Oh, how you people disappoint me.

I used to think that knitters were industrious people. I marveled at how they were able to capture the quiet moments in between events in their day and transform them in knitwear goods. I was impressed by their seemingly literal interpretation of the saying “idle hands are the devil’s tools.” Oh, how I used to respect and marvel at their commitment to efficiency and productivity.

Of course after seeing Christen Meindertsma’s work I now realize what a lazy bunch of underachievers knitter really are… and I’m not just talking about the social trend knitters, knitting one day, quitting the next. Even the hardcore thug knitters 4 life folks have been diminished in my eyes. You see, I’ve had my expectations adjusted.

If you’re not working on room-sized project then you’re not really knitting. Give it rest already slackers. If you're not ready to step up to the big game put the needles away. The devil needs to get some work done.

They'll Never Read L337

Dawn and I were listening to the radio on Saturday and a story came on about a telephone interpreter. People call her when they need someone to translate between English and Spanish. She specializes in medical terminology and is often used by people in hospitals to communicate symptoms or medical directions.

One of the stories she was sharing was about a pair of teenaged parents who just had a new born baby. When a nurse visited them at their house she found the baby wrapped up in all sorts of clothes even though it was sweating. She used the telephone interpreter to ask them why they had dressed the baby up so thoroughly in such sweltering heat. Their answer was that was how baby Jesus was dressed. Solid logic there.

The nurse told the couple that they needed to monitor the temperature of the baby since it had a fever. The couple revealed that they were illiterate. The nurse said they just needed to use a thermometer. The couple reiterated that they illiterate and were unable to even read numbers. The nurse was flabbergasted. The rest of the story is unimportant.

So here’s what surprised me - there were people who couldn’t read numbers. I get being unable to read words – that involves bundling together letters into words and making sense out of them. I even get being mathematically literate…but reading numbers? It seems like the chances to associate the symbols with natural numbers are so numerous that it’s bound to happen if you’re alive and conscious for twenty years. I would think you should at least recognize the symbols for the first ten integers if you’re counting or have ever bought anything with money.

What surprised me even more is the casual way in which Dawn acknowledged that such people exist, and that their existence was less than surprising. She was blasé about it. I was gob smacked. Have you ever known anyone who couldn’t recognize a number I asked? She said didn’t know anyone, but that was hardly proof that such an individual should be surprising. I tried to point out all the different ways that a person would likely become accustomed to numbers and she casually swatted them away. She was unmoved. I grew increasingly more agitated with her stance that people could be completely oblivious to counting and symbols. She argued that they would just stop trying, that numbers would be noise in their environment. I don’t buy it.

So am I underestimating the lack of cognitive ability of my fellow man? Has anyone heard of such a thing as someone who cannot recognize numbers? Is Dawn right (yet again)? I sure hope not. I prefer people that cool and self-assured about their stance to be dead wrong.

A cat of privilege

I wonder if Riblet ever sits around and marvels at what she’s achieved. I doubt it.

She started out life, as far as I know, as a chubby cat in an Indiana Petsmart. I have no idea what her pre-Petsmart history is – and neither does Petsmart – they lost her documents. The papers they gave us belonged to a completely different cat which the vet (that was referenced in the papers) kindly told us. Riblet won’t tell us how she ended up in Petsmart, but I harbor a dark suspicion she was kicked out of her previous home for being an evil, grumpy, mommy hater. Just a guess.

Perhaps the fake cat documents Petsmart provided us are like a fake passport. Riblet adopted a false identity and decided to start a new life, the cat equivalent of the witness protection program or being an undercover spy. Whatever the case may be, in her time with us, Riblet has developed a taste for the finer things in life. A few of years ago she discovered electric blankets; a deep and instant bond was formed. Anything that provides warmth and a soft sleeping surface is ok in Riblet’s book (mommy laps need not apply).

Just a year or so ago Riblet discovered memory-foam beds. Once she got the knack that the bed would actually contour and form to her - she was hooked. Often she will purr with glee that “the mattress remembers me!” Dawn will try and correct her and tell her that’s not why it’s called memory foam, but Riblet will opt for unconsciousness and ignore her mom’s explanations. Sometimes Dawn says stuff.

Recently Riblet has discovered cashmere. Dawn had an old cashmere sweater that developed a hole in it that she donated to one of Riblet’s beds. At first Riblet wanted nothing to do with the mommy reeking bedding. Once the distasteful remembrances of Dawn dissipated Riblet gave the cashmere bedding a try in earnest. The verdict? Oh My Gawd… Riblet loves cashmere. She spends a minimum of 45 minutes a day sitting in the bed and kneading her tiny little fists into the soft soft cashmere. This makes her a very happy cat indeed.

Last night Dawn and I started a fire. Before long we found Riblet sitting in my chair looking very pleased with herself. As if to say, “lounging in a leather club chair by a fire is something I was born to do.” Her manner betrayed not an air of gratitude for nice things we provide for her, but one of expectation and birthright. Riblet has ascended the ranks of feline destinies to a sheltered life of comfort and privilege, and the good life appears to suite her.