Grandpa and Grandma
I can’t believe this is my 100th post on this site, and not a single person (or animal or robot) has queried what the title of this blog means. Either you’re too embarrassed to ask, or you don’t care.

In the interests of an IAQ (Infrequently Asked Question), I will answer for you.

“What about, honey?” is not the question on every potential vegan’s mind — that would be without the comma.

“What about, honey?” was a phrase my grandmother used to say. Although she lost most of her vocabulary after a stroke, she gained about 20 or so new words, in an innovative attempt by her brain to communicate in a new way.

“What about?” was a question used to mean many things, but mainly “What’s going on?” or “What’s new?”. In her voice, it sounded like, “Wuh - tuh - BOWT?”

“Honey” was the affectionate term given to family (whom she recognised but for whom she could not always produce names). It sounded more like “HONN-ee”.

My brother, a big fan of Caller ID, answers the phone with “What about?” if he knows a family member is on the other line.

Some other phrases used by my dearly missed grandma, post-stroke:

Little pot / little boy (used to designate any person or object in the room, regardless of gender)
I have NAW-THING. (said with empty hands held out, usually when asking Grandpa for money and pretending she had none)
God HAMMit! (said in frustration)
God in heaven! (alternated with God hammit)
Goo-dem-bye (her pronunciation of goodbye)

“What about, honey?” was also one of the few domain names I thought of that weren’t already taken.

I’d be curious to know what you thought it meant. Leave your mistaken guess in the comments, won’t you?

as if my apartment needed another monkey…

 
How cute is my new toy? I spotted it at The Warehouse in Northcote the other night, priced at $3.49. It’s made in India by slave labour, no doubt, as many of the monkeys had broken bits and glue smeared all over them. I thought it was cute (in a J. Otto Seibold kind of way) but unnecessary, so I left if there. And spent the rest of the night thinking about it.

When I went back to purchase one the next day, it scanned at the register at 99 cents. Today I went back to release 10 more monkeys into the wild, and they were 47 cents each!

Two are for my coworker, but the rest will be mailed to my faraway friends to spread some happiness* (unless you can convince me that you, too, really need a monkey). That is, after I knit some tunics for them. They could use some colour, don’t you think?

 

Look, Ma — I made it myself!

 
Speaking of knitting, I started this jumper ages ago but made the neck too small to get my head through. I was too frustrated to restart, so it’s been in hiding for awhile. Thanks to Project GYST, though, I finished on Sunday. And after some brainstorming with Mrs T, it was a piece of cake!

I used the raglan pattern from Ann Budd’s The Knitter’s Handy Book of Sweater Patterns. This and The Knitter’s Handy Book of Patterns have to be the two most used books in my collection — you can knit a sweater (or a scarf, hat, gloves, etc.) from any yarn, any gauge. I knit mine in a child size and made the arms and torso extra long. The wool was purchased from a farmer at the St Andrews market. It’s undyed and came from two different sheep, I’ve been told, which explains the crazy striping.

 
It’s only the second jumper I’ve attempted. The first was from a proper pattern that I tried to scale down to my size. I never wear it — it fits, but it’s just not right. This one, however, is perfect. And the best part is that it’s knit basically in one piece in the round, so you can try it on as you go. Friggin’ brilliant.

* I definitely need cheering up after learning of Grant McLennan’s death this past weekend. I’ve been a fan for years and always favoured his songwriting over fellow Go-Between Robert Forster’s. Listening to his albums has only made me feel sadder, if anything.

I remember going to see the Japanese musician Cornelius play at the Metro years ago. When he returned to the stage for an encore, he started to play the riff from Cattle and Cane with a big smile on his face — no language barrier there. The crowd went nuts.

R.I.P., Grant. You’ll be missed.