Fingerless glove

Much better than stuffed in a grocery bag on a shelf

2010-05-14T09:22:00.000-04:00

I sent Azucena Plus off to Mom for Mother's Day. (I really should have invented a better name for it. Azucena means either "madonna lily" or is a Venezuelan telenovela. Neither fits.) I admit that although I was knitting it for Mom from the beginning, I had not started the project with this particular holiday in mind. It is just the way the planets seemed to align.

I am delighted that she thinks it is very beautiful, and happier yet that to her, beauty should be enjoyed. That means finding a place for it, not stuffing it in a plastic grocery bag where it will migrate over the years from a chair in the corner, to a spare room, eventually to retire to the attic.

I recently read that the self-storage business is bigger than Hollywood, and I am just this side of contributing to that industry (off-site storage, not entertainment), even after donating boxes of Stuff to the recent Boy Scout yard sale. Today, I am digging through more boxes and channeling William Morris: "Have nothing in your homes that you do not know to be useful and believe to be beautiful."

Of course, all yarn is useful and all books are beautiful. But does anyone need 6 Kimberly dolls? (One is packed away.) They accumulated because they are a pleasure to dress; just ask Martha Pullen. She wrote an entire book about dressing Kimberly in heirloom clothes and how this was the next Toni doll. So how come mine are mostly naked?

Numbers 2 and 4 are going to find a new home. (Baby steps...) Any takers?

Azucena, from August to April

2010-05-01T17:32:00.005-04:00

Done. Blocked. Ends sewn in. Photographed. I present Azucena, a shawl from a 153 round Christine Duchrow doily (plus a 45 round, 12" border of my own. That makes most of these stitches of my own design, pi and geometry being what they are and the outer rounds having so many more stitches than the inner rounds.) I cast on 612 stitches at the tree tops and knit to the center, then picked up stitches and knit to the outside edge. From an unnamed Italian cashmere/merino blend (60/40) purchased at Stitches East in Baltimore around 2006, on size 5 needles, 70" diameter, 1014 stitches in the final round (It ruffles a little. I could have gotten away with fewer, maybe 942). Here it is unblocked:

It is a mini-travelogue from my youth. The trees are a stand of pines on the drive to Hartman Creek, the borders are the mountains of Grand Teton, Rocky Mountain and Glacier National Parks, in between are little bubbly rows of DYCs -- the ubiquitous little yellow flowers of western National Parks. The center has the symmetry of the Corn Palace in Mitchell, South Dakota. (OK, so to see this connection you have to use your imagination. Love those domes: so unexpected.)

I might take a better picture of it once I have it off the alphabet blocks, but right now the white truck is gone. (The hood of a white car is my new favorite background. So big, so white, so nondescript!)

If I could have figured out a way, I would have included the Devil's Tower, pueblos of Mesa Verde, Yellowstone's mudpots, the hot asphalt of a Kansas A&W parking lot, Oregon's rocky coast and northern California's giant redwoods.

Maybe next time I'll knit some Great Sand Dunes.

Dear Bob, Maybe we won't use alpaca.

2010-04-25T17:49:00.002-04:00

I am at that stage on my circular lace shawl, Azucena, when every round is over a thousand stitches long and it would take less time to wash an elephant than it does to knit once around the thing. In spite of the neverendingness, I really do not mind this stage since I like the feel of this merino wool/cashmere blend, and I don't have to think too much.

Still, the end is in sight and I can entertain myself here in the homestretch with dreams of what to knit next. I rarely knit to deadlines or for an occasion. I cast around for what I feel like knitting, then decide what to do with it after I have a good start. I knit for the pure pleasure of it. If the end of a project happens to coincide with a gift-giving holiday, so much the better.

This is how it usually goes, except sometimes I get a little nudge in my project selection process from the outside world. My darling brother asked if I would knit him a hat, not just any hat but Meg Swansen's Swedish Dubbelmossa that I knit once for our dad and once for our younger brother. We had long discussions about details like the softness of alpaca compared to the more boingy unspun Icelandic wool.

For me to knit the same pattern more than once means I REALLY like it, so that is one point in dear brother's favor. Then he said magic words: "as for color, something unique would be nice" and "if there are other fibers you'd like to experiment with, feel absolutely free." Carte blanche! He really knows how to charm a knitter. How could I not be excited to knit a pattern I love in whatever colors and fibers move me at the time?

OK, so Burgundy and Porcini (more taupe than the photo shows) are not exactly going out on a limb, colorwise, but they are positively wild compared to the undyed gray and cream or brown and cream of the first two hats. The yarn is KnitPicks Gloss sock yarn -- a merino wool/silk blend. Not alpaca after all, but the merino has enough boing to make a nice fitting hat; the silk makes it interesting. Even a little bit of silk makes me feel like I am basking in the ancient fiber tradition of a great civilization, aside from the sheen and color it adds. It is soft as pudding, but still has enough grabbiness to make stranded knitting a pleasure (if you like stranded knitting to start with. If you don't, the yarn probably won't change your mind, even if it is nice yarn.)

It won't be cold again for a long time, so there is no pressure for a quick finish. This is just something to keep me occupied while I decide which circular shawl to knit after Azucena.

And the Miss Marple socks? We won't mention them right now.

A Lesson on Persistence

2010-04-18T15:28:00.000-04:00

We had gorgeous spring weather for Easter, and everyone heaved a collective sigh of relief that our record breaking winter was over. Then along about mid-April it turned cold and icky for days on end. I even saw the cold drizzle turn to big flakes of snow, an "onion snow" that didn't stick. The cherry blossoms in DC had come (and mostly gone, along with the spring crush of tourists), but up in the wilds of Pennsylvania I found this lone tree, blooming in the face of adversity. To look at it you wouldn't even have thought it would make good firewood, but I thought it was a marvel.

With nothing for soil except the rocky leftovers from a reclaimed coal mine and bark on only half its twisted trunk, this tree is hangin' on.

Letting go

2010-03-31T14:18:00.000-04:00

In the Great Spring Cleaning of 2010, I finally admitted to myself that this hat just wasn't working:

So I let it go. It was a lot bigger than this when I started. It was such a dud that it didn't occur to me to photograph it for posterity. Or as a cautionary tale about throwing together two hand-dyed sock yarns. I was just thinking I might get good at this letting go business when this showed up in my stash (I have no idea how it got there):

The Dale of Norway Notre Dame ski sweater.

When the Yarn Harlot knit the Dale of Norway Whistler sweater as her Olympic Knitting project in February, the pattern book (Dale of Norway Commemorative Collection 8501) started selling like hotcakes. Then it went out of print. Then it sold out. Just about everywhere. A copy of this booklet that had been recently sold for $16.95 suddenly went for over $200 on eBay. There is only one word for that.

Yikes!

The problem was that after it was impossible to find, I became captivated by a different sweater in the same booklet. I never had the tiniest urge to knit a Norwegian sweater, not even a little bit, but this sweater called to me. I Googled. I lurked. I eBayed. I commented on Ravelry. Vicki saw my comment and sweetly mentioned she had seen a copy in a shop off the beaten path. Nordic Accents in Elkhart Lake is not a yarn shop. She sells lots of beautiful Nordic things but also just happened to a have copy of the elusive booklet, and would I like to buy some yarn with that? Since the goldenrod and tartan green are discontinued colors, and soft blue seems rare, I put together my yarn pack from two different sources. It was a multi-email endeavor, but the proprietress was so patient and helpful. The next time I am in Elkhart Lake, I will be browsing her Finnish glass birds.

Now before you all rush to eBay to splurge a couple of C notes, WoolyBaaBaa now has the patterns available as PDF downloads; reprints may or may not be on the way. Oh, and thank you Vicki. (I think.)

Shrinkage

2010-03-15T15:42:00.001-04:00

I have been doing my part to keep the winter weather from coming back: knitting warm, felted, woolly mittens. As long as I keep knitting mittens to conquer extreme cold I figure we are guaranteed 65 degrees and sunshine, and these mittens will stay on the shelf until next December. Jane says it is like washing your car to make it rain.

The Virginia Tech mittens AKA Hokie Hands:

The mitten on the left has been through a few hot water washes to shrink it down from almost 20 inches to a normal mitten size. I experimented with intarsia in the round to put a VT logo on the palms, then decided it would be winter 2020 before I worked that out. Plain stripes are the better part of valor. Chicago maroon and burnt orange are unique when it comes to college colors, not beautiful, but they did kind of grow on me.

Knitting mittens has got to have at least as much mojo as Phil the groundhog, don't you think?

(I used a cobbled together pattern from a mountain climbing forum to simulate Dachstein mittens using about $1.75 worth of thrift store wool yarn on size 10 needles. The orange is worsted weight, the maroon is 2 strands of fingering held together.)

Blocked and Everything

2010-03-11T15:02:00.005-05:00

I-cord around the neckline & armholes, washed, blocked and wearable:

Knitting through the back loop makes the cables and ribbing stand out better than they otherwise would in this soft half merino-half alpaca yarn. I like that, especially in the ribbing. Next time I will work in some shoulder shaping. My gauge on the cables is not only narrower but shorter. It makes my neckline pull down.

Knitting something shaped like a person has me thinking about knitting a sweater for myself. The ratty, black wool, cabled cardigan I bought in the last millennium and wear regularly desperately needs to be replaced. I love it because wool is an honest to goodness miracle fiber. Even mountain climbers have swung back from the techy trend to wool and wool blends. Since the biggest thing I ever knit for myself was a scarf, a new red wool sweater would be an event.

Maybe after I finish the Virginia Tech mittens.

And Miss Marple socks. And another Swedish Dubblemossa. Did I mention I am still working on the circular shawl Azucena? I am at the interminable stage. I knit for hours to get ... 2 centimeters.

In the meantime, to celebrate today I made a lemon pound cake and my favorite sauce to go with it. The recipe starts, "Boil together a cup of water, a small half-cup of sugar and a piece of butter the size of an egg." One can hardly argue with directions like that.

March 4

2010-03-04T16:41:00.014-05:00

Today is the anniversary of the day Noah let the animals out of the Ark. He opened the doors and said, "March Fourth!"

Trust me, it's funnier when you tell it to someone than it is in writing. I was in the post office, writing the date on a customs form, looking the post mistress dead in the eye when I told her this. We all had a good laugh. I have been telling this joke once a year for decades.

To put that in perspective, when I started telling this joke, you could find a pay phone practically anywhere. (Maybe even an actual phone booth.) Now you hardly see pay phones at all. I bet there is an entire generation out there that has never used one. Here is a photo of a recent, rare double sighting:

When I started telling this joke, the cokes in the vending machines had actual pull off tabs. The tabs were handy for making long, glamorous chain necklaces and, for the really ambitious, entire chain-mail shirts. Now the coke machines have matching water machines. (When I started telling this joke, we weren't afraid to drink our water from bubblers.)

When I started telling this joke, we thought it was funny that you could get beer in the vending machines in the barracks in Germany. Now almost anything comes from a vending machine.

I don't tell many jokes because I am flagrantly, stupendously, amazingly un-funny at joke telling, yet I have been telling this joke for a very long time. Now I have a new joke to tell. The woman in line behind me at the post office said she was at a children's church service where they were asked, "Do you know why chickens don't talk to God?"

"Because God doesn't like fowl language."

Gold Medal

2010-03-02T17:45:00.002-05:00

I did it! I earned a gold medal this year in the Knitting Olympics by knitting Meg Swansen's Double-V Vest between the time the Olympic torch was lit and when it was extinguished 16 days later.

Some might notice, even from my low-light cell phone photograph, that the vest is not actually finished. It still counts. Each knitting Olympian chose his or her own challenge. From the beginning, my goal was to get the knitting done before the torch went out, NOT the finishing. I knew before I even started that it would take a few days for me to get up the nerve to slash some of my precious stitches with a scissors. (There are steeks at the armholes and at the v neck.)

For me, that's a lot of knitting, and I rarely knit to a deadline. Trust me, it still counts.

Prettier Every Day

2010-02-28T13:56:00.002-05:00

Since the vest is not quite ready for its closeup, Mr. DeMille, check out how well my roses bloomed:

This photo is actually from February 23. I had to finally pitch them today, but almost two weeks? What an excellent run for Valentine roses from the bargain bin. They were the perfect counterfoil to a stressful February.

And I didn't even tell you about the plumbing issues.

How can I keep from singing?*

2010-02-24T17:41:00.004-05:00

This morning I woke up at 5:10 AM. Zero five ten. O dark thirty. No alarm blaring me awake. No dog barking me awake. No snores buzzsawing me awake. This morning I woke up to the sound of Boy singing, not at the top of his lungs, but easily heard on the floor above. He was up early to help with a blood drive and he was singing. Not sniping, "Don't talk to me." Not oversleeping. Not stomping up stairs and slamming doors in adolescent oblivion.

Singing.

I could not be grouchy about it, even when I had not intended to get up for another two hours. It reminded me of my own teen-aged years and Dad cheerfully proclaiming, "Good morning, Sunshine!" (My reply was not always equally cheerful.)

How Can I Keep From Singing is one of my favorite songs. The title says it all.

