So. That happened.

I don't really want to talk about this.






The last picture is from outside the American Embassy on Monday. They had already taken down the barricades, but hadn't yet removed them. (There are two other stacks of fences, outside of the frame.)

I don't really want to talk about this, but feel like I should — it seemed cowardly not to, as though I could pretend it didn't happen if I ignored it. So: it happened. We were far away, not only because it seemed like the prudent thing to do, but because we really couldn't have gotten closer, even if we'd wanted to. They had closed down the subway. Friends who live very near the protest zone were, for all intents and purposes, trapped in their apartment because of the protesters and the road and subway shutdowns.

Everybody seems to be taking sides. I don't think either side is 100%, or even 80%, wrong. I think there are more than two sides. This is what I think:

I think that peaceful protest is a right enshrined in every democracy.

I think that there is absolutely no excuse, ever, for violent protest. (I understand why people would want to smash windows, or rip down signs; I have those urges, but I also know that it's wrong.)

I think that the police have every right to stop violent protesters — or violence, period. That's their job.

I think that the police have no right at all to assume that every protester in a given group will be violent, and to act accordingly.

I think setting cars on fire is pointless and idiotic. It also contributes to global warming.

I think, if someone lobs a canister of tear gas at you, it is perfectly fair to attempt to lob it back.

I think that peaceful protesters who thought that the protest wouldn't turn violent are naive. It's been over 10 years since Seattle. Every single mass protest since then — against the G8, WTO, whatever — has turned violent. Every single one. Why would Toronto be any different?

I think saying that the violent protesters ruined it for everyone is too simplistic. They were marred, maybe, but not ruined. But saying that the violence was justified by the rightness of the protest abdicates responsibility, and that's too simplistic also.

I think that "preventative detention" is just another phrase for "unlawful arrest."

I think that the only allowable instance for a police person to use his or her baton against another person is in self defence. Not preventative self-defence; active self-defence.

I think designating a protest zone, even if it was never officially "guaranteed", and then charging and emptying it using military tactics, is ethically appalling.

I think lying to an entire city population about the police's powers of arrest in order to "keep the criminals out" deprives the citizenry of their rights, including their right to protest. It is also morally wrong and ethically questionable.

I think that any police chief who does not understand the last four points is guilty of a massive and drastic oversight, and I think that that oversight is grounds enough for his resignation. In another century, it would have been trial by ordeal and banishment.

FO: Celandine

(Everyone who isn't interested in knitting: go away. This one is all about yarn.)

I finished Celandine!


Indigo Moon Natural Muga Silk, in Chocolate. US 3 needles (medallions on US000).
It turned out beautifully. I trusted in the designer's assurances that the silk would release and the top would become longer and flowy-er with blocking, and it actually worked. It's a little bit more sheer than I anticipated, but wearing a tank underneath is not a big deal, and I loves it. I literally wore it all weekend.

Now, I have a little bit of a problem. I took stock of my last few projects (that I've finished) — here's a list: Véronique from French Girl Knits (a light cardigan), the Two-Toned Shrug from Fitted Knits, and Celandine. I am obviously on a sweater-ish kick.

So here's the problem.


This is my haul from the Knitters Frolic in early May. (I'd meant to blog about that, but then I didn't. This is me sneaking it in under the wire.) You can see the muga silk still in its skein to the left, and then that big pink-grey fluffball is 1000 yards(!) of laceweight from Fleece Artist. It was a good time; a good haul. I stayed within budget and everything. But can you see the problem?

It's all sock yarn. Really good, great, even stupendous sock yarn, true, but still. Yarn. For socks. Not sweaters. And I don't really wanna knit socks right now.

So I did that thing that I'm not supposed to do. I went to the yarn store.


810 yards of Louet Euroflax sportweight. I'm an addict; don't judge me.

weekend

This was our Sunday, in between teasing the cats and watching soccer:

Woodbine Beach



Ashbridges Bay Park
This being close to the beach thing is rather nice.

street urchins

I have lots of photos of Toronto from the past week, but first I wanted to share how hard and difficult life is for our cats. This morning, for example:




I mean, really. It's amazing they don't run away to be street cats; life is so horrible here. We even force them to be in the same room together.


How do they bear it?

how my garden grows

I've been meaning to update you on the garden for a little while, but:

1) I put the plants outside once the last-frost date had passed but, instead of thriving and being independent like I expected them to be, the heat wave fried them and I became convinced that everything was slowly dying, and I decided to leave them to it;

2) Last week was really, really cold and stormy (in a great way — I love thunderstorms), and I therefore didn't really want to go outside;

3) I kept forgetting to take photographs even when it wasn't stormy. Also, things have been kind of busy and I try to take plant photos during the day, because it's kind of stupid to do so at night.

Anyway, though: all of the rain and thunderstorms from (2) actually revived everything, and now it's all lush and green. Unfortunately, so is the rest of the garden, so it's a little bit difficult to distinguish the specific plants in the photographs. Oops. That was unanticipated.


The tomatoes. There are three tomato plants in this little pot — all of them an heirloom variety called Amish Paste (guess what I plan on using them for); I was convinced they had some kind of blight, but they, uh, don't. I came up with the brilliant idea of actually staking them (the stakes are bamboo barbeque skewers) and they just revived right quick. I should repot them, but the situation isn't dire yet — I hadn't wanted to do it before because, like I said, I was convinced they were dying and what would have been the point.

