Surly Knitter

Have you ever had a really great thought...

2012-01-27T21:09:00.000-05:00

then went to write it down and it was gone?

Granted, as a writer, my best thoughts tend to get lost in the ether (or at least that's what I think happens, they have to go somewhere between my head and the page, 'cause the Gods know they ain't makin' it all the way down my arms) but I had an interesting thought this morning right before it fled for warmer climes.

No worries, I got it back. Hey, I'm here, telling you all about it, aren't I?

This is an illustration of all the tv watching I "need" to do -- minus the billion hours stored on my TiVo. I spend at least an hour a day online, surfing Ravelry, free knit patterns and just hanging out reading stuff. I read a lot, although probably not as much as I'd like.

And then today, I was catching up on some of my TiVo backlog and started musing on the lives I see people on tv lead. Granted, most of them aren't earning the money they'd need to spend to support that lifestyle in real life, but they all seem so excited. So engaged. And I started wondering how I can be that excited about and engaged in my own life. I mean, I can be pretty happy with very little, so why shouldn't I be excited and engaged?

I started watching more and more shows, but this time watching them in the same way I read a really good book -- what's really going on, what do I think about this or that or the other, how do I connect emotionally and what does that mean -- and I noticed something...interesting.All the people on tv who seem the most engaged and excited are doing things. Not sitting and watching, but up and doing. As in, they don't seem to own a tv. Or spend that much time in a movie theater, come to it.

I know I had a problem with my CSI jonze, and I gave it up cold turkey (the shaking stopped after two days). I don't know if I could give up all tv and movies cold turkey, though. I'm a story teller and I enjoy a good story myself now and again. I also like to keep an eye on the competition.

But, perhaps, I need to strictly limit my tv time. Only watch shows I know I want to watch and rely on friends to keep me up to date on the new stuff upcoming. Maybe if I could get rid of my story addiction (the intake part), I could increase the stories (in quantity and quality) I put out? At least, I might be able to get out more, although I'm not sure I really care to do so. But I could, if I wanted, and it's the freedom that's key.

I have a bad feeling I've replaced CSI with Bones, and that's not a good thing. Maybe I'm getting too passive. Maybe I need to become more active in my life. You know, actually go out and live it instead of sitting in my chair, under my blankets, watching someone else do the living in my stead.

Sigh. I don't know why I'm posting about this, other than..this blog is my diary (of sorts) and I need to organize my thoughts a bit. I don't know if I'll be able to go on a complete media diet, although I might be able to do a week-long purge, but it's something to think about, no? And what would I do if I gave up all tv for even a week? Probably read, although isn't that just replacing one media format with another? Where would I go? What do I even want to do that I'd be willing to give up tv and books for?

And I have until May before the new season of Sherlock airs in the US, so that would give me two months to make up my mind, do a short term purge (or two or three) before I'd have to break my media diet for some yummy, yummy, yummy Sherlock and Watson action.

Sounds like I'm cheating on my diet before I even begin it!

So, how's that French going?

2012-01-25T20:42:00.000-05:00

Uh, it's not.

I've been using Live Mocha. It's nice -- the exercises are interesting so far, and I like hearing native speakers as I read -- but it's an adjustment in terms of how I've learned languages in the past. Plus you need a microphone to complete the exercises. I have one. Somewhere. I don't know where, though.

Oops.

In other news, I did get some work done today. Go me! I feel like I've been doing heavy lifting, which is utterly ridiculous, I haven't.

Although my back does hurt.

Anyway, I'm exhausted, so I'm going to go watch the rest of this disc of the "Bones Season Three" DVD set I got from the library and drink some hot tea. And, just because I know people like looking at pretty pictures:

Bonsai!

It's a Monday again, isn't it?

2012-01-23T22:32:00.000-05:00

How does that happen? Seems like it was just Friday. Sigh.

I need to get myself in gear. Next week I start my nanny gig and I've still got four books or so to go through. At least I'm finding a focus on my research -- I know what I need to know. Now I just have to...well, learn it. Wish me luck.

In other news:

I'm trying to pick up my French again. Last time I studied, I was 13 or so, but I recall being fairly fluent in conversational settings. The grammar was fairly easy. If you're learning a new language, pray to God the grammar is simple. Vocabulary is the overlay; that's...simple. Grammar, though, now grammar is tough.

Don't believe me? Try learning German. Everything conjugates. Everything. It's like trying to recite Shakespeare while doing a semaphore rendition of Beat poetry from 1956 at the same time.

Also, I went and got supplies for Nieceling's European Trip Scarf:

I liked these -- they're topaz colored, not gold, per se. They work well with the yarn:

I almost went with a clear glass bead with a silver center, but changed my mind when I pulled these off the hook. The clear made the yarn look cold, but the topaz makes it a bit warmer.

I'm going to have to knit the scarf in two pieces and seam them in the center. The beads will be heavier at the ends, then random father up the scarf. I don't want to over-weight the bottom -- I love my Little Loki, but the weight at the ends makes wearing it impractical at best, a choking hazard at worst. I'm hoping if I spread the weight of the beads along the length of the scarf, it won't be quite so choky-choky.

Hoping.

I get myself into some of the worst situations.

2012-01-21T20:17:00.000-05:00

Oh, nothing fatal, just...embarrassing. And why do I, on reflection, have such a hard time spelling "embarrass"? I always forget the second 'r'. Now, that's embarrassing.

In other news, no new knitting. I've been shockingly lazy. I did a couple more rows on my shawl -- which now takes quite a long time all on its own -- and got the final design on Nieceling's European Vacation Shawl. Simple chevron and I'm going to have to figure out how to place the beads where I want them. And figure out how I'm going to handle knitting in the eye-searing yarn.

I'll also have to buy the beads. I'm thinking...iridescent. Lovely. Gold or silver won't work, not with such an insanely colored yarn. Let me see if I can remind you of it's full, horrifying glory:

Ok, ok, I like it. A lot. It's just a hot jade with neon pink, yellow and orange strung through it.

Eh, wish me luck.

Crap left to do this week.

2012-01-18T16:05:00.001-05:00

Sigh.

That's the pile of books I have to finish going through before Friday this week. It's amazing, you know, how quickly you forget your research skills once you get out of school! I've had these things for the past little while and have been slowly skimming them. As I do, the focus of my researches changes as I find new things that lead to other new things.

Oh, darn my insatiable curiosity!

The upshot of it all is, I've gone through...three of those books. Three. I've got four more, and one of them I'm going to try to keep longer. I have notes of all the titles and authors and call numbers (so I can find them again if needs be), and I know what direction I ultimately want to take the research in, but all that information is just dazzling to my teensy-weensy little mind. God help me, I want to read all those books cover to cover (which, in the course of regular research, I wouldn't bother with).

But I must be getting on with it! I begin half-time nannying in two weeks, so I can contemplate trips to further my researches, as I'll actually have money for gas. And I also want to save up so I can take a longer trip to a place that will give me the right atmosphere for the book I want to write -- Montreal. Well, anywhere in Quebec, actually. I need to get the sounds and culture right, and the closest I can get anymore (if I don't want to get Yellow Fever on the bayou) is Quebec.

