Against the same odds as intelligent life successfully clinging to my brain, or a 5th of Vanilla Rum successfully clinging to my cupboard,I somehow finished all my reports before spring break.

And no thanks to the efforts of my alleged loved ones, some of whom made no short work of getting in the way of mine.



That's a file for a report that she's sitting on. I can't tell you how many times I swatted her off that pile of papers, night after night. I finally thought to put out a decoy file on the opposite side of the keyboard, near the beads.

She initially fell for it, but didn't take long to figure out that I wasn't looking at "her pile" at all. When she noticed that I didn't yell at her for playing with the Super Glue bottles, the jig was up. (Or is it jib?) By that point, she could have gone off and glued herself to the inside of the dryer drum, and I'd have been right behind her, with a sheet of Bounce.

The Bounce is Back in My Spring
I'm having a wonderful, relaxing Spring Break so far. I haven't left the house since Friday, except to fetch my daughter from the neighbor's house. Otherwise I've been making up for time lost these past weeks, on a few of my favorite things:

1) Watching...Three missed episodes of NCIS, in one sitting. On Demand. I also caught an episode from a few seasons back. It was the one where Zeva's character debuted, with the air of a mercenary and the eyebrows of a young Ed Asner.

And then there's Tough Love.
And CSI Miami.
And The Mentalist.

2) Knitting...Ingenue. I'm almost done with the body.



I have to ball up another skank of yarn and knit another inch before starting on the bottom trim. I made some adaptations on the pattern, as I went along. It seems that my gauge was off a bit and it's fitting snugger than I anticipated. That snug is working the breastesses pretty well, but in the pooch area I prefer a bit more to be left to the imagination.

3) Realizing...That a garmet knits up much quicker when one has time and opportunity to actually, well, knit on it.

Case not in point...



4) Appreciating...The little things,like a seven year-old who gets herself breakfast in the morning and lets a tired momma sleep in a little.

Who's Got the Biggest Balls of Them All?
As I've gotten older, I've developed an appreciation for music that I didn't really care for when I was younger, such as AC/DC.

This past Saturday night, while watching my Spartans play basketball, I surprised both myself and my husband by bursting into the following:

T.N.T. They're dynamite
T.N.T. They'll win the fight
T.N.T. They're a power load
T.N.T. Watch them explode!

Which reminds me, it's almost time to...

Lock up your daughter.
Lock up your wife.
Lock up your back door,
And run for your life.
The Spartans are back in town.
Don't you mess them around.

Labels: I Work Too, Knit In Progress, Wild aRandoment

It's the last day of my midwinter break and I am, of course, lamenting all that I didn't accomplish on my list of to-do's. ::I realize that it is still early in the day, but I also am intimately familiar with the dysfunctional nature of my relationship with the day-off-time-space-procrastination continuum: Abusive.::

The main thing I wanted to accomplish this weekend was post my New Years Ides of February Some Time in 2009 intendments post, including a personal review of 2008.

Why bother now? You ask.
Because I need to.

Even though I didn't write an intendment post of 2008, I did have my good intendments, and remembered them, and attempted them. They are still a work in progress, however. And I think I do better when I put a font on them. And the primary reason I keep this blog is because it helps me be better at, well, living me, better.

Meh. So much for giving up contemplating my navel, for lint. ::say it out loud, with a alternate spelling, it's better.::

What I have accomplished during my break. So far:
1) Laundry.

2) I stuffed the freezer with three home cooked meals. While this activity doesn't sound much like the hallmark of a relaxing weekend to you, it really is to me. First, I love to cook, as long as I have means, motive and opportunity. ::If you could see my kitchen after I make a yum-cooked meal,you would see the connection to a crime scene.:: Secondly, a well-packed freezer is a huge stress reducer in a hectic work week, and we were freezing on empty. This weekend's menu items included a baked turkey breast, with my favorite Thanksgiving gravy and mashed potatoes. In the freezer: Chunked turkey in gravy.

Another freezer-friendly favorite accompli was Pioneer Woman's Chicken Spaghetti . It makes a huge batch anyway, and I double it. I hit a big sale on chicken breasts last week, so used those, but my favorite chicken choice is a rotisserie chicken from the grocery in that it's easier and less expensive.

Meal number three was Black Bean Cuban Stew. It's a very simple recipe, but the combination of flavors and textures (cilantro and lime are musts), makes it oddly addicting. I puree about 1/3 of the beans for added texture.

3) Cottage Cleaned the house. I invented the Cottage Clean for the house a couple of months ago, when I realized that between the consorted efforts of Cabana and me, we could clean the cottage, top to bottom in less than two hours

4) Knitting.



I finally started my Ingenue (Ravelry link), which was supposed to be knit in conjunction with Kristi knitting hers via a mini-knit-along. I fell behind. Her kids fell sick, which allowed her fall ahead, via midnight fever vigils.