Olympic Greatness

2010-02-23T14:58:00.007-05:00

No new photos of The Vest, just imagine it a few inches longer than before. Meanwhile, go look at some Olympic greatness. Stephanie Pearl-McPhee, owner of the fertile mind that created the Knitting Olympics in 2006, is doing the Dale of Norway Whistler sweater as her event. Isn't it amazing? She has knit the entire body of that colour-work sweater just since the torch was lit. (It is spelled 'colour' where she lives so it must be colour-work if she is the one doing it.)

I did a little research, trying to find the pattern. I was thinking of collecting it. You know, like some people collect spoons or those fancy plates to hang on the wall but never eat with because the glaze is probably radioactive and the spoons are too small? Apparently the pattern is sold out.

I found it interesting that I could purchase the entire sweater for $349 if I weren't a fearless knitter. And had more cash than fearlessness. Is fearlessness a commodity?

Miles To Go Before I Sleep

2010-02-20T21:00:00.000-05:00

By my calculations, I am an inch shy of being 1/3 done. For the next 8 inches just keep imagining this, only longer.

Conserving Energy?

2010-02-18T16:39:00.007-05:00

Maybe I'm just hanging back, conserving energy, waiting to make my move in the final laps, but it is not looking hopeful for the Double V vest.

I love this yarn. I am loving this pattern, but I have only done 4" in 6 days. Do you think it will be done by February 28? Don't hold your breath.

I admit some might speculate I am not fully committed. In between knitting sessions, I'm trying to squeeze in a bit of studying for my exam Monday.

An Interesting Question

2010-02-17T17:07:00.001-05:00

I recently took a personality-type survey. This question made me pause: in an emergency, how many people could you count on?

It is not that the question was hard to answer. A first-grader could count to the upper limit they offered as a choice. Their max stopped far short of the number of people I can count on. At first I chalked it up to coming from a large family, then realized for some people, plentiful siblings does not necessarily mean plenty of people to count on in an emergency.

Of course, there are different kinds of emergencies, but no matter what kind of emergency I imagined, I thought of several people to lean on. That fills my heart with a big THANK YOU to all my important people, not for something you did but for the fact that you would if I ever needed you.

I Can't Bear To Look

2010-02-16T18:35:00.010-05:00

I accidentally watched Lindsey Jacobellis in her semifinal snowboard cross run. That racing stuff is just too intense for me. Short track makes me just wild and snowboard cross is almost as bad. Biathlon is the Boy's game; he thinks racing through the woods on cross country skis then shooting at something is a sport that makes sense. As for me, I'm all about curling.

The thrill of victory doesn't seem to have the same power as the agony of defeat, so now I'm trying to censor the Olympic events I see. Which leads us to flowers.

One person's tragedy is another's cheap bouquet of roses.

Due to our recent above-average snowfall (I do love understatement -- today is the first time I've seen a patch of bare shingles on my roof since February 4), my favorite store got their truckload of Valentine's Day roses at 7:00 PM on Valentine's Day. They closed at 9. That meant that on Tuesday, they still had lots of roses. Cheap. I don't usually splurge on flowers but couldn't resist this bouquet of yellow ones. I had to put it in my bathroom. Kitty thinks they're for snacking and I'm not sure what the greens are.

It turns out my bathroom is an excellent place for a dozen roses. I see them first thing in the morning and last thing at night.

P.S. Don't fall asleep with the TV on when Kramer vs. Kramer is scheduled for the wee hours. You will wake up to Billy's crying as he gets stitches. It is not restful. Trust me. I know.

Curling: It's Like Something To Knit To

2010-02-16T12:57:00.005-05:00

I admit it; curling is my favorite Winter Olympic sport. It has the just right amount of tension -- more in common with bowling than NASCAR. The announcer uses a calm, measured voice. The athletes have solemn grace, if not heart-stopping physiques. There is very little chance I will witness a compound fracture, blood or any other medical emergency. It is unlikely anyone will splat in that way that makes the entire crowd gasp as one.

When curling came on today, my dear son said, "It's like something to knit to." No wonder I like curling.

We Still Have Snow

2010-02-15T18:28:00.000-05:00

Yes, Mom, we still have snow:

There is a mid-sized car under there.

Nothing To See Here

2010-02-14T19:48:00.004-05:00

Move along. Nothing to see here.

Unless you count my failed sock yarn dying experiment from Abraham Lincoln's birthday:

It started as 100 grams of KnitPicks Bare superwash sock yarn. I took a strand from each end of the ball and made my own double-yarn sock blank with one of those kid's plastic crank knitting machines from a yard sale, the kind for making Barbie clothes and skinny scarves. One of the problems was that, being a tube, the blank was two layers thick. The machine is supposed to be able to do a flat piece back and forth. It doesn't.

On the negative side, it was hard to dye the underside evenly. I had hoped the dye would blend better. I should have used more colors and narrower stripes.

On the plus side, I will have two identical socks, one from each strand I started with, and I really like the Fire Red. If I do some two-color knitting with a white strand, it could still make interesting socks. I love experiments. Even when they do not turn out the way I had hoped, I learned things I wouldn't do again. That's progress!

Rooting for Bode Miller

2010-02-13T18:20:00.010-05:00

We are well into the 2010 Knitting Olympics. In 2006 I didn't get very far. I was identifying with Michelle Kwan. She was out with an injury before the competition started.

This year is different, but it is not going well. You know how sometimes right in the middle of a ski run, the athlete flies into the air and careens down the slope, ass over tin cups? It is breathtaking and heartbreaking. A split-second catch of a tiny edge sends him tumbling after years of training. (For a similar reason, Dad could not bear to watch figure skaters.)

I did the knitter's version of cartwheeling spectacularly down the slope from a little error, and it is not like it was on a double black diamond run. More like the bunny hill. When joining my 228 stitches for circular knitting, I twisted. I caught a little edge and flipped.

But it was just a training run! Plenty of time to start over.

Citius, Altius, Fortius: Take 2

2010-02-12T23:51:00.003-05:00

During the last Winter Olympics the Yarn Harlot, Stephanie Pearl-McPhee, got this amazing idea to hold the Knitting Olympics at the same time. She encouraged knitters to chose their own event -- anything that challenged their knitterly skills -- and go for the gold. We cast on during the opening ceremonies and would hopefully bind off before the closing. Thousands of us knit, perching on the edges of our seats, watching the athletes compete. I did not do well. I let my ambitions get ahead of me without adequate pre-Games training.

This year I have a better plan:

Meg Swansen's Double-V Vest in Berroco's Ultra Alpaca color 6257 (from the stash, even!) I have had my eye on it since issue #77 of Wool Gathering arrived in September of 2007. You know how sometimes a pattern just catches your attention and you cannot forget it? Don't ever let anyone convince you that love-at-first-sight isn't real. (It was the same way for the Schoolhouse Press Shawl Collared Vest.)

Swifter, higher, stronger, that's me!

Happy Birthday, Abe

2010-02-12T15:29:00.004-05:00

I do not know where this sense of familiarity comes from. I cannot imagine being on a first name basis with any President, let alone a great one.

Still, happy birthday, Abe! In your honor I chose red, white and blue for my dying project. I have had the sock yarn soaking in a bucket in my bathroom since the Big Snow, ready to dye at a moment's notice. You would think that after days of planning, I would certainly take a few photos.

Nope. The thought never crossed my mind until the mess was all cleaned up. You will just have to take my word for it: I spread my yarn out on plastic wrap, splotched it with dye and vinegar mixed in squeeze bottles I had saved from hair dye projects (Reduce! Reuse! Recycle!), then rolled the thing up like a Red Dye #2 (banned since '76 -- I remember years and years without red M&Ms even though M&Ms didn't use red dye #2, but I digress) cinnamon roll to steam it.

Now I am waiting for it to cool before I rinse it. I am disappointed at the overlap between the red and blue. I was hoping for a nice purple. I tried two different reds and two different blues. I think all the possible combinations came out muddy. We shall see.

Adding Insult to Injury

2010-02-10T18:48:00.006-05:00

More snow. Today's storm put us over the top; this winter's snowfall set a new record for the most in the DC area in a single season, breaking a 121 year-old record. And for a bonus, two of our storms were in the Top Ten. Last week's snow was dubbed Snomageddon or Snopocalypse. Today's? Snoverkill.

I concur.

Here is my latest photo of Azucena. If I knit another 33 rounds, this shawl will be as big as our snow is deep. That appeals to me. It has a certain balance. I just hope we don't get any more snow this winter.

Good knitting weather

2010-02-07T09:41:00.006-05:00

If you've been listening to the news at all, you have heard that the Washington, DC area had a bit of snow last weekend. Here is what 23" looks like (I measured):

I have been stalled on my latest circular shawl because I had to decide how to enlarge the doily pattern I am using as a jumping off point. I think I have a plan, but first I have to do a little shoveling.

Would you drink this?

2010-02-05T09:19:00.000-05:00

This stuff is probably very good for you. Green is THE buzzword lately in more ways than one. Eat kale and broccoli every day and you might live to be 120; I don't know. It's never been done. Green Plant has a wonderful, slightly exotic mango-thing going, but I think it needs a better name. And maybe a dark glass bottle. Opaque, even. Or drink it in the dark. With a blindfold on. It reminds me of when we used to swim in Lake Poygan during the eco-uninformed 60's.

DISCLAIMER: The opinions expressed here are just that: opinions. They are not meant as an endorsement or bad-mouthing of the above product. More like a comment on the weird lengths to which I've gone in search of fulfillment and inner peace.

Converting to Metric with Thomas Merton

2010-02-04T13:36:00.009-05:00

I have always felt a little cheated that the promise of the Metric Conversion Act of 1975 never came true. (Here's proof.) The metric system is intuitive; it is the converting back and forth to "English" (and even the English do not use the system anymore) that causes the problem. Conversion is hard work requiring a shift in how we think.

Now I am working on a little conversion myself. I want to convert from a life complicated with too much stuff to one of serene, unfettered simplicity -- but I will settle for one slightly less cluttered. I am a bit of a collector (OK, "ten pounds of sugar in a five pound sack" springs to mind), but I can still be inspired by Thomas Merton, a Trappist monk, who said, "Give up everything, give up everything!"

I know that is not going to happen. I have a beautiful, carefully curated yarn stash and eight tall bookcases that are not likely to disappear, or even shrink, but the rest of my life is loaded down with its fair share of meaningless miscellany. Knickknacks, jimcracks, and whimseys; old perfume, mom jeans, mateless socks, and did I mention fabric?

Vincent Van Gogh's phrase "The best way to know life is to love many things" has long been my motto. I fall in love with all kinds of things. The trouble is, loving a thing is no guarantee that it enriches my life.

Maybe hanging onto a broken CD player is symbolic of my hopeful outlook on life. Don't you think that one day it might just start working again? Not likely.

So I'm working on thinning the woodlot, getting rid of the obvious cement overshoes to a sleek, well organized life. I keep chanting "Give up everything, give up everything!" Somewhere between being buried by an avalanche of affluence and becoming a Trappist monk lies a comfortable medium, one that won't leave my heirs saying, "What was she thinking?"

I think I will start in the refrigerator. Do you think it could be as easy as throwing out the yardsticks, quarts and pounds; going cold turkey?

Teddetonka Fire Chief

2010-02-02T11:25:00.008-05:00

When you drop a pin on your kitchen floor, do you intentionally drop a second one to help find the first one? I swear it works, although it is chancy. If it doesn't work, you have two pins to worry about stepping on barefoot instead of one.

Life is full of little risks that way. I was messing around with pins because I was blocking a felted knitting project, a fireman's helmet. In this case, a firebear's helmet. The pattern is heavily modified from New Knits on the Block by Vickie Howell . (Heavily as in more-like-inspiration-than-following-a-pattern.) I bought the book specifically for the felted fireman's helmet and was just looking for an excuse to knit one. Since there are no toddlers on my horizon, enter the Prince William Purler's charity project: dressing Teddy bears for the local police officers to give to traumatized children.

It is so easy and fun to knit cute little girlie things that little boys (and big ones) sometimes get the short end of handmade love. Searching for balance is one of my goals this week, so this one is for the little boys.

Meet Chief Ted of the Teddetonka Fire Department.

I am not sure if he will even qualify for the knitting guild's contest because his coat and the crest on his hat are sewn. Truthfully, making the pattern for the coat took as long as sewing it, and the crest took as long as the coat (all that zigging and zagging). Yes, the stripe on his coat is reflective so he can be seen in heavy smoke. Did I mention there is a contest? Nothing like a little competition to bring out the over-achiever gene. I do not care if he qualifies for the contest or not. I only hope that some little boy who is having a very bad day feels a little better when he gets to hug this bear.

P.S. The guild graciously provided the naked bears in three colors: brown bear, polar bear and blond bear. I would have liked a polar bear but then his fur would have gotten dingy from the smoke.

And now for something completely different

2009-10-26T14:48:00.006-04:00

I have been working away pretty steadily at my latest circular lace shawl. I used to be a knitter that had several projects on the go at once, but over the last couple of years, I have become more of a one-thing-at-a-time gal. Someone might draw all kinds of commitment conclusions; I think I just happen to like what I am working on.