You know, I don't even speak French. This is going to be complicated. But dream big! If you consistently dream small, you only ever accomplish small things. I'm going to try this out -- what the hell, I've got nothing but time -- and if it doesn't work, it doesn't work, but at least I'll have no regrets.

I even knitted some stuff.

2012-01-16T22:06:00.001-05:00

Really, I did. To wit:

Betty's new clothes -- a tea cozy for Betty. The stitches are a bit loose, yes, but the fabric of a cozy doesn't need to be absolutely solid. That is especially true for this one, as it's made of pure wool. It works well, I've made three pots of tea and kept them warm in the time since I made this cozy.

Now I'm planning a second and a third cozy for her -- I think I'll do a traditional welted model out of some of the great masses of Knit Picks Palette yarn I have, maybe these colors:

and then maybe use my leftover Mochi Plus to make her a woven-looking one with an i-cord bow on top. I have a pattern for a tea cozy where the fabric looks woven, although it's just garter stitch that's had leftover yarn run up and down through the stitches. I like the effect, and I think the colors and thick-and-thin nature of the Mochi will work well with the pattern.

Also, I've made progress on my shawl.

This is a macro view, stockinette and lace pattern section. I tried to get a picture of the lace pattern, but I had the camera too close to the shawl so all the pictures turned out blurry. This is the best one I could get:

I really need to work on my photographic skills.

My allergies have been working overtime this month, so I've gotten little enough done on everything: Writing, reading, knitting. My face feels swollen (that's actually just my sinuses beneath) and one of my eyes is so bloodshot it looks like I haven't slept in months. Tonight before bed I intend to use the anti-mold spray (ok, ok, Lysol makes a stink-spray for the purpose, although I wonder if vinegar won't work just as well) so that, hopefully, my allergies won't be as big of a problem tomorrow.

Actually, I did some work on my big 2012 writing project today. I've started on my research and have found about seven books to work through initially, a few places I need to actually visit for further research using items that are only in those locations and some basic plotting I need to do, but at least I got started on my research. I'm getting the shape of the knowledge I'm going to need to pull this off, and I'm fully aware of how much I don't know, which is a little daunting. But at least I know how much work I'm going to have to put into this. I've got two full weeks and two week days before my day gig starts. That's quite a bit of work I can get done.

If nothing else, it should keep me quiet.

I'm blogging, I swear.

2012-01-06T18:58:00.000-05:00

Not that anyone really minds if I take a holiday, but I'm trying to get back into a schedule of some sort so I can feel human again. Those holidays, whew.

I've made no progress on the tea cozy (although now I think I need to dig a second ball of yarn out of the stashtainer, to whit the second one of these:

which is delaying me a tiny bit), but I did get some research done and take back some books to the library. Go me! Now I just have to keep going with it.

Sunday I'm taking the morning and taking myself to cinema. Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy is playing at a theater close-by that my friend gave me passes for, so I'm going to have a mini-day off. I can't tell you how excited I am, and how I truly hope the movie isn't a disappointment. I built up the idea of a certain movie to such an extent that I'm hard pressed to believe any movie could keep up with it, but this one has Gary Oldman in, so it can't be that bad.

Today I had my first day of nannying. Oh, yes, didn't I say? That's what I'm going to be doing for the next little while for cash. It's my cater-cousin's children, so...pseudo-nephews (one of whom is my godson). The older one tried to play me today. My, my, how soon they forget that I did earn the sobriquet "Evil Aunt K" for a reason! He did not win. I won. I am full of win. :-)

And now it is time to go eat some dinner (before my blood sugar drops so low I start singing to you), watch the end of the CSI episode I was watching before I left and read a bit before bedtime. I might even knit some -- although probably on my shawl, not the tea cozy -- before bed. Tomorrow is Saturday, a busy, busy day.

But let me leave you with a Photo of Zen:

(I love this thing! Am I weird or what?)

Snow on snow

2012-01-03T21:31:00.000-05:00

I remember singing that song in college and hating the soprano soloist for doing something I couldn't do: sing alone. I have a...well, a thing about being visible. Heck, I blog but very few readers know who I am in real life. I don't advertise that I blog to most of my friends and family, either. I like to keep myself to myself, if you know what I mean.

Very Victorian of me, really.

Why the bleak midwinter reference? This:

Snowed like the Dickens yesterday. All day long, really. Kinda pretty, although it made me a bit sad. Why?

My poor metal flutterby! He looked so cold, particularly with the snow drifts covering his wings. I wanted to make him a little muffler, and maybe an antennae warmer or two. Don't really know why I didn't; wouldn't have taken long, would it?

So I got out my boots from last year (the boots that saw more wear in one week last January than they've seen thus far this winter) and trudged about once the snow started really falling to take pictures. Then I came in, shucked them and got myself a hot drink (cocoa, you drunks, just cocoa). When I came back, I realized what a charming picture the below made:

and got a shot. Well, all except the bag of shoes hanging next to the tree. Still and all, the tree makes me feel a bit more jolly -- which is an accomplishment, as January sucks like a Dyson. I hate winter, hate it like oatmeal, and I can't wait for spring again. January, in particular, is a hard month for me. It's the trifecta of things I hate: cold, dark and colder still. Blech.

Almost makes me long for April, despite tax season and all.

I haven't knitted in a while. I've been to hell and gone today (got up at 7:15 -- barely a Christian hour, if you ask me -- walked, did my newest volunteer gig, took my laundry to my brother's house as our washer is kaput, nabbed the children and took them to the historical society to see the exhibits -- which was cool -- and then took them home, got my mother, took her home, went out to get dinner. Ate. Logged on to blog. Feh.) I've gotten nothing done in the last day or two.

I was going to finish up the reading I need to do from last year, finish it yesterday, in fact. Then I glued 8 of my fingers together (Don't. Ask. No, really, don't ask.) It took an hour with acetone-based fingernail polish remover to stop looking like a burn victim. And I learned a very important lesson: When working with acetone, if you pour it down a sink, don't, for the love of Baby Jesus, stand over the sink and turn the water on. The acetone fumes will curl your hair. Or burn your nostril hair out, which is what happened to me. Cough, cough.

Whatever, what with de-glue-ifying my hands, I got less read yesterday than on any regular day in my life. Then today...sigh. Running all around.

The argument could be made that I shouldn't be online blogging, I should be offline, curled up in my blankets, doing my reading. I have an awful lot of it to do, you know. Perhaps I should, but I had to blog. I have to get myself back in the writing habit again. I took the holidays off (mostly because my mother drives me to distraction with the holiday hysteria, and it was just too much to ask for me to be both creative and a crutch for my mom -- besides, she's had recent bereavement this year; it was a kindness) and now I have to somehow find the willpower to get up on that pony and get going again.

To inspire me, a picture of warmer weather:

Oooh. Doncha just imagine some sort of crazed but beautiful sea witch living in that cave? What crazed but beautiful sea witch would say no to such incredible water-front property?

Not me, that's for sure.

Happy start to your fiscal first quarter!

2011-12-31T13:15:00.000-05:00

Why do we celebrate accounting deadlines with drink, frenetic dancing and acting out in inappropriate fashion under the guise of inebriation? I mean, I understand that everyone needs to mark time in some way, but this one boggles me. It's an accounting deadline, more than anything else, and not a very logically placed one, either.