The yarn is Dream in Color worsted. Ruby River (or something) is the color. That first picture does not represent an accurate potrayal of the colors.

This picture is more accurate, and was taken in the car en route to visit college boy, a weekend back.



This shot, well, it makes me think things. You?



I knit on this for several hours yesterday, which was wonderful. Last night I finished up the last shoulder/sleeve increase. A final count of stitches revealed a few a-num-olies (I was short three stitches total), which was fixable merely an extra round of increases. Unfortunately, I also found a blooper of the significant variety: A stitch marker had somehow jumped a stitch, so one of my raglan increase trails kind of, well, trailed off. I typically prefer to rip at the end of the day, so when I pick up the piece again, the pain has been moderately assuaged through the aid of sleep and the Memory Arrangement brain feature.

Today, I kno knit.

Today, I Ascend Maslow's Hierarchy of Beads



I have kind of figured out a workable rhyme and rhythm to making the stitch markers. Through several rounds of trial and error, including a couple faulty, impulsive internet purchases, I have learned following:

1) Don't make faulty, impulsive internet purchases.

2) A cool bead does not always make a cool stitch marker.
3)If you pay $2.00 for a 2 pound bag of random furnace beads, marked "as is", don't expect the beads to possess typical, bead-like attributes, such as symmetry and wholeness. Or holes.

4)If you pay $2.00 for a 2-pound bag of random furnace beads, expect a 2-pound bag of colorful, chipped, tube-shaped marbles.

5) Rubber gloves killed the Superglue Stupid.

6) Remember to lock Bella out of the office when I'm working with the glue. She is cat, therefore, she Must Sit On It. No matter what It is.

I brought some samples of my markers to show at work, and ended up selling about 20 of them. One woman tried snatching the last of one design straight out of another woman's hand. "I'll take those..." Before it came to blows, I promised to make another batch, just for her. She paid up front. Now that I've lazily saturated the local market with product, I should probably seek further marketing horizons. Seeing as how I've not much time and neither am I much of cold call solicitor, I'm going to have to get clever.

Effin' O



My first FO of 09. Socks for a friend at work, who special ordered it through Buy It Now, Get it Later feature at a charity auction.

Yarn: Lana Grossa something.
Pattern: My own, using a 2 stitch cable pattern.

Comments: The cable shows up better in person than in photo. Even in real life, the cable gets a bit lost the marly-ness of this yarn. I will use the pattern again, on a plain colored yarn. And will probably cable every third row instead of every other. This yarn is pretty and the recipient likes it. The pattern was kind of ruined for me when I noted that between the grays, reds and pinks, it brought to mind the insides of freshly imploded road kill. You're welcome.

Oh, Fur Cripes Sake
I found this shot in my camera when I dumped my last picture load.



Just goes to show that we all have our burdens to bear.

Speaking of burdens, the other day Cheddar chewed off another Barbie foot. This time, instead of presenting his usual M.O. of selecting from the daily Pile-O-Barbie on the floor (I mean, they practically ask for it, under those circumstances), he hunted his prey directly from the toy shelf. As punishment, he received two separate verbal chastisements from Cabana and me.

I don't know if it's the steroids he's on for his arthritis, or maybe the consumed Barbie ankle took a bad turn, but after the consecutive tongue-lashings, he went into a full blown, pre-pubescent female snit. First, he refused to eat his "welcome back to the house" treat after his potty break. Rejection of food? Unprecedented.

Usually Cheddar goes to bed with me, after I close up the downstairs. The second that the TV goes off, he moves to the bottom of the staircase and patiently waits for me to lock the door and turn off the lights so I can scoop his butt up the stairs (He has taken a couple bad falls and requires constant supervision on the stairs.)

On the night in question, at about 11:00, with the lights still glaring and T.V. still blaring, he walked to the stairway and scooped his own butt up. When I heard the usually thump-thump-thump of his lame-ass bunny hop, overhead, I thought the house was under seige. When I realized it was him, I was kind of scared to go upstairs. He NEVER goes to bed without me. Ever.

When I walked into the bedroom, his eyes were black with full blown bitch. When I spoke to him in my special Cheddar voice and approached him for a pet, he did not look at me, or assume the Pet Position or wag his tail. Although I did observe a brief quiver in the very tip of his tail, which I immediately feared as a signal he would be lunging for my jugular any moment.

I'm happy to report none of us were mauled, gnawed or angrily humped on our sleep. Well, at least not by a dog.

P.S. I hear California is sending us a possible Snow Day tomorrow. Can you imagine...?

Labels: Knit Done, Knit In Progress

As seasons go, I've never been a big fan of Spring.
First of all, she's mostly kind of ugly. Dirty. Mucky. Bland.

Then there's her weather. It usually sucks.

When Spring weather doesn't acutally suck, around here we tend to get very excited, act like fools, and get all up in its temporarily beautiful, springy face. For example, we prance around the neighborhood, with arms outreached to the sky, and blink our eyes. Rapidly.