That doesn't mean I don't take an occasional break, like this little Christmas ornament, a slight modification of a pattern Jan taught at the guild last year.

Here's the original except I threw in yarnover knit 2 together instead of plain knitting between the beads:

For my third one (no photos of my second one), I used pale blue yarn, crystal beads, stretched it over a pearl white ball and added double yarn overs so it is lacier.

(It works best if you squint your eyes a bit. I do miss Cass. She used to take my photos!)

My Life in Cookie Cutters

2009-10-14T19:56:00.002-04:00

Today is Mom's birthday and I was thinking about how lucky I am to have her for my mother. I grew up hearing that I could accomplish anything -- big things, little things. No limits.

Here's proof:

I wanted to do something special for Vince and his Eagle Ceremony. Not something Grand and Expensive. Something small and special. Like cut-out cookies in the shape of Boy Scout emblems. I didn't have a cookie cutter in the right shape but did have aluminum flashing and tape. And the memory of Mom making a heart-shaped cutter for Valentine's Day when she wanted one just the right size. (It was the perfect size: not skimpy, not so big that it took up too much cookie dough.)

The Boy Scout cookies were charming. I iced them with gold icing, then forgot them on the kitchen counter as we rushed to the ceremony. Sigh. It is a good thing Boy Scouts are just as happy to eat cookies at their next meeting as they are to eat them at an Eagle Ceremony.

I grew up hearing I did not have to do what everyone else did. We had Christmas cookies shaped like Santas, snowmen, angels, Christmas trees, bells ... and chickens. We had Christmas chickens. Every time I make cut-out cookies, no matter what the holiday, I always make a few chickens.

I grew up knowing the world was a big place, getting the chance to see a bit of it, but knowing right down to my metatarsals that I had a home. I had a place I belonged.

Somewhere along the line, I learned that love counts. Not things. Not square footage. Not the number of shoes in my closet or how discerning my palate.

Thank you for showing me these things, Mom. Happy birthday. I love you.

Not Walking It Off

2009-09-16T23:22:00.006-04:00

I wrote an entire post about how frustrated I am that my instructors still have not repaired the grading hiccups they had on the final exam we took 40 days ago. Even Noah got a break from the rain after this long, for Pete's sake. I told you in great, boring detail with dates and spreadsheets and lots of exclamation points -- I didn't even namecall -- but still it seemed discreet to write about something else lest I be accused of lacking academic integrity.

So I looked up on my bulletin board and there it was:

"Let me tell you the secret that has led me to my goal. My strength lies solely in my tenacity." -- Louis Pasteur

Maybe the same characteristic that is making me wild over less-than-accurate grading is what makes me good at knitting lace: Tenacity. Lace is precise. Accuracy counts. Getting it requires stubbornness. Sure you can go freestyle if you want, but the lace that catches my eye flows from symmetry and order. When you make a mistake, you can't just "walk it off."

Then again, maybe the lace knitting is what makes me tenacious. And intolerant of other people's sloppy, careless, irresponsible, slapdash.... Whoops, there I go again.

Hot time on a Saturday night

2009-09-05T22:20:00.002-04:00

Cruising down the parkway, coming home from a 7 AM to 7:30 PM shift, blasting blue grass on the radio, drinking day-old McDonald's iced coffee and snacking on Fig Newtons may not be everyone's idea of a hot time on a Saturday night. But the weather is finally mild, almost tender. The moon is low and enormous. All I need now for the perfect evening is to finish ironing my scrubs so I can start all over again tomorrow. Maybe I'll doze off cuddled up to Claude Rains in Mr. Skeffington, that romantic fool.

Reduced Stress, Reduced Fat

2009-09-02T17:00:00.005-04:00

I have discovered the secret to nursing school: Drink more Prosecco. Those Romans knew what they were doing. It is so light, fresh, cheap and it doesn't stain your yoga pants if you spill a little. It goes well with a grilled cheese sandwich of Havarti on caraway bread when that is all you can find in the fridge.

And more importantly, drinking Prosecco does not interfere with knitting chemo caps. Simple knitting around and around on 90 stitches, decrease at the crown. Cotton makes such soft, comfy fabric against tender scalps, but knitting cotton makes my hands hurt. The same limp unbouncy character that makes knitting it a chore, leaves the finished hat lacking boing-boing as well.

That was easily fixed with a little I-cord on the bottom edge in Fixation from Cascade, a cotton yarn with a healthy dose of spandex, the miracle fiber. (The bright pink and green of the top photo is more true.) It looks inside out because the smooth stockinette is inside, against the skin.

The whole project was inspired when I learned I had to do 5 hours of community service for one of my classes. I can do 5 hours of charity knitting standing on my head ... or more comfortably while watching Mr. Smith Goes To Washington, You Can't Take It With You, and Mildred Pierce.

Run With the Big Dogs or Stay On the Porch

2009-08-30T17:49:00.010-04:00

It seems like just yesterday I was waiting for the azaleas to bloom, and here it is already the end of August. Since then I cried my way through a high school graduation, tucked another semester of classes into my own folder, packed a kid off to college, and took a short vacation in sunny Altoona. Now I have started another semester of classes (hopefully the last) and am planning an Eagle Scout ceremony.

In between I have managed to keep a few things on my needles:

I had a hankerin' to work with this yarn from my stash, a kitten-soft merino/cashmere blend I bought in the Stitches East market 3 years ago. It is another crop circle, this time a Christine Duchrow doily. This particular circle stands on its head. Instead of starting with a few manageable stitches in the center, on July 4th I provisionally cast on 612 stitches for the outside edge. I didn't want to. I searched and searched for a different pattern, but every time I looked at the skeins of green I saw the pine trees around the edge. It reminded me of a particular stand of pines in perfect rows somewhere along the drive to Hartman Creek.

You know that "be careful not to twist" warning they always give when joining cast-on stitches for circular knitting? Be careful not to twist the first row of knitting, too. After about 2427 stitches, I realized there was nothing for it but to start over.

It is going much better now.

And here are those azaleas from a few months ago, the most beautiful in Virginia.

Waiting for Azaleas

2009-04-21T08:55:00.009-04:00

Spring is not my favorite season, but I do love the marching progression of things. Last year I saw my first dandelion on April 18th, this year on April 19th. Last year was mild, this year's been cold, yet the dandelions know just when to show their mischievous yellow faces. First the forsythia, next daffodils, then tulips, plum, cherry, apple, redbud, lilacs, dogwood.... Then Azaleas. I do not really like azaleas, but every year I find myself waiting for them. A house I pass on my way to school has a huge bank of several colors. They are the Best Azaleas In The World. What makes them even better is the modest house they grace. We're not talking Bellingrath Gardens here. We're talking equal opportunity azaleas that any one of us with a little Miracle Grow and a lot of time could foster in our very own yard.

I will check for the azaleas today on my drive to school. I think they will be blooming. Meanwhile here's something to distract you. I made a postpartum exercise flip book for a project last semester. Everyone loved it. I think it was the absolute low techiness that did it. Here's a similar peek out my window this week watching the dogwoods bloom, waiting for the azaleas (you will have to flip it in your imagination) :

Burning the Candle At Both Ends

2009-04-16T10:51:00.005-04:00

Does art imitate life? Right now my knitting is doing a pretty good imitation of the rest of my life:

I'm knitting both ends at the same time of the Serendipity Stole by Georgina Bow (AKA Mystery Stole 4). Most people started the knit-along back in September, but I had other things going on. 4,345 people signed up; I am curious to know how many people actually knit it.

I think the needles are size 5 Options and the yarn is KnitPicks Gloss Lace in Raisin. I would use it again because it has a charming squooshiness to it. I'm not sure if that comes from the Merino or the silk. The beads are who-knows-what from AC Moore. In real life they look a bit like hematite, but they're just glass. I'm on row 144 of 281 so I am more than half done.

The thing is, this is the first knitting, certainly the first lace shawl, that Cass has said, "I would wear that." What do you think that means?

Welcome to Motherhood

2009-04-05T10:15:00.004-04:00

This is a photograph of Vincent's actual first step. I remember this day so clearly. He was such a cheerful guy, so excited to be moving up, spreading his wings.

He's still cheerful (mostly) and still spreading his wings, but now he's doing this:

Welcome to Motherhood. Please pass the Valium.

The Best Thing Since Sliced Bread

2009-04-03T10:35:00.000-04:00

Years ago my friend Kathy told me that her mother, living as she did on an Oklahoma ranch, thought the greatest innovation in recent history was the window screen. She had sound reasons for it, having to do with flies and such going from poop to parlor spreading disease. Something about the mental image must have stuck because every once in awhile I ponder on The Best Thing Ever.

Right now, the innovation I can't help but appreciate every single day is on-demand hot water, dribbling in endless (well, not endless; I do have some social conscience) rivulets from my exhausted head down to my poor boxed-in-all-day-longing-to-be-free toes. What could be a greater luxury? What would be more sorely missed?

What is your favorite thing? The thing no sermon has to remind you to be grateful for?

Pushmi-Pullyu or an Endless Alpaca

2009-03-20T18:49:00.007-04:00

I have been working on the Endless Alpaca Scarf since the beginning of February. No, it is not a scarf for an alpaca with no end; it is an alpaca scarf that feels endless. The Neverending Story of knitted scarves. The knitter's equivalent of Lillian Hellman's "two people and a ham." (eternity!) It is currently 147 cm long, and between 20 and 30 cm wide (Go Metric!), depending on if you squish it together or spread it out. It kind of looks like a freshly plowed spring field, doesn't it?

It's Mistake Rib (knit 2 purl 2 on an odd number of stitches), hand-dyed, almost-black alpaca yarn with flecks of brown (not much relief), 65 stitches wide on size 6 needles, about 527 rows. I'm quitting when this skein (the third) runs out. Or in 15 minutes, whichever comes first.

One from the Archives

2009-03-19T13:58:00.003-04:00

See? I have knit the Swedish Dubbelmossa before (in undyed, Un-spun Icelandic from Schoolhouse Press. Probably silver and cream. It was a long time ago, but Hey! The yarn is still available. To make the tassel I spun the un-spun.)

Stop Me if You've Heard This One

2009-03-17T09:16:00.009-04:00

The good thing about crossing the blog desert is that when you get to the other side, you have plenty to write about.

I can safely post this now because it won't spoil the Christmas surprise. (I know some of you are already planning next Christmas, but I'm talking Christmas 2008 here. And yes, I did in fact send a Christmas card last week. I prefer to think of it as "Overcome By Events" rather than mere procrastination.)

For the last several years we have drawn names to exchange gifts in my family. I love it. Not only do I get to laser-focus my holiday schemes on one special person, but my brothers, sisters, sisters-in-law and brother-in-law are thoughtful givers and gracious receivers.

This hat is for Doug:

When Doug was a little boy, he had an aquarium snail named Douglas, and a glass catfish named ... Douglas. I see a pattern (bad pun intended.) So just in case you can't tell this is Doug's hat, there is a knit in reminder. It says DougDougDougDougDougDougDoug and 08080808080808080808 when you turn it inside out.

Swedish Dubbelmossa from Handknitting With Meg Swansen in undyed, 100% alpaca sport-weight yarn (maybe 850 yards) purchased directly from the farmer, Bearlin Acres, at the Pennsylvania Knitters' Day Out. You can feel that this is not "big mill" yarn. It is a bit denser, but very smooth. In fact, alpaca is a little slick for my inexpert colorwork tension, but it was an absolute joy to knit. Linda even told me the names of the animals from which the fleece was sheared, but I forgot.

I have actually knit this pattern twice (a rarity for me). About 12 years ago I knit it for my Dad in Unspun Icelandic. Even though this one is softer and maybe warmer, the first one has a cachet that cannot be duplicated.

I love Bluetooth

2009-03-16T08:26:00.005-04:00

Bluetooth is my favorite technological marvel (today). It is how I get photos from my phone to my computer. Just say "send this over there" and it does, like Mike TV in Willy Wonka. Pure magic. Back in August, I lost my little plug in bluetooth thingy. Without my crummy phone photos to inspire me, I haven't blogged since. But this

was enough motivation for me to track down another little magic bluetooth USB box. This is the center of Erdbeere designed by Herbert Niebling, in KnitPicks Shimmer Sunkissed alpaca/silk blend. Even though peach and salmon are not my favorite colors, the yarn was such a dream to work with that I didn't care about the color. (Besides, Cass liked it so I was confident someone else, somewhere would. Just not me.) I cast on July 10th and started binding off the 1,728 stitches of the last row on November 20, 2008. There are 133,368 stitches in this puppy. It is 6 feet in diameter. US Size 3 needles and about 1884 meters or more than a mile and a half of yarn.

The photos were taken outside my post office, minutes before sending it off to Connecticut. Last June I had done a circular shawl to raise money at the Virginia Rainbow girls' Grand Assembly for the Alzheimer's Foundation. That shawl went home to South Carolina. Afterward a sweet woman approached me, asking if she could pay me to knit another. Sorry, I don't do commissions. I can't bear to turn something that gives me such pleasure into a job with deadlines, stress and expectations. Knitting is a gift and so are most of my finished objects. Besides, a project doesn't always turn out the way it was envisioned.

