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-   -   AG: Aunt Granny's Advice, or How to become an elderly cyclist: (http://www.cyclebanter.com/showthread.php?t=245154)

John B.[_6_] June 21st 16 06:03 AM

AG: Today's Ride
 
On Mon, 20 Jun 2016 23:50:20 -0400, Frank Krygowski
wrote:

On 6/20/2016 2:48 AM, John B. wrote:
On Sun, 19 Jun 2016 23:50:06 -0300, Joy Beeson wrote:

After buying a glue stick, I read my check list!


I make up "shopping lists". I keep a clip board and when I think of
something I write it down. It is surprising, one will think, "Oh I
better buy one of those" and if you don't write it down immediately
then next time you come back from the store you will remember it. Just
as you carry the bags in the front door :-)


I'm a list addict, but these days I tend to put them in an app in my
smartphone. I have lists for shopping, a general "to do" list, a more
specific "to do for the house" list, a list of books to read, another of
movies that have been recommended, etc.

The benefit of the phone app is, I suppose, I can efficiently lose all
of them at once.


I find that the written list seems to work better for me as I keep it
on a clipboard in my workroom and can just grab it and scribble a note
when I think of something.

I even keep it in sections labeled with the place that I will
normally obtain it. So I'll have a list for Home Pro, another list for
Tesco-Lotus (think Walmart), etc. Although that is probably over kill.

I do keep lists on my phone but these are usually just identification
lists like "Batteries" listing every battery that I use.

But regarding biking, one thing I haven't solved is the "fix or improve
this thing on the bike" list. Whether it's a front derailleur
adjustment, a slight rattle in a fender, a crooked bag mount or
whatever, I can resolve to fix it as soon as I'm home. But when I take
the bike into the basement, the memory is immediately gone. Until the
next ride, of course.


If it is an adjustment sort of thing, like the chain ring doesn't seem
to shift right, I try to fix it right after the ride. I do keep a
to-do list for both Bangkok and Phuket though as we spend about half
of our time in Phuket and half in Bangkok and I've got tools and parts
in Phuket that I don't have in Bangkok and vise-versa.

I re-read that and it seems kind of posh, "spend half of our time in
Phuket". We rent a two bedroom house in Phuket for $160 a month :-)
--
cheers,

John B.


Joy Beeson June 22nd 16 01:33 AM

AG: Today's Ride
 
On Mon, 20 Jun 2016 13:48:54 +0700, John B.
wrote:

I though that Winter was when everyone stayed home and knitted socks?
At least it was in up-state New Hampshire when I was a lad.


No riding no ideas no new posts


When I was a kid embroidered "samplers" I think they called them, were
pretty common. Sort of "God Bless Out Happy Home" sort of things
framed and hung on the wall. But I suppose that is another lost art.


I think I have a "Home Sweet Home" sampler somewhere in the house. I
never did have any idea where it came from. If I find it, I'll scan
it and send the image to my older sisters to see whether they know.

History books say that children used to start samplers at about the
age -- or, rather, the stage of development -- at which I collected
recipes in a file box. It was a roll of narrow cloth to which the
embroiderer would add notes all her life, if she kept learning new
things. The hang-on-the-wall sampler was descended from this
notebook, and at first always included an alphabet suitable for
marking laundry.

When I read "The Stitches of Creative Embroidery" I started a sampler
on burlap pages to go with it. I got only three chapters in before I
gave up the project, but I did refer to it a few years ago. Didn't
make notes on alternating paper pages as I should have.

http://wlweather.net/PAGESEW/SAMPLER/Samp6003.jpg


My wife makes most of her own clothes... mainly as a hobby, I guess
you'd call it. Occasionally someone at a party will ask her "Oh, where
did you get that dress?" When she replies, "I made it." people sort of
bug their eyes out as say things like "OH MY Goodness. You can sew?"
as though she just invented gravity. I find it sort of amusing as my
mother (I think she enjoyed it too) sewed. I think that all our wool
"winter" shirts were hand made.


I make all my clothes because I can't buy them. I did have an
epiphany a couple of weeks ago: I don't have to make summer garden
pants, I can buy scrub pants and cut them off! But the place that
used to sell scrub suits now sells polyester medical uniforms. But I
haven't asked the local laundry/uniform rental whether they can sell
me scrub pants yet.

I did find a dress at Goodwill this winter, and got to wear it once
before it got too hot for long sleeves. Goodwill is the only place in
town that sells dresses -- the previous year I visited every clothing
store and big box store in town and even drove to Columbia City to
visit a shop that is particularly good -- so I don't know where the
women who donate the dresses are buying them. Perhaps they go to Fort
Wayne, but I couldn't get there and back before nap time, so I'd need
someone to drive.

Can you buy an eighth of a yard of fabric? Here fabric is sold by the
yard or meters only.


