The Stitch Witch

Dear Crabby Yarn Shop Lady,

I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me for today's obvious intrusion upon your quiet time. After all, while the "OPEN" sign outside your shop lured me in, it was clear from the withering glare you directed at me that OPEN really meant CLOSED. Having never met you before, I was somewhat taken aback; strangers usually don't dislike me until I've opened my mouth but perhaps there's a secret mark on my forehead that's visible only to bitchy yarn shop owners. Despite this, I would like you to know that you needn't have expended any energy on the glare. The overwhelming stench wall of Glade PlugIn that greeted me at the door was a clear indicator that you were determined to drive away everyone or at least those of us in possession functional olfactory nerves. Perhaps it's a sign of yarn snobbery (something I am occasionally guilty of) but I expect that wool should smell like wool, not a craptastic chemical interpretation of lavender. IFear not, O Crabby Yarn Shop Lady, I'd sooner spin and knit pit bull fur than set foot in your intentionally smelly and unfriendly shop ever again. 

Love,

Erica

Bridges, books, and grey hair

Been spending a ridulous amount of time driving as of late. or at least it feels that way...

(Zakum Bridge, around 10:30 sometime last week) 

My former MIL's been having some health issues recently so we drove out to see her last weekend. Along the way, I disovered that Rhinebeck's a hell of a lot closer than I thought. As in 30 minutes before Grandma's house. Hmmmm....

Anyway, Grandma was having a 'no pictures, please' sort of day (something every 86 year old woman's entitled to) so, instead, we have scenery  (Mid Hudson Bridge, late afternoon, on computer enhanced dreary overcast afternoon)

Until this past week, there's been very little knitting. Around mid-June, the middle joint of my right thumb blew up like a balloon which put the kibosh on  pretty much everything but reading. Not a terrible way to spend my free time. A quick look at this summer's reading:

Sizzling Sixteen, Janet Evanovich. Phooey. Yes, that's my official review.

Your Money or Your Life (2008 revised ed), Vicki Robin & Joe Dominguez (revised by Vicki Robin & Monique Tilford). My first copy, purchased some 15 years ago, met an unfortunate demise this summer when it was left outside (oops!) and soaked by a heat wave induced thunderstorm. A bad ending for a good book. I've read it enough times that a replacement wasn't necessary but I was curious about the update and I just like having it around. Stuff that's less relevent or that's easily accessed on the interwebs was trimmed out, the numbers are updated to better reflect the times, and it incorporates a bit more of a crunchy granola global perspective.  For me, my anti consumerism tendencies, and my dreams of simple living, it works well. Those who like to accumulate money for the sake of accumulating stuff would probably hate this book.

The Canon, Natalie Angier. Angier loves loves LOVES science -all of it- and, in writing this book, had an excuse to interview hundreds of scientists who were passionate about their fields. How cool is that? This a great book for reviewing the basics (especially helpful when you've got 4 science minded kids around the house) and getting an overview of science topics you've been avoiding (calibration, anyone?). PLUS, there's an enormous, wonderful section of references in the back, just in case you're compelled to learn a little more.

The New Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain, Betty Edwards.  For years, I drew and painted and somewhen in time, I stopped.  I'm reading this in an effort to get the mojo back and maybe learn a little about art at the same time. Interesting so far.

And the grey hair marches on

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Still haven't quite mastered the peering over the glasses "What the hell do you want, whippersnapper?!" look so I still occasionally end up with more of a 'frog eye peering out of the pond effect' The urge to crop it all down to the 2 inches or so of white growth is....well, ever present.

Waiting for the snow

Working in retail is not entirely conducive to accomplishing one's last minute holiday knitting. But, there is this   Snow sky. I work 30 minutes to the south, about 12 miles from Boston and in 12 hours, Mother Nature's cutting loose with a bit of a Nor'easter. It is quite selfish of me to wish interrupted holiday shopping and hours of shoveling upon the citizens of eastern Massachusetts so I can knit uninterrupted, but I don't care.