The thing was, Kathy was not asking for herself, she wanted it for her friend who had been so delighted by the shawl and disappointed when she did not win it. I thought this kind of friendship was something special. So I secretly knit this shawl and mailed it off to Kathy in Connecticut. If her friend likes it, Kathy is going to make a donation to Virginia Rainbow's charity this year, the Virginia Lions Hearing Aid Bank Foundation. If she doesn't like it (it is very different from the original blue one) they can use it to raise money for their own charity, Camp Sunshine, at their Grand Assembly this weekend. Either way a good organization gets a few dollars. And I get to say, "I knit a Niebling."

Rerun

2008-08-07T20:04:00.002-04:00

When I was a little girl, we regularly piled into the car just to “go for a drive.” With today’s gasoline prices this seems extravagant, but at 23 cents per gallon, it was affordable entertainment. More times than not, we wound up six miles out of town at my grandparents’ farm. While the adults visited inside, we smaller fry entertained ourselves playing with the piglets or picking up hickory nuts in the pasture, always giving a wide berth to The Bull. (He would later supply many suppers, but I never connected the fierce creature reigning under the apple tree with the pot roast in the oven.)

When the visit was winding down, Grandma and Mom would wander toward the car, carrying a jar of watermelon pickles, stopping to admire Grandma’s flowers, picking strawberries or cucumbers for us to ferry home. Best of all were the times Grandma led us through the narrow, slatted door at one corner of the barn and up the steep steps to her “studio” to examine her latest painting. The studio was a small attic room tucked under the barn roof over the pig-pen. The steps were terrifyingly steep, worn and narrow, hardly more than a ladder. The pitch of the roof required an adult to stoop when standing anywhere but directly under the ridgeline. It had bare beams, a round east-facing window and a linoleum “rug.” I don’t remember it smelling of livestock; I remember climbing up into the wonderful smell of heat and turpentine and oil paint. In spite of my fear of the stairway, I loved this place. I loved it for what it was: Grandma’s take on Virginia Woolf’s “room of one’s own.” This was Lucille’s special place, where she ceased to be farm wife, mother of 6, or grandmother, and became the artist I cherished. Here she did her own thing, unleashed her creativity.

Although I learned most of my knitting skills from books, I credit my grandma with teaching me to knit, certainly for the time she spent at my side, but far more for the example she set. She taught her daughter in the 1930’s – years before women’s lib – that a girl could do anything as well as a boy and some things better. This woman knit, crocheted, pickled, gardened, painted, sewed, built a tipi, and recognized bird calls during a life that was sometimes hard and spare. The knitters I know carry on this drive to create. To borrow a phrase from Franklin Habit’s June 17th blog post (the-panopticon.blogspot.com): we have a “desire to create beauty every day when most of civilization does nothing from cradle to grave but consume, consume, consume."

We might have to look for unorthodox solutions -- that attic room over the pig-pen -- to carve out space or time for our souls, but creativity is what keeps us balanced.

Mittens

2008-06-02T13:27:00.006-04:00

I love mittens. Mittens are companionable. I love how my fingers can keep each other company when wearing mittens. I love the smell of wet wool mittens drying by the heating vent. I love the colorful patterns. I love how they keep my fingers warm without being pretentious. I love how they have history.

I am not just talking about History with a capital H. Aside from the stories of Latvian brides knitting mittens for all their future in-laws, of fishermen's wives knitting chunky mittens to be fulled in the cold, salt water of the North Sea, of Norwegians using black and white yarn to express their independence with locally produced goods, I have my own mitten history.

I remember 7 different pairs of mittens from my childhood winters in Wisconsin. My earliest memory is of a red, no-frills pair on an idiot string. It was certainly before first grade, since an idiot string beyond kindergarten was Simply Not Done. We cut our strings with our blunt-tipped scissors before we stopped believing in the tooth fairy. My aunt knit me a pair in fabulous Arctic Cat purple and a burgundy pair with a saffron gold, seed stitch cuff and matching hat. (Twenty years later, when I saw the pattern in a Workbasket magazine at a yard sale, I laughed in recognition.)

The mittens are long worn out, but I still have the hat. It is one of the reasons I believe in hand knitting. Keeping a hat that no longer fits for 40 years means knitting matters. I will show you a photo as proof just as soon as the gremlins bring my blue tooth back. (The gremlins are ignoring me.)

I had a chunky, funky, harvest gold, commercial honey-comb pair of mittens in 1968 when that style was trendy, followed by an ugly white vinyl pair that worked great for snowball fighting. When department stores could still be found on downtown main streets, I bought a leaf green, sleek, ribbed, mohair pair from Prange's.

I was fond of them all, but my favorite pair was black with a pattern of red rosebuds and green leaves. When I left one on the playground, I was frantic. I inexpertly darned the thumbs when they wore thin. I kept those mittens years beyond usefulness, until they finally disappeared during a move. In memory of those mittens, I am knitting an ambitious pair of fringed Latvian Sun mittens from the Schoolhouse Press knit-along. I hope to get them done in time for the county fair. Or at least make enough progress for an interesting photo.

My dog ate my homework

2008-05-27T07:45:00.005-04:00

I can't find my bluetooth receiver. I was out of town. (Twice.) My computer hiccuped. My dog ate my homework...

I have not been just sitting around for the last four weeks, but you may have noticed I have not been posting either. I went to Maryland Sheep & Wool Festival. In three words: it was crowded. Other than that, Cass isn't much interested in photos of sheep so has not transferred them to the computer yet. I did not spend as much on yarn as I did on food. What can I say? I am an unapologetic omnivore. I did buy plenty of wool in a lovely shade of red for Janet Szabo's Granite Cardigan from her Fall 2007 Twists & Turns. I guess that will make my sweater Redgranite.

I also do not have a photo of my current knitting, but that hardly matters. When I was young, my favorite of Rudyard Kipling's Just So Stories was "How the Rhinoceros Got His Skin." It involves a hot day, leaving one's skin on the bank while swimming, stale cake crumbs and unimaginable itchiness. How does this apply to knitting? I am still enjoying the circular alpaca lace christening shawl. As unblocked lace so often does, the 68,900 stitches I have knit so far look like a crumpled, pale sky blue rhinoceros skin. I am on round 184. At this stage, there are 816 stitches in one round. A plain round takes about 20 minutes. Slightly stretched, 8 rounds (or 2 hours and 40 minutes) add 2 inches to the diameter. With my next increase round it will slow down to over 1000 stitches per round.

And about that computer-hiccupping thing? I am most annoyed by the loss of my Freecell statistics. My winning streak was way over 1900. I have got to get out more.

Repairo!

2008-04-30T19:55:00.004-04:00

My lace knitting has been stalled since Sunday.

Last Thursday I noticed that I had accidentally knit into the stitch below, not usually a glaring error except that it was smack in the middle of an otherwise smooth stockinette diamond. I really hate ripping back lace. It fills me with anxiety that I will never be able to hook it back up correctly, that I will just have to rip the whole thing out and never want to knit again. I tried ignoring it for a few days, but it didn't go away. I sighed, gritted my teeth and laddered back a two-stitch wide swath to the offending stitch. The stockinette was mended in a jif, but the lace took me two days.

The first day, I just looked at it. Georgia O'Keefe said, "to see takes time like to have a friend takes time." So I took time to look at my lace.

The second day, I charted on graph paper, the exact section I was working on and followed it like a road map. I think the repair is accurate, but if knitting needles are our magic wands, why can't we just say "Repairo"?

Spring is Bustin' Out All Over

2008-04-25T19:45:00.000-04:00

After days of rain, suddenly all the green came out to play.

The azaleas are starting to flag, even at the house with the most impressive azaleas in the world (not MY house). Those are huge banks of azaleas. I know the photo doesn't do them justice. Just know that this place actually exists.

Go metric

2008-04-23T07:33:00.002-04:00

When I was in grade school, My Weekly Reader proudly proclaimed the US was going metric. The U.S. Metric Study figured that, oh, in about 10 years or so, we would predominantly be using the metric system. Sigh. Ten years later would have been 1981. Why are we still struggling with eighths of an inch? (I blame Ronald Reagan for cutting off the funding.)

I want the metric system. I want it like a teen-aged boy wants a fast car, and I have a theory on how to get it. Pick a date: I like May 11. Culvers Frozen Custard has proclaimed that "Eat what you want day." (I may not have a Culvers nearby, but I have their tempting calendar in my kitchen. By the way, the flavor of the day today in my hometown is Chocolate Caramel Twist.) So warp "Eat what you want day" to "Have what you want day." On one single magical day, take away all our rulers, speedometers, measuring cups, scales, road signs and 2 by 4s (they are NOT really 2 inches by 4 inches anyway). Magically replace our yardsticks with meter sticks, mark our food packages in grams and liters, list our speed limits in kilometers per hour. Without doing the conversion, we would adjust in no time. The speed limit says 60 km? Fancy that! Our speedometer says 60 km. Who cares how many miles per hour that is?

We are afraid to go metric because we are afraid we are too dim to do the conversion math. But we do not have to convert feet to meters. Just take your measurement in metric from the beginning.

American knitting needle manufacturers could lead the way by labeling our knitting needles in millimeters. The US system of knitting needle designation is vague and arbitrary. What exactly is a 10 1/2? Where is size 12? A size 2 might be 2.75 mm or 3 mm. The metric system tells us how big our needles are if we want to know.

And about those gauge swatches... If patterns asked for 20 stitches over 10 cm instead of 5 stitches per inch, maybe we would stop trying to measure our gauge over little, inch-wide strips. (Don't look at me that way. I would never do that, just saying some might. I am of the "it will fit somebody" school of thought. That is why I knit shawls, scarves and potholders. No issues with gauge.)

Blue Horizon (AKA Down the Rabbit Hole)

2008-04-21T10:14:00.010-04:00

About a month ago, I saw the cover of the book Kunststrik II by Sonja Esbensen while randomly surfing blogs with pretty lace shawls.

Kunststrik II is a collection of doily patterns. It is in Danish.
I do not use doilies. I do not speak Danish. I had to have it. (While I was at it, I bought the first Kunststrik, too. More doilies, but this book has been translated.) I used the logic that I should buy them now before the exchange rate with the Euro gets worse.

Then Knitpicks put their Alpaca Cloud yarn in the color "Horizon" on clearance. If you go look at the link, you won't see this color. Gone, gone, gone. Except at my house. I have plenty. It is a lovely shade of light sky blue. As soon as I thought I would not be able to get it anymore, I had to have some. After my first order came, I was so delighted with the color I ordered another round.

One pattern, Knud III, leaped right off the pages and into my heart. On bigger needles (twice as big! Monster US size 2's instead of 000's) with laceweight yarn instead of thread, it looked as if it would make a lovely christening shawl, not too lacy for little fingers to get snagged.

There are no babies anywhere on my near horizon.

I cast on anyway. So now I am knitting from a book in a language I don't speak on a shawl I don't need. It is unspeakably wonderful fun.

I took this photo of the first 40 rounds, 2 days' knitting, on Sunday. After 2 more days, I am on round 83, and those rounds are considerably longer. Like I said: down the rabbit hole.

First Dandelion of Spring

2008-04-17T09:48:00.000-04:00

I have always thought dandelions were pretty. Maybe it was the way Mom accepted bouquets of them with as much grace as if they were long stemmed roses.

Happy Birthday, Leonardo

2008-04-15T15:49:00.003-04:00

When I mentioned to Cass that today is Leonardo da Vinci's birthday, her response was:

"Send him a card."

Most of the 3,500 pages of sketches and notes Leonardo left behind are written backwards, so they would have to be held up to a mirror to appear normal. Scholars wonder why, but I know: because he felt like it. For the first few years that Vince was learning to write, if you put the pencil in his left hand he would mirror-write without any conscious planning. He just felt like it. No one ever told him it had to be any other way.

Dear Barbara Kingsolver,

2008-04-08T07:24:00.006-04:00

When I read a book that touches a chord, I sometimes write an imaginary letter to the author to thank her. The operative word here is imaginary. When Carly Simon titled an album Letters Never Sent I thought, "See! I am not the only one." I usually keep the letter in my head instead of committing it to paper and embarrassment. Now with the advent of blogs, theoretically the author could see how delighted I am with her book, and I can embarrass myself without feeling like a stalker.

I have been listening to Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver. It is a well-reasoned, well-researched, enlightening, personal record of one family's year of eating only locally produced food, cutting out the excess fuel calories. The book covers more issues about what we eat and how it is raised than I ever imagined. The small portion on our country's farm policies made me angry to the point of tears, but most of the book is a hopeful, happy feast, highlighting the care and attention that goes into raising good food without down-playing the amount of work involved. Barbara makes taking bananas off the grocery list not an act of deprivation but a doorway to a richer way of eating. She eloquently defends an omnivorous diet while refusing to eat meat raised under the cruel conditions of CAFOs (concentrated animal feeding operations). The book has left me feeling something I haven't felt for years. The miraculous pleasure of keeping a garden.