Lesson: I really should have more faith in nature.


The strawberry plants (two of them). Oh boy. I took them back inside for a week or two, when we had that cold snap and it went down to 2 or 3 degrees Celsius at night. They did not like being inside; it was instant mold everywhere. So then I plonked them back outside. They haven't blossomed; I think it's because they hate me. (Actually, I think it's because they spent so much energy trying to stay alive through my machinations and interference that they're stunted, like a malnourished puppy.) But they are looking much better than they were before; much taller and greener and generally healthier.

I am not holding my breath for strawberries.


And finally, my strawberry herb pot. I killed the thyme. I know; it's well-nigh unkillable, but I persevered, I believed in myself, I did not water the damn thing through four days of 30-degree weather and it finally died. (Actually, to be honest, it had been kind of touch and go ever since I accidentally disturbed its roots while potting the rosemary.) At the top of the pot, the rosemary, tarragon and sage are duking it out for dominance, which is pretty great. It's just a giant mass of tangles at the top, and it smells so good. The basil is also growing like gangbusters; I kind of denuded it for the housewarming party I had, and it has more than grown back — almost everything you see (on the right of the pot) is new growth from the last two weeks. And the oregano, which looked like it was going to follow the thyme into the valley of death, has started recovering as well.

The chive-like things at the very front are either garlic chives or young bunching onions. (I have both, on different sides of the pot.) But that's why I have those cunning little copper labels, so I don't have to remember.

Anyway, I think the lesson here is that even Mediterranean plants like water with their scorching, scorching sun. Who knew? I kind of expected to plonk them outside for full sun and then let Mother Nature take care of it — I am that kind of gardener. Which I think just means that I am lazy and would have made a horrible farmer.

Our haul from the St Lawrence Market this weekend:


Every summer, we make a commitment to do most of our vegetable-shopping done at the St Lawrence Market on Saturdays, and we're doing pretty well this year. (Generally, we do well for about eight to nine months of the year, and then there is a huge falling-off-the-wagon ritual that happens as soon as it gets cold.)

I am only writing this because the radishes looked so amazing that I absolutely had to take a picture of them. And then post it. And I don't even like radishes (they're for Pd, who does).

...
In other news, I finished knitting the Celandine medallions and blocked them this weekend.


They actually started going by relatively quickly after the first half dozen or so. And now it's time to knit miles and miles of stockinette — on faith, because this is the kind of sweater that needs to be vigorously blocked before it settles down to size. Which is absolutely a fine idea and could not go wrong in any way that would make the gauge gods kick my ass, right? Right.

maybe the start of something new

One reason (really, the reason) we didn't end up going to many Doors Open events this year is because we started a bit late, on Sunday, and then we ended up staying so long at our first location — there was a half-hour guided tour, and then a queue, and then another half-hour cruise — that we didn't really have time for anything else.

But, as they say, we regret nothing.


The Westwood Sailing Club, which is located in the portlands off Cherry Street, by the Leslie Street Spit. (Actually, that picture is deceptive because the depth of field is shot. The land jutting out from the right is just a small part of the mainland harbour; the land jutting out from the left is actually the spit, and the two don't meet. There is a wide, not-inconsequential band of Lake Ontario between them; you just can't see it in this particular photograph.)



Albacore dinghies
Westwood is a small, volunteer-run sailing club with its own fleet of dinghies that members take out onto the lake. It is seriously small and DIY — the clubhouse, such as it is, is a disused school portable that the founders hauled from North York in the 1960s. Volunteers built the deck and added a small kitchenette. They got running water ... last year. It is completely and totally like summer camp.


A larger catamaran. Most of the others are smaller, without the cage
The history of the club is really interesting, actually. Apparently the portlands and the spit were created with infill from the dugging of the Toronto subway in the 1960s. It was meant as a deep-water port for all of the anticipated shipping traffic that would come off the St Lawrence Seaway (opened in 1959). The traffic never materialized, though, because container shipping made the seaway obsolete. The Outer Harbour is still there, though, and well protected by the spit, so someone got the bright idea of turning it into a volunteer sailing club.

As part of the tour, volunteers were giving visitors a quick sailboat trip around the Outer Harbour. Pd and I were lucky enough to go, by ourselves (plus the skipper, of course) in a catamaran.


More visitors leaving the dock
Catamarans are seriously fun. The seating area is basically a piece of nylon stretched taut, like a trampoline; there's no protection from the elements at all. Which, on an amazing and perfect sailing day like Sunday, is completely and totally perfect.

We had been warned by our tour guide that we would be expected to crew for our skipper, which in this instance merely meant that we would be controlling the jib (the small sail at the front) — tugging at a rope when told to, basically. Except that we had a very nice and relaxed skipper, and he let us take the helm! He turned the catamaran around and let me steer us just past the Eastern Gap (where the Toronto islands break off from the mainland — amazing view of the downtown, there), turned us around, and let Pd steer us on the way back. And he also instructed us on how to control the jib to catch the best wind. Of course.

(I have no pictures of us actually in the catamaran, doing any of this cool stuff, or of the view, because I'd left my bag back on try land. I decided that the "no protection from the elements" thing also extended to pricey consumer electronics. And anyway, I wouldn't have had time or hands to take pictures — he actually made us work! But believe me, it was the best Doors Open event ever.)