My Weekend
Nov. 14th, 2005 10:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pecuniumBack from L.A.
It was a decent weekend. Sadly this makes the second week I was leaving on Thursday, and so missed being able to train in the Dojo for more than one night. Worse, from that perspective, is that Thursday is the kyu class, where the techniques for rank advancement are stretched. On the other hand, we have two members (that I know of) who are rank beginners, and so I am not feeling the lowest of the low.
So we headed south. The reason was to 1: futz with the car I put in storage when I shipped for Iraq. Two years of sitting have caused it to not want to start. With ether shot into the air filter (being fuel injected I can't just load the carb) it runs, but without it there is at least one cylinder not firing. I think there is varnish on the injector nipples. So a bit of heat (using three cans of ether will get the block warm) and shooting a great wodge of ether into three of the cylinders (one of the spark plugs elected to try to cross-thread terribly, so much so that I needed to chase the threads with a 14mm/1.25 tap; and even at that it went in with a great difficulty, so I chose to leave the No.4 alon), in the hope of dissolving anything stuck in the jets).
Reason 2: The autumn ball of The Friends of English Regency.
I get to waltz, preen like a peacock and spend time pretending to be tolerably well to do in age where that meant more than it would today.
I also got to futz in the kitchen. Barry and I made mince pies. Six weeks ago he took the recipe from Lobscouse and Spotted Dog (a cookbook of recipes taken from the foodstuffs decribed in the O'Brien novels of Aubry and Maturin) and made it. It makes (since we've done this two-years running) eleven pounds of mincemeat. As one of my dinner companions put it, the result is intense.
I raised the coffin (a very dense pase of butter and flour) and made puff pastry for the lid. Next year I will toss the coffin paste in the kitchen aid and make it stiffer, so as not to melt from heat and pressure in the oven. None was left.
Sadly, because of all else being cooked, I was cooking when I wanted to be at the practices. C'est la guerre.
For the Ball I went in Dress Greens. This gave me the rare opportunity to wear medals not ribbons, so I felt like a belled cat; I jingled when I moved.
Ah!, the glory of dance. Flirtations, passing, and persistent (my partner got my divided, but recurring, attentions; the changing partners of the country dances got my fleeting, but undivided, attentions) and the intensity of the waltz. Balance, and movement: Focus and awareness, I think there may be no more perfect form of movement to music than the waltz.
And the Raffle. Chocolate, tea, gloves, books, music and les pieces des resistance Sue's father's opera gear; a hat, a cane and an opera cloak. The raffle is simple, if your number is drawn, you get to choose a prize; never are more than 1/2 of the prizes drawn. The hat was the object of desire. It fit me. Perfectly. The cane, too, was my size, which means the cloak was probably suitable to my frame (though it's probable my frame was too narrow). The hat was the prize of the evening. Every year there is something it seems everyone wants. Two people who couldn't wear it wanted it as a tool of ledgerdemain.
The raffle began.
"Ticket number 950463"
And I called out, It's mine without looking (as this was the last in my string of tickets). Voila, I now have a top hat to go with my tails.
Barry, walked up and handed me his tickets, saying, "You have the only thing I want." He hoped to use it for magic.
Our table was blessed, with only one of the people at it not being drawn at all, and three of us winning twice (I gave my second draw to Maia, who now has a sandalwood fan).
All in all, it was more than worth the time, the drive and the leaving of home.
It was a decent weekend. Sadly this makes the second week I was leaving on Thursday, and so missed being able to train in the Dojo for more than one night. Worse, from that perspective, is that Thursday is the kyu class, where the techniques for rank advancement are stretched. On the other hand, we have two members (that I know of) who are rank beginners, and so I am not feeling the lowest of the low.
So we headed south. The reason was to 1: futz with the car I put in storage when I shipped for Iraq. Two years of sitting have caused it to not want to start. With ether shot into the air filter (being fuel injected I can't just load the carb) it runs, but without it there is at least one cylinder not firing. I think there is varnish on the injector nipples. So a bit of heat (using three cans of ether will get the block warm) and shooting a great wodge of ether into three of the cylinders (one of the spark plugs elected to try to cross-thread terribly, so much so that I needed to chase the threads with a 14mm/1.25 tap; and even at that it went in with a great difficulty, so I chose to leave the No.4 alon), in the hope of dissolving anything stuck in the jets).
Reason 2: The autumn ball of The Friends of English Regency.
I get to waltz, preen like a peacock and spend time pretending to be tolerably well to do in age where that meant more than it would today.
I also got to futz in the kitchen. Barry and I made mince pies. Six weeks ago he took the recipe from Lobscouse and Spotted Dog (a cookbook of recipes taken from the foodstuffs decribed in the O'Brien novels of Aubry and Maturin) and made it. It makes (since we've done this two-years running) eleven pounds of mincemeat. As one of my dinner companions put it, the result is intense.
I raised the coffin (a very dense pase of butter and flour) and made puff pastry for the lid. Next year I will toss the coffin paste in the kitchen aid and make it stiffer, so as not to melt from heat and pressure in the oven. None was left.
Sadly, because of all else being cooked, I was cooking when I wanted to be at the practices. C'est la guerre.
For the Ball I went in Dress Greens. This gave me the rare opportunity to wear medals not ribbons, so I felt like a belled cat; I jingled when I moved.
Ah!, the glory of dance. Flirtations, passing, and persistent (my partner got my divided, but recurring, attentions; the changing partners of the country dances got my fleeting, but undivided, attentions) and the intensity of the waltz. Balance, and movement: Focus and awareness, I think there may be no more perfect form of movement to music than the waltz.
And the Raffle. Chocolate, tea, gloves, books, music and les pieces des resistance Sue's father's opera gear; a hat, a cane and an opera cloak. The raffle is simple, if your number is drawn, you get to choose a prize; never are more than 1/2 of the prizes drawn. The hat was the object of desire. It fit me. Perfectly. The cane, too, was my size, which means the cloak was probably suitable to my frame (though it's probable my frame was too narrow). The hat was the prize of the evening. Every year there is something it seems everyone wants. Two people who couldn't wear it wanted it as a tool of ledgerdemain.
The raffle began.
"Ticket number 950463"
And I called out, It's mine without looking (as this was the last in my string of tickets). Voila, I now have a top hat to go with my tails.
Barry, walked up and handed me his tickets, saying, "You have the only thing I want." He hoped to use it for magic.
Our table was blessed, with only one of the people at it not being drawn at all, and three of us winning twice (I gave my second draw to Maia, who now has a sandalwood fan).
All in all, it was more than worth the time, the drive and the leaving of home.
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no subject
Date: 2005-11-15 04:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-11-15 04:29 pm (UTC)It may be that I'm biased (and I've been doing this for some... good Lord, almost 30 years, so perhaps that's warped my appreciation), well cut they can do a very nice job of things.
Part of it probably has to do with what one is looking for. If a bosom is the focus of visual attention, and the waist, hips and legs are not important, than the gowns of the day could be just the ticket.
It amazes me how very different the effect of what seems to be the same pattern can be on different women.
Then there were the various flavors of modern dress being worn; and the truly horrendous variations on georgian, and (shudder) military. I was so tempted to walk up to one fellow and as him if he called it a coat. It was garish red, with a blue facings (and no subtle shade of either, but almost metallic for the latter, and bright crimson the former) worn too wide, with lapels so sharp they could have been used for lessons in geometry, and starched to a perfect flatness.
He was made for bad costume melodrama.
TK