I laughed out loud at the idea that Barbara appears as #74 in the 2005 book 100 People Who Are Screwing Up America by Bernard Goldberg. What is revolutionary about eating fresh, in-season fruits and vegetables? Supporting the local economy -- your friends and neighbors -- instead of foreign economies? Protecting bio-diversity? Cutting down on needless fossil fuel use? I checked out Goldberg's book. It turns out Barbara made the list for an unrelated reason. She wrote an essay suggesting that the hurt and rage acted out under the guise of patriotism following September 11, 2001 could lead to "intimidation, censorship, violence, bigotry, sexism, homophobia and shoving the Constitution through a paper shredder." Smart woman.

I am especially charmed when a book is read by the author (as long as she doesn't have a whiny, smokey wheeze for a voice. Barbara doesn't. Her voice is mellow and has a smile behind it.) The experience of hearing her words in her voice with her inflections makes the book an even greater pleasure.

So here is my fan letter to Barbara. I think your book will change the way we eat. At least, I hope so.

P.S. Happy Birthday, Barbara!

Diplomacy

2008-04-04T08:51:00.001-04:00

"Diplomacy is the art of letting someone have your way." -- Daniele Vare

Do you think maybe Daniele is a middle child?

Half Done

2008-04-02T09:22:00.007-04:00

I thought about calling this post "more of the same," but that did not convey the delight I am getting from this pattern. (Neither does half done, but I am in a verbal slump and the season has barely started. Baseball. You know. Opening day? Never mind.)

Here again is Sivia Harding's Angel Pearls Beaded Scarf in Blue Sky Alpaca's Alpaca Silk, color 138. I know I am half done because I started my second ball. (Elementary scarf math. Knit until you run out of yarn.) Coincidentally, I have completed my 6th pattern repeat of 11 so I am right on track NOT to run out of yarn, finishing without fevered yarn shortage adjustments.

(This photo's color isn't accurate. The top photo's is better, although this yarn appears to change color depending on the light. I think it's the silk.)

This pattern is such a compelling knit; I am considering Sivia's Diamond Fantasy Shawl for my next project because it has a bit of the same mood.

What Cassie did on Spring Break

2008-03-31T08:00:00.000-04:00

Painted her room.

More Grinchiness

2008-03-29T16:50:00.008-04:00

This is why I have not posted about what I have been knitting this week:

It is a little, um, rustic. Lumpy. The opposite of svelte. I swear the green blob will look better when it is finished. This is side one of a memory pillow for TAPS (Tragedy Assistance Program for Survivors), a community that helps the families of fallen soldiers, sailors, airmen and Marines. The grieving survivor tucks a memento into the little pocket on the memory pillow as a small, private way to remember his or her special someone. On Memorial Day weekend, TAPS runs a program in a hotel near the Pentagon. I hope to finish this pillow and another half-done crocheted one before then.

The yarn is a thick-and-thin wool from Switzerland in a quiet green color that I think is just wonderful. (Some might call it drab. They just are not appreciating the subtle green-on-green thing going on.) Notice how the needle color coordinates with the yarn? I couldn't think what else this yarn could be used for. To quote the title of Franklin Habit's new book of hilarious cartoons, "It Itches." I wouldn't want this next to my skin, but I am going to felt it and fully expect it will soften up nicely.

My other treat for the day is a giant pot of Great Northern bean soup, the best I have ever made, courtesy of Easter's ham bone, a small head of cabbage, some left over chopped Vidalia onion and a pound of carrots. (One can never have too many carrots in soup.) It goes swimmingly with my lumpy knitting, not so well with today's sunny weather. I could turn on the air conditioning to pretend it is cold and miserable, but that would be cheating.

Grinching

2008-03-28T08:06:00.003-04:00

I have a secret. I don't really like Spring. I know I am supposed to -- all that busting out all over hooha -- but it is number 3 on my season list.

And it is all Virginia's fault. Living in a mild climate, I can hardly work up a good pining for spring's seed catalogs and tomato plants in peat pots. The weather just does not get cold, nasty, and miserable enough for me to seriously care if winter ends or not. Where I grew up, the first robin of spring was a thrill, a competition with your schoolmates. "I saw a robin today!" "Oh yeah? I saw one last Thursday." In Virginia, I do not see as many robins as I do turkey vultures, an eccentric bird with an important job; I'm just saying... the glamor factor is pretty low.

Autumn has gorgeous skies and constant change. Winter has the clean blanket of snow covering the world's sins. Summer has oppressive heat, blistering sun and gasping humidity. Spring has its own smorgasbord spread: the flowers (and accompanying pollen), the longer days (keeping me from sleeping in), the warm weather (meaning sweaty summer is around the corner), the confusion my body clock feels when trying to figure out what to wear for the day. Logically I know spring is a blessing, but my heart is not in it.

Until I look up. Spring's best flirt is the green mist at the top of the trees -- not yet shade when you don't yet need it but a light, ephemeral, clear, watercolor green makeup-blush (if you were red-green colorblind). Spring green is the hazy moustache of a 15-year-old boy: barely there but playing it for all it is worth.

Stop me if you've heard this before ...

2008-03-25T19:38:00.005-04:00

Maybe I have already shown you this clever double knit potholder, but I am pretty sure it fell into the nebulous "no camera zone" that caused the big blank blogless break I took for a few months. If you've already seen the kitchen gear, you can go look at the Washington Post's Peeps show instead.

It's blue and green:

It's green and blue:

It's two, two, two knits in one!

No seams, both sides are knit at the same time, completely reversible, slightly felted. It was knit for Food and Friends, a local organization that delivers meals to people living with AIDS, cancer and other life challenging illnesses. When they deliver their first meal to a new client, bringing along a hand-made hot pad is a nice touch, don't you think?

Kind of Reasonably Hip

2008-03-18T23:10:00.000-04:00

I took a break from the scarf of my dreams to knit a helmet liner (as in Kevlar-going-to-war, not motorcycle or football). Because it has a visor, I used "Reasonably Hip" from MagKnits, but I only almost followed the pattern. For some good mindless travel knitting, I changed the garter stitch edge to ribbing and the seed stitch body of the hat to stockinette. I added 9 stitches to my cast on because I used Berroco's Ultra Alpaca instead of the heavier, recommended Plymouth Encore. Like I said, kind of reasonably hip. I thought the alpaca blend would make a fine, comfy hat when smashed tight against the head.

I was right. It does, and the yarn is a pleasure to knit. I would do it again at a denser gauge with a deeper brim. Would that be sort of, kind of, reasonably hip?

At any rate, it's reasonably serviceable.

(The fingerless glove is a variation on Fetching from Knitty. Photography by Cass. She was more interested in the hat's coolness factor than its construction.)

Contrasts

2008-03-15T10:09:00.004-04:00

When I came home yesterday afternoon, I noticed that the forsythia had jumped into bloom. I won't bore you with a picture; I have the most bedraggled-looking forsythia on the planet. But I also have this:

Aren't they cute? The "contrast" from my title comes from Stephanie Pearl-McPhee's yarnharlot post "I Can Do It" from the day before. It will be a long time before all that snow melts.

Absurdities

2008-03-11T19:25:00.006-04:00

It all started with this:

A tent with a power slot. The last time you were tenting it, didn't you say to yourself, "Dang! If only this tent had a special orifice for my electric S'mores Maker power cord? (There is such a thing as a portable s'mores maker. It is the small appliance everyone craves, which is probably why I saw one at a thrift store.)

Once my eye for absurdity was awakened, I also found this camouflage Jiffy Pop,

these shiny, pink, "diamond-studded" breast cancer awareness keychains right next to the worm & leech lodges and live bait,

and North Face flipflops, named I am sure because the north face of mountains in the northern hemisphere is usually the toughest route to the top.

Not all flipflops are designed to stand up to those extreme conditions; the next time I'm mountain climbing, these will certainly be my foot gear of choice.

Dampfnudeln

2008-03-05T09:01:00.000-05:00

It is a rare treat when my knitting (or sewing or cooking or life in general ... ) comes together just the way I envisioned.

Angel Pearls Beaded Scarf is that rare treat. It is almost enough to make me use a real camera. I promise, when I'm finished I will. This scarf deserves it. Meanwhile, this is what my phone sees:

Which is why I am dreaming of dampfnudeln. Dampfnudeln are tasty, steamed bun-like dumplings. In 1982, I bought one from a street vendor in Kaiserslautern, Germany. It was angel-light, barely sweet, moist, pale, yeast perfection. Like anything magical, when I went looking I could never find the kiosk again. Knitting this scarf is like that: something I expect to remember fondly 25 years later.

Read

2008-03-03T09:07:00.002-05:00

Today is the 11th annual Read Across America Day, a day more or less linked to Dr. Seuss’s birthday.

Coincidentally, the very first book I remember reading all by myself -- and the memory is vivid -- was Dr. Seuss's One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish. It had been a Christmas present. I clearly remember sitting on the basement steps (in a family of 8, one had to find peace and quiet where one could) just about bath time, laughing over the plot twists, reveling in my own cleverness, reading the whole thing. All by myself.

Celebrate! Pick up something and read. I think I’ll go for The Friday Night Knitting Club. Maybe I will dig out One Fish, Two Fish as well. How about you?

What now?

2008-02-29T09:47:00.004-05:00

I am suffering from a double-dose of "Now what do I do?" I finished knitting the blue Wool in the Woods rayon scarf at the same time I finished reading The Used World by Haven Kimmel. I still have not submerged in a new book; I have been skipping along the surface of Thunderstruck and Fatal Flaws and who even remembers what else.

Athough I cannot seem to settle on a new book, I have found my next knit: Angel Pearls Beaded Scarf by Sivia Harding. Of all the things you can do online, my favorite is to order knitting patterns to download. I just punch in my paypal numbers and get a sweet little piece of intellectual property zooming into my computer. Maybe I'm delighted by how clear it is that I am paying a woman for her idea, not her paper and ink and the middleman. An idea is valuable and powerful but has that whiff of the intangible. For some people, that intangibility makes it hard to credit an idea its due.

This time the pattern did not automatically zoom to my computer without glitch, but Sivia took care of it in a flash. Already I love the customer service and, after only 15 rows, the pattern is intuitive. (Charts and written instructions Whooohoo!)

However, you may have noticed the knitting is not on the needles? It's probably better not to cast on for a new lace pattern at midnight.

Mom! He's looking at me!

2008-02-27T09:07:00.005-05:00

Rocky Gap State Park in western Maryland has an aviary of predatory birds -- survivors of car crashes and other unfortunate human intervention. Did you know when you throw your gum or apple core out the window thinking, "It will biodegrade," that it won't? Before the bacteria have a chance to do their clean-up dance, it will be eaten by wee little beasties.

Then when you think, "No big deal. It's a treat for the mice," you are wrong again. The food chain is a fascinating thing. Where the little things go, the big things follow. When mice start hanging around the highway for its plentiful pickin's, the owls and hawks follow for the same reason. Just as that sharp-eyed owl glides silently down to snatch his snack, WHAM! He gets hit by a 3-ton pick up out of nowhere.

The moral is: dispose of trash properly.

Eclipse

2008-02-21T07:39:00.001-05:00

In spite of weather late in the afternoon that looked like last Wednesday:

I got to see the moon slip into the earth’s shadow last night. She had quite a party, winking at me, glowing red, brightening the stars around her. And there she was this morning, slinking low in the trees like a teen-ager who had gotten drunk the night before, pretending for all the world that nothing had happened.

See you at the next eclipse.

Does this look red to you?

2008-02-19T18:54:00.000-05:00

The lovely red alpaca/silk Christmas yarn from a few posts ago sits coiled obediently on my nightstand, still waiting. I am knitting a scarf. Does this look red to you?

No? Well, it all started with Flylady and her February habit of decluttering for 15 minutes a day. I found this hand-dyed rayon scarf kit buried under who-knows-what, probably a ten-year-old map of Oklahoma. (If I keep this up, maybe I'll find Jimmy Hoffa.) I cast on this because I needed something I did not have to think about too hard. I have never knit rayon before and have to admit, this was a pleasure. But now that I am almost done with this scarf, what will I not think about next?

P.S. Don't say anything about Roosevelt's missing nose. He survived a terrifying dog attack in 1986; he is still sensitive about the scars.

Wrong takes a long time

2008-02-18T20:00:00.001-05:00

I have been listening to, and thoroughly enjoying, Wicked by Gregory Maguire on CD. The following exchange between Boq and Elphaba really gives me something to think about:

"His voice was as cold as he could make it, and that was colder than he'd ever heard it himself. 'I was wrong to have trusted in your compassion.'

'Wait and see,' said Elphaba. 'Wrong takes an awful long time to be proven, in my experience.'"

I like her attitude. Maybe that seemingly horrendous decision will turn out to be the just right one, given enough time. I get the same hopeful feeling from a quote attributed to Zhou Enlai, first premier of the People's Republic of China. When asked (in the 1950's) about the impact of the French Revolution (of 1789), he said, "Too soon to tell."

No sense rushing to judgment.

