What? What are you looking at? Everyone does this.
What do you mean, I'm leaning the wrong way? YOU get over here, and I'LL take the damn picture.
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Ouch
Ed-of-the-wine-group sent me a picture of a sign he found while walking.
Tell me you can't do anything but wince.
Mending my ribs (no body parts were harmed for this post)
365 Knitting Stitches a Year, Ripple Rib, April 21.
The key pattern rows contain instructions to "cross 2 front" on one RS row, then "cross 2 back" on the next RS row. I followed the instructions exactly, without a cable needle. Really, now. It is just a two stitch cable cross. The fabric I produced looked like so:
I brought it to knit one morning with the knitters. Pat looked at it closely. Actually, she didn't have to look at it all that closely to say, "That doesn't look like the pictured pattern stitch."
Was I thinking that it would block into ripples? Was I so sure that the directions were being followed, that it might have been the chosen yarn that made the scarf look different compared to the picture? Do you even think I remember what I was thinking? It was probably some combination of the two rationales.
I mended my evil ways, and came up with a scarf for my young resident. It was good Barcelona knitting, finished in the US of A. The second picture shows true color.
Pattern: Ripple Rib
Needles: #9 Plymouth 12" straights
Yarn: Beaverslide wool 90%/mohair 10%, Juniper Heather
Size: 67" x 5 1/4"
Thankful Thursday
Carole said we should do this. I always listen to Carole.
Three things for which I am thankful.
1. My hands. The knitting and the spinning is obvious. The piano. The pottery. The way they can communicate so many wordless things: holding someone else's hand to comfort, touching my husband's face to tell him I love him, the tasks they do that ground me to this life.
2. My health. Oh my Lord, what I see every day. I used to think that people who had bad things wrong with them were unlucky. Now I know it is the opposite: those who are healthy are lucky, and unusual. Terminal ovarian cancer at age 28, metastatic breast cancer at 38, dying of lupus at 42. The stories and the tragedies. EVERY DAY. I am so thankful for my health.
3. My husband. There are no words.
Ten Ways to Waste Time on the Internet
This Tuesday Ten speaks to me in deafening decibels. Alas.
1. Surf blogs. Comment, or lurk, it doesn't matter. Major time suck.
2. Surf Ravelry. Look up yarns. Look up patterns. See what your friends are doing. See what their friends are doing. Go visit some of your long-neglected groups. Make new friends. I cannot comprehend keeping up with Ravelry AND Facebook AND Flickr AND Twitter.
3. Dream about yarn, only with real pictures! Loopy Ewe. Sweet Georgia. Miss Babs. Webs. Smatterings. WoolenRabbit. Oh dear.
4. Answer email. Thank you, Typepad, for making this even MORE of a timesuck.
5. Go to the Apps store. My iPhone is a month old. It's the closest thing to the brainwire to the Interwebs that exists. I have been assimilated. Look at all the cool apps I used to live without. Shazam! Peaks.Ar! Organizers galore. Now I need an organizer to organize my apps.
6. Try to put some stamp of organization on my pictures. The iPhone kindly told me that I have 13,753 pictures on my computer. I did not need to know that. When it tried to 'optimize' them for the iPhone sync, it took an hour and a half to get through a quarter of them. That's when I hit cancel. Some other day. NOT.
7. Google. I ALWAYS have a question. "What happened to Todd Rundgren?" "When is the Winter issue of Twist Collective coming out?" "Has anyone posted about SOAR yet?" "What did the reviewers think of 'A Serious Man'?" "Maybe I need a duct tape dummy. Did Bookish Girl post about the details?" (Yes, she did. Bless her.)
8. Typepad statistics. I love looking at the Google searches that brought other Internet time-wasters to my blog.
9. Patternfish.
10. Amazon. People who bought what you bought also bought THIS. It so works. I have actually discovered some really good books.
A post doesn't feel like a post without a picture. In an spooky confluence of numbers, this Japanese maple was photographed on 10/31, and was picture #831. Like the rest of life, it was just a moment in time. The leaves are now scattered across the land.
Working girl but not like that
This picture is not a coincidence.
I feel exactly like these socks. Prostrate. Deflated. Scrambled. Smooshy. Posting after work is almost impossible. I do it only in Novembers.