I blame the Romans.

Anyway, in the new fiscal quarter I will be using this:

to make a tea cozy for my dedicated, hard-working Brown Betty (a 6 cupper, allegedly, although I usually only get two or three American cups out of her). It's only 45 yards, which should just suffice, and when I bought it, I bought it because I couldn't resist that color and shine. It's gorgeous, and I wish you could see it in real life because it's even prettier there. As soon as I had it at home, I realized it would have to be used to clothe my Betty -- mostly because there's not really enough to do anything else with, but also because I'd been contemplating a tea cozy and it was perfect for the job.

Of course, I'll have to improvise a pattern for my Betty Dress (her curves are so glorious, how could she be anything other than a She?) The only pattern I've seen that calls for 45 yards of bulky yarn for a tea cozy is rather sack-like and dumpy, and Betty deserves so much better than that.

Tea cozy making seems more sensible now, too, because I've actually been using her to hold my excess tea before it gets drunk. I've been using a tea towel as a make-shift cozy, but really. Betty's excellent service and utility demands I give her something more fashionable than a house elf in servitude would wear!

Oh, and did you notice the cream blanket on my photographic chair? Why is it there, you ask? Why because I had a week-long visit from the Poop Fairy. Who is the Poop Fairy?

Oh, she's adorable, I'll admit. Particularly that juicy little nose. See?

But she's taken to...informing us when she is displeased by anything by leaving little turds. IN MY CHAIRS. First, she desecrated my desk chair (which is now, post-cleaning, covered with an old throw blanket), but then she went after my recliner! I won't describe that horror for you, but suffice to say I almost chucked her outdoors to fend for herself after that. Yikes.

Oh, I've spilled stuff on my recliner before -- soup, mostly -- but that's different. And if I thought she had a physical complaint that made it difficult for her to find her litter box, that would be different as well.

These were "I'm angry and you need to know it" poops. We're doing her a favor, letting her stay here while her mommy is out of town, and this is the thanks we get. We fed her (extra -- hey, she was hungry!), we watered her, we issued her meds on time. Just because we confined her to one room at night when she would rather wander free and loose.... Oh, well. Water under the bridge. She went home today, anyway. I've warned my aunt to watch her nub end for a while.

Also, I've made use of my favorite of the holiday bounty already:

That's my new French rolling pin -- the one I got from Nieceling and The Phew. I thought they'd heard me say that I wanted one on Cookie Baking Day -- the Thursday before Christmas -- but now I find they've had it in the closet for weeks.

All of which gives me pause. Just goes to show, you have no idea who knows you best until you get a gift like this. Poor kids, knowing me this well must be a trial. :-)

Anywhoo, it was used to make this:

Sugar cream pie. It's wonderful, isn't it, how the Amish can manage to devise a pie recipe so sublime, so perfect in its simplicity when they haven't got electricity or cars or telephones. Then again, perhaps that's precisely how they do it.

I'm off for pie. May the next tax season bring all joy and happiness to your home!

What I Did Today: A Pictorial Essay

2011-12-21T23:59:00.000-05:00

For my next beading project:

I do love the holidays, and my brother doesn't allow colors other than red, gold and green on the "proper" tree.

Ornaments made by a member of my Knit Coven. Aren't they great?

I wish I could crochet.

A handmade ornament from a friend from two Yules ago. I love the colors.

My mother gave me all the ancient ornaments that used to go on our family tree but are blacklisted because they're the wrong color. This is one of my favorites.

A message for one and all:

I wish I had one that said "Happy Holidays" to cover all my bases, but this particular ornament is older than I am. Just know my wishes for a happy holiday season for all of you are non-denominational. Choose your holiday and run with it. It's a sucky time of year in the northern hemisphere, cold and dark and cold, so start a party, hang out with your peeps and make like a drunken elf with the pumpkin pie. Or stay home, light a candle and meditate in silence if that's more your bag.

Whyever you choose to do what you choose to do, I hope you have a very merry.

Every time I start to get down about the world..

2011-12-14T19:34:00.000-05:00

someone comes along and gives me hope.

I am so blessed to know the people I know, and the people I know are some of the best people anywhere. I don't know how I get so lucky.

Someday, I will be in a position to help others out as some kind souls have helped me. I sincerely hope that I can be as loving, kind, open and generous as those who have been an example to me.

Marshmallow Memo

2011-12-11T22:13:00.001-05:00

I had a marshmallow making marathon today -- I made three ginormous batches of marshmallows. I wanted to try flavoring them with candy, an option allowed for in the recipe itself. I wanted to make some notes on the changes the candy made to the process so I don't forget.

(Don't worry, it's just a way-cool camera flare, not radioactivity in the sugar. Promise)

OK, notes:

1. Peppermint candies make the mix about a trillion times stickier than regular. Cleaning it off the beaters is a special treat.
2. Cinnamon BB candies (what are they called, actually?) must be ground up in a coffee grinder -- but be aware that coffee will end up in your marshmallows.
3. Actually, grinding up candy in anything (including the blender I used for the peppermints) will produce a rather fine, caustic powder that floats through the air, gets in your hair and clothes and eyes and stings like the dickens. Wear goggles, or at least not contacts. I also think I have sugar lung now.
4. Peppermint melted with sugar will look and smell like Pepto in the pot, but the flavor is too faint to make much impression in the final product -- the whipped in air dilutes it. I think doubling the amount of candy used in the mix might help.
5. Making three batches of marshmallows over the course of one day means that I have to cut all three batches tomorrow and coat them in sugar. If it looked like I was cutting coke last week when I did the half batch, tomorrow's going to be an unholy mess.

And with that, I go to bed. I have to get up early tomorrow to meet with the office manager at my church about the gig. It's a feast day tomorrow, too, so she'll be very busy. I hope I can be concise!

Pretty Bobbles

2011-12-10T18:09:00.000-05:00

I'm branching out, y'all. The first thing I did this week in my course of doing new stuff was repair an old pair of earrings. Well, I say old, but I bought them three years ago. However, the hooks had turned to this:

Blech, you can see the dirty copper! Ewww! So I went shopping -- thankfully I got a few good coupons in the mail from my favorite Big Box Retailer of All Things Craftual -- and got some notions (aka, 'findings', which is now my favorite word for craft supplies evar), so the fish hook earring doo-dads could go from the above to this:

See? Shiny. It's amazing, with the old hooks on, the earrings looked dirty and down-market. With the new hooks, they look clean and brand new again. Which just goes to show, a little bit of maintenance can give you a whole new look!

I also got some extras. I have a blue ton of beads in a box which I only just rediscovered the other day. In light of the fact that I'm stone-broke at present, I decided to make a necklace to give a friend for her birthday. So, I tossed some extra things in my card at Big Box Retailer of All Things Craftual:

Wish me luck.

But the beads are totally her color -- red and purple and black -- so I'm hoping it will turn out alright:

Pretty, no? I don't even remember why I bought these.... Oh, well. Lucky me. I don't have to feel too bad that what she's mostly getting for Festivus is marshmallows. Granted, they are my special, hand made marshmallows, in a variety of flavors (provided I can figure out how to chop up the cinnamon candies I found), so they're not just marshmallows, they are Super Excellent and Moist Marshmallows of Joy.