Then we walk around, waving to neighbors with whom we never otherwise speak, and yell stupid stuff like "Yay! It's finally Spring! Maybe this year you'll invite us to your little secret backyard BBQs? You think we haven't seen the other neighbors climbing over your back yard fence, with blankets over their heads? And their kids pulling the pony kegs down the sidewalk, in the wagons? For the record, the elephant ears and little Shriner hats on the kegs aren't fooling anyone. and "Can you believe this weather?"

The following day we wake up to 14 inches of snow, with accompanying ice storm warnings, and a tornado watch, to boot.

In fairness to Spring, it's not entirely her fault.
She has a tough job. At least here in Michigan.

After spending a long hard stint with her older brother Winter, we the people are pretty much ready for Spring, on the day she is to officially begin.

It's not her fault that her big brother is a bit of a bully. And a show-off.

Adding insult to injury, is that come late May, when Spring finally gets her wheels, people confuse her with her little sister, Summer.

I know.

So, Spring, I'm sorry you get such a rough go of it. Really.

And even though I still think you kind of suck, could you find it in your dirty, mucky, bland little heart, to lay off the nasty for a few days, while me and my family are stuck in Michigan for Spring Break?

P.S. Have you guys ever considered family therapy?

Making The Best of It
So, we're at the cottage for a few days. This is the first Spring Break we've had up here, with snow still on the ground. And the lake still frozen.

But Sister Spring has been good to us.
And we're making up the thrills as we go.

So far, said thrills have been limited to watching ice melt.











And bugs testing out body parts.



Or giving me stink eye.



Sayeth the Bug: "If I hear that stupid ladybug song one more time, your home and family will be descended upon by a plague of orange and black spotted crunchiness, the likes of which the human world has never seen. And for the record, I'm a guy."

Oh yeah. And I'm knitting a sock.



P.S. I've been working on this post since Friday. The Northern Michigan, rural dial-up has pretty much knocked the internetz right out of me.

P.P.S. If there are mistakes in this post, I'm pretty much leaving them be. I've been kicked out of blogger no less than 12 times in the last 45 minutes.

P.P.P.S. Please embiggen the leaf picture for full impact. The leaf was on the ice, and the ice had just melted around it. Note the rocks on the lake bottom around the melty part.

Labels: Cottage, Knit In Progress, North, Pho-Ho'

I had a more substantial post planned for today, but seeing as how this is our last night at the cottage, and my husband just invited me to the back room to knit by the fire and watch a movie, and I don't much feel like thumb wrestling the rural internet gods so I can type three words in a row without disconnect, I'll just catch you all on the other side.

In the meantime, I'd like to show you this:



I am a sock knitter.
And I did it all by myself.

And it only cost me a couple days out of my life.
And some compromised integrity, of the hygiene variety.



The best thing? I walked around looking like that for most of Sunday, and nobody even noticed. After I finally showered, late in the day, I said to Cabana, "I thought I'd get cleaned up a little."

And he said, in all seriousness, "What do you mean?"
Yes, my peeps, that is love.

Blessings for the New Year, from our grubby little hearts, to yours.

Labels: Cottage, Knit In Progress

Preface Whine
Regarding this here cottage dial-up, I have figured out that I get about 3 "clicks"
per internet connection before getting booted or screen freeze. When it comes to Meaningful Events of Access, i.e. picture uploads or access to Blogger, I have determined my allotment to be about 3 per 12 hour period. And unused events do not carry over.

::I've also determined that the "up" in this "dial-up", is a bit of an exaggeration. In fact, there's nothing "up" about the internet here. "Dial-Over" maybe. And I'm pretty sure the guy in charge of the one internet modem for the county is also in charge of snow plowing and runs the local pizza shop. Therefore, whenever it snows or people are hungry, I'm screwed.::

On With the Snow. This is It.
1) If you read my last post directly from the Google Reader page, without coming to the blog, it may not have made sense. I don't know if bloglines left out the important slashes too. Just sayin'.

2) Friday Snowflake:
In comments on Friday's post, Carole and Kat asked how I caught the snowflake with my camera. ::Sorry I can't link to you right now. I tried. I can't get into my blog.I'm lucky to be here, right now.::

I wish I could share some magical formula, but I got none. I think it was fluke.

The problem I was having with the snowflakes was that the camera auto focus was getting confucused by all the snowflakes and couldn't focus on any one.

So, I set my camera to the "movement" setting and shot while standing close to the cottage, which buffered the amount of snowflakes that fell in front of me, and I started shooting. I took about 15 and all I got was that one good shot, and only because I happened to snap when there were suddenly few snowflakes to compete with. I then turned it into black and white for ultimate contrast, and cropped it. That's all I got.

3) Saturday Sky.



4) Sunday Cottage. Three Doors Down.



