••• Tuesday, November 16, 2004

The Knits of Knovember
Thank you everyone for the lovely birthday wishes. The cave I crawled off to (with my sweetie, of course) was more like a cottage at a beautiful lake. The weather was perfect. The knitting, divine.

The only disappointment was that our favorite “Up North” restaurant was closed for the season, so we had to munch pedestrian with the deer hunters, at the local steak house. But the food was good and the wine was better and the company better than all that. Special Bonus: Restaurant crowd was Spartan-friendly. Go Green!

While preparing for the trek north, I realized that I didn’t have a hat to wear on a walk.

What's this? A knitter without a hat? Well Hells Bells, what’s a hatless knitter to do?

Why,this, I tell you:

I found this pattern in a book that I have owned for almost two years, yet never perused, until last Friday. ::Does this mean I have too many pattern books, or not enough time?::

The yarn is Beatrice, which I picked up on sale at the end of the last winter season. Dontcha just love finding such a once forgotten thing in the bottom of a tub of yarn? Yummy stuff. I'm planning matching wrist warmers.

I finished the second half of the heart scarf from Knitty October Surprise, on the ride home Sunday. Last night I grafted (with corruption) the two pieces together.

Corruption? Well, first of all, graft and corruption go together like "almost any word" and “ass”. Secondly, my 18 year-old son, feeling the guilt of forgetting his aging momma’s birthday the day before, had to pick my session of Teach-Yourself-To-Graft-In-Fifteen-Minutes-Or-Less-On-Doubled-Chunky-Wool to perform his self-imposed penance, which he evidently determined to be 15 minutes of almost mindless chit chat. By almost mindless, I mean that it required just enough thought to keep me less than focused on my task at hand, as opposed to the totally mindless stuff to which I can just nod and say "I love you. You're 18. My job's done. I'm sure you'll figure it out."

This special moment began on the heels of finally getting the most recent sprout of my loins to bed, after very long evening such as this:

See those lights in the background? They're from the Mother Ship. The Caker's Real Mother Ship. They like to swoop and hover every once in awhile, just to point and laugh. I sometimes stand by the window and shake my fists at them. I don't really mean anything by it. I just figure that if they came all this way, they might was well get their kryptonite's worth.

I think I need to see the dentist to assess the damage on my now well-ground teeth. Fortunately, the Grafted Corruption was easily remedied with some square knots. Tonight I'm going to run the scarf through the wash one time, to give it a little furry glow. Pictures promised.

In the meantime, I'm working on this little number, for Me, Me, Me! I declare. I'm turning into a regular Scarflett O'Whora out of MicioSomething stuff I picked up at the Little Shop of Bears.

This yarn is divine all knit up, but not so fun to knit with and a total pain in the ass to undo. It absolutely cannot be frogged, so if a mistake isn't caught and tinked within two rows, it stays. The pattern is just knit rows 1 and 2. Row 3: Knit 1, knit 2tog, yo.

The Fathers of November
Please keep Bron in your thoughts and prayers (if such is your leaning). Her father passed on November 13. If you read her blog regularly, you'll know that this has been a painful journey for her and her family. I hope they all find peace and reconciliation, on both the spiritual and physical planes.

My father's birthday was November 13, the day before mine. We celebrated his 41st and last in 1969. I was turning 11. He was already dying.

Today's post was going to be about what it's been like for me, over the years, to almost share a birthday of such significance, with nothing to show for it.

But I just couldn't get it right. It's hard to pull this one off without sounding in a lot of pain, which isn't the look I was going for. But maybe it's what I need to do. ::As I'm typing this, I see little lights in my periphery. I take that as big 10-4 from somebody over there. ::

Anyway. I hope to get it done this week, while it's still relevant, to me anyway.
If I can't, it probably wasn't meant to be.

Have a Rootin' Tootin' Toosday. Everyone.
What was that soft drink, like Kool-aid, circa the 60's. Had flavors Rootin' Tootin' Raspberry and Jolly Olly Orange? Strange hauntings...

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