Which makes them (naturally) superior to just about everything I could purchase. At least, that's my story and I'm sticking to it. :-)

Just to prove I follow through on the promises I make to myself....

2011-12-06T22:28:00.000-05:00

Here's the link to my book on Amazon: My book on Amazon.

I apologize for the title, I am terrible at titling things. I also apologize there is no cover image -- I have no photoshop skillz, nor a photo suitable. Next time, I will.

God have mercy on my soul.

And a little calming picture to make us all feel better:

A creative shot of Belvedere Castle in Central Park.

I really need to get back to New York.

I am done with the past week.

2011-12-05T22:42:00.000-05:00

My family suffered a bereavement this past weekend. My uncle, my mother's brother, died early on Saturday morning. He had been ill for the past little while, and he made the choice that basically ended his suffering, so I'll guess he preferred to move on rather than linger. I'm glad he's not suffering any longer, and hope he's found happiness in the OtherWhen. He died on what would have been his mother's 99th birthday, so we all believe he got an invitation to the party. Perhaps he was a surprise guest for her?

I've been cooped up in the waiting rooms of the ICU at a local hospital for the past week and a half, so you can imagine how little I've gotten done in the past ten or more days. It's hard to get anything done when you're in the middle of a slew of relations, chattering away like a cage full of monkeys. And for once I've actually got work to do -- my church has engaged my services. They need to rebind the old church registers and have them conserved, and they want me to manage the project. I've got some notes I need to write up and then a conference to arrange with the priest and office manager to see what they think. Then I get to start working on how to accomplish their goals. I'm looking forward to it (it's my kind of fun; yes, I'm that weird) and can't wait to get it up and running.

But I had one big project to get finished today: My book is downloaded at Amazon, title and all, just waiting the 24 hours so Amazon can check it to make sure I'm not a dirty plagiarist. I will provide a link tomorrow -- when it's supposed to appear. I can't believe I've done it and it's too late to stop the thing now. I'm terribly ambivalent, excited and scared and exhilarated all at once.

Wish me luck.

In other news, I did something fun today (aside from spending hours and hours and hours on end trying to get the damn document in Kindle format): I made some lemon-lime marshmallows. Using these:

and the basic vanilla marshmallow recipe from the Brownie Points blog. Juicing a standard lemon and two limes gives you the 1/4 cup and 2 tablespoons of liquid required to bloom your gelatine (I also added in a few little drops to make it the full 2 tablespoons). Boil the sugar, corn syrup and that portion of water, whip the whole together and hey, presto:

a half batch of marshmallows. Actually, this is all that is left over -- I took them to coven tonight and they got predated by the ladies. They're soft and tender and have a really bright, light lemon tang. You can just barely get a hint of the lime. It's like eating soft sunshine.

I like this flavor. Lots.

I'll be making my friends marshmallows for the holidays -- only for their marshmallows, I'll be using hard candy to give them peppermint and cinnamon flavors. My mother wants me to figure out how to make coconut marshmallows, which should be an interesting adventure.

And on top of it all, I managed to get my mother's Christmas Cowl cast on tonight at coven.

I spend a week in the pound and come out swinging. I'm not sure if I'm entirely proud of myself, but it sure doesn't hurt.

I'm sure I'm boring you completely by this point....

2011-11-26T17:53:00.002-05:00

And I'm further sorry, but there's no new knitting yet to share. Oh, wait! There is one thing:

The baby stub of my Christmas-gift-to-me shawl. It's pretty, don't you think? I love the colors. I can't wait to see how that plays out as the shawl grows.

Other than that, I can't show you anything else I'm knitting at present, because they are presents for people who are internet savvy. Not that I think they lurk my blog just to see what I'm making for them for Christmas, but you never know. They might come to see what is to be seen. I plan on getting to Mom's cowl tomorrow, and if it goes anywhere near as quickly as most people seem to think, I'll be able to post pictures of that tomorrow or Monday.

And beyond this, I've got nothing. I'm actually pretty cranky right now -- I'm not sure if it's the holiday or the fact that no one can seem to figure out I just want a job. A career I've got, for all the good it does me. I just want a gig where I can earn money, working a 40 hour or less week, that pays for gas, insurance and my dental work, but doesn't interfere with my real work. What's so hard for people to understand?

You know, maybe it's the fact that I'm not exactly forthcoming about how writing is a calling for me, not just a job. Or perhaps it's because in America we can't tell where what a person does for money ends and who they are as a person begins. Either way, it's irritating.

Sigh. And I have no one to blame but myself!

Deep Thoughts (without Jack Handy)

2011-11-19T22:14:00.000-05:00

I've been watching a lot of CSI lately -- the ones they play ten in a row on cable tv during the day. The old ones, back before Grissom went off to the rain forest, before Warrick died, you know, back when it was good.

Ok, ok, it's still good, but I'm not sure I'm wild about Ted Danson. I'm giving him a little bit more rope before I call it. What, I have trouble with change! It's perfectly normal.

Anyway, apparently the people who watch daytime tv have certain things in common -- according to the marketing folks who buy commercials during that time slot.

Gas. Daytime tv watchers are a gassy lot -- a minimum of three commercials per episode deal with it.
Colds or flu. Odd how people who aren't working with the public during daylight hours get all those colds and flus, but apparently they do.
High school education, and they need more. Either an online degree through some bogus internet university or they're up for practical training in mechanics -- motorcycles seem to be dominant, but automobiles and boats are also popular courses.
They need a new cell phone plan. Or just a new phone. Something that accesses the internet, because you just don't have enough time to surf the webz when you're home all day, do you?
Heartburn. I guess this goes with the gas. Must be all the sitting, watching tv, ruining the digestive tract.

It's enough to depress a body who is watching daytime tv because she thinks George Eads is purty.*

Anyway, I've been being thoughtful lately. It's giving me a headache. Unfortunately, I haven't got much to distract me -- I mean, my new writing project, yeah. My Christmas knitting, yeah, but that's...three to six hours of my day (don't criticize until you've tried writing longer than three hours; it's worse than biting into an ice cream cone with the ice-pick-through-the-forehead type pain -- at least it's like that the way I do it, perhaps I'm doing it wrong). That leaves a whole other ten hours at the least to just sit with myself. Question the things I think are true.

I hate it. I wish I were less thoughtful as a rule. It's horrid, really. I'm exhausted, and I haven't done jack squat in the past week. And all I can think about is what if I'm wrong about this or that or the other? I've been wrong about things I thought before, why not this? If I am wrong, what does that mean about the way I'm living? What if it means I have to backtrack myself to a point where I'm eating crow all day in front of everyone? And none of that makes any sense unless you live in my head -- and I'm sure each of you is profoundly grateful you don't -- but trust me, even if you don't know exactly what I'm talking about I'm sure you understand the dread of being wrong and having to eat crow publicly.It's just the embarrassment of looking a bit of a fool. Or at the very least sadly deluded. Either way, unpleasant.

