Etherknitter

F is for Fencing

No, there is nothing here related to gardening.  This has nothing to do with pawnsh0ps. 

Foiled again.

The Etherknitters go at it in public. 

Fencing has been on my lifelist.  We had the chance, so I took a stab at it.  The instructor showed us three parries, and three blocks.  He taught us basic attack and retreat footwork.

Then he let us flail away at each other.

In REAL fencing, one drills and drills and drills so that the footwork and the attacks are in muscle memory.  We had a 45 minute session of pure aggressive beginner fun.

I may try this again someday.

Blue black holes, stellar lifeforms

This appears to be an ordinary ball of sock yarn.

It is not.

It sits there, in its recurrent completeness, representing a space-time anomaly that sucked ten hours of knitting time out of my life.

The skein became a ball several months ago to start Marina Piccola.  Before getting around to swatching a stitch count for Marina, I decided it was the perfect yarn for Monkeys. 

The twisted rib was fun.  The start of the lace was not.  I define the concept of the tight knitter.  But I could not solve the laddering problem that goes with a purl stitch at the start of each needle.  I searched Ravelry for hints.  Clues.  A few did the pattern all in knit stitches.  (They appeared to be contrarians.)  I seemed to be the only knitter amongst the 4415 to find these purl ladders cosmetically damaging.

Life is too short and death is too long.  I frogged it. 

The yarn ball sat silently, biding its infinite time.  I searched for an interesting pattern where I could use the K1P1 twisted ribbing.  Aha!  Crosswalker socks!  Twenty rows into this pattern, I noticed a dimple at the junction of ribbing and leg.

It is visible at twelve o'clock in the picture, where ribbing meets leg.  I threaded a dental floss life line, took it off the needles, and tried it on.  Pooching ensued.  The sock won't lie flat on my ankle.  I put the stitches back on the needle, and put it aside for a day or two to think about it.

That's when the sock tried to kill itself.

The k2tog stitch jumped off a cliff, and laddered down four rows.

Rescue happened.  Then I brought it to knitgroup for consultation.  Knitgoddess Lorrie discussed the mechanics of what was happening.  Because the decrease/increase pattern forms a V of stitches, there was no place for the top of the V to go.  It met a straight line at the ribbing.  That meant its only option was up and out.  She did not think it would block out. 

I frogged it, AND the ribbing today.  It is back in the stash, where, like in the Government Warehouse scene in the first Indiana Jones movie, it will be lost for eternity amongst a million similar skeins.  I'm hoping that time dilutes the curse.

Meanwhile, back at the stash, lack of knitting and spinning mojo rules.  My current intervention strategy has been startitis.

Celtic Braid sock, by Cabin Fever, in Shibuiknits, color #2955.

So far, so good.  The pattern is just complex enough to be entertaining. 

And this is Bosnian mitten #1 from Blackberry Ridge.  It is my first colorwork. 

I am mostly thrilled by how it came out.  It certainly isn't perfect.  The aforementioned tightness of knitting is evident in some rampant puckering.  However, it is quite acceptable for a first attempt.  And it was wildly fun to knit.  Colorwork has seemed like an impossibly high bar to aim for.  Now it is possible.  In the tradition that what is worth doing is worth overdoing, I've acquired the Jamieson & Smith yarn to do two of Ann Feitelson's designs.  J&S are discontinuing some of their colorways.  Those don't include the ones needed to do my two sweater choices, but one never can predict how that particular yarn breeze will blow.

Today is Mr. Etherknitter's birthday.  Although this year's number is more painful than many, I keep reminding him that the alternative is not better.

I am so lucky to have found this guy.  He is intelligent, kind, handsome, selfless, creative, and funny.  Happy birthday to one of the best lifeforms ever to grace the planet!

E is for Ether

The oldest statue in the Boston Public Garden celebrates a drug.  This is the Ether Monument.

Sculpted by John Quincy Adams Ward in 1868, it was as controversial as the discovery of ether itself.

Two medical professionals, Charles T. Jackson, and W.T.G. Morton, claimed to have discovered the anesthetic properties of gases one could inhale.  Neither one is pictured or named on the statue.  Instead, a 'good Samaritan' does the deed.

Oliver Wendell Holmes called it a tribute to "ether or either". 

The controversy included a third man, Horace Wells, who had attempted a demonstration of the anesthetic properties of nitrous oxide in January 20, 1845.