Sugar Art

2008-02-16T15:24:00.003-05:00

I learned something valuable yesterday. The best candy store in the world is located in the charming old town shopping area of Cumberland, Maryland (just around the corner from the yarn store): Robert's Confections, Sugar Art. No mass-produced drivel fills out the selection, no cellophane wrapped jawbreakers or imitation licorice. They obviously hand make all their confections: glossy, chocolate dipped buttercreams; delightful molded French creams (a flower-shaped, flavored butter cream coated in fine sugar instead of chocolate); and (drum roll, please) chocolate covered orange peel. This is a thousand times better than you can imagine, without a trace of bitterness, but all the magic of the orange-chocolate combination. It is so good I did not go back to buy more because I would eat it until I got sick. Sigh. Sugar art indeed.

Going the day after Valentine's Day might have been good timing, but every single candy I bought tasted fresh and looked gorgeous. The gentleman that waited on me was sweet as well and nestled each treat into the box like he was wishing it Bon Voyage.

Alas, they make candy and wedding cakes, not web pages. You cannot visit them online. You'll just have to go to 74 Baltimore Street, Cumberland MD 21502, phone: (301) 722-004. Godiva will never be the same again.

Cassie likes Yellow

2008-02-13T16:51:00.002-05:00

In spite of school's icy, two-hour delay today, Cassie's field trip was a huge success.

Happy V Day

2008-02-11T09:40:00.000-05:00

Personally, my favorite holiday this month is Groundhog's Day, but for those of you more attuned to Hallmark moments than wildlife ones (although Punxsutawney Phil lives in a library every other day of the year), I thought I would share a sweet story that also, coincidentally I swear, gives me the chance to show a recently finished piece of knitting. Since Valentine's Day is fast approaching, I give you mystery, romance, knitting and wedding proposals. What more could you ask?

Back in November, my former professor Cindy asked for my help in locating a missing stocking pattern. Not just any stocking pattern, but the one she knit twice 23 years ago for her tiny new twin sons. You gotta admire a woman who, with two boisterous school age boys and a pair of infants, still manages to knit 2 stockings between giving birth in September and the twins' first Christmas. (She's amazing in other ways too, but I found this especially impressive.) Now that the twins are all grown up and one recently became engaged, he asked his Mom to knit a matching stocking for his lovely fiancé. (That's the romantic part. Isn't that sweet?) After a housewide search that would make any CSI proud, she found the pattern she knit for her two older sons. She found the pattern her own mother knit for HER many more than 23 years ago. But the instructions for Michael's:

Gone, gone, gone. Enter Gail and her penchant for knitting mysteries. Since plastering the neighborhood with flyers probably would not have helped, I flashed the photo around to my guild buddies. They all agreed it was a charming stocking.

And they had never seen it before in their life.

I set about reverse engineering the pattern. Seeing as the original is a genuine Family Treasure, having been lovingly hung every year, I could not throw it in my trunk and work on it at my leisure. I needed a plan. Several visits to the stocking and hours later, this is some of what I came up with:

After all that, I wanted to make sure it would work. Besides, I felt a certain sense of investment. This is my version:

Okay, so I finished in February and have a little trouble following directions when it comes to color ...

Epilogue:

Even though today's yarns and the pattern are not a perfect match, Michael and, more importantly, his fiance were charmed by her stocking.

While in the stocking business, Cindy decided her older son's girlfriend of several years had earned a stocking as well. So click, click, click and 2 stockings drop from Cindy's needles in less than a month. Seeing his girlfriend's stocking hanging over the fireplace, her older son realized his honey was a reallio trulio member of the family: a keeper. He proposed. Two stockings. Two future weddings. Just another example of the power of knitting.

Seeing Red

2008-02-08T08:19:00.000-05:00

OOOH Doggies! I have been quiet for awhile. Last semester I funneled all my writing energies into an English composition class. It has taken me two months to recover. (I was afraid I'd forgotten how to log onto blogger...)

Stephanie Pearl-McPhee dug me out of my cozy silence with her post "Big Snow, Big Day, Big question." She's been working diligently for over a month (which is a long time for her; she's a fast knitter) on "Vintage," a pair of socks inspired by wine. This pattern packs more into a small package than Victoria's Secret. Oh, the finicky detail! Oh, the 34 individually knit leaves! Oh the clever heel and instep shaping... I'm beginning to get sucked into the vortex just writing about it. It is a good thing the kit is out of my budget. Vintage is not at all my style to wear, but it is very much my style to knit. I love to concentrate, to use a different part of my brain than the rest of my life requires. I do not need to own it when I am finished, anymore than a mountain climber "owns" the Eiger.

So Stephanie's question, and mine, is, "Why would anyone spoil all this knitterly fun by dropping a bomb in her comments saying the socks are ugly?" How does that make the world a better place? Her posting brought a rush of comments -- over seven hundred eleventy eleven in less than a day. Since I am not strong enough to wade through them all, I decided to post mine here.

After working in a fabric store, I learned on a visceral level, thanks to yards and yards of an orange geometric print, that we all have different taste. I will never forget the women who adored that fabric and bought it all. Most people know logically "it takes all kinds" but do not really grasp what that means. We can be mighty lazy on the critical thinking front. It is easier to degrade what we don't understand or don't agree with than to make a positive effort. We're not so much interested in furthering the discussion as we are comforting ourselves with the noise of our own chatter. (Oh wait. Is that why I blog?) There is good reason we have all been told "if you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all."

Enough philosophy. Isn't this beautiful?

My youngest brother drew my name this year. This was my Christmas present from him: absolutely perfect yarn. The perfect color (red), the perfect weight (fine), the perfect fiber (alpaca and silk), the perfect amount (enough to make a generous lace scarf). Don't ever let anyone ever tell you we don't dream in color. Isn't he the coolest?

Borked

2007-10-23T09:00:00.000-04:00

Did you know that today is the 20th anniversary of the Senate vote against the nomination of Robert Bork to the Supreme Court? Time flies when you're having fun.

Auspicious Authors

2007-09-25T09:00:00.000-04:00

Happy birthday to authors William Faulkner (1897) and Shel Silverstein (1932). Are they an odd couple, or what? Just pondering them both with the same synapse makes my brain warp. The Sound and the Fury or The Giving Tree? As I Lay Dying or Where the Sidewalk Ends?

Taking an English Comp class, I find myself dangerously less inspired to write, but it is having a nice effect on my reading. I always have a stack of books I am going to start; now I actually start them. Quite by accident, I stumbled onto Barbara Kingsolver's Animal, Vegetable, Miracle: A Year of Food Life. It was on the Fortunate Find shelf at my library. (They keep a special shelf with several of the hottest, latest, most-wanted books. Many copies of a book may be in circulation, but they keep an extra one that you cannot put on hold; you have to actually come into the library where serendipity may reward you with a two week pass to the books everyone else is waiting for.) After my summer enjoying a farmers' market that only sold locally raised food, this book is a treat. Add to that Ms. Kingsolver's surprising and often hilarious use of language, and I am in hog heaven.

(Sorry, Jo. I couldn't help myself. After the first page of Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, I was hooked. I promise, the next one will be The Used World.)

It's a Dog's Life

2007-09-18T08:36:00.000-04:00

I haven't posted in so long, I almost forgot my password. Today I have an instant post. I struggled for ages on the rough draft of my first English Comp essay (500 words on an animal), only to get to class and hear the advice, "It's not about you." Since I have to ditch the whole premise, I figured I wouldn't waste the work and would post it here. It's not about knitting, but you could scoop up the hair this dog sheds and spin it, so it's kind of related.

No sane person would keep a dog. Dog ownership can produce dust bunnies the size of dinner plates and have you considering a stock purchase in the lint roller division of 3M. As a dog owner, you will become well versed in the poop-scooping laws and the poisonous nature of anti-freeze. You will never have another spontaneous weekend getaway, but you will have expensive veterinary bills. Why would an intelligent woman keep a hungry, pricey ball of fur in her home? My dog Eiger answers that question. He reminds me to laugh, to be loyal, to have confidence in myself, to strive for my goals, and to keep things in perspective.

Eiger is the real life incarnation of my favorite childhood cartoon character, Mighty Manfred the Wonder Dog, the constant canine companion of Tom Terrific. Eiger and Manfred are a little slow and not noticeably bright, but both dogs are unerringly loyal and somehow always in the right place at the right time. Every time I return home, Eiger greets me with enthusiasm, waving his flag of a tail. He makes me feel necessary, especially when I am lonesome. Like Manfred, he is prepared to risk himself to protect me. He is a fierce bee killer, snapping at bees and wasps mid-air to save me from their sting. Yet at the rumbling approach of a thunderstorm, that same fearless hunter turns into a quivering mass of Jello that hides under the bed.

Unlike Manfred, Eiger has a luxurious coat of long blond hair. If you could ask him, I am sure Eiger would identify more with Fabio than Mighty Manfred. His coat ripples enticingly in the breeze like the romance book-cover idol’s equally fabulous mane. This is a neat trick for a dog that is far from purebred, but he never lets his dubious parentage get in the way of his Fabio-like confidence. His white Husky-like facial markings reinforce his self-assured expression. He tolerates having his coat groomed, but he will positively revel in it if I shower him with compliments, especially exclamations of how handsome he is. He is convinced that everyone harbors a secret wish to be the son of a Golden Retriever and a Siberian Husky.

This dog taught me to go after my goals with all my energy. Watching an 85-pound dog launch himself from a boat to the bottom of a murky lake, 8 or 9 feet below, simply to retrieve a rock, is a revelation. If Eiger wanted to be a pearl diver, nothing would stop him. Even as a 10-year-old couch potato, he fetches a tennis ball on its thirtieth throw with as much wild abandon as the first throw. Relaxing is just as thorough. In hot weather, he sits on the air conditioner vent then, with a great sigh, he slides forward until his whole body reclines on the cool tile. If the weather is not too hot, he lounges in the patio doorway guarding the house and working on his movie-star tan.

Eiger has other endearing qualities as well. A tall person can pat Eiger’s head without having to stoop. If there is a bit of food I should not be eating, he is right there to take care of the problem. He thinks biting a human is for barbarians.

A dog gives life perspective. Eiger never criticizes me, never judges, never tells my secrets. He does not care if I am Einstein or a Kindergartener, as long as his food bowl is filled and his water clean, he adores me. On second thought, even if his water is not clean, he loves me. He makes my life immeasurably richer.

Home again, Home again

2007-07-31T10:03:00.000-04:00

I am home from my summer internship. When I said, "I need a vacation," my family laughed. SOME people think if you enjoy what you do it doesn't count as work, but all that thinking was exhausting. I was even dreaming about nanoparticles.

Now I have to face the mountain of housework that has not been attempted in 10 weeks. Everyone covered the routine things well: food, clean clothes and feeding the animals. The little things need the attention. You could eat off the floors (and I don't mean that in a good way), the well-fed dog smells like a fish, and there are killer dust bunnies under the coffee table attacking the licorice Scottie dogs.

While I tackle that, here is a nerd fighter poem from my darling daughter: (We are not sure if nerd fighters fight nerds or are nerds who fight other people, but we think it is the latter.)

I'm a spelling nerd, I confess that I hate
When the "h" is missed in "exhilarate".

Or when the wrong "their" is used; this is a crime!
All perpetrators should be receiving a fine.

The word "until" has only ONE "L"!
I'm telling the world, learn how to spell!

I before E! Simple and true,
Easy enough, even for you.

Think globally, Eat locally

2007-07-25T16:02:00.000-04:00

I am eating a bowl of peach yogurt as I write this. Not just any peach yogurt. I cut a fresh, ripe peach from Quaker Orchards into some lovely plain yogurt from the Keswick Creamery. I will miss the convenient little Wednesday farmers' market as much as I'll miss anything from this summer. I usually like to dowse a peach in half & half and sprinkle on the sugar but this yogurt is something else. It'll make you a believer in "Think globally. Eat locally." Maybe the Jersey cows make the difference, but it is the smoothest, mildest, richest, mostest dairy product ever to glide across my tongue. (Feeling virtuous for skipping the half & half is just a bonus.)

I have not been posting on my blog lately because all my writing skills (and some I don't have) were being used up building a poster of the research I have been doing. My internship is almost over and it has kept me busy. Summarizing it all in 36 x 48 inches was hard work, but I'm reasonably satisfied it. I struggled in the beginning -- trying to define my "audience" -- but finally realized I should write it for myself! It got easier after that. I know me and am easily entertained.

I haven't been so busy that I couldn't knit a bit; I am on clue 3 of the Mystery Stole 3 knit along, pictures forthcoming. Really. I promise. Well, maybe next week.

Always learning

2007-07-09T21:27:00.000-04:00

I didn't expect the Mystery Stole 3 to be a drive-me-around-the-bend kind of challenge, and it is not. (Well, except for the pace. I am a dawdler. I will always be a dawdler and even though I can make stitches at a medium-fast speed, somehow I am not a medium-fast knitter.) It is strangely compelling and I find myself knitting like the Stole is a page-turner -- maybe John Grisham or Sneaky Pie Brown -- unable to put it down.