5) Monday Sock.* ::And I rock. I do. More on that when I'm all done.::





*You might remember that knitting a sock was on my list of Intendments for 2007, which makes the deadline Monday, 11:59 p.m. And yes, I think I'm in lurve.

I can't finish this post. The internet gods are pretty much dragging my ass up the stairs and are getting ready to throw me into the abyss known as Real Time. I'm hitting publish, as is. I gotta sock to finish.

Labels: Cottage, Knit In Progress, Now You're Whining, Sundry Sunday

I hate Christmas was wonderful beyond my dreams. Christmas Eve I stayed up until 2:00 a.m., ransacking the house in search of my secret booze stash, after knocking off the last legitmate bottle of wine. to make sure the next morning was nothing less than perfect.

Christmas morning, Cakers was up at the crack of ass dawn to open her gifts. Then, while Cakers played with her new toys, I cleaned up the wrapping paper mess and prepared a plan to get myself legally adopted by the lady down the block for mid-morning brunch with the in-laws. No sooner had I finished with all that, when College Boy came over from his father's house, to open his presents.

When my son was done opening his gifts, I was struck by a sudden sense of sadness at not having run away with that rogue band of eunoch bikini waxers, back in college. had a few more kids, with a few more different men, so the gaiety of this morning could have been extended.

After a third round of gift exchange, this time with my in-laws, punch was spiked brunch was served. After the table was cleared,we had a surpise guest: Child phenom Caker Monshaker.



My inlaws left at 2:00, which gave me just a couple of hours to hunt down my former therapist to ask him to: 1) drop the restraining order and 2) Get me a 48 hour inpatient placement, where I would be expected to do nothing but enjoy a medication-induced euphoria and whoozily receive my guilt-ridden visitors. prepare for a round of toxic relational debauchery reciprocal love and joy with my mother, siblings and nieces and nephews, at a party being held later in the evening.

That party went pretty well except for the part where my niece shot my nephew in the neck with a pellet gun and my former SWAT instructor brother had to take her down, to disarm her and then my mom cried., but the highlight of the evening was the presentation of my Tammy Faye Snuff film snowman cupcakes.

And even though most of the little snowman noses fell like panties off a Spears'ass off in transit to the party, my family members were so thrilled with these little fellas that they fought over who would get to implode theirs next in the microwave get first pick.

In fact, by then end of the night there were only two left and I found them in the back room, toasted and nestled between two graham crackers, with a chunk of a Nestle's bar.!

I spent the next day sniffing cleaning supplies and sucking the scalp of Cakers'new wig. cleaning, and the day after that I cleaned up after the cleaning up.

And today, we're at the cottage.
Halya Fucking Loo Ya.

I'm so excited to be here that I don't give a whit about the anticipated 6-10 inches of snow expected between 4 and 11 p.m. today.



Early in the snow shower, the flakes were huge and I wanted to take a picture of one. I received a photography book for Christmas, but it doesn't have anything in it about photographing snowflakes, so I winged it.



Here's to Getting Hosed on New Years
I bet you thought I forgot.
But I didn't.



I'm finished with the leg part. Next, I have to do that stuff that makes sox more than just messing around with a 7 inch tube of glorious substance.

Soxual Heeling, Baybee.

p.s. I meant to have the this post done two days ago. But hey, Shit happens. Shit Happens.

p.s. I REALLY meant to have this post done two hours ago. But hey, Blogger Happens. Blogger Happens.

p.s. I'm ree ree tired and will not be checking publication for typos, grammos or STDS.

Labels: Christmas, Cottage, I Need Therapy Thursday, Intendments, Knit In Progress, Pho-Ho', Too Tired for Pudding

I have more to catch up than the time to do it, but I'm going to try.

Week in Review
It was a busy one.

Thursday: Parent-teacher conference for Cakers. Initially, I had planned to brag here, about all her high achieving ways. But I changed my mind. You see, the most important things I heard from my daughter's teacher is that she is an apt, attentive student and a sweet, gentle friend to all her classmates.

And cute as bug's butt.
::Okay. I added that part.::



Wednesday: Halloween. Of course. ::See picture above.:: The weather sucked much hollow weenie, but it kind of worked out for the best. After two blocks, The Princess In Question was cold and wet and requested to go home to count candy coupe.

Tuesday: We saw John Cougar John Cougar Mellencamp John Mellencamp That John Guy, in concert.

I was never a huge fan, back in his name-changing heyday. But over the years I have developed a nostalgic taste for his music, and find odd comfort in singing along to the oldies I once rejected. Maybe it's because the songs aren't emotionally tainted by any particular memory. Or maybe I'm just getting old and cliche.

Anyway, aside from a lull in the middle of the concert, where he sang a few songs from an album as yet unreleased, it was a pretty good show.

At one point I said to my husband, "What are all these old people doing here?"
"We are these old people," was his reply. And at another point, soon after that point, That Guy John gave a little speech about the failures of "Our generation" and that it's "pretty much over for us." We booed.