Nitrous oxide is a very weak anesthetic.  If you leave enough room for oxygen in the mix (as one must), it is not effective enough by itself to relieve all pain.  Wells tried to anesthetize a man for a tooth extraction at Massachusetts General Hospital.  "At first, all went well, but then there was a noise.  Some later called it a groan.  Others called it a weak sort of bleat.  The students in the audience jeered at their laughing-gas man.  He heard the word 'humbug' called out over and over again.  No one took much notice when the patient awoke fully and protested that he had experienced almost no pain."1

A year and a half later, when W.T.G. Morton used ether in a more successful demonstration, the attending surgeon (Dr. John Collins Warren) turned to the audience and stated, "Gentlemen, this is no humbug."

Twenty-two years after the first successful demonstration of the drug when the statue was dedicated, the controversy that I described here still raged.  The statue pictures both religious and scientific motifs.  Two hundred and sixty two years later, there is little controversy about the role of anesthesia in medicine.  The arguments about who discovered what first, however, will never be resolved.  The enormous egos involved and their attempts to gain fame and wealth from the discovery, all conspired to blur the truth for all time.

1 Ether Day, Julie M. Fenster, Harper Collins, 2001, p63-64.

You're The Hangnail In My Life, And I Can't Bite You Off *

Most women are smart enough to get out of bad relationships.  Not me.  United Airlines keeps taking, I keep giving.  I give money, miles, and more.  Let me explain.

We upgraded for our Utah trip last week.  It costs 30,000 frequent flier miles in addition to the usual economy fare price.  First class gives me room to knit, and storage space for ski boots. 

When we got to the airport in Salt Lake City (returning to Boston), the ticket agent gave us a blank stare.  Our spots in first class had been revoked, and the miles refunded to our account.  WHAT?  I politely insisted on being put back.  The airline had not communicated with us, and I was upset.  We were reinstated.

At mealtime, we discovered that all we got was the seat.  They had run out of food for us.  The flight attendant was apologetic, but clear.  "Paying" customers got first choice of meals.  I was stunned that money plus miles did not catapult me into the category of paying customer. 

An hour later, I was quietly knitting.  Mr. Etherknitter noticed the flight attendant gathering an oxygen tank and mask from the overhead compartment.  He asked her if she needed help, and identified himself as a doc.  I missed all this, until, five minutes later, he came to get me.

A passenger in economy was having chest pain.  He had a past medical history significant for major cardiac problems.  Between three seats, we started an IV, administered heart medications, took a history, checked blood pressures and heart rate, then got him moved to the back of the plane so he could lie flat.  A hanger from first class substituted as an IV pole.

The flight attendant asked the million dollar question.  Should the plane divert and land immediately?  Yes.  Mr. E landed without  a seatbelt, without a seat, sitting on the floor in the galley with the patient.  We then gave Mr. Chest Pain to the waiting ambulance. 

It is remarkable what has to be done to take off again.  The emergency medical kit has to be replenished.  (I had torn through that puppy like a bride at a dress sale at Filene's Basement.)  The plane has to be refueled.  Weights have to be recalculated.  A full report has to be filed before take-off.

And, no, of course we haven't heard from United Airlines since.  Why do you ask?

I can't imagine what I was thinking when I decided that I would knit a mile in February.  I think I succeeded in polishing off about 700 yards.  I can't imagine what I keep thinking as I buy new yarn, based on the lowly 7/17.6 achievement as noted.

I searched for mindless knitting.  Be careful what you wish for.  Chevron scarf is half done.  I have four skeins of Claudia's Handpaints (colorways Oops and Black Walnut).  Each picked up a color from the other.  I missed the clues.  The pattern said "don't start this too late, as it will take some time to knit".  Knitters on Ravelry fell just short of saying they were poking needles in their eyes during the process.  I should have been able to read between the lines.  I didn't.  The other half WILL be done when I need more mindless knitting.

I'm not sure the Noro sock will EVER be done.  Picking up the gusset stitches and then knitting them ala Grumperina was one of THE most painful endeavors I have encountered in knitting.  Imagine my rueful and agonized laugh when I finished the last stitch, and discovered I had achieved all that BEFORE turning the heel.  The row was frogged, the heel turned, and #0 needles are no picnic with this yarn.  I can knit about two rows before my hands ache.  Lack of elasticity is an understatement.  I am entertaining the idea, taking internal votes, as to whether this sock will ever have a mate.

I missed SPA, but I had GREAT snow in Utah.  I was introduced to Devastator beer by Smith and Margene, which means I got to have dinner with two of the best people on the planet. 

Life is good.  And next year, we are flying to Salt Lake on Delta.

*Hoyt Axton, title of his song on breakups