I hate being wrong. Particularly about this type of thing. Oh, everyone has the right to change their mind, but on this level, it makes me look stupid. Very, very stupid. For a girl who has built her sense of self around her intelligence, that's a hard tonic to choke down.

Gah. I'm going to bed now. A dozen hours of sleep might make this better!

*I will also confess, I've got a bit of a crush on Captain Brass, too. He's a total wise-ass. I love wise-asses. It's a weakness. Explains a lot about my life, really.

Things that make me happy

2011-11-18T20:44:00.003-05:00

This is such a serene photo. It makes me happy. Point proven!

I'm tapped out this week on words -- not that I've made that much progress on the NaNoNovel, but...eh. I've been working. I'm 25% done with my book (almost at 11,000 words -- not bad for three day's work, yeh know). Still and all, I didn't get as far with my writing today as I wanted to, but I was thinking I should be grateful for any progress. Yes, I missed my word goal today. Fine, whatever. I wrote. Even if all I did was two paragraphs, I should be giddy stupid happy, I was writing.

So I started thinking about being happy. Which gets in the way of writing properly, but you know. The day will be what it will be. Started thinking about what makes me happy -- writing, making tea, sunshine on the carpet, long rainy days indoors under a lap rug with a hot drink at hand -- and decided I should start a list of things that make me happy. It will help when I get into the doldrums (as I'm starting to do at present), by reminding me of all the good extant in the world. And we can all do with little reminders of that at times, can't we?

Anyway, here's my abbreviated list of

Things That Make Me Happy

The reboot of Sherlock Holmes, starring Benedict Cumberbatch. Sherlock is such a massive wanker, it makes me feel better about myself.
The name "Benedict Cumberbatch". It's got bounce and a nice rhythm. His father wanted him to change it when he took up with the acting. What a lack of ear! I might change my own name to Benedict Cumberbatch, just because I like the bounce. Do you think he'd mind?
Stories. Storytelling, in all its forms. I love books, audiobooks (it's like having my sister reading bedtime stories to me all over again), movies, television (only the fiction ones; "reality television" makes me cry for the downward spiral we are in as a culture), all of it.
The word "Defenestration". The fact that we have a single word in our language that means 'tossing someone out a window' makes me giggle because it means that, as a society, we use defenestration often enough as social and political commentary to make it tiresome to say "throw someone out a window." Doesn't that just make you giggle a bit, too?
Yarn. Soft yarn, scratchy yarn, cheap yarn, expensive yarn, chunky yarn, skinny yarn, blue, pink, orange and green yarn. Just about any yarn, really. The fact that it is in some way makes the world a better place for me. For that matter, blank pages in my word processor and paint and clay and pastels and paper designed to take the inks and pigments get me high as well. It all just makes me itch with potential. Potential is totally sexy.
Cozy mysteries. I don't know why a genre of books where someone dies horribly while the rest of the cast gets to live a nice, cuddly life with relatively little stress (aside from the unbelievably high local murder rate) makes me cheery, but it does. I suppose that's the point to the genre.
British television and all its fabulous actors/writers/directors/set decorators. In fact, bless the set decorators especially, they never get enough credit.
The smell of printed books. Fresh or musty, makes no nevermind to me. Books smell like stories, and stories smell of awesome.
A quiet chair, a big book and a pot of tea. Mix and match styles on any one but keep the basics, and that's the best day ever right there. And if I get to make a ritual of the tea making -- preparing the pot, heating the water, putting tea and water together to make magic -- all the better. It's soothing.

So there you have it. I'm seriously dull, aren't I? Such simple things make me happy, a lot of it stuff over which I have no control but was fortunate enough to trip over (I didn't make up the word "defenestration" after all). It's like...I get little gifts all the time, little "hi, how are ya?"s from the Universe to make me happy.

Benevolent Gods. You have to love them!

Stained glass windows in the building at the end of the Pier in Chicago.

Stained glass makes me happy.Beaux Arts and Art Deco style arts do it for me as well.
Don't they make you giddy with glee, too?

Really?

OK. Guess that's just me then.

Take that, stinky, smelly basement!

2011-11-17T18:09:00.001-05:00

We discovered yesterday why the water was pouring into our basement through the windows: the excessive amount of dirt and muck that has washed into the wells over time. My gardening brother had inadvertently raised the soil around our window well until any time it rained more than, say, a millimeter, it washed crap into the well. Then the water had nowhere to go but through the window itself, down the wall, into the basement carpet and thence into the rinse-n-vac. So look what I did today:

I stood on it and stood on it and stood on it to get it to sink into the ground. You'd think my fat butt would ensure it took only a second or two to get it sunk into the ground, but it took almost five minutes. Now, maybe, we won't be sucking water out of that mucky carpet for a little while -- at least until I can get the stupid carpet cut up and tossed out. Blech. After that, I'd just be squeegee-ing it into the drain in the laundry room.

In other news, I've decided what to make myself for Christmas (what, I said all my Christmas gifts this year would be knitted!) I'm going to make myself the Show Your Colors Shawl using my Yarn Love Juliet in Dog colors (sob! I miss my fat fuzzy!):

Actually the color is "Turtle Cheesecake", but these are the colors of our dearly departed Dog.

I think it's a sign that I'm recovering that I even touched the bag this yarn is in today.

I also need to find the second skein of Berroco Sundae in Snozzberry that I have in order to make Mater Gloriosa's Christmas Cowl. I've found one of them (already balled up and ready to go), but the second.... I dumpster dove through my Stashtainer, but it's not there. I'll have to go dig through my bag again (on the off chance it's there), and barring that I'll have to go through the rolling sub-stashtainer to see if it's stuffed into a bag with some other project.

Gah. Is this a sign that I've got too much yarn? Is there such a thing as too much yarn? Before now, I doubted it, but since I've lost a whole skein of super bulky, I begin to wonder!

The shape of my day.

2011-11-15T20:01:00.000-05:00

Before I begin, to update my NaNoWriMo progress: I'm up to page 43, and of words I have 9,100 and some small change. Not bad for someone who only got a start on Friday. Today I typed until my laptop crapped out. It's on the charge. I'm actually quite frustrated, I was in mid-scene when I had to stop today.

I'll have to boot up later to back up my file.

Beyond that, this is the shape of my day:

Wine-glassed shape, with a 4 oz serving inside. It's been that sort of week. We've had rain. For those unfamiliar with what rain means when you live on top (basically) of an underground river, let me just say the rinse-n-vac got a workout yesterday as water poured through the frames of our window well and soaked up through the foundation into our basement. I was sucking water out of 40 year old carpet for nearly four hours yesterday.

My joy knows no bounds. Thank whatever god is listening that the rain has stopped for the nonce and I can get my wine on. I need it.

Before I get too wined up (maybe too late, I've already drunk that glass and moved on to milk), here's what I did today -- aside from nearly 4,000 words for NaNoWriMo -- I made dinner!

As an extremely poor person, I made arrangements with Mater Gloriosa to cook for the family if they'd help me out with my car insurance. Seems a fair trade, as mother retired from cooking duty about 20-odd years ago and everyone has been left to fend for themselves, and that means that mom usually doesn't eat. As a diabetic, that's not wise. At least this way, she gets to eat a dinner she didn't have to prepare -- which means it's more substantive than she usually tosses together -- and her blood sugar stays on a more stable footing than usual. Win-win.

