My air-conditioner is going at full blast, has been for hours now, and I’m sitting on the floor of my room drinking ice water and sweating. This is, perhaps, not conducive to productivity. Hence, I blog.
I continue to knit. Yea verily, do I continue to knit. It is official, there is no way out, I have no further recourse: knitting is a full-blown obsession. A.C. Moore had a sale on Saturday – one pound bags of factory ends of yarn for 6.99 apiece. I went in for four more little Sugar and Cream skeins. I got those, yes, but I also came out with two pound bags of yarn.
I should never, ever, be allowed out of the house unsupervised.
As far as the yarn goes, I am working on what I have decided to call the Project That Shall Not Be Named. Every time I name it, something goes catastrophically wrong. It spent a couple of days as the ____ of RAGE, then I discovered that I’d lost a couple of stitches somewhere, with no trace of dropped stitches or knitting two together at any point. Out of spite, it then became the Squiggly Yarn of Let’s Try This Again. So now it is The Project, Mach 2.
I am really good at saying one thing and doing another, aren’t I? Maybe if I just give it enough names, the yarn will be too busy trying to keep track to cause me more anguish.
Stupid freaking way to make anything.
I cannot blog about what I want to blog about. You’ve no idea what a woobie I am right now. I blame it on the knitting. [I just realized I typed “you’ve not idea,” and cried a little inside. Can I blame the heat for the melting and useless-ness-izing of my brain?]
I shall blog about one of my greatest loves, something that won my heart at an early age and has never let go or even sunk into the shadows.
[Also, I want that cat. Whomever I Google-stole that image from, please sell me your cat!!!]
I cannot remember when I first encountered the glories of the Snocone. I’m sure it was at a perfectly charming small town county fair back in the heyday of my youth. Hamlet!America is rife with wonderful fairs that have no real justification other than to bring inflatable castles to town, and I adore them. [The fairs, I mean, though inflatable castles are right up there, too.]
Carnies can run as many Fun Houses and Scary Rides and Rigged Games as they desire to. They cannot do wrong by me: they bring me the mouth-dyeing, cheek-freezing, hand-stickying concoction dreams are made of! [There, Mom, I fixed the run-on sentence.]
One year, my birthday coincided with the county fair. My friend bought me a giant purple inflatable alien that whistled when you squeezed it [which promptly became my favorite method of terrorizing our two cats] and a large cherry Snocone. It was awesome. Undeniably one of the best birthdays ever.
Then! My parents, who are incredibly sensible people who try only to buy useful gifts (my mother), and incredibly whimsical people who know that I will love anything that makes me say, “Neat!,” (my father), and smart people who know the path to winning my love is through icy goodness, put their heads together. One birthday, just before leaving for college, they presented me with the Holy Grail of Snocones:
My very. own. ice shaving machine.
Look at its charming little wheels! Look at the misleading paper cones which it did not come with! Look at the rustic paint swirls! Look at the reasonably-sized ice scoop that was in fact a 1 tbsp measuring cup! Look at it!!!!
[I edit belatedly to point out that this is a random Google Image picture which just so happens to be of the model machine I have. My machine is far more…shall we say weatherbeaten? than that.]
That baby is mine. And, wowzers, has it earned its keep!
More than one day has passed during which a bowl of ice with highly concentrated Crystal Light has been my dinner. …Hell, more than ten such days have happened. …Okay, maybe more like………………..more than 100 such days.
I have used regular syrups. I have used Kool-Aid. I have used coffee syrups. I have used sugar-free syrups. I have used high fructose corn syrups imported from Japan. I have not used cold coffee, but I absolutely should, why didn’t I think of it until just now?!
To be completely honest, I am amazed that this thing is still chugging along. It has seen vast, exceedingly vast, amounts of use. It’s in good enough shape that yesterday, when I roused it from its dusty winter dormancy under a disused table in the kitchen (it hasn’t been tremendously hot spring, okay, I was lax in my duties to the Ice Gods) and cleaned it, I garnered a few loose little flaps of skin from the blades. 😀 😀 😀
It has been used wet, it has been used after being dropped, the plug has gotten dripped on multiple times (I am really freaking good at drying off plugs, yo), and still it makes me snowy goodness. As far as I’m concerned, the shavings of an entire tray of ice make for an ideal serving size – if you can feel your tongue or cheeks or nose after finishing your snowcone, you’re doing it wrong. Also, it is a “snowcone” now because it is not brand-name. Yea verily.
I write tonight, having consumed half a tray of ice cubes in the form of snow and melty ice chunks with sugar-free cherry and high-sugar (Japanese) lemon syrup. [Look, don’t judge me on the imported syrup, okay, it was on sale. And…and maybe I’ve already said that I shouldn’t be allowed out on my own!] In the 90+ degree weather, it was sheer bliss.
Oh my god, you guys, if you don’t have an ice shaver, get one. I cannot stress this enough, get one. Maybe you’re not like me and are instead a normal, functional human being who likes to be able to use their tastebuds after dessert, but you should still have a snowcone machine. It should be a law.
If ever I come to visit you, I do not require fancy things. Just smack some ice cubes with a mallet, drizzle some maraschino cherry juice on that sucker and let me stick my face in it. Delish!!
Or just hand me my very own watermelon. Nom.