The vacuum-cleaner, sewing-machine, 3D-printer, and fabric shop gets
most of its money from "quilters" -- people who make patchwork. Why
they don't call it "patchworking", I don't know, but they do often
quilt the finished product. I'm not sure about eighths, but they
certainly sell quarters -- and you can buy "fat quarters", which are
half yards split lengthwise. Fat quarters are all precut, and often
they are sold in sets. Hrrm . . . I didn't check all the fat quarters
for plain yellow. But solid colors are usually used for backing or
sashing, not for accents, so I'd be vastly surprised to find *any*
solid color among the fat quarters. (And it would take *hours*; they
are all over the store.)


Which confuses me no end as it also comes in at
least two standard widths :-) So, if you take this material it is two
meters and that one is three :-)


I confused my spouse mightily one day when I remarked that a wide
fabric at $15/yard was cheaper than a narrow fabric at $10/yard. (I'm
making those numbers up because I don't remember.) He's accustomed to
area goods being sold by square yards, and took a while to grasp that
fabric is sold by linear yards.

Just to confuse the issue further, two pieces of fabric that have the
same area won't necessarily make the same pattern. Ignoring the
further complications of crooked cutting and shrinkage and so forth,
suppose I wanted to make something by cutting two pieces half a yard
long and twenty inches at the widest part. I couldn't make it at all
out of fifteen-inch toweling. From twenty inches to a meter, I'd need
a yard, at forty suddenly half a yard would do -- and then it would
continue to need half a yard no matter how wide the fabric got.

I generally make two pairs of pants at a time, because I can get two
pairs out of hardly any more fabric than one pair.

And now I'm plotting how to piece fifteen-inch fabric to get something
that doesn't exist out of two yards!

--
Joy Beeson
joy beeson at comcast dot net
http://wlweather.net/PAGEJOY/


John B.[_6_] June 22nd 16 03:25 AM

AG: Today's Ride
 
On Tue, 21 Jun 2016 21:33:10 -0300, Joy Beeson
wrote:

On Mon, 20 Jun 2016 13:48:54 +0700, John B.
wrote:

I though that Winter was when everyone stayed home and knitted socks?
At least it was in up-state New Hampshire when I was a lad.


No riding no ideas no new posts


When I was a kid embroidered "samplers" I think they called them, were
pretty common. Sort of "God Bless Out Happy Home" sort of things
framed and hung on the wall. But I suppose that is another lost art.


I think I have a "Home Sweet Home" sampler somewhere in the house. I
never did have any idea where it came from. If I find it, I'll scan
it and send the image to my older sisters to see whether they know.

History books say that children used to start samplers at about the
age -- or, rather, the stage of development -- at which I collected
recipes in a file box. It was a roll of narrow cloth to which the
embroiderer would add notes all her life, if she kept learning new
things. The hang-on-the-wall sampler was descended from this
notebook, and at first always included an alphabet suitable for
marking laundry.

When I read "The Stitches of Creative Embroidery" I started a sampler
on burlap pages to go with it. I got only three chapters in before I
gave up the project, but I did refer to it a few years ago. Didn't
make notes on alternating paper pages as I should have.

http://wlweather.net/PAGESEW/SAMPLER/Samp6003.jpg


My wife makes most of her own clothes... mainly as a hobby, I guess
you'd call it. Occasionally someone at a party will ask her "Oh, where
did you get that dress?" When she replies, "I made it." people sort of
bug their eyes out as say things like "OH MY Goodness. You can sew?"
as though she just invented gravity. I find it sort of amusing as my
mother (I think she enjoyed it too) sewed. I think that all our wool
"winter" shirts were hand made.


I make all my clothes because I can't buy them. I did have an
epiphany a couple of weeks ago: I don't have to make summer garden
pants, I can buy scrub pants and cut them off! But the place that
used to sell scrub suits now sells polyester medical uniforms. But I
haven't asked the local laundry/uniform rental whether they can sell
me scrub pants yet.


What are "scrub pants"? I've seen it used in reference to the clothes
worn by medical personnel but not to gardeners :-)

I did find a dress at Goodwill this winter, and got to wear it once
before it got too hot for long sleeves. Goodwill is the only place in
town that sells dresses -- the previous year I visited every clothing
store and big box store in town and even drove to Columbia City to
visit a shop that is particularly good -- so I don't know where the
women who donate the dresses are buying them. Perhaps they go to Fort
Wayne, but I couldn't get there and back before nap time, so I'd need
someone to drive.

Can you buy an eighth of a yard of fabric? Here fabric is sold by the
yard or meters only.