Tonight was my first night "on the job." I heated up a pre-marinated turkey breast and sweet potatoes and microwaved some cauliflower. Mom had to show me how she made her white sauce for the cauliflower, so I know how it's done when I make it next time, and she kept interfering once the food was in the oven. Otherwise it was my show, and it was lovely. I even had some:

A small serving, yes, but I'm planning on having some more later.

How did I end up short-order cook to the family? Well, I tried my 'nuclear option' in order to settle my bills this month and it failed, miserably. I have one, you know. A nuclear option. Well, I thought I had one, I see now it wasn't all that nuclear to begin with...

What is my nuclear option, you ask?

1965, second U.S. edition, in original papers and slipcase. Pristine. Pristine, I tell you. Two owners, and neither of us have actually read these copies. You can only tell they've been around 50 years because the bottom corners of the slipcase have worn slightly from sitting on a lacquer cabinet.

Apparently, the market for Tolkien is quite depressed at the moment, as no one is paying anything like what they're worth. I had them up on eBay, but when they didn't sell I let the listing expire.

I'm kind of glad, if you want the truth. The real value to be had is in my 1969 leather-bound, slipcased edition of The Hobbit, but that one's not even an option, much less a nuclear one. I've always been more of a Hobbit girl than LotR; the indexes at the end of The Return of the King depress me. Not to mention the death of Boromir -- the only real human in the Fellowship itself. Sad, sad. But The Hobbit is a happy journey tale, with treasure and dragons and derring-do. I love it. I'm not as attached to LotR, it's longer and full of more angst and death and blood.

Plus I read all three of the LotR books in one day -- tip to tail -- when I was 13 or so, which is enough to make anyone suicidal. It's hard on a girl to make friends and tragically lose them all in the span of 12 hours. Even when they take 900 years to die (although I was never a big Aragorn fan; he's a bit poncy.)

But as I say, I'm not all that upset they didn't sell. Just like I'm loathe to sell my piano or my car for scrap. In the past two or three years I've pared my life down to the bare minimum. I have so few possessions anymore (and am very rarely interested in acquiring new ones) I almost don't recognize myself. But since I have so few things, the little I do have is items I'm emotionally attached to for one reason or another -- and while I no longer enjoy reading the longer Tolkien, it is a personal touchstone for me. Reading those books when I was 13...let's just say, that was a defining moment in my life. These are the only three copies of these books I own anymore (sold my own, ages ago, to the second hand bookstore). And these are vastly superior to the ratty paperbacks I bought for $5 a piece (tells you how long ago that was) when I was an eighth grader.

So, anyway. I'm limping onward, ever onward. I've been tele-stalking the temp agency I interviewed with, hoping to get a temp job (not likely) and I keep looking for jobs I might be competent at while still focusing on my true work -- my writing. Also, at present, not likely. But I have nothing else to do, so I just keep going.

Look, I don't know if I'm really a good writer. People have said it, but I think I'm crap. Still and all, if Rincewind is a wizard, then I'm a writer, and I just have to keep at it. I know I'm a storyteller, that much I do know, so anything else I do will always be in the way of a second job. This is my career, for good or ill, and I just have to hope I'm doing the right thing.

Oooh. Apparently the wine has gone to my head. I'm getting a bit belligerent, and possibly the teensiest bit maudlin. I'll go have a rest now. And maybe watch some of the CSI episodes I tape off Spike TV every day. The do have a way of piling up on the TiVo!

Kickin' a$$ and takin' names.

2011-11-11T14:38:00.000-05:00

Sorry for the Ke$ha-ism up there, but I didn't think the proper spelling of "ass" would be appropriate in the title of a post. Although, what will I ever do if I get a donkey as a pet, and want to talk about him? That's a poser and no mistake.

And we trot out our Epic Win doggie today because I did it. I stepped up to the writing plate, swung for the bleachers and hit it out of the park.

If the point of NaNoWriMo is to do 50,000 words in 30 days, I've almost made it halfway to where the pack should be at this point in the month. In one day. To be precise, I sat down and cranked out -- get this -- 5,400 words. In two hours. For those of you not wordnerd enough to know the maths, that's over 20 pages, properly formatted. 25 pages, really. If I calculate out the logistics based on performance so far, 50,000 words will take me 250 pages -- more or less -- and around 40 hours of actual writing.

I am teh awsum.

I have the first half of my story outlined and know what scenes I need to write, so I should be at least up to page 75 by this time next week and then I'll worry about outlining the second half. I would outline the whole thing up-front, but there's a part of me that wants to leave it loose and free to be what it will become -- and let my characters dictate their own actions by that point.

That last sentence isn't as weird or insane as it sounds. Ask any writer. They'll tell you that characters are worse than children -- you birth them, you bring them into the world and give them everything they need to survive and thrive, and then they take your plot in both (or more, if you write sci-fi/fantasy) hands and run off with it, perverting all your hard work. Ingrates.

Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes. 25 pages. I might still write this afternoon -- it's early yet. Or I might do some knitting, instead. That would be nice, too. I suppose I could do both, no law against it.

But before I do either, I need to get a hot drink. My office is freezing. And I have to admit that doing that much work this morning makes me feel better, somehow. Despite all 99 of my problems, all is right with the world, you know, because I wrote this morning. And I wrote well. I feel a bit bloated with satisfaction, which is hellastrange, because I shouldn't -- and yes, yes, "should" is a bad word that needs to be excised from the language both for being wishy-washy and guilt-trip inducing, but if you forgive me for using it, I will. Still...I do feel satisfied. Intensely. So...phthththhthththt. Take that, haters!

Now, if only I can remember that when tomorrow rolls around....

Almost did it again!

2011-11-10T17:34:00.000-05:00

Pretty leaves that are now long gone, just because.

Not posting for a long time, I mean. I've been running around, chasing my tail (something I need to quit, by the way) and forgetting my duties, probably because I've been intentionally avoiding my email. I find it difficult to work on my writing when I'm also sitting on my inbox, waiting for an interesting email to slide in. Or, to be honest, arrive to distract me.

I'm not handling the inability to make money well, I must admit. It's been over 20 years since I was last in a position of complete reliance on anyone else for spending cash. I'd forgotten how hard it is. Oh, well. What else can I do? I've got resumes out and am trying to find a nice, quiet job somewhere out of the way, but most employers don't want to give quiet jobs, they want to cram the job duties of six people into one job post and then demand you be company cheerleader! It's awful out there right now.

And, I'll be even more honest, I'm having trouble coping with the editorial delays on my book. I just want this project to be done and over with and posted so I can stop torturing myself with the 'what if's. What if it really really sucks and I don't realize it? What if everyone on earth will start laughing at me? What if people find it and it gets attention and I end up getting an agent out of the deal? What if people start expecting things of me and my writing because of it?

See what I mean? I need to get it out there and forgotten already -- as it most likely will be -- so I can say to myself that I've done it, it was no big deal and I can move on.

Sigh.

