Garrison Keillor made a comment (on his Christmas album) something to the effect that at Christmastime, people cry that you never thought had a drop of water in them.

Now, I don't claim to be one of those "dry" people - in fact, I find myself tearing up more frequently than I'd like sometimes. But usually, that's my response to frustration or being really angry (How sad it is that our society seems to teach women that anger is unacceptable, and so it comes out as tears, and seems to teach men that sadness is unacceptable, so it often comes out as anger).

But at Christmas, I often do tear up - often inexplicably. As much as I roll my eyes over some mushy things, as much as I claim to be a cynic about romance (in the broader sense) and sentimentality, there really is a sentimentalist deep down in me. I just keep her hidden a lot of the time.

Last night, I found myself tearing up as Linus paused after reciting the passage from Luke and said, "And that's what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown." (it's funny, it never affected me as a child but it does as an adult).

And a friend emailed me this link. It did, very nearly, make me cry. And in a good way. (I feel compelled to remark that if you are really and truly a cynic, you will probably not appreciate it. But then again, I wonder if people who are really and truly cynics appreciate anything).

With that said, on to Random Wednesday. (My graduate advisor did always complain that I made abrupt transitions in my writing).

Last night I worked on socks. I'm closing in on finishing the first of the Checkers socks, and it will be a race to see if there's enough wool in one ball to make a whole sock (I bought three balls - the extra is for "insurance" - but it displeases me to have to have joins in my socks. There is something satisfying to me about having a simple sock knit out of ONE continuous strand of yarn.). I also worked some on the long-stalled Canal du Midi socks, the ones I've had on the needles since 2003. It's simply inertia that keeps me from working on them - I've finally grasped the logic of the twisted-stitch pattern, and really, once I get going, it's fun, and there's a certain satisfaction in moving my marker up the chart rows as I finish each row of the pattern. But there's a big activation energy involved in picking them up and actually starting to knit.

But I want to finish these, and I'd like to finish these in the next two weeks, because I want to start a new "complex sock" - I want to make the lacy "Unst socks" from the same book ("Knitting on the Road").

Pictures of other knitter's versions are here, here, and here.

I want to use a Blackberry Ridge wool I've had on hand for a while, it's their washable merino in the color called Tropical Fish (bright jewel tones). Normally I don't do a complex sock pattern out of a multicolored yarn (the pattern gets hidden), but I think the fairly simple lace of Unst will work well with this.

There's something satisfying about working on complex socks. They are enjoyable in a way that the simple, all-stockinette or all-rib socks are not.

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It's supposed to snow today. I have to admit a certain schadenfreude in listening to the Big Giant Weather Freakout that's going on on the Dallas stations. (Okay, in their defense, they might get freezing rain or ice, which is not anything to screw around with and is a scary problem. But we're supposed to only get snow, if we get anything at all). As a northerner, it's sort of...instructive...to see how folks not used to winter weather react to it. (I will say IF it gets bad, I hope school is cancelled tomorrow; although I can drive in the snow (and have a front-wheel drive vehicle with enhanced traction capabilities), not everyone around here seems to know how. I remember a couple years ago watching a guy in a pickup slide backwards down my street - the grade cannot be more than 2% - during an icy day). The grocery stores become interesting before winter weather (Me? I've got plenty of food on hand to last through the weekend, thankyou.) I've seen people buying up to six dozen eggs. The loaves of bread, gallons of milk, canned goods - that I can understand. But multiple dozens of eggs? If the power goes out, not only will there be no way to keep them good, but there will be no way to cook them, and unless you like sucking eggs, you're kind of stuck there.

And there's just a general schadenfreude I feel about winter weather. Sort of a smugness (Yes, I give in to smugness occasionally). I have a good warm house with a working furnace. I have many quilts and blankets and also wool sweaters. I know how to stay warm. There are few pleasures greater, I think, than being IN (and not having to go OUT) when it's nasty out.

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I was also reflecting, this morning, on what I consider the Holy Trinity of modern conveniences: indoor plumbing, electricity, and central heat (and now, living in the South, I'd add Air Conditioning in with the heat - maybe call it Climate Control). I never lived for long without any one of those things. I wonder if we adequately appreciate what a miracle it would be to, say, someone from the 1700s, to be able to turn on a tap and have clean, clear water, or to be able to heat the entire house without having to chop or haul wood.

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Science-geek moment: Yesterday, at the party, someone mentioned one of our colleagues who had a bad infection of some point (she gets this every year. I know it is nearly Christmas when I hear her coughing and hacking down the hall in her office). He said that we weren't to worry about her any more, she had finally gone to the doctor and was on antibiotics. "She said she feels a thousand percent better!" he said "I think that means three times better."

"Oh" I piped up. "So she's using a logarithmic scale, then."

Several people kind of looked at me, so I said "I wouldn't be the biostatistician if I didn't make comments like that."

One of the other women - the bacteriologist - looked kind of sheepish and said, "Well, I was THINKING the same thing."

hahahahahaha.