The vacuum-cleaner, sewing-machine, 3D-printer, and fabric shop gets
most of its money from "quilters" -- people who make patchwork. Why
they don't call it "patchworking", I don't know, but they do often
quilt the finished product. I'm not sure about eighths, but they
certainly sell quarters -- and you can buy "fat quarters", which are
half yards split lengthwise. Fat quarters are all precut, and often
they are sold in sets. Hrrm . . . I didn't check all the fat quarters
for plain yellow. But solid colors are usually used for backing or
sashing, not for accents, so I'd be vastly surprised to find *any*
solid color among the fat quarters. (And it would take *hours*; they
are all over the store.)


"Patchwork" quilts were pretty common when I was a kid, but I don't
think many housewives still made them. I remember we had a couple, for
us kids, but I'm sure that my mother never made any. Perhaps handed
down?


Which confuses me no end as it also comes in at
least two standard widths :-) So, if you take this material it is two
meters and that one is three :-)


I confused my spouse mightily one day when I remarked that a wide
fabric at $15/yard was cheaper than a narrow fabric at $10/yard. (I'm
making those numbers up because I don't remember.) He's accustomed to
area goods being sold by square yards, and took a while to grasp that
fabric is sold by linear yards.

Just to confuse the issue further, two pieces of fabric that have the
same area won't necessarily make the same pattern. Ignoring the
further complications of crooked cutting and shrinkage and so forth,
suppose I wanted to make something by cutting two pieces half a yard
long and twenty inches at the widest part. I couldn't make it at all
out of fifteen-inch toweling. From twenty inches to a meter, I'd need
a yard, at forty suddenly half a yard would do -- and then it would
continue to need half a yard no matter how wide the fabric got.


Yes. I frequently hear my wife muttering about how she had to buy an
extra yard in order to make the pattern woven or printed on the cloth
match.

She also makes most of her "good clothes" from hand woven Thai silk
and that doesn't come in standard widths. The country women measure
using the distance from the tip of their nose to their finger tip so
long arm women weave a wider cloth then the short arms.

I generally make two pairs of pants at a time, because I can get two
pairs out of hardly any more fabric than one pair.

And now I'm plotting how to piece fifteen-inch fabric to get something
that doesn't exist out of two yards!


Perhaps a loom?
--
cheers,

John B.


Joy Beeson June 22nd 16 03:45 AM

AG: Today's Ride
 
On Wed, 22 Jun 2016 09:25:49 +0700, John B.
wrote:

What are "scrub pants"? I've seen it used in reference to the clothes
worn by medical personnel but not to gardeners :-)


Scrub suits used to be simple, boilable clothing worn only in the
operating room. Then printed and decorated versions started being
worn in places where clothes didn't need to be sterile. "Scrub suits"
were quite stylish for a year or two shortly after the scrub-looking
suit I made by mistake wore out. (There's a picture of me wearing it
on my Web site; the lace around the neck helped un-scrub it a little.
It made a pretty good background for the lion.) Scrubs quickly went
out of style for general wear, but are now the standard "telling the
employees from the patients" uniform, but fit a lot better, and they
are made of permanent-press fabric totally unsuitable for physical
labor.

Big R has a corner near the entrance that sells medical uniforms.
(There's a bigger selection of working-on-the-road clothing farther
back.) When I first noticed it, the sign said "scrub suits", about
half were frumpy-looking cotton suits, and all pants and shirts were
sold separately. I looked them over for ideas and proceeded to forget
about them for a decade or so.

So I've been frying this spring because I'm completely out of old
plant-fiber pants. While lying in the dentist's chair a few weeks
ago, waiting for them to squeeze me in between patients who had
appointments, I was studying the pockets on one of the assistants, and
realized: Hey! I can go to Big R, buy a pair of cheap cotton pants,
whack them off at mid-calf, and there's my garden pants!

But while I was ignoring that corner, they changed the sign to
"medical uniforms" and stopped stocking cotton. Cotton musses, and
medical uniforms must look neat.

But I'm pretty sure that Wildman Uniforms include real scrub suits.
But I can't go there any time soon, because I'm treating myself like
an eggshell because there is no-one who can to step in and do the
embroidery gig at the Day of Caring if I repeat the Easter incident.
(Got over-tired on Monday, didn't spend the next two days in bed, got
an arthritic hip that's been bothering me off and on since the late
eighties or early nineties diagnosed on Friday.)

I usually ride toward that side of town on Saturday, but this Saturday
I'm teaching embroidery to small children.