Then he said it's time for the next generation to "Get in the driver's seat," which caused the smattering of youngins'in the crowd to whoop and holler.

Included in that group of youngins'were five college-age kids sitting directly in front of us. By the end of the night one of them was so drunk that he could not stand and eventully toppled over into the laps of the old people sitting in front of him. As we exited our row at the end of the concert, this guy was still clinging to the handrail at the bottom of the stairs, propped from behind by two of his buds. I can't imagine how he got up the stairs without crawling or being carried.

I said to Cabana: "If it's their turn in the driver's seat, someone needs to take the damn keys."

No Knitting and Then Some
Remember this?



It's gone, daddy gone.
To frog balls.

I just didn't like the fabric. Too rough.

In the Meantime
My hair stylist had a baby over the summer and just returned to work a few weeks ago. All summer I had good intentions to whip up a little something for the baby. Of course, I waited until the last minute to execute a plan to knit that cute cat, Kate, from Knitty.

After finishing what I believed to be the cat head,I realized it was not the head, but the cat's ass I had been knitting.

Aside: I hope there is no relationship between my inability to know a cat's ass from otherwise and the ultimate ability to make my way safely through the rest of my life.

I could have kept knitting, but that would've meant settling for a color scheme other than my vision for the final product. So I ripped cat's ass to frog balls, and started over. And then I knit a paw. And ripped. And I knit another paw. That one survived, but the third one didn't. Paw number 4 was a keeper.

Even though I'm back on track, all that knitting and ripping and knitting again, put me way behind schedule for meeting today's deadline of the Reunification Cut-n-Color appointment.

I needed a plan B. And fast.

I found that plan in the Baby Cable Hat.



Ain't it cute? I was very excited to find the pattern through a Ravelry search. It wasn't until I had the pattern printed and needles at the ready that I realized the Baby part of the Baby Cable Hat described the cables, not the head size of the intended consumer.

No worries. I adapted the pattern to fit a smaller head. I may not know a cat's ass from a head in the ground, but I can subtract. Sort of.

The tassel is a bit awkward, but I still like it. I kind of made it up as I went along. ::I swear I saw an easy tassel tutorial somewhere recently, but couldn't find it again. No harm done. Those years I spent in seclusion, making yarn dolls, finally paid off.::

The yarn is Mission Falls Wool. Green.

Oh yeah. Here's a sneak preview of two cat paws. I lurve them so much, I'm kinda hating the thought of stuffing and giving them away.



Releaf Pictures
I have taken a lover: The Tree in my front yard.
I'm obsessed.

I've been out there with my camera every day, for the past week. Once I finish a shoot and come back into the house, I will look out and see a new shadow, or angle or unique flash of color, and back I go. Dinner be damned. ::The neighbors think I'm nuts and I'm pretty sure are taking turns with related documentation.::

So, with all due apologies, I hereby present more leaves from My Tree.







Don't worry, it's almost over. The leaves will be off the trees in a few days.

And then we'll only have about 237 more pictures to go.

P.S. I love my Spartans. No matter what.

Labels: Bag-O-Hair, From My Loins, Knit Done, Knit In Progress, Pho-Ho'

Put Your Camels to Bed.

You Think You Know. But You Have No Idea.
For the past 25+ years, I've been operating under the belief that "Heart of Glass" was my all-time favorite Blondie song. Two weeks ago, after driving around town listening to a newly found Once More Into the Bleach, I made a startling discovery: My favorite Blondie song is actually "French Kissing in the U.S.A."

I know.
I felt like such a fool.

I started knitting about 18 years ago. A friend first taught me how to knit a washcloth. Then she taught me how to read a pattern. And then I taught myself cables, intarsia and bobbles, in about a month's time. When I made my first sweater and came to the "picking up stitches" part, I asked my friend what to do and she said "do just what it says, pick up and knit." So that's what I did.

Fast forward--->A week ago, there abouts.

I was finished with the body of Sahara and was ready for the sleeves, starting with the picking up of the stitches, using the method started 18 years ago, as follows:

1) With right side facing, and knitting needle in hand, stab blindly into the fabric.

2) Take a sip of blush wine, being careful not to choke on ice cube.

3) Continue stabbing motion until a strand of yarn shows up on the needle, appearing as a new stitch.

4) Chug whatever is left of the wine-turned-to-water, from the glass.

5) Knit the recently stabbed stitch.

6) Sneak a shot of now-ex-husband's Wild Turkey.

7) Repeat steps 1-6, replacing shots of Wild Turkey for Blush Wine, sans ice, until required number of stitches have been picked up.

I think you get the idea.

The above steps, sans booze, applied to the armholes of Sahara, did not go well. In fact, I'll go so far as to say that the resulting product looked to be quite unwell. Queasy, even.

Of course, I kept knitting anyway. And blamed it on the yarn. Yeah, the yarn. It was, um, moody. Yeah. And all it needed was a good strong knit, including a well excecuted series of short rows.

