Warning:The following update contains information that may shock the sensibilities of routine visitors of this site. Any feelings of disbelief or incredulousness (that was awkward) are not the fault of your receiver. This is not a drill.

There's been some knittin' going on. Umm Hmmm.

Saturday, I announced to my family, that I was not lifting a finger all day, unless it was related in any way to:

1) The Propagation and/or sustenance of my own happiness or self-gratification
2) The immediate needs of a child, under the age of 18.
3) Rid my fridge of the rotting flesh of fowl, without incurring the wrath of the resident, rotting flesh regulator.
4) Flipping off my husband when he asks "what's for dinner?"

So, mid-afternoon, after putting to simmer, a pot of turkey soup, (see item #3), I ran away to play at My New Yarn Shop.

I may have mentioned this before, but in September, a yarn shop opened just minutes from my home (for those of you who are not into time travel, that would be 1.8 miles). Before this place opened, the closest yarn shop was a whole 11 miles away. And, while that place is cute and cozy (read small), there's an air about it. No really. Smells like Poop and Potpourri. All day. Every day.

Above and beyond the convenient location,I love that My New Yarn Shop is staffed by people who are frieknowledgeabledgable and otherwise not at all annoying. The store carries a nice range of yarns, including Cascade, Noro, Manos, Debbie Bliss and Lorna's Laces. A couple of weeks ago, they had a Hanne Falkenberg trunk show. (And that Mermaid, in person/fish, makes me think things.) And there's always been some kind of instruction going on, any time I've been there, be it a large class, or an informal circle of 3 or 4.

On Saturday, I bought yarn to make Ryan's Dulaan Cloud Hat.



When I told the clerk what I was planning to make, she wanted to check it out herself, and fired up the internet. On my recommendation, she went to Norma's place where I knew she could quickly view a sample Cloud. But when Norma's site came up, on the screen, I experienced a peculiar sense of panic. The thought of my secret internet garden being invaded, by a stranger, right in front of me, made me feel vulnerable. Violated.

When I caught a quick view of my name on Norma's link list, I realized the specific, underlying source of my fear. The Pinker Pucker Post. And that this woman,standing before me, mouse in hand, was one click away from finding out that the woman standing before her, in the lovely Branching Out scarf, with the beautiful halo, is common blog skank.

I grabbed my bag and ran like the wind.

Later that evening, I was back on Cloud 1. ::Sorry, no modeling this one. I'm a member of the Sisters of the Pinheads, with Norma.::

In addition to completing one hat, I very nearly finished the finishing on the Vogue Cardie. Saturday and Sunday I seamed, and last night I put the fringe on the scarf ::much to Bella's delight-turned-horror. I'm gonna miss that cat.:: Only thing left to do is sew in a zipper. After I buy one.



For the most part, I'm fairly pleased with how the sweater turned out. For some reason, one of the sleeve-to-shoulder seams looks great, while the other one, not so much. I can't for the life of me, figure out why. I sewed them, one after the other, under the exact same conditions. Same needle. Same pins. Same 1.5 glass of wine. Per sleeve. Weird, eh? While it's not cutting edge fashion, it will be a great sweater for autumn strolls and hayloft rolls.

The Anti-Knit Content
Really, I don't think I've had so much knit shit in one post, ever. I think we need to digress.

Have you heard about the high school senior, here in Michigan, who ran for mayor and won? Imagine what it's like to be a teen living in this kid's neighborhood.

Mom: Did you empty the dishwasher?

Normal Teen: No.

Mom: Well, why not?

Normal Teen: I forgot.

Mom: Why can't you be more like that little Mayor kid, down the street?

Normal Teen: Ma, don't start.

Mom: I'll bet he remembers to empty the dishwasher. Every night. Just before he balances the city budget. He is responsible for the operation of an entire city, and here, you can't remember to do one thing. For your mother. Oy.

I wonder if in some weird, Freudian way, Kojak was sucking on his own head.- Steve Webster.