--
Joy Beeson
joy beeson at comcast dot net
http://wlweather.net/PAGEJOY/


John B.[_6_] June 24th 16 12:05 AM

AG: Today's Ride
 
On Tue, 21 Jun 2016 23:45:17 -0300, Joy Beeson
wrote:

On Wed, 22 Jun 2016 09:25:49 +0700, John B.
wrote:

What are "scrub pants"? I've seen it used in reference to the clothes
worn by medical personnel but not to gardeners :-)


Scrub suits used to be simple, boilable clothing worn only in the
operating room. Then printed and decorated versions started being
worn in places where clothes didn't need to be sterile. "Scrub suits"
were quite stylish for a year or two shortly after the scrub-looking
suit I made by mistake wore out. (There's a picture of me wearing it
on my Web site; the lace around the neck helped un-scrub it a little.
It made a pretty good background for the lion.) Scrubs quickly went
out of style for general wear, but are now the standard "telling the
employees from the patients" uniform, but fit a lot better, and they
are made of permanent-press fabric totally unsuitable for physical
labor.

Big R has a corner near the entrance that sells medical uniforms.
(There's a bigger selection of working-on-the-road clothing farther
back.) When I first noticed it, the sign said "scrub suits", about
half were frumpy-looking cotton suits, and all pants and shirts were
sold separately. I looked them over for ideas and proceeded to forget
about them for a decade or so.


As simple as "scrub" uniforms are wouldn't it be easy to make them?
Probably cheaper too :-)

So I've been frying this spring because I'm completely out of old
plant-fiber pants. While lying in the dentist's chair a few weeks
ago, waiting for them to squeeze me in between patients who had
appointments, I was studying the pockets on one of the assistants, and
realized: Hey! I can go to Big R, buy a pair of cheap cotton pants,
whack them off at mid-calf, and there's my garden pants!

But while I was ignoring that corner, they changed the sign to
"medical uniforms" and stopped stocking cotton. Cotton musses, and
medical uniforms must look neat.

But I'm pretty sure that Wildman Uniforms include real scrub suits.
But I can't go there any time soon, because I'm treating myself like
an eggshell because there is no-one who can to step in and do the
embroidery gig at the Day of Caring if I repeat the Easter incident.
(Got over-tired on Monday, didn't spend the next two days in bed, got
an arthritic hip that's been bothering me off and on since the late
eighties or early nineties diagnosed on Friday.)

I usually ride toward that side of town on Saturday, but this Saturday
I'm teaching embroidery to small children.


Do the kids like embroidering? My wife doesn't do it but the sewing
supply shop where she buys her crocheting stuff stocks the floss and
hoops in assorted sizes so apparently there are people who still do it
here.
--
cheers,

John B.


Joy Beeson June 26th 16 03:05 AM

AG: Tour d' Stitches Out -- five miles, three hours
 
(Note: in my training log, "Tour d'" is a running gag. The subject
line is a reference to a previous ride I dubbed the Tour d' Bridge
Out.)

22 June 2016

I'm much too busy getting ready for my annual embroidery-teaching gig
to write anything this week, so y'all are getting another entry from
my training log: tomorrow's exciting trip to the dentist.

I've been seeing altogether too much of this guy: I've got my own
personal reserved parking space: he had a bike rack installed just
for me.

(And it's one of the kind that work! And that kind are all over town!
The local Friends of the Bike goofed up bike racks; under the
instruction of the League Against Bicycling, they spend most of their
time mis-painting "bike lanes" and building expensive sidewalks.
Thanks to their efforts, Market Street, formerly the best way to get
through town, is off limits to eastbound cyclists who aren't
first-class racers, and unpleasant and not all that safe going west.)


23 June 2016: Tour d' Stitches Out -- five miles in 3.5 hours.

Summary: with the adjustment to my bite, I can now eat green salad!
That would seem odd to get excited about if you'd seen what I've been
eating the past two weeks, but think of slip-joint pliers with the
joint slipped into the second notch: I could crunch up nuts just
fine, but anything as thin as a leaf was waller and swaller.

(In case you also read A.U.E.: both words are backwoods
pronunciations of common words, but while "swallow" is the exact
equivalent of "swaller", and "waller" can replace "wallow" in any
sentence, you can't wallow something around, you can only waller it.)

On the other hand, crunching chicken bones is forbidden until
September. This will adversely affect my efforts to work my way back
up to quarter centuries -- stopping at Penguin Point for lunch was a
major motivator on the Parks-Schram loop. There's a Subway a little
farther on, but I don't have to ride that far to eat a sandwich.

I left half an hour early because I wanted to stop at Lowery's on the
way. I intended to take a snack bag to put the skein of floss in so I
could bring it home in my wallet. I forgot, but had a spare
spectacle-cleaning rag to wrap it in.

Unexpected difficulty in locating black floss used up all the extra
time, and I arrived the usual fifteen minutes early.

(Thirty or forty years ago, I sat down and faced facts: I had proven
by experiment that it is impossible to arrive on time. I had decided
that arriving late is not acceptable. There was only one option left:
arrive everywhere fifteen minutes early. It turns out that this is a
very good plan for medical appointments: when I get a mammogram, for
example, they nearly always send me home before I was supposed to
arrive.)