Ha.

First, I blamed it on the short rows. But in my heart of hearts, I knew I did those right. This time.

So I googled.

And I learned.

And I wondered: How is it that I'm the last to know that when instructed to "pick up and knit" stitches,I am not to pick up an already created stitch, but instead create a new one, a la hooking the yarn through the tiny girl parts of the stitch? And that there is no actual knitting in "pick up and knit?"

Being a bit lazy stubborn in nature, I pretended this ill-be-picked up-thing was going to work out, up until the sleeve was almost done. Then I did a try-on. Then I ripped.

Then I "hooked" up some new stitches, all good and proper.

And then I somehow put the stitch markers for the short rows in the wrong places. This happened when we were in the car, heading north.

Since I had already successfully executed the short rows in the recently executed sleeve,this mistake was easily blamed on my husband, who was driving the car. On purpose. I know.

So I ripped back to the pick up line and started over.
This time I thought the sleeve was going well.
But when it was done, and I tried it on, I saw that it was poufy.



In the directions for the short rows, you are instructed to go 2 stitches past the last wrap, then wrap and turn. Initially I was a bit confused as to whether or not I should go 2 stitches and wrap the third or wrap the second stitch. In looking at previous short row instructions in the pattern, I strongly wondered if they were telling me to wrap and turn the second stitch. So I did.

Given the resulting pouf, I wondered if I had wondered wrong.

After a quick email exchange with Wendy ::Who has been very busy with photo shoots for her new book, so I was very surprised at and appreciative of her almost immediate response. She must get up very early.:: I found out that I actually did the short rows properly and she suggested that I do more decreases.

Which I did. And it was better, but still poufy. Even my husband said it was poufy, and he usually tells me that I am too critical of my knitting.

And now I'm torn.

I really wanted the capped sleeves. But all of a sudden, I'm way over this little desert voyage on the Sahara.

I'm tired of knitting it.
I'm tired of ripping it.
I'm tired of thinking about it.
I'm tired of writing about it.

I got sand in my 'gina and my camel toes are begging for a cool dip.

Even though I don't exactly know what went wrong ::Maybe I have small armpits?::, if I were to try the capped sleeve again, I might reduce the frequency of the short row wraps, and maybe wrap on the third stitch after all. Or cast on for a smaller size sleeve. In a look around blogland, I saw that some finished Saharas had the pouf and some didn't. So yeah, that was helpful.

On the other hand, er, arm, a completed, sleeveless Sahara is just a rip, two pick-up lines and a lacey border away.

And it doesn't help that I'm being taunted by this:



The yarn store near the cottage had 25% off all Rowan. So you know, I had to. ::I also learned that Rowan was bought out by Coats and Clark. I know. What would a couple of 200 year-old explorers want with a yarn company?::

I'm kind of tired of cardigans, so I think I'll do that pattern as a pullover. And yes, I realize there is a stockinette pullover with that trim in the pattern book, but I want the texture of the cardie, in a pullover.

All of a sudden I can't stand the sound of my typing voice. So I'm off for a cuppa and a rippa and to enjoy the sights and sounds of this:



Umm..that would be rain.
That's okay. I didn't recognize it at first, either.

p.s. Thanks for the props on the glasses. I wore reading glasses from 4th grade through my thirties. My closeup vision is now perfect, while my distance is deteriorating a little every year. Suckage.

Labels: Bag-O-Hair, Knit In Progress, When Knitting You is Hurting Me

And rain.



I'm just asking for one day.
One nice, long, chilly, rainy, summer afternoon.
With my girl.
All cozied on the couch.
And away from the fray,
Of children,
Who steal her away,
Every day.
And who,
So rudely,
Never return her
In the condition they found her.
So sweet.
And clean.
And obedient.
And much less beatable.*

On a Sort of Ironic Note**
Presenta Sahara:


Sofara, Sogooda.

So, good nighta.

*Of course I don't. It's just a poemy thangy. But she has being play rope on my last nerve. And it doesn't help that I have some kind of emotional funk shui going on right now.

**Sahara is going well, and we haven't had any rain, and Sahara is a desert, where it doesn't rain.***

***Sorry. Blame it on the rain. Hee.

P.S. Anybody else get hooked on the World Series of Pop Culture? Go Twisted Misters! I see an Alltel commercial in your future...

Labels: I Need Therapy Thursday, Knit In Progress

I finished Mondo when we were at the cottage:



Despite changing the pattern from trapeze style to shaped, it still came out a bit bulky for my frame, at least when worn as a tank top. It does look cute as a vest, over a white blouse, which is how I'll wear it this fall, with khakis.

This is my third knit tank top in as many years, and no offense to any designers, but I've decided that bulky knit tanks are not for me. I think it's the boobs-as-plumb issue. But it will make a cute vest, as has my pink ribbie shell from last year.

Pattern: Mondo, from Chicknits.

Yarn: Gedifra, Aragona.