I did expect to learn a few things and in that I am never disappointed.

I decided to use lifelines. My non-knitting readers were a little baffled by these, but they are simply thin cord threaded through the row of stitches every so often. That way if you make a big flub and have to rip out, you have a safe place to rip out to. They make it easy to pick up the stitches again, and they pull right out when you're done. Important tip: Mark on your pattern WHERE you put the lifeline, otherwise if (when) you need it you might have a safe place to rip to, but you'll have no idea where you are. It is like being lost in the woods with plenty of food and water. You might be well fed, but you are still lost.

Along the same lines, when you have a left-slanting decrease and you are trying to decide between a slip-slip-knit and a slip one-knit one-pass slipped stitch over, the slip-slip-knit is much easier to tink back (unknit), should the occasion arise. (Ask me how I know. It is how I learned the lifeline thing in the previous paragraph.)

I was explaining swatches to Cass & she pointed out they are a bit like the patch allergy test for dying your hair. You are strongly advised to do it, it takes a little time and gives you useful information, but how many of us go straight for the drama and skip that bit?

Lastly I learned there is no substitute for good light and my reading glasses.

P.S. I'd show you a photo but I am only on row 61 of the 149 that Melanie has released. 6,691 people have signed up for this knitalong. Isn't that cool? At 800 yards each, that's over 3,000 miles of yarn.

Finally! Some Knitting

2007-07-05T20:42:00.000-04:00

I am not very good at knitalongs. I start with good intentions but get easily "OBE" (overcome by events.) I doubt that this time is different. We shall see.

I am doing Melanie's Mystery Stole 3 from Pink Lemon Twist. How could I not? I stalked her at Maryland Sheep and Wool Festival. (She told us on her blog what she would be wearing. Again, how could I not?) I think her stoles are genuinely imaginative and am hoping doing one as a knitalong will keep me on track; although I have to admit the second clue is coming out tomorrow and I am only 27 rows into the first clue. Does anyone besides me notice a problem with this?

I cast on yesterday (after the fireworks) in Knitpicks Shadow "Jewels" on 14" Bernat size 3 straight needles but every time I tried to put a bead on, my needle slipped ever so gently and annoyingly out of my stitches. Very annoyingly. Then I tried some nice, pointy Options size 5 circulars and yet again on size 4 circulars (which are strangely close in diameter to the original straight needles). I am banking on the 4s. (Swatch? Swatch? We don't need no stinkin' swatch!)

My beads are pretty subtle and I am hoping half way into it I will no longer be saying to myself, "Not another blasted bead row," and regretting my decision to use this option. They add weight and drama and it is a learning experience, right?

At any rate, I am really loving this project. It is a little like working a jigsaw without the picture -- so satisfying when you get it right. Which, right now, I haven't. Maybe lifelines are a good idea (she says as she locks the barn after the horse was stolen.)

I have to sign off now and fix my knitting.

P.S. Whenever anyone says to me, "No one knits anymore" as the woman on the Metro did (and she was a knitter! she should know better) I will point to this knitalong. More than 5,400 people have signed up to put a lot of work into a project, sight unseen. If you want to join, you have to hurry. Sign ups close July 6 at midnight Eastern. But if you miss it, don't worry. Melanie will publish the pattern after the knitalong is done and with this many participants there are bound to be dozens of dedicated knitters blogging every step of the way.

Happy Independence Day

2007-07-04T22:20:00.000-04:00

In all the years I have lived in the Washington DC area I have never gone to the National Mall to see the spectacular 4th of July fireworks, but this year I came close.

Here is the view from my dorm window, complete with the reflection of the TV screen. I was playing the PBS broadcast of the concert on the Capitol lawn as theme music for the fireworks, just as if I had been braving the crowds, soggy grass, steaming humidity, bugs and smoke.

I felt a little guilty that I did not actually go down to the Mall -- until I saw the crowds and traffic streaming away when the fireworks were over. I have to admit, I was feeling a little smug as I sipped my milkshake and watched them struggle, but wouldn't it have been mean of me not to appreciate my good fortune?

I hope you had as much fun as I did.

Crazy 'bout a Mercury

2007-07-03T19:50:00.000-04:00

The only car I ever truly loved was my first -- a forest green1972 Audi 100LS with a wooden dashboard (handy for knocking).

The rest were just cars. Until my red Sable. She is such a sweet thing, ferrying me wherever my little heart desires but alas, she's getting a little, um (how to put this delicately?) unreliable.

Meet her replacement:

Same car, different color. What can I say? To quote Alan Jackson, "I'm crazy 'bout a Mercury."

My Rose

2007-06-29T14:15:00.000-04:00

“It is the time you have wasted on your rose, that makes your rose so important.” -- Antoine de Saint-Exupery

This week I've been acting like any red-blooded college student -- staying up until the wee hours, priming myself with coffee for another morning, slapping on the Clearasil (Washington, DC, water is hard on my skin, never mind drinking it). I have been passionately burning the candle at both ends, just not in the same way most students do.

How did I spend my all-nighter Friday? I partied with my Singer, making beautiful music together, or in this case, a beautiful dress for my sentimental daughter. Cass has an occasion that requires a white formal gown, and she chose a dress based on my Mother's wedding dress. How could I say no? It has started me thinking about the white wedding shawl I hope to knit someday.

I spent all day Saturday and half of Sunday getting drunk on Arans. I took Janet Szabo’s class on designing Aran Sweaters and her Cables World Tour. It is worth every penny of the classes’ bargain-guild-price just to see her sweaters. It is nice that a cable hangover does not give you a headache, just the urge to knit twisty delights for hours on end. Check out www.bigskyknitting.com (she lives in Montana – Big Sky country) for just a shot or two. I am signing up for her newsletter, because she promised the sweater she was knitting while we worked would be published in the autumn issue. It was amazing. It was yarn perfection. I can hardly wait.

And I am still learning something every day on my internship. Today I learned that just a little every-day courtesy brings rich rewards in an otherwise impersonal city. This morning I stopped to compliment the gardener who cares for the rose bushes near the building where I work. I am sure many people walk by as if he is invisible. He was happy to talk about his work, and how he keeps his roses healthy and beautiful. Later that morning when I was heading out to lunch, he was finishing up and carrying a few cut flowers. When I asked for a sniff of the red rose he had, he offered it to me. It is sitting on my desk in all its completely aphid-free beauty, keeping me company as I write this.

His rose garden is like my knitting, or like any labor of love. Both the giver and the receiver are enriched. “It is the time you have wasted on your rose, that makes your rose so important.”

P.S. Sorry for the repeat, all you Prince William Purlers. The rose I received Monday is still sitting on my desk and still looks gorgeous. Maybe it is from the deionized water?

It's the little things

2007-06-21T21:42:00.000-04:00

I have always believed (and still do) that it's the little things that make a house a home. Still, now that I am away for most of each week, it has caught me off guard to find the things I miss. Of course I miss the Children (but listen, you two. That squabbling has GOT to go. When I am only home for a weekend, you could pretend to agree. It would be a nice gesture. It is OK if it is not sincere. Really. I am not asking for miracles here.)

The other things, things like a well-stocked medicine cabinet (would you believe I was caught without a Band-Aid?), a good reading lamp next to a comfortable chair (you can have one or the other at my place, but not both) or a generous supply of batteries in different sizes... these are things I would not have thought to miss. But the one thing that truly makes me feel edgy?

The absence of a decent-sized mirror.

Anyone who knows me knows I don't spend much time primping. Even the woman who cuts my hair knows I'm a "wash & go" kind of gal. It is not that I gaze lovingly at my reflection at every possible opportunity (although December's flower is the narcissus. The irony is not lost on me.) but I've gotten used to being able to check the whole package before venturing out into the world every morning. The little medicine chest mirror? Not so good for that. In some vague way, not being able to see if I'm trailing toilet paper has thrown me off balance.

And I've just discovered, as I was getting ready to make myself a tuna sandwich, that I also miss having a can opener.

I am the champion

2007-06-10T12:28:00.000-04:00

I am the champion Toilet-Paper-Roll-Changer of the world.

I must be; I have evidence. Without me, the entire household just wanders around as if there is no pressing reason for putting the roll on the springy little spindle, as if wedging it on top of the empty roll is entirely sufficient, as if it didn't matter. Sheesh! What could they be thinking? And don't get me started on cleaning the lint filter on the dryer.

Besides changing toilet paper rolls, I've been busy this week.

Here are the 5" of "I can do this" scarf I've been working on. It has that unblocked lace, butterfly-just-out-of-the-cocoon look, but you get the idea. Candle flames, don't you think?

I've started a turquoise Lucy Bag for "bulk" knitting. It's perfect for group meetings. At the beginning of the meeting Friday, they were giving me the questioning, raised eyebrow look as if to say, "Can you really be paying attention?" But about an hour into the meeting, while I was still contentedly listening with hardly a glance at my fingers (that's the beauty of bulk knitting; after making 100,000 or so stitches, you can rely on muscle memory) while their eyes glazed over, I was feeling a bit smug.

And I've finally fixed my sidebar friends list to link to Knitters and Crocheters Care. Now if I could just get the spacing to work on Blogger today...

Room with a View

2007-06-08T18:45:00.000-04:00

I just love an interesting view. It makes up for having to use an elevator.

Here is a view from last week:

That bright spot to the right of the Washington Monument is the moon. This photo is a weak imitation of what I saw.

And here is the view last Saturday:

At first, when I saw the street being closed off, I was curious. Security for some head of state? Someone moving a wide load? A parade?

Then the runners started by. After awhile I went down to see what the occasion was and asked one of the organizers I had spotted from my lofty perch.

The Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure. 46,000 people wheeled, jogged & walked by my window. (This was toward the front of the pack.) I watched for the whole hour and a half it took for them to pass by.

They were not as noisy as you would expect such a large crowd to be. I swear, you could feel the positive vibes. It made my hair stand on end. If you can cure cancer with sheer determination, breast cancer is on its way out.

World Wide Knit In Public Day

2007-06-06T15:14:00.000-04:00

This Saturday, June 9th, is Worldwide Knit In Public Day. The only officially listed site in our area seems to be at the Politics and Prose Bookstore & Coffee House from 11 to 1 in Washington DC. I won't be there

This doesn't mean that I won't participate. I knit in public as much as I can (in private, too, for that matter.) Just today at lunch I was telling a labmate about how knitters are a force to be reckoned with, how we care; how we raise money for charities like Heifer Foundation and Knitters Without Borders; how we knit for charities too -- hats for premature babies, scarves for Orphan Foundation and Serve and Santa Train, dishcloths and afghan rectangles... above and beyond the sweaters and mittens and shawls we wrap our loved ones in. Knit on! And this Saturday, try to do a little of it in public.

Week 2

2007-06-01T17:46:00.000-04:00

Or "I will never look at tea rings in my mug the same way again."

Imagine that you want to put a nice, uniform, THIN layer of something -- say mud or jelly or teeny tiny spheres -- say, the size of bowling balls for Whos from Whoville (that live on a dust speck on a clover in Horton Hears a Who, so you know their bowling balls would be tiny) on a glass. How would you do it?

You might lay the glass horizontally and count on gravity and luck to make your layer of gold Whoville bowling balls uniform, but what if you put those bowling balls -- so teeny they won't settle out -- in a solution, stood the glass upright and let the stuff deposit on the glass as the liquid evaporated away? Just like when you make yourself a cup of coffee and get distracted and when you come back and drink a little, there's a ring inside your mug from the little bit that evaporated while you were gone. (It's worse when you drink your coffee with milk.) That is how I've been depositing teeny tiny 12 nanometer spheres of gold onto squares of glass. Making gold milk and letting the glass sit for 20 minutes or so.

It's a lot cooler than it sounds.

Meanwhile, my I-can-do-this-Scarf is progressing a little slowly. It's about 5". I don't think it will be 5 feet in 7 more weeks, but a girl can dream.

In other news, as I've been walking around town, I've found another small monument to inspire me: a statue of Benito Juarez who said,

"Respect for the rights of others is Peace."

What I learned this week

2007-05-27T11:06:00.000-04:00

I learned a bit about how to extract DNA, extract RNA, sort proteins, BLAST a gene on the internet, and make & stain slides of small mammal duodenum to view with a microscope.

But I also learned that fully 50% of all women on the metro are traveling in footwear that insults their feet. Flip flops offer no support, are hazardous on long escalators and don't protect your toes in the crush of rush hour. Towering heels are bad for your ankles, feet and spine. My feet could never be models in a magazine (now there is an understatement), but I love them. They take me places and when they're happy, I'm happy. (Get a foot massage and tell me this isn't true!) Women, be nicer to your feet.

I learned that nobody looks up. If you do study the architecture above eye level, someone will immediately peg you as an out-of-towner, but that is OK because he might be helpful and tell you all kinds of things about the neighborhood.

I learned that finding things in the city is trickier than knowing what street it is on. In the suburbs, when you want a grocery store you just look for the nondescript building with the big sign in the huge expanse of blacktop. I kind of like the absence of monster parking lots, but it makes finding shops more of a serendipitous challenge.