"The secret of staying young is to live honestly, eat slowly, and lie about your age." -- Lucille Ball

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Today, I am 40 and I'm fairly pleased about it, though that might be slightly influenced by  the muscle relaxants for my back.  I think I'll give most of the credit to the sunshine, though. 

Blue skies and sunshine can cure just about anything, especially when doled out in the miniscule portions we've experienced lately. In fifth grade, I read a Bradbury short story called All Summer In a Day. It's a quick story, but for those who aren't going to read it, it takes place on Venus where the sun only shines for 2 hours every 7 years.  It's beginning to feel a bit like that.  Bah.

There's no knitting happening right now. I'd actually started a post last night about being careful about getting what one wishes for with respect to being laid up and having lots of knitting time, but I was under the influence of back drugs and completely incoherent. As is my knitting right now. Cabled knitting + 10mg of Flexeril = much frogging.  I knit and reknit the same four rows enough times to convert the wool into a rat's nest and ended up pitching it. (just the rat nesty part, not the whole skein)

Because I was incapable of being even remotely productive (or sitting upright for that matter) I lounged on the couch and watched The Devil Wears Prada. Twice.  I indulged in a What Not To Wear intermission between Prada viewings.

You're right, my personal fashion statement consists of jeans, V neck shirts with 3/4 length sleeves, and Doc Martens in varying hues. And geek glasses. Got nothing to offer for an explanation here, just that occasionally I enjoy this stuff. OK, and I have a HUGE crush on Clinton Kelly and his argyle. No wonder I'm single. 

Anyway, enough about my closet fashion addiction (terrible pun intended), admire the peppers. Despite the lack of sun, they're actually thriving. I don't know that's about, especially since the pickling cukes have officially shuffled off to the Great Garden In The Sky, the tomatoes are looking a little pale (though it's been coool enough to futz with their ability to fix nitrogen so I'm not worried, yet) and the peas...

...the peas are small and pale and look like hell, but they are starting to flower. I don't know, the plants that usually thrive are failing and the plants that usually fail are thriving. It's a topsy turvy spring in the garden.

Indoors, the book culling has been temporarily suspended til the magical day where I can bend over and pick up more than a book at a time. No, no, I would never lift while bending, especially right now when I can't really bend at all. Though, the stacks are tall enough that adding to them requires no bending.  More than another foot taller, and they'll likely be a bookalanche hazard, though. These guys are going to the library sale, unless I can motivate myself enough to sell them online. I briefly debated bringing a bunch of them to the local used bookstore for credit, but that'd result in many, many "new to me" books coming home and that's not the purpose of this exercise.  It is tempting, though.

Frankensock, part 1

I've gotten into the less-than-brilliant habit of not keeping track of (roughly) how many rows I've knitted when I'm working on the leg of a sock. Usually, I just measure out leg #2 and when it reaches the length of leg #1, it's onto the heel. Worked like a charm, up until a pair I knitted this past holiday season. It's pretty likely I was bordering on comatose when I was operating the measuring tape and I managed to make nearly a 3/4" error that revealed itself after washing and blocking (mistake doesn't show much in the pic because I was busy trying to minimize the yellowing effect of the flourescent lighting and totally overlooked camera angle. oh well.)

And, yes, it is late April and, yes, I am just now fixing the sock. Procrastination is my favorite deity. Anyway, I spent a fair amount of time considering various fixes (ignoring it was NOT an option, though that did flit through my mind once or twice while tossing and turning in the predawn hours) and finally decided to remove most of one pattern repeat just below the cuff and then graft the sock back together.

I know that you probably know a better way to do this, but I won't be in the frame of mind to hear about it for a few more days. Probably after I've sewn Mr Sock back together again. The advantage to starting such a foolish endeavour in a bookstore I used to work in is that the staff kept me amply supplied with chocolate when they saw I was correcting knitting stupidity while possibly committing an even greater act of stupidity.