On the way from the fabric shop to the dentist's office, I forgot that
last time I'd learned that it's better to turn off Prairie Street onto
Columbia than to turn onto Walnut. I'll wager that I'll have forgotten
again by August.

On the way home, as I was approaching the infamous intersection of
Detroit and Pope, a driver decided to overtake me and turn right at
the same time. By good luck I had already started my turn onto Pope,
so I didn't crash into his passenger door. But he also decided that
he must aim directly for his proper position at the far-right edge of
the street. I was able to brake hard enough to stay in the part of
the triangle between him and the curb that was just barely wide enough
to contain me until he completed his pass, and he went on without the
faintest clue as to what he had done.

Which is my main reason for wanting all junior-high children taught
how to ride bikes. They would grow up into drivers who are viscerally
aware that bicycles are not stationary objects.

I stopped at Marsh to buy a banana for a quick lunch, and spent
$20.99. I had had no intention of going anywhere near Marsh before
August, but they gave me a coupon for a free carton of eggs on my next
visit, and we are down to eight eggs, so I think I'll make a special
trip on Monday or Tuesday. I'll probably go round the south end of
the lake, where the intersections are far enough apart that I can wear
my cleats. When I started the list of quarter-centuries that
developed into this log, I felt that I'd worn a rut around Winona
Lake, but I haven't gone that way yet this year, and the distance is
about right for a move up from these five-mile rides I've been taking.
(It's downright aggravating, when I take a ride that a child could
have accomplished on his upright, that people are astonished and
impressed and say "keep it up".)

I stopped at Sherman & Lin's, but didn't find anything interesting.
While I was there, I measured between the two edge-of-the-road lines
that mark the "bike lane". 52", but I was in a bit of a rush to get
out of the road before another platoon came along, so that could be an
inch off either way. I was surprised, as I'd thought it was only four
feet. I don't ride in it of course; the road is too narrow for cars
to move over even if they didn't have a fog line telling them that
they don't need to, and the "bike lane" is taken out of a full-width
breakdown lane that is smoothly paved to the edge, and often beyond,
and cars use it for right turns often enough that it doesn't fill up
with broken glass, so I ride just outside the "bike lane", which
allows proper clearance for overtaking cars.

On a whim, after using Canal Street to get around the parked cars on
Park Avenue, I got onto the Heritage Trail and followed it to the
playground, where I got back onto Park Avenue and went home.


24 June 2016

The backpack is sorted and packed (including black floss for making
happyfaces), and I plan to take it to the church this evening, where
I'll put it on the table reserved for sewing, along with the box of
button-sewing kits that has been on the shelf over the refrigerators
in the kitchen ever since last year. Nobody knows how it got there,
but we decided it was as good a place to keep it as any.

[asterism]

The backpack felt much lighter than it should -- I've got an iron and
an ironing board in there! -- Tough Traveler did very good work. I
haven't used my external-frame backpack in decades, but I remember
thinking that the Tough Traveler flight bag was better. It does
backpack, handbag, and shoulder bag. And there's an extra strap in
the pocket that I rather suspect makes it do something else too, but I
can't think what.

After fetching down the button-sewing kits, I set up the table. The
backpack belongs on the floor under the table, and the ironing tools
belong on the floor beside the outlet, but I left them on the table.
All I need to take with me tomorrow that isn't already in my pants
pockets is a bottle of tea and two chocolate bars.

Then I climbed an extra flight of stairs and did twelve "pushups" in
Club 56 -- my elbows actually bent visibly!

The walk was significantly more than the usual mile, because I came
back past the teller machine, and zig-zagged through the park, taking
a closer look at the preparations for tomorrow's triathlon. I heard a
rumor that instead of swimming, they are going to have a kayak race.


25 June 2016

I didn't get nearly as tired as I did on the Monday before Easter, but
I went up to Club 56 and did twelve "pushups" and some back-stretching
exercises before walking home just to be sure.

I should pack a book; I always get bored and get up before the end of
a five-minute lie-down, and the print in the Bibles supplied for the
fifth-and-sixth graders is too fine for aging eyes. Leastways it's
too fine when one is lying on one's back holding the book overhead and
the light is from above.

Only the usual mile of walking: up Chestnut Street and down the
staircase on Ninth Street. Triathlon seemed to be all over when I
left at a quarter past noon, but there was a party going on in a tent
when I walked home. I didn't pass that parking lot on the way up the
hill.

I snitched a small table from a children's Sunday school room to put
the ironing things on.

The happyfaces I made such a fuss about drew no interest whatsoever.
But One boy did choose the black floss, and another child (I didn't
notice which sex) used the dark navy. Perhaps I should add dark brown
to my selection!