Size: Small.

Adaptations: I shaped it instead of trapezing it.

Comments: Bonne Marie rocks. Again. It was a quick knit, minus this writer's asstardedness, which required the ripping out and reknitting of a nearly finished front.

Cast-ons Who Can't Commit and The Women Who Loathe Them
I had planned on starting up Sahara right after Mondo. But didn't. In fact, my knit bag was still packed with Sahara fixings from the previous trip north.

After I finished Mondo I didn't knit for several days. Instead, I Sudokued. Every day. Until my eyes bled. I realize I'm a little late to this puzzle party. In retrospect, I suspect it wasn't so much love as it was a nice little excuse of a distraction from the inevitability of facing this:



Yeah. I did it. Courtesy of the tutorial from the fine people at Knitting at Knoon. ::Best Knooner ever.::

::Okay. Second best. Love ya honey!::

Wendy, the designer of the pattern, had offered me another provisional cast-on option, after reading about my cast-on issues in an earlier blog post. Her idea was intriguing and sounded easy enough. It involved casting on to an extra circ needle and leaving it attached.

Ease and intrigue notwithstanding, after a couple knuckle grinding attempts at this method, I now know that one can not master a new skill on admiration alone.

Apparently I possess Provisional Intelligence. ::Ya think?:: So frightened I was by my own stupidity, with crochet hook and needle in hand, I revisited Knitting at Knoon and quickly found myself gellin' like a felon.

I've never knit a pattern like this before, where you start the back and the front from the initial cast-on edge. Brilliant. Really. I just really need to pay attention, because things are kind of upside down from what I'm used to. For instance, what I was supposing to be the right front was actually the left front, but because I wasn't really sure what I was looking at, I made the right front shapings as the left front shapings, and visa versa.

And then there are these M1R and M1L thingies, which, much to my surprise and disappointment, have little to do with the left front or right front and actually have their own purpose of directionality, independent of what side you're working.

::Thus is the life of The Provisionally Intelligent. We laugh. We cry. We wish to pluck out our eyeballs with oyster forks, but instead stop to ponder "Why do oysters need forks? Do oysters have utensil drawers? Their shells are so tiny. Where do they keep them? Should I have the red Jujube or the yellow.?::

Long story short: I had to rip back a few six inches of both sides, and start the front anew.



On the do-over, instead of working both front straps at the same time, I'm only doing one at a time. This way I can really focus on the fucking up. I mean, what's the pleasure of being an idiot if you're all random and shit?

Anyway. So far, so good. Knock on Oyster Shell.

Time Flies Like an Arrow. Fruit Flies Like a Banana.
I seem to have very little time to myself these days, thus the dearth in communication, both bloggic and private.

Not that I don't have things to say. I do.

I just wish I had more time to say them. But I don't.

I think my brain needs a gin and colonic.

Labels: Bag-O-Hair, Knit Done, Knit In Progress, The Casting On Couch

When I was a girl, the last day of school always fell on a Friday. Come Monday morning, after just two days of abbreviated revelry, momma would march our reluctantly sinful asses off to two weeks of Vacation Bible School.

Hateful.

The church we attended was high on the Bible Thumpery scale, as were most of its constituents. Our family, on the other hand, while regularly church-going, was not that Thumpy.

Not-That-Thumpy as we were, we still held the Lord in high regard. Therefore, year after year our mother had us over the barrel of fear, in her stated expectation that we attend VBS. I mean, to say that you're not that "into" Vacation Bible School was akin to saying "No thank-you, Baby Jesus." Saying "No Thank-you, Baby Jesus" was akin to sending out handwritten invitations to pestulence, disease, immaculate-conceptions- minus-the-celestial-beings-to-vouch-for-your-hymen* or a broken Etch-a-Sketch knob that limits you to right hand turns, for all eternity.

I know.

So off we'd go. If not for the impeccably imperfect timing, Vacation Bible School wasn't all that bad. For one thing, none of the snobby rich kids from regular Sunday School were there. I once asked one of those Sunday School girls why she didn't go to VBS.

"Vacation Bible School is for bringing The Lord to non-believers. It's for the Neighborhood kids.

"But I'm a neighborhood kid."

"I know."

Another good thing about VBS was the treats. At the end of every session, we were offered a tiny dixie cup of room temperature kool-aid and a handful of pink frosted animal crackers.

You're jealous, already.

The very best thing about VBS, however, was the missionaries.

The church I attended was very big on Bearing Witness or Giving Testimony. The most important personal Testimony was the story of how one came to accept Jesus Christ as one's Personal Savior. The more miracles in the story, the better.

The other type of Testimony was the sharing of specific incidents of bringing others to the Lord. ::i.e. keeping score.:: Because missionaries often went on hiatus during the summer months, there was aways a plentiful supply for Bearing Witness to the poor, apparently unsaved children of my neighborhood.