In other, more important news, Yoda is a real cat:

I sometimes take my knitting upstairs at night to work on (and watch tv with Yoda -- he freaks out downstairs, so I pretty much have to seek him out in His room), and this week I decided to watch Castle with the Yodster. Yoda was not impressed by Castle's ability to solve bloody murder, but he was fascinated with my acrylic yarn. Particularly as it moved and squiggled across the bed on its way into the scarf designed to match The Phew'llo.

Cute and annoying, all in one go. Sort of like a human child.

I am pleased he has some feline sensibilities, though. Since he was hand-raised by humans (and paw-raised by a dog) he can't stalk worth a darn, nor does he understand what a prey animal is or should be (he looks at birds as if they are interesting but not tasty, and he has no interest at all in my brother's fish), but apparently the yarn thing is bred into the bones. And he can pounce. Pouncing is adorable, particularly with those floofy snow-toes he's got.

Ah, well. He is my current consolation. That and I've got a new writing project to procrastinate on. I know, I know, I need to get back up on my horse and just go for it (after all, what else have I got to do lately?), and I will. I'm going to compartmentalize my work life -- looking for my second job on Mondays, writing the rest of the week on my new project.

Maybe I'll actually get within sniffing distance of the NaNoWriMo this year!

Oh, lawsy! It's been almost a whole week since I last posted!

2011-11-07T22:00:00.000-05:00

What can I say, I got into slacker mode and couldn't hardly get myself out. I mean, I've done some knitting -- Christmas knitting, no less -- but that's about all. I've got a cute story to tell you, a brief description of the knitting I've done (no pictures; I'm not entirely sure if my family reads this blog or not -- they know it exists, I know that) and then I'm going to watch Castle with Yoda. He hardly gets to spend any time with me, I'm such a neglectful momma.

I told the Nieceling that she was getting a hand-knitted Christmas this year, owing to my extreme poverty. I even told her she got to design it herself. She took it all in her stride. She's ultimately knitworthy because, even though she's a whole grown up teenager, she still wears her Phoenix Tears scarf from the Harry Potter Knits book that I made her for her 12th birthday. To school and everything. That's enough to make her knitworthy in my book.

I then went and told The Phew he was getting handmade Christmas and expected far less enthusiasm than I'd even wrung from the uber-cool Nieceling. He's just barely a teenager, and a boy to boot, so I was thinking he'd be polite but disappointed. I mean, his momma raised him right, so he'd be good about it -- he wasn't going to spit on it or anything -- but I was totally surprised when he bounced up on his toes and said, "Really?" And then promptly asked for a hat.

Now, I'm glad he's excited to be getting a hat (which is, thankfully, done), and I'm pleased to knit for him. It's just...hats. I hate knitting hats. There's either all those fiddly double points or a fiddly circular needle or two. They never seem to be as easy for me to knit as they are for everyone else. But for The Phew who, even if his reaction was faked, went to all that effort to make me feel a bit better about the knitting for Christmas thing, I have designed and knitted a hat to his specifications. Since he wanted a chullo style hat (no bobbles, please) I made him a chullo in his school colors and then put the project up on my Ravelry project page as "The Phew'llo". In his honor, of course. You'll have to look it up if you have Ravelry access or wait until after the holidays for a picture. I'm not sure, as noted, if they ever check this blog.

And they're box-shakers*, the lot of them. He'd come online just to see his hat if he knew the pictures were posted.

*You know, those impatient people who sit under the Christmas Tree and shake all their gifts to try and figure out what they are. Thank God they started tying Barbie up like a bondage enthusiast before Nieceling got old enough to shake her boxes or she'd never have had a surprise gift at the holidays!

Little Loki wrap-up and S-'s post.

2011-11-01T18:33:00.010-04:00

I'm not sure how to begin with this post. It's almost like titling things -- I'm sort of crap at it. I have two themes to this post, and while they sorta-kinda go together, they really don't. And since the post is photo heavy, I'm going to jump-cut it in the middle of the first section. You'll understand why.

Little Loki

My beloved Little Loki has gone from this:

(JUMP FOR IT!)

to this:

She's got that fist clenched as if she's about to haul off and hit someone, doesn't she? She might, too. She inherited a bit of a temper from our side of the family, bless. Anyway, I had to get a shot of it on someone, so you can see how lovely Little Loki truly is -- not something you can appreciate in chunks.

Nieceling admired this during our photo shoot:

I think for a few seconds she was impressed by her Auntie's skills -- and then she remembered I'm a grown up, she's a teenager and we are natural enemies in public. Alas.

Still and all, Loki looks nice around a neck, doesn't he? He tends to roll a bit:

(better picture of Nieceling, not so much of the scarf). I'm ok with that -- the bead work is for my own pleasure, not necessarily for strangers across a room to view. Still and all, I'm gratified that the scarf turned out so well and looks like something intentional.

I have a thing about that, stuff I make looking "intentional".

I'd put the pattern out for others, but there's some conversion I'd have to do. Either that, or I need a functioning scanner to make my handwritten charts into image files that I can send. If anyone wants a copy, drop me a comment and I'll see what I can do.

I'm not holding my breath on that. :-)

In other matters:

S-'s Post

A month or more ago, I went to visit my friend S- in Ohio if you recall. We had a bit of a giggle about something that I'm now going to share with you.

My friend (ok, ok, and I) has a bit of a fangurl thing for the actor who played Loki in the movie Thor, Tom Hiddleston. Hey, he's cute, he's got a nice voice (more my thing than hers, although she thinks the same) and he's talented. Plus he made Loki a little bit sweet along with seriously troubled (I'm not kidding, that dude's got daddy issues coming and going) instead of just mental, which tells me he gets him, and since I totally feel the Loki wangst, that's hot.

So when we heard that they were filming part of the new Avengers movie in Cleveland, we were stoked. Well, she was more stoked than I because, while I wouldn't be driving to Cleveland just to hang out in a large crowd of other superhero movie nerds, she could go see what was to be seen. And maybe get photographic evidence for me. Which she actually did. Well, she went to see him but she did not get photographic evidence. I guess the glare of his beautifulness stunned her into forgetting her camera. Bugger.

Imagine my surprise at discovering that she had carried along bait to bring the Hiddleston to her point in the fan line -- a Chili's chicken sandwich. There's a long and involved story about this, and you could probably find it if you searched fansites, but suffice to say, it's an 'in-joke' with the Hiddlestonians that His Hiddleness loves the Chili's chicken sandwich.

She was telling me the tale (she did get fairly close, got to see himself with his helmet and bask in his presence but did not whip out the sandwich -- for which I am eternally grateful, considering how invasive cavity searches are -- ) and I asked her what she had planned to do with the sandwich -- use it as bait? Was she going to shoot him with a sedative dart and radio tag him before releasing him back into the wild?

We giggled over the image of baiting a trap for Tom Hiddleston with a chicken sandwich when I realized: if she had set a rather lame trap, say, a box with a stick and string type trap, that would have been massively less creepy than a fangurl just handing one over the security line. It might even have worked, in terms of bringing him over to her to sign her picture because it would be hilarious. In other words, she went pretty far with the in-joke, but she didn't go far enough to show she wasn't actually insane.

Fangurl offering food = creepy potential stalker attempting to poison him.