This morning, I sat in the sun and finished beheading Mr Sock. Then I carefully removed the offending excess, all the while wishing that I wasn't too civilized to drink before noon. Stupid noon rule. Then I spent the afternoon with friends, conspicuously ignoring the mess I'd started.

Eventually, I found myself back at the bookstore stuck with the reality that I'd committed myself to grafting 144 stitches in K1P1 and I hadn't the faintest clue as to how. So I resorted to my favorite avoidance technique and read 2 books on skateboarding instead. Then I went home and did the research and I'll try it out Monday, after a long bike ride.

A trip to the frog pond

My Amazing Lace buddy, Lotus Blossom suffered a (few) fatal errors at the hands of her inept teammate, moi. The first one was a whopper & is proof positive that I should never, ever operate knitting needles while chronically exhausted. (BTW, pic was taken on a breakroom table under flourescent lights by an exhausted and frazzled knitter. As messed up as it was, it wasn't this ugly) If you look at the bottom of the picture, you'll see a raised section that doesn't quite fit in. I did that on KIP day, after no sleep & on my lunch break during a crazy day at the bookstore. Weather was lousy so the NHSnB met in the cafe & I was determined to knit with 'em. Yeah, well probably I should have stopped when Kat tried to do me a favor and reminded me where the yarn was supposed to be when I resumed knitting, because even with her attempt at saving me, I still managed to flip it around and knit the wrong side for several rows. Best part-I didn't notice until yesterday after futzing with it a while & realizing that, no, that bumpy part wasn't going to block out. Dumbass. I intended to ignore cos that's the part that kinda folds over and it'd be covered by my hair but then I noticed that I'd managed to switch a yarn over with a knit stitch in not one, but TWO places. Sigh. I spent half an hour envisioning variations of the intrepid and fearless fix recently chronicled at Yarn Harlot, but decided that something I'd fucked up that royally really deserved a second chance at a relatively mistake free life (after all, we're teammates) and ripped her off the needles before I re-re-reconsidered. I loathe waffling, especially in myself. Now we're back at row 11 and moving along at a decent clip as I gained lots of experience with my first go-round. Bringing it to the doctor's tomorrow for company at my first physical in oh, a very, very, long time. That's a tale for later.

Pecked to death by ducks

So, let me start with the punchline: the yarn I purchased for W disagrees with my flu-irritated lungs so much that I can't stop coughing when I'm handling it. It's roughly 40% mohair. Even better, I went work on Josh's sock today and discovered that wool now also induces coughing, though it isn't as severe as the mohair effect. Because I'm still coughing a lot in general, I'm not too keen on wearing a mask to facilitate knitting because, well, yuck. I'm left wondering precisely how horrible I must have been in a previous life because clearly no knitter deserves this sort of punishment unless she was very, very, bad. You know, like psycho killer bad. Or falsely accusing people of witchcraft bad. Seriously bad. Sigh. Kat suggested Clapotois, which was one of my original options, but I'm thinking something in a non cough inducing ribbon might be my safest bet at this point. I've got Colinette Giotto in Lapis & Lichen & I'm going to hit the pattern books tonight & see what I can come up with. (Okay, I also want to mention at this point that Nick has conjunctivitis & there's no way he can go yarn shopping w/me tomorrow so I have to work from the stash)

patience & fortitude

The tragic tale of a dumbass knitter:

Saturday evening, Kat patiently spent an hour and fifteen minutes coaching me through the Kitchener stitch so I could finish up Josh sock #1. I then spent the weekend doing a happy sock dance & gloating about my knitting prowess and the fact that I'd actually completed something (well, half of a pair, but still it's not a UFO on the sticks). Tonight, at work, I commented to Kat that it seemed a bit wide through the toes but I'd followed the instructions. Kat agreed that it seemed a bit wide and mentioned that usually the last rows are all decreases. Not my instructions, I say. They were for every other row. Then I pull out the book just to be sure and realize that, indeed, I had not misread the directions, but just somehow skipped over the single line that told me that once I'd gotten down to 46 stitches, I was to decrease every row until I got to 20 stitches. I was somewhat aghast at my stupidity and much sulking, rending of clothing, tearing of hair, & chocolate consumption ensued (there might have been a threat or six of suicide as well. I'm not sure, I was rather hysterical). After I'd sort of calmed down, I realized that undoing the toe would probably send me screaming over the edge, so I handed sock, a few #1s, and a darning needle to Kat, who kindly & patiently took a half hour or so to undo the f-ing Kitchener stitch she'd wasted over an hour of her Saturday night on. Tonight, I'm knitting the rest of the toe but have been firmly admonished by Kat that I really ought to wait until I go over her place Sunday night before I have another go at the Kitchener. I suspect she'd prefer to not have to calm me down and clean up another one of my messes.  So, at this point, Kat's getting 2 bottles of wine (as opposed to my whining) and I'm thinking dinner, plus a supply of valium in anticipation of my next bout of stupidity.

Fiber mayhem

So, last November, there was an unfortunate incident involving a skein of blue/green Cherry Tree Hill supersock, hard cider, and a swift. Kat has been patiently detangling it ever since (and I did tell her it was OK to just burn the stuff because, honestly, that's what I would have done to that mess) and had made some pretty significant progress. Tonight, at Kat's, we handed it to Vickie with the idea that she'd at least be playing with yarn while the rest of us knitted. Oh my. I don't know what happened and I was there the entire time but she had the untangled part of the skein looped over her arm to prevent retangling, she was patiently sorting through the biggest knots and I swear the entire skein regurgitated itself onto her (perhaps in an attempt to strangle her? I'm not sure) and somehow ended up a bigger disaster than when she started. She ended up taking the mess home and is determined, well, to win this little wool vs woman confrontation. If she manages to untangle it, I'll knit her some funky blue-green socks.

Other sock news: one Josh sock is complete. I really like these socks and have determined that if I ever again decide to gift a man with size 11 socks knitted on #1 needles, he has to live with me so I can wear them too. Anyway, I started the other, got in 1 1/2 inches and determined that I ought to have used the other skein (liked the color enough that I bought 3) cos the color's closer to the one I used for the other sock. D'oh! We'll see-I might still make the Groundhog's Day deadline.

And I've been on vacation this past week. Had a great time catching up with friends, relaxing, knitting, and even purged the closet. Back to work tomorrow. Sigh.

stash management

In anticipation of spending next week knitting, quilting, & reading, occasionally venturing out to meet with friends, and otherwise doing nothing-yup, n o t h i n g-I've been doing some serious housework this week. Oh my. After I'd removed yarn & fabric (plus 2 pairs of scissors I received for Christmas)from the closets, the back of the minivan, under the bed, the bookscases...well, it's pretty horrifying. One might accurately call it an embarrassment of fibers & textiles. And there's a bit of guilt skulking around my conscience, probably left over from too many childhood trips to the confessional every Saturday as I try to convince myself I purchased all of this glorious, colorful, yarn and fabric (and beads and charms and Angelina Fibers and threads and various doodads) with specific intentions. Because the other option is that I purchased it impulsively, mindlessly, thoughtlessly and one could even say, greedily, and I wouldn't want to think/admit that about myself, would I? Yeesh. So, this week, I bite the bullet, catalog the excess, and start assigning a few projects and deadlines and completing my WIPs and see if I can't winnow things out a bit. The Quilting Arts calendar challenge is due March 10 and I've been fairly half-assed about it.  Yarn Harlot has issued a challenge for those psycho enough to participate in the 2006 Knitting Olympics (hey, come on, there's a deadline, a cool button for your blog, and you get a gold star if you finish! Neato! I'm signing up today.) Practical thing to do is to go back to what I used to do when I wrote (a long time ago, folks. maybe someday again.) & get up an hour before the rest of the universe & get to work. And no more yarn or fabric until NHS&W this May.