The "button sewing" was a huge success, thanks in large part to my
assistant. (We never used the word "embroidery"; we made necklaces.)
Several adults stopped by; at least one embroidered, the rest
supervised their children. (*That* was a big help too!)

And all but three button-sewing kits vanished; I saw only one of them
go. After all these years, we'll have to make up some fresh ones!

--
joy beeson at comcast dot net
http://wlweather.net/PAGEJOY/
The above message is a Usenet post.
I don't recall having given anyone permission to use it on a Web site.


John B.[_6_] June 26th 16 07:28 AM

AG: Tour d' Stitches Out -- five miles, three hours
 
On Sat, 25 Jun 2016 23:05:51 -0300, Joy Beeson
wrote:

(Note: in my training log, "Tour d'" is a running gag. The subject
line is a reference to a previous ride I dubbed the Tour d' Bridge
Out.)

22 June 2016

I'm much too busy getting ready for my annual embroidery-teaching gig
to write anything this week, so y'all are getting another entry from
my training log: tomorrow's exciting trip to the dentist.

I've been seeing altogether too much of this guy: I've got my own
personal reserved parking space: he had a bike rack installed just
for me.

(And it's one of the kind that work! And that kind are all over town!
The local Friends of the Bike goofed up bike racks; under the
instruction of the League Against Bicycling, they spend most of their
time mis-painting "bike lanes" and building expensive sidewalks.
Thanks to their efforts, Market Street, formerly the best way to get
through town, is off limits to eastbound cyclists who aren't
first-class racers, and unpleasant and not all that safe going west.)


23 June 2016: Tour d' Stitches Out -- five miles in 3.5 hours.

Summary: with the adjustment to my bite, I can now eat green salad!
That would seem odd to get excited about if you'd seen what I've been
eating the past two weeks, but think of slip-joint pliers with the
joint slipped into the second notch: I could crunch up nuts just
fine, but anything as thin as a leaf was waller and swaller.

(In case you also read A.U.E.: both words are backwoods
pronunciations of common words, but while "swallow" is the exact
equivalent of "swaller", and "waller" can replace "wallow" in any
sentence, you can't wallow something around, you can only waller it.)

On the other hand, crunching chicken bones is forbidden until
September. This will adversely affect my efforts to work my way back
up to quarter centuries -- stopping at Penguin Point for lunch was a
major motivator on the Parks-Schram loop. There's a Subway a little
farther on, but I don't have to ride that far to eat a sandwich.


Somehow I had the idea that one should not eat chicken bones. At least
I remember a lot of warnings NOT to feed chicken bones to the dogs for
fear that they would "get caught in their throat".

I left half an hour early because I wanted to stop at Lowery's on the
way. I intended to take a snack bag to put the skein of floss in so I
could bring it home in my wallet. I forgot, but had a spare
spectacle-cleaning rag to wrap it in.

Unexpected difficulty in locating black floss used up all the extra
time, and I arrived the usual fifteen minutes early.

(Thirty or forty years ago, I sat down and faced facts: I had proven
by experiment that it is impossible to arrive on time. I had decided
that arriving late is not acceptable. There was only one option left:
arrive everywhere fifteen minutes early. It turns out that this is a
very good plan for medical appointments: when I get a mammogram, for
example, they nearly always send me home before I was supposed to
arrive.)

On the way from the fabric shop to the dentist's office, I forgot that
last time I'd learned that it's better to turn off Prairie Street onto
Columbia than to turn onto Walnut. I'll wager that I'll have forgotten
again by August.

On the way home, as I was approaching the infamous intersection of
Detroit and Pope, a driver decided to overtake me and turn right at
the same time. By good luck I had already started my turn onto Pope,
so I didn't crash into his passenger door. But he also decided that
he must aim directly for his proper position at the far-right edge of
the street. I was able to brake hard enough to stay in the part of
the triangle between him and the curb that was just barely wide enough
to contain me until he completed his pass, and he went on without the
faintest clue as to what he had done.

Which is my main reason for wanting all junior-high children taught
how to ride bikes. They would grow up into drivers who are viscerally
aware that bicycles are not stationary objects.


I suggest that when kids grow up the age of 16 and get their driver's
license that now that they are "mature" they no longer do "childish
things" and forget about bicycles :-)

I stopped at Marsh to buy a banana for a quick lunch, and spent
$20.99. I had had no intention of going anywhere near Marsh before
August, but they gave me a coupon for a free carton of eggs on my next
visit, and we are down to eight eggs, so I think I'll make a special
trip on Monday or Tuesday. I'll probably go round the south end of
the lake, where the intersections are far enough apart that I can wear
my cleats. When I started the list of quarter-centuries that
developed into this log, I felt that I'd worn a rut around Winona
Lake, but I haven't gone that way yet this year, and the distance is
about right for a move up from these five-mile rides I've been taking.
(It's downright aggravating, when I take a ride that a child could
have accomplished on his upright, that people are astonished and
impressed and say "keep it up".)