Actually baiting a box-stick-string trap with a Chili's chicken sandwich = absurd, surrealist joke on his avowed love for generic American restaurant food. Vastly less creepy, because it's unlikely to actually work. Also, he's got advance warning that you're strange so he can take precautions, but maybe he'd be more willing to start the high-five line at your position instead of five people behind you. Again, sigh.

Then, because we are the most boring people alive and have nothing better to do, we actually spent time designing a string-box-stick trap.

God, we need to get out more.

Here are the plans we came up with for our very own homemade:

ACME Hiddleston Trap*

You will need:

1. A box (IMDB tells me Tom Hiddleston is 6'1", so a shoebox would do)

2. A Y-shaped stick with a string tied around it.

3. A Chili's chicken sandwich. Fresh, please. My friend's was so old she described it as "more science project than meal", and that thought frightens me just a little. Both in that she was carrying the damn thing and that she was actually thinking of handing it over.

Set Up

Prop your box up on the stick with the string tied to it and slide your sandwich beneath it.

You know, I bet Elmer Fudd never had this much trouble setting the same trap for Bugs. I guess it's the fact we're setting the trap for a human (and a fairly smart human, if his grammar and syntax are anything to go by. And they are. I am so totally intimidated.) Although it could also be because this type of trap is the most lame trap of all in the known universe.

Oh, look, Loki! A sandwich, for you!

(At this point, you pay someone in the crowd to shout: "Look out, Tom, it's a trap!" because that just increases the funny.)

(nomnomnom)

You tension the rope....

Aaaaaaaaand......

SNAP!

There you have it, the handy-dandy Tom Hiddleston Trap.

And I know exactly what my friend is getting for Christmas this year:

*If you actually try this, you probably deserve what you will get, which is carted off by security and asked probing -- heh, heh, I used the word "probing" -- questions like: "What do you think you're doing?", "How long have you planned to harm Mr. Hiddleston?" and "Do you prefer to room with a murderer or a gang banger?"

Just kidding; they assign prison quarters, they don't ask.

Please don't hate me, Mr. Hiddleston, I'd never harm or advocate for anyone to harm you. If you're harmed, you aren't acting. And if you aren't acting, there's hardly anything worth bothering to watch. And I do loves me my movies.

What do I do with this?

2011-10-28T21:09:00.000-04:00

I've not been feeling like starting anything in the past two or three days. I guess the completion of several big projects -- Little Loki, the Sea Glass Cowl and my book -- has taken all my energy. None left over for starting new things. Now I've had a day to get over the joys of finishing my book, I need to start looking forward. I know the next writing project I'm going to work on, but the knitting front, not so much. I have that ball of Mochi Plus that's going to be a hat, just as soon as I can work up the enthusiasm for casting on (I hate making hats; love wearing them, hate casting on for them) and my Mini Who is languishing in its baggie, but...eh.

Anyway, I'm going to be thinking up a new, exciting, knitting project this weekend, in the hopes that beginning something brand spankin' will inspire me to pick up some of my old projects. So I need some help deciding what to do with this:

I've got three stitch dictionaries in the queue from my local lending, and I'm going to pick one up tomorrow morning. I'm thinking shawl, but I don't know if I want to go with my standard rectangular or if I want to take a risk on a circular or triangular design.

I'm not sure. I doubt I'll go triangular -- I don't think I need a giant arrow pointing down my back to emphasize what a massive badonkadonk I've got, thank you very much -- but a soft, rounded bottom shawl might be ok. Too bad I don't know how best to work that shaping. I also don't know how to deal with a circular shawl. I mean, you have to fold them over, unless you want to put it smack on top of your head and make like an end table. They just seem too fiddly.

But a rectangle, now. That's flexible. Spread it out a bit, go full on shawl for warmth. Fold it over, bunch it up, wear it as a scarf.

Sigh. So many choices! I'll just have to sleep on it a bit longer.

Laus Deo, it is done.

2011-10-27T20:24:00.000-04:00

My part of this massive book problem is done. It's put together, all the stories are finished to my satisfaction and it's formatted fit to go through the software translation device.

Unfortunately, the project is also delayed.

See, my friend -- who is going to edit the stories to make sure I'm not completely self-delusional and they don't suck like a massive open chest wound -- has a friend who apparently just loves to line edit. Journalism majors, heh. Anyway, he owes her a favor and she asked if he'd line edit my book for me. You know, just so I don't look sloppy and unprofessional with my open chest wound sucky book.

This additional editorial process not only means I'll have a slightly better book going out than I had going into the process, but that the drop will be delayed.

Oh, well. If it's another week before I get it back, I can have a "Book Launch Party" with my knit coven the night before. We aren't meeting this upcoming week due to the holiday, but weeks after are fair game.

Oooh. That sounds almost professional and authorly. A Launch Party.

I'll have to make favors.

Still wiggin' out up in here.

2011-10-26T19:01:00.000-04:00

Because I find autumn leaves soothing...

Tuesday is the big day.

In addition to it being my New Year's Day, it's the day my first (self-published) book goes live on Amazon.

It is, more than anything else, an exercise in letting my words walk the wide world without my hand to hold. I have no human children, but it's similar -- on a much smaller scale -- to what I'd imagine a parent feels the first full day of school for their child. What if they miss me? What if I miss them? What if they don't make friends? What if they aren't as smart as I think they are? Who will love them as much as I do? What do I do if someone is mean to them or bullies them?

Ok, ok, I'm probably overstating things, but I'm still frightened. The book is a collection of my short stories and they're very personal and beloved to me. What do I do if everyone who reads them hates them or laughs at them? I'm trying to develop a thicker skin here -- purposely setting myself up to fail, so when I do and subsequently survive it, I'll learn that failure isn't the absolute life-ending situation I'm imagining it to be.

I just don't know what to do. I'm freaking out like crazy here -- I've been imagining horrible things happening to me all week long. I get so neurotic when a big event comes up. I can't help it. I need to do this if only so the next time I put something out in the world I don't get anxious like this. I'll still get anxious, but not to this degree. It will be almost routine.

Deep breath in, hold it, long slow exhale.

I can do this.

Sea Glass Cowl

2011-10-23T19:49:00.002-04:00

I got bored today while watching Poirot on DVD. I had time, I had some yarn, I got myself busy. Then I went shopping and came back and finished being busy. And at the end of the day, what have I got?

A cat! No, I joke. Yoda's just being fuzzy and cute there. See the drapes behind him? He lurves that window. And then it takes six washes to get him off the curtains. Meh.

Anyway, here's what I really have:

A new cowl! I actually took a picture of it on, since it's pretty anonymous lying on my chair there.

I love those colors. It's my Mochi Plus. I like how it turned out, even if it felt a bit like a bugger-up while it was being worked on.

Do you want to know how to make one for yourself? It's easy!

Sea Glass Cowl

One skein Mochi Plus (aran, 50g, 95 yds)

Four fingers on your non-dominant hand, two on the dominant one, occasionally your non-dominant thumb for anchoring and tensioning your knitting

Finger knit an approximately four foot long strand. Test this around your neck, make sure it loops twice loosely. Don't know how to finger knit? Here's a wonderful Knitty tutorial on