I learned that the International Monetary Fund building has the best fountains -- balanced yet quietly imaginative and not too gushy.

I learned that the Red Cross has a lovely monument on the corner of E street and 20th with the following inscribed:

"I believe in the ideals of democracy and

the concept of universal brotherhood.

I acknowledge no barriers of country, race, class or creed.

I believe that service to others is the obligation of mankind,

that every right I claim imposes a responsibility,

and every possession implies a duty.

To bring comfort to those who are in trouble,

to alleviate suffering, and to conserve life is my mission.

Wherever disaster calls

there I shall go.

I ask not for whom,

but only where

I am needed."

and this:

Knitting. The bench around the monument is polished granite with a chronology of the Red Cross etched into it. This panel about World War I says "Volunteers knitted over 11,000,000 articles of clothing for American troops." Eleven MILLION.

Have a nice Memorial Day weekend and remember that some troops give it all.

Cliche of the Day

2007-05-23T20:10:00.000-04:00

The cliche for the day is, Misery Loves Company. From the moment I set foot on the train dragging a big suitcase during rush hour (sure to draw frowns; almost as bad as a stroller when you are packed in like sardines) it has been that kind of day. You would not believe how light-hearted I felt when a young woman dragging a bigger suitcase squeezed in next to me.

Or how relieved I was to hear one of my classmates say that during lunch break she sat in a quiet corner of the plaza praying to get through today's lab. It was a tough one, made worse by all of us underestimating the number of supplies we'd need. (By the end of the day we couldn't remember why we thought it was hard.)

As for me, when it gets a little hairy, I knit a few rows on my pink-alpaca-I-can-do-this-scarf. It's a lace pattern from a German pattern book -- they think it's tulips, I think flames -- with twisted stitches and yarnovers on both sides. I'm pretty sure it's the most complicated pattern I've done, but that's probably the I'm-only-6-rows-into-it talking.

I say to myself, "If I can do this, I can do anything."

An Auspicious Start

2007-05-20T20:52:00.000-04:00

Tonight we had an introductory meeting -- complete with pizza -- for the internship I'm starting tomorrow. It's too early to tell much, but the TAs are nice. And I cast on 67 stitches for my pink alpaca commuting scarf. It doesn't look like much yet but give it time.

And the auspicious start? Never underestimate the power of a good hair day!

Ridiculous

2007-05-15T09:44:00.000-04:00

Toddler exercycles? Cass & I went babysitting for a group of 8 last night and I am here to tell you, they do NOT need exercise equipment to stay fit.

It's Decidedly So

2007-05-14T09:32:00.000-04:00

I have a Magic 8 Ball I use to advise me on all the important things. (Which means I keep asking my question until I get the answer I want. Isn't that what everyone does when they seek advice?) It tends to answer in the positive, which suits me fine since I tend to ask questions I subconsciously or otherwise would like answered "Yes."

I asked it if my upcoming summer internship (starting next week) would be one of the top 10 experiences of my life. It answered, "It's decidedly so." Who can argue with that?

They put a brief blurb in the college newsletter, complete with a photo taken by my patient daughter. Can you tell I'm excited?

Chunky Monkies

2007-05-12T09:49:00.000-04:00

With a nod to Ben & Jerry:

Doc Martens. Anti-Crocs -- Not bright, not light, but the soles are oil-, fat-, acid-, petrol- and alkali-resistent plus they're wonderfully comfy to stand in, except the whole clog/sandal style? A bit of a paradox on a work-shoe sole, don't you think? They weigh a ton and look much less svelte in real life than this photo would have you believe. Who but a monk (and me) would love these sandals? They'll be an excellent opportunity to show off hand-knit socks (if I ever finish any).

Happy Birthday, Jenny Joseph

2007-05-07T08:21:00.000-04:00

On this day in 1932, Jenny Joseph was born. She is the woman who wrote "Warning."

Still don't recognize the name? "Warning" is a poem that begins:

"When I am an old woman, I shall wear purple
With a red hat that doesn't go..."

What's especially cool is that -- now that Ms. Joseph is approaching "old" -- she doesn't wear purple, says she can't stand it. Not only did she inspire legions of women to wear purple if they wanted to, we are equally free to wear not-purple.

This little Sheepy went to Market

2007-05-06T18:33:00.000-04:00

or "Are we having fun yet?" We went to Maryland Sheep and Wool Festival yesterday.

It was a little crowded* (understatement. It was the most crowded I've ever seen. Crowded enough that even though I had a good day and bought several skeins of lovely yarn, next year this little sheepy might stay home. Crowds wear me out.)

We went early to try to catch the Koigu mill ends at the Koigu booth. They've always been sold out by the time I'd worked my way to the main barn so this time I headed in a beeline to A19 hoping for shades of red. No luck. We heard several rumors about why she wasn't there but the fact was, she was not there. I was disappointed, but it's OK. As much as Koigu has legions of devotees and the yarn is nicely spun, maybe it is destiny and I just need to accept its absence in my life.

On the other hand, a woman from Arizona tipped me off that Mountain Colors sells their mill ends at fiber shows in Oregon and one in Seattle. I'm thinking about a road trip... If you put 57 skeins of hand dyed yarn in a pile, I bet I'd fall in love with the Mountain Colors skein.

I gushed a little to Melanie from Pink Lemon Twist (she had posted how to spot her and I couldn't help it. I think her stole patterns are gorgeous. Especially this one.)

Cass couldn't find anything to spend her money on, but we took a felted flowers make-and-take class sponsored by the Maryland Make it with Wool folks and had fun.

We cut petals out of intentionally felted thrift store sweaters, sewed 10 into a string and voila:

fuzzy red felted thing. (It looks better in real life.)

And of course, unrepentant omnivores that we are, we availed ourselves of another thing sheep are good for. Gyros. (Although we could have had lamb sausage, lamb kabobs, lamb stew in a bread bowl, lamb chili, lamb burgers ... )

I am IN

2007-05-03T16:34:00.000-04:00

For those of you who have been listening to me fret since April 1st when I applied for a summer fellowship working with top flight professors at George Washington University doing research sponsored by the National Science Foundation, I am IN. We start with a workshop week May 21, then for 9 weeks I'm in the lab. In a word, I am THRILLED, if a little scared. I feel like when I went off to YCC camp at 15. Who knew I would have such a knack for woodchipping trails? I expect this to be the same kind of unimaginable vista-opening opportunity, except with fewer mosquitoes.

The projects are here, if you want to look.

How does this apply to knitting, you ask? I've already got a new project mapped out for my commute: a pink alpaca lace scarf as a "thank you" for the professor who put me onto this project and wrote the Letter of Recommendation to End All Letters of Recommendation [I am confident it is why I got in]. She looks great in pink and I feel safe in blabbing about it because I'm guessing she's not a heavy reader of knitting blogs. And after next Monday's meeting, my beloved Prince William Purlers won't see me until August.

I was planning to start dying my hair again (just when the gray has grown out!) to fit the undergraduate student stereotype a wee bit better when Cassie said, "Don't. Your life is like a river. You were flowing along toward college and you took a different path with work and family. Now you're swimming back upstream to go back and get your degree. It's cool." (or something to that effect. She left me feeling like I'm being a good example.)

The only down side? I sure would love to tell Dad. He would think it's cool, too.

Rewind

2007-05-02T09:13:00.000-04:00

Sometimes you just have to rewind and start fresh.

Claire and I went to a lovely botanical park yesterday and I was surprised to see the bleeding hearts were out already. If there had been any in the shade, I might have taken a better photo, but it was such a luminous spring day I hardly care how the picture turned out.

This is the hat to go with the scarf with the 43" tail that replaced the invisible scarf that we shall not speak of (since I don't remember where I put it.) There is a small, neatly rewound ball in the center taming that floppy end-of-the-skein feeling I get, especially when using fine yarn. I was so proud of myself for actually rewinding it instead of struggling along for the last 30 yards or so, being annoyed with every tug. (Smooth-feeding yarn is one of the under appreciated aspects of knitting. We only notice when it doesn't.) I have a modified spool on my ball winder (OK. I admit it. It's a toilet paper roll. Not glamorous but it works. My ball winder came from a thrift store in Chambersburg PA where I'm not sure they knew what it was. It was missing the spool, but the price was fantastic.) I stuffed my whole knitting project in the center and wound from the knit end so I still have a center pull -- although smaller and neater -- ball to work from.

The hat is almost my own design. I can hardly call it original when most caps "cast on, knit on circular needles, decrease a bit and pull the tail through the last stitches on the needle." From the inside it looks a little like Lucy Neatby's scrunchie hat (scroll down when you check out the link) or Stitch 'n Bitch Nation's Beehive hat, but the real inspiration was the cuff on a pair of baby booties I knit 15 years ago, a kind of sideways ribbing of stockinette & reverse stockinette that should fit almost any size head comfortably.

I'm not sure yet what to do for the top. It depends on how soon I get tired of the plain knitting. I've got this lace project percolating in the back of my mind and it's a bit like being taken over by aliens. I may not be able to stop myself.

Rooting for the Underturtle

2007-04-29T11:56:00.000-04:00

Why does the turtle cross the road?
I don't think he even really wants to get to the other side. OK, maybe for that "come-hither" female turtle. This morning I stopped to help my first turtle of spring cross the road. Well, more like air-lifted him. And this isn't the first time. I got an anonymous mention in our paper a few years ago when a local newspaper man witnessed me on a similar rescue.

I can't help it. One sunny day at the lake, when I was about 5 and running to Mom as she called "Time to go", I almost stepped on a wee painted turtle. We took her home for the summer and I named her Paula, since that was the absolutely most glamorous name possible. We fed her well and in the fall we set her free to hibernate. I knew it was the right thing to do, but I missed her.

I've been passing to my kids my wisdom from years of driving (such as it is. ) In the "brake but don't swerve to avoid animals" lesson, I think I forgot to mention the Turtle Exception. We have a fair population of Eastern Box Turtles around here and I find them charming, more handsome even than painted turtles or red-eared sliders. A turtle is not likely to suddenly dash back to the roadside from whence he came. A turtle doesn't suddenly dash anywhere. You can easily drift a little to one side of your lane and miss him.

As tempted as I am to keep one of the little fools for a pet, I know if you take them out of their territory they get discombobulated (much like humans.)
Turtles. Give 'em a brake.

Green Claustrophobia

2007-04-27T08:32:00.000-04:00

When I was a kid, my friend's mom used to put on a 33 and sing show tunes at the top of her lungs while she cooked. I mean impressively At. The. Top. Of. Her. Lungs. She really put her heart into it, not caring about anything but the song. That is how I remember "Don't Fence Me In."

Things have been greening up around here (and we have the tree pollen count to match.) All the trees I could pretend were propping up the celestial dome over the long naked winter are filling out. Fencing me in, blotting out my sky.

It makes me feel edgy. At a time when most people are reveling in the promise of summer, the lush greenness of it all -- I'm missing the sky. You can take the girl off the plains, but you can't take the plains out of the girl. I always feel better when I look up, whether it's at the stars or at thunderclouds or at sheer incredible blue.

I'll adjust to the green. The closed in feeling will pass, but sometimes I long to spin around and see the uncluttered horizon in every direction.

So to counter my grouchiness at the approaching summer, here's something from it's good side:

A veritable rainbow of flipflops.

2738 Stitches

2007-04-18T16:41:00.000-04:00

I have that "slammed in the face" feeling I get from Novacaine. I love having my teeth worked on, really I do. I want to keep them forever happy and healthy and if this is the price, I'm willing to pay it (not counting the rather large outlay of cash.)

But I do hate the Novacaine. I skip it when I can, but we were crowning a cracked tooth. The burnt bone smell is enough by itself. I do not need to add the kind of pain that makes me believe in levitation.

I pulled out my knitting while I was waiting for the mouthful of oomoo to cure (that stuff they used to make a mold of my tooth.) I'm working on a lovely hat with rows of stockinette & reverse stockinette, but I didn't get far. Actually, I got less than far. I frogged everything I'd done because it was 128 stitches wide and I decided 120 stitches would be better. I'm knitting this one by guess so one or two do-overs seems likely.

The dental assistant almost freaked out. 2738 stitches gone.

She wondered if it bothered me, that work lost. (I didn't even tell her it was for 8 stitches; didn't want to give her nightmares.) The point is (and I do have one) that I cared more about the hat being just the way I wanted it when I finished. Not perfect, but size matters.

Besides it's the beautiful YarnTree Melody yarn with long color changes I've gotten so attached to. It's to match this scarf.

Don't you just love when you get to the end of your project and you have just enough yarn to weave in the end, plus a little bit more so you don't get crazy with worry that you'll run out? 43 inches to spare. I think it's karma because I'm knitting this set for Santa Train.

Bye, bye Mr. Vonnegut

2007-04-12T17:13:00.000-04:00

I was trying to explain to Vince why I liked Kurt Vonnegut, even read a few quotes from one of the first of the many tributes I expect to see over the next few days. I don't think he was convinced. Why is it always funnier when someone else says it? You can go here, or maybe read one of his books, but you'll never be able to go hear him lecture again. Sigh.