I stopped at Sherman & Lin's, but didn't find anything interesting.
While I was there, I measured between the two edge-of-the-road lines
that mark the "bike lane". 52", but I was in a bit of a rush to get
out of the road before another platoon came along, so that could be an
inch off either way. I was surprised, as I'd thought it was only four
feet. I don't ride in it of course; the road is too narrow for cars
to move over even if they didn't have a fog line telling them that
they don't need to, and the "bike lane" is taken out of a full-width
breakdown lane that is smoothly paved to the edge, and often beyond,
and cars use it for right turns often enough that it doesn't fill up
with broken glass, so I ride just outside the "bike lane", which
allows proper clearance for overtaking cars.

On a whim, after using Canal Street to get around the parked cars on
Park Avenue, I got onto the Heritage Trail and followed it to the
playground, where I got back onto Park Avenue and went home.


24 June 2016

The backpack is sorted and packed (including black floss for making
happyfaces), and I plan to take it to the church this evening, where
I'll put it on the table reserved for sewing, along with the box of
button-sewing kits that has been on the shelf over the refrigerators
in the kitchen ever since last year. Nobody knows how it got there,
but we decided it was as good a place to keep it as any.

[asterism]

The backpack felt much lighter than it should -- I've got an iron and
an ironing board in there! -- Tough Traveler did very good work. I
haven't used my external-frame backpack in decades, but I remember
thinking that the Tough Traveler flight bag was better. It does
backpack, handbag, and shoulder bag. And there's an extra strap in
the pocket that I rather suspect makes it do something else too, but I
can't think what.

After fetching down the button-sewing kits, I set up the table. The


Whatever is a "button-sewing kit"? I first envisioned something that
one came in a box and one bought in a store in order to sew buttons
with, and then thought of the little "sewing kits" that my wife
carries with her on trips - a few needles and some twists of thread in
various colors, in an envelope, for emergence repairs.

backpack belongs on the floor under the table, and the ironing tools
belong on the floor beside the outlet, but I left them on the table.
All I need to take with me tomorrow that isn't already in my pants
pockets is a bottle of tea and two chocolate bars.

Then I climbed an extra flight of stairs and did twelve "pushups" in
Club 56 -- my elbows actually bent visibly!


Try doing "sets" of, say 5 pushups and repeat. In other words, do five
pushups, rest for one minute, then another five, rest, and then a
third set, if possible. As you get stronger add either more sets or
more repetitions.

By the way, some exercise authorities recommend that for women, it
is better to start with modified pushups. Instead of the entire body,
supported on hands and toes, try hands and knees until you build your
strength.

The walk was significantly more than the usual mile, because I came
back past the teller machine, and zig-zagged through the park, taking
a closer look at the preparations for tomorrow's triathlon. I heard a
rumor that instead of swimming, they are going to have a kayak race.


25 June 2016

I didn't get nearly as tired as I did on the Monday before Easter, but
I went up to Club 56 and did twelve "pushups" and some back-stretching
exercises before walking home just to be sure.

I should pack a book; I always get bored and get up before the end of
a five-minute lie-down, and the print in the Bibles supplied for the
fifth-and-sixth graders is too fine for aging eyes. Leastways it's
too fine when one is lying on one's back holding the book overhead and
the light is from above.

Only the usual mile of walking: up Chestnut Street and down the
staircase on Ninth Street. Triathlon seemed to be all over when I
left at a quarter past noon, but there was a party going on in a tent
when I walked home. I didn't pass that parking lot on the way up the
hill.

I snitched a small table from a children's Sunday school room to put
the ironing things on.

The happyfaces I made such a fuss about drew no interest whatsoever.
But One boy did choose the black floss, and another child (I didn't
notice which sex) used the dark navy. Perhaps I should add dark brown
to my selection!

The "button sewing" was a huge success, thanks in large part to my
assistant. (We never used the word "embroidery"; we made necklaces.)
Several adults stopped by; at least one embroidered, the rest
supervised their children. (*That* was a big help too!)

And all but three button-sewing kits vanished; I saw only one of them
go. After all these years, we'll have to make up some fresh ones!

--
cheers,

John B.


Joy Beeson June 27th 16 01:45 AM

AG: Tour d' Stitches Out -- five miles, three hours
 
On Sun, 26 Jun 2016 13:28:51 +0700, John B.
wrote:

Somehow I had the idea that one should not eat chicken bones. At least
I remember a lot of warnings NOT to feed chicken bones to the dogs for
fear that they would "get caught in their throat".


Raw chickens are fine to feed dogs, but cooked bones shatter into
sharp pieces when chewed, and sharp things in one's food are
incompatible with a carnivore's eating style.

