Wednesday, January 23, 2008


There used to be a restaurant at Clark and Belden called Max's Deli. It had some pretty good food, as I recall, and little buckets of half-sours on the table. Money was tight in those days, but Myfanwe and I managed to eat out once a week, and Max's was usually our restaurant of choice.

One of the reasons we liked Max's was they served a pretty incredible bowl of chicken soup they called Mish Mosh. It was a huge bowl of well-made chicken soup with a matzah ball, a kreplach, fine egg noodles, rice, and kasha. It cost $6.95, came with a generous bread basket, and was enough to keep a person satisfied for many hours.

The only reason I'm telling you about this is that this post is going to be a mish mosh; a little beit of everything, mixed together.


I've been doing a little work in my spare time on organizing my family tree and going through pictures. This photo is from a family reunion in 1967. I was three years old. That's me, fourth from the right in the front row. My mom is in the fourth row from the front (I think -- it's hard to count the rows in this picture) and fourth from the left. She's the one in glasses looking off to the side. My father is two rows back -- separated by my Uncle Joe, my Aunt Nan's husband. This is only significant in that, when this photo was taken, my parents' marriage was literally crumbling. My mom moved out within weeks.

My parents had me as a last-ditch effort to save their marriage. (What -- they couldn't tell from the first four kids that number five wasn't going to be able to save them?) Anyway, when this photo was taken, I was failing at my reason for living.

There are very few pictures in existence wherein the three of us appear together. And even where we appear in the same photo, there is a distance between us. Hmm. Go figure.


I am still stuck on the Swallowtail Shawl. It's psychological at this point. I just can't pick it up and rip back the last two rows. I just can't do it.

Though I may have stumbled upon the proper incentive while perusing Ravelry.

I just downloaded the pattern for Evelyn Clark's Labyrinth Lace Shawl. The pattern was $11.99, but well worth it -- it's 25 pages long! Every row is written out and charted!

I haven't decided if I should make it in my extra cone of gray silk from ColourMart or in the olive cashmere -- also from ColourMart -- that I am frogging and starting over. The two fibers both have great things going for them...the silk is amazingly drapey, and the cashmere is as soft as a baby's bottom. So choosing is going to be difficult. But one thing is for certain -- I am not going to do anything with it until I have ripped back the two erroneous rows on the Swallowtail. As Mrs. Slocombe used to say, "I am unanimous in that!"


Diane said...

Fix a marriage. Hummmm that's quite a tall order for a little guy. If you had been successful what was your next assignment? Secure world peace? Sounds more like your parents were looking to others to fix their situation instead of working on it themselves. That being said, I'm glad they decided to have a 5th child because I love reading your blog.

Leslie said...

Amazing the things parents will do to a child... And that Mish Mosh sounds like one heck of a good meal!

Ted said...

Send Swallowtail to me, and I shall rip it for you.

It's only 2 rows, after all.

Aidan said...

Oh, Dear Ted. You are getting soft in youth! I would have bet a dollar that you would be the person most likely to give me a verbal spanking for balking at something as easy as ripping back two rows! I thought I could count on you to point out my moral inferiority and set me on the road to better fibre rectitude.

Hee hee. Rectitude sounds dirty.

Oh well, I am going to rip the two rows back on my ownsome. But I very much appreciate your moment of tenderness. You are great!

Ted said...

Actually Aiden, I spend so much time at my day job giving people verbal spankings that I'm worn out. I think it has something to do with being old. It's just so much easier to do the task they're awfulizing and catatrophizing about.

Worrying about going through the Gates of Hell is a lot worse than just going through them.

stephanies said...

Ooh, I miss Max's too! Agreed it was one of the best values in Chicago.