One regularly visiting missionary family was based in Applachia.While their stories were not very exotic, the father could play a saw as a musical instrument ::hand saw, not the powered kind.::. He was also a ventriloquist.

The missionaries from Africa and South America always had the best stories.I'm not sure if that is because of the vastness of the geographical and cultural differences or because there was little chance of anyone in the audience being able to challenge their accounts. They also dressed in the traditional garb of their host nation, grossed us out with stories of eating grubs, drinking tea seeped from dirt and pooping in a hole behind the hut. All in the Name of the Lord.

There was one missionary tale that I never tired of hearing. It was the one about the piranhas. I had never heard of a piranha until I went to Vacation Bible School. According to my very reliable VBS source, a school of piranha can clean the flesh from the bones of a live, full-size cow so quickly that, within minutes of an unfortunate plunge, the cow was nothing but a skeleton. And a heart. Still beating.

I know.

After that heartwarming warmup,the next piece of the story is the one that kept me up nights.It was about the little Peruvian boy. Yup.

Just one day after accepting Jesus Christ as his Personal Savior,this little boy fell off of the family raft, into the Amazon, which just happened to be teeming with ravenous piranhas.

The boy floundered in the water more than long enough to meet the Fate of the Cow. But he didn't. The Newly Born Again Child was pulled from the murky,deadly waters, fully fleshed. That's right. With not even a razor burn. It was a miracle.

The lesson: Through accepting Jesus Christ as Your Personal Savior, you will never die by the teeth of flesh-eating fish, which remains as the number one urban child's nightmare.

Needless to say, every time that story was shared, in that chapel filled with sticky, muggy neighborhood children, many Souls Were Saved.

That Being Said
This post was intended to be about a current frustration with my having wasted the first two weeks of a perfectly good summer, on a worthless endeavor. But apparently I digressed.

And the above segue to the real post had a surprise, happy ending...so where was I?

Oh Yeah.
Mondo. I spent the first two weeks of summer working on Mondo.

On Sunday afternoon, I was this far on the front. Just minutes from casting off.



But there was a problem. Notice the straps? One is thicker than the other.



After recounting both armhole and neckline cast-offs, I realized my problem ran deeper than that. Inherently deeper. And stupider.

Remember how I was all bragging and shit on how I was adjusting the pattern to be shapely instead of tently?

Yeah?
Well.

The adaptation included changes in the number of cast-on stitches. Easy Peasy?

Yeah?
Well.

To the Left. To the Left.
Unfortunately, I forgot to take that change into account while counting out stitches for the cable placement. In row fucking one. I needed to be four stitches to the left. In row fucking one.

A Dingo Ate My Baby
It was more like a swarm of steely-toothed piranhas.

In a flurry of ravenous mania, the ill beknittin piece was reduced, in minutes, to nothing but skeleton.

And heart balls. Still beating throbbing.



I know.

The Sure Skank Redemption
In retrospect, I guess Vacation Bible School wasn't all that bad. I now realize that it takes more than two weeks of mandated exposure to under-strengthened kool-aid, flannel boards or my own stupidity, to ruin a perfectly good summer.



Shirley Goodness.

*The story of the immaculate conception always scared me when I was young. What if it happened again? To me? And no one believed? Not that I thought I was anything special. I mostly thought I was everything unlucky.

Labels: Deep Shit, Knit In Progress, Yore

What The Butt?



This photo recently adorned the cover of a family-oriented clothing catalogue. Not only is the image totally creep, I'm pretty sure I went to college with that kid.

Real Knitting. No,Really.
I figured, WTF. It's Wednesday.



I finished the back of Mondo and have cabled twice on the front. I'm straying from the trapeze styling of the pattern on account of my deciding that Trapeze + Boobeze = Frumpeze. I'm giving it a bit of shaping, which I'm making up as I go along. Shut up.

I Dulaan
Du yu?

You've probably, all 17 remaining readers, been wondering how I've been coming along on my pledge to knit five articles of clothing for the Dulaan project.

Well, all 17 remaining readers, I'll tell you. I've been coming along fine. After I finished the yellow sweater, I told my husband that I needed to get crunching on four more items, to meet the deadline. He then reminded me that I still had several hats in storage, which were intended for a local charity last winter, but were never delivered. Five hats, to be exact.

I just love it when a disorganization comes together.



And then I remembered this sweater:



I still like this sweater, but it's kind of impractical for the local climate. If it's mild enough to wear it as a jacket, it's too mild for the attached scarf. If it's cool enough for the scarf, then it's too cold...aw, you get it. I only wore it once, on a crisp fall day, and nearly suffocated.

So, that gives me 7.

I spent the day slogging through the usual post-vacation debris, both physical and mental, whilst keeping an eye on Cakers, who was catching up on the neighborhood pack. And yes, the previous statement was yet another lame attempt at making yet another lame excuse on another lame post.

A post of which I now find myself at the end.

Labels: Knit In Progress, WTF Wednesday