I saved Earl the Unfortunate Kitten from the same chicken bone
*twice*. It was impaled on a fang, but enough was still in his mouth
that I could get hold of it and work it out. I dropped it on the
windowsill and heaved a great sigh of relief. Even though it had been
his throat that was blocked, Earl got his breath back before I did,
pounced on the bone, and started choking again. This time I was
careful to put it where he couldn't get at it.

What I like to do is to gnaw the cartilage off the ends of bones, but
chickens die so young these days that fried wingtips can be eaten like
crackers -- if your grinders aren't temporary plastic.

--
Joy Beeson
joy beeson at comcast dot net
http://wlweather.net/PAGEJOY/

John B.[_6_] June 27th 16 10:58 AM

AG: Tour d' Stitches Out -- five miles, three hours
 
On Sun, 26 Jun 2016 21:45:10 -0300, Joy Beeson
wrote:

On Sun, 26 Jun 2016 13:28:51 +0700, John B.
wrote:

Somehow I had the idea that one should not eat chicken bones. At least
I remember a lot of warnings NOT to feed chicken bones to the dogs for
fear that they would "get caught in their throat".


Raw chickens are fine to feed dogs, but cooked bones shatter into
sharp pieces when chewed, and sharp things in one's food are
incompatible with a carnivore's eating style.

I saved Earl the Unfortunate Kitten from the same chicken bone
*twice*. It was impaled on a fang, but enough was still in his mouth
that I could get hold of it and work it out. I dropped it on the
windowsill and heaved a great sigh of relief. Even though it had been
his throat that was blocked, Earl got his breath back before I did,
pounced on the bone, and started choking again. This time I was
careful to put it where he couldn't get at it.

What I like to do is to gnaw the cartilage off the ends of bones, but
chickens die so young these days that fried wingtips can be eaten like
crackers -- if your grinders aren't temporary plastic.


My both of my grandparents raised chickens. As I remember, it was an
egg producing project for years and years. Then someone came up with a
deal. I'll furnish the chicks and I'll buy them from you as pullets.
From a livestock raising point of view it makes sense.

From a cooks point of view, if it is an old, ornery, rooster you can't
just wring his neck and pop him in the skillet and feed him to the
family as he'll be so awful tough, so for the young wife "fryers" make
more sense.

But I guess a lot of that "old time cooking" is gone forever. I
remember my father's mother used to make a pot of baked beans every
Saturday. You wash the beans and put them to soak on Friday and put
them on the stove early Saturday morning (before you leave for town to
do the week's shopping) and when you get home in the evening they are
all ready for eating. Now you just open a can :-)
--
cheers,

John B.


Joy Beeson June 28th 16 03:32 AM

AG: Tour d' Stitches Out -- five miles, three hours
 
On Sun, 26 Jun 2016 13:28:51 +0700, John B.
wrote:

Whatever is a "button-sewing kit"? I first envisioned something that
one came in a box and one bought in a store in order to sew buttons
with, and then thought of the little "sewing kits" that my wife
carries with her on trips - a few needles and some twists of thread in
various colors, in an envelope, for emergence repairs.


At the first Day of Helping, someone thought it would be a good plan
to offer lessons in sewing on buttons, and made up a lot of kits
consisting of a zipper sandwich bag containing everything needed to
practice sewing on a button. There's a spool of thread, a needle
stuck in a piece of felt, a round toothpick, and a button. I don't
recall seeing a piece of fabric to sew the button to, and I left the
three remaining kits in the church kitchen where I found them, so I
can't go look. It could be that I was told to bring scraps of fabric;
it was a long time ago.

Nobody was interested in learning how to sew on a button -- which
should have been expected, because anybody who wanted to learn would
look it up in a sewing encyclopedia or Google up a tutorial. So I got
into the backpack containing the tools for the lesson I'd developed
for Kreative Kids Kamp, which I'd stashed under the table just in
case, and spread out the tools for embroidery lessons. I think I
asked a child first, and dived under the table to bring stuff out a
little at a time. The children had a ball, and I've been doing
embroidery at the Day of Helping ever since. Which I appreciate,
because it's a long time since I've been invited to babysit at
Pinewood Derby and the like; I'm not sure we still *do* Pinewood
Derby.

Pinewood Derby was a miniature soapbox derby with hand-painted toy
cars coasting down an indoor ramp. The fun part was several days
spent making the cars, but each day a few children finished early, and
I would entertain them until their parents came.

The sign still says "button sewing", and I still pile the kits on the
corner of the table. This year all but three of them disappeared. One
of the children asked for one; I didn't see the rest go.

At one point in the afternoon, I held up a cloth-covered cardboard
circle and said "this is a button".

--
Joy Beeson
joy beeson at comcast dot net
http://wlweather.net/PAGEJOY/


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