Needles: Darn Pretty Needles in Some Exotic Wood
Yarn: Dream in Color Smooshy, Pansy Go Lightly, purchased at TKGA, 2008
Pattern: Usual st st sock, slip stitch heel, kitchener'd toe
Hello it's me - Rhinebeck 2009
It's not that I don't THINK about posting.
Todd Rundgren did "Hello, it's me" in 1967 when he was with Nazz. The Google and the Youtube do a good job of resurrection, and lack of redemption. His 1960's era recording is what I remember when I was still cutting milk teeth. Unselfconscious, rebellious, serious (why??) and of-the-era, one has to ache with the nostalgia of what is long past. Youtube uncovered a more recent David Letterman performance. I SO wish I had not clicked. He is now orchestrated, using the entertainer style of performing that comes across only as smarmy and overproduced. His gestures are unconscious Tom Jones. This is what a rock icon becomes if care is not exercised. I will link, and wince. Wikipedia, of course, tells the historical tale.
This one is the real deal. (Do click on this link and DON'T click on the prior link.)
Rhinebeck 2009 was one of the best ever. It started Friday morning at 4:15am when I backed out of the garage into a plastic garbage can. I was staring in disbelief at precipitation that looked suspiciously like snow.
The snowstorm lasted through the dark hours before dawn, through Massachusetts, until just before New York State. I was in a space capsule, hurtling past shadows of orange and yellow forests. Trucks dominated the traffic. My headlights struggled to keep up with my speed. I slowed, thinking deer, even before I saw three feeding on a rock above the road, well into the Berkshires.
8:01am saw me parked near Building A. Basketmaking! Wendy Jensen! My class was great good fun. I want to make baskets now. The day was spent on a Rattan Death March. I could not believe that we would finish the knitting basket project by the end of the day. Those who had weaving experience in the class were ahead of me. Wendy had all the materials, tools, and patience that I needed to complete The Most Beautiful Basket In The World. I'm not sure my hands will survive this latest crafting passion. I want more.
My friends were indulgent. I carried it throughout Friday evening. "Look! I made this!" "HEY! LOOK! I MADE THIS!" The basket sat on the banquet arm of our seat at the Eveready Diner, on display for all to see how clever I can be.
Okay. I'll stop now.
Saturday was cold, but it was warm with our people. So.many.of.our.tribe. I did not get to spend enough time. But that is our fiber festival lot in life. I am not complaining.
Briar Rose was first. The irony of waiting in line for her to open so that I would not have to wait in line to get into the booth is not lost on me. I came away with the Knitspot Aztec Mazes pattern, a hank of alpaca/merino/silk yarn, SeaPearl merino/tencel yarn, and more lovely BFL to spin. I think a bit of Cormo sneaked aboard, also.
Brooks Farm had what I needed. Solana and FourPlay, accessory-sized purchases, so soft, came home with me. My trainer had asked for a hat, pointed to a picture of his bootcamp ad, and requested a sunrise color. (Bootcamp starts at 6:30am. No, I don't participate - work gets in the way. Thank goodness.)
Jennifer. Spirit Trail. Is there any way to resist this booth? So much sumptuous color, rich and deep and stirring something atavistic in my soul that I cannot identify. Good. If I could figure out what it was, I might understand how to resist it. Two skeins of laceweight silk, and one skein of her new merino/cashmere/silk yarn (Sunna) came home.
That was it for Saturday. Mr. Etherknitter snorted over the phone that evening, and asked what was wrong with me. "Not enough," he enabled.
Claudia, Sil and Norma have already detailed our CIA Escoffier dinner. I had a braised chicken stew that fit the cold evening perfectly. The waiter endured the humor of his pack of cougars with charm and sangfroid.
I am not formally posting in NaBloPoMo, unless it becomes inescapably true. I will try to not aspire to perfection, and just post more often.
I do have some FOs, including the shawl of which you saw a hint. The one year that I succeed in having something done at the same time that Rhinebeck occurs, the weather does not cooperate.
Last night, the veil between the our world, and the spirit world, was weakened. Halloween sprites roamed the countryside, demanding bounty. (Who knew that the Sour Pack would be more popular than chocolate?) The winds shredded the veil, sending battalions of leaves and acorns across the lawns. Rain sent the creatures back to their world, scouring the night's mischief clean.
November 1. The end of fall. Russets, golds, browns, an occasional yellow contrast. Nothing lasts forever. Brown and grey and white will soon rule our world. I am knitting strong, I am knitting happy. I'll show you soon.
