (You can see my practicing entrelac on the Christmas colored cone.)

I had honestly thought I would be knitting while on bed rest, but blogging is easier – and I tend to want to sleep a lot. I don’t know whether this is good or bad…  The cone of Christmas yarn is for the dishcloths I am supposed to be knitting…With the way things have gone, I am way behind on my Christmas knitting, so people may be getting Feast of the Epiphany Gifts instead.

Now, I have to get it home somehow. DH may not like having stuff in his suitcase.  And, since we are finally flying home on Friday, I am anxious to just get out of California.  I was not a tourist, so the most interesting thing I saw was some picketers at the wrtier’s strike:

Writers Striking

So, when you are likely reading this, I am going to be on a plane heading home.  Despite being stuck here three weeks, I didn’t get a chance to meet with anyone because of DH getting strep throat and my own medical stuff.  Ah well, maybe I’ll be in California under better circumstances in the future.

 

KnitMap – Find Local Yarn Stores While Traveling!

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This is cool!

http://www.knitmap.com/

I am stuck with non-active, non-tourist time in California – but I can still knit! The issue? Where are the local yarn stores (lys)? KnitMap solves that for me. I just wish I had found it before leaving out since I don’t have access to a printer here. Now, the only thing that I would suggest is a decent text only version of the directions like you can get at Yahoo! Maps to send to a pager or handheld device.

Craving Oven Food Without An Oven? (Stovetop Hot Wings Recipe)

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Warning: Corn Allergics, I don’t normally react to vinegar – alcohol, yes, vinegar no. This contains vinegar of unknown derivation that I don’t react to in Frank’s Red Hot Sauce.

I wanted Hot Wings.

I normally bake my chicken to have hot wings.

I am stuck in a hotel with no oven – just a stovetop. What to do?

I started thinking about how a Dutch Oven works. You remember those? It contains and concentrates the heat. So, what I did was:

Note: Keep the fan running oh HIGH if you don’t want the fire department to be alerted to your cooking habits!

20071207 006Step 1: Open up the chicken and throw it into the skillet and saucepan with some water.

 

20071207 010Step 2: Then I covered it up and set the stovetop at Medium heat for 30 minutes.

 

20071207 015Step 3: Once that was done, I tossed it around with a spatula and added Frank’s Red Hot Sauce (lots of it – because I like hot wings.)

 

Step 4: I covered them up again and let them cook another 20 or so minutes – checking once and a while to make sure they didn’t burn.

Step 5: Once they are coming off the bone easily, take them off the stove and serve.

20071207 017

Yes, I know it isn’t pretty, but it is just so darned good!

Leftovers can be saved and microwaved quite easily in the fridge. It took about 1.5 to 2 hours total to make these – I’m including the “Where did I put that?” factor.

Stuck in a Hotel for December

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So, we are stuck in overcast Glendale, CA due to medical stuff.  The weird thing is that it is so much like Dearborn, MI.  The Arabic and Armenian population is reflected in almost the exact same way.  The shops all have similar names, and there is just a smattering of Spanish and Japanese to confuse the issue.  The only thing missing, since it is December, is the black snow.  Well, DH claims the other thing missing is Ford Mo. Co. – but I think the Studios are probably the equivalent in power.  (For instance, the area code 313 in Michigan is only for Detroit – except for that part of Dearborn [and Allen Park] that includes Ford Mo. Co.  Ford used to be telecommunications company as well as an automotive company.)

The hotel is ok – studio apartment type that is being renovated. It is actually nice, but we had to change rooms due to their renovations.

20071207 02920071207 002

(Yes, I am not the neatest traveller, and neither is DH.)

One amusing thing is the elevator sign (right.)

20071207 004Now who would have thought that there would be a need to merge with a phone?

The kitchen has a fridge, freezer, small sink, and two burners. There is a sauce pan and a large skillet. They provide some utensils, but I went to Ralph’s and got $1.99 paring knives because I want to save my hands from serrated knives when peeling a potato, apple, or pear!

Depending on tomorrow’s results we may be stuck in California a third week. (Being stuck is a good thing, having it be 3 weeks is a bad thing.)

I have to say the hotel staff has been great, but I am missing my own yarn stash, kitchen, and of course, this guy:

IMG 0840(Yes, this is him taking over my side of the bed while I was getting ready to go to bed after fixing Thanksgiving Dinner.)

Who wouldn’t miss a dog with this type of attitude!

I have heard rumors that he has completely ensnared DH’s cousin and brother and our neighbor into being his personal servants. We warned them about his personality! DH and I are very aware we may be chopped liver when we get back since he will have had multiple servants.

Here is to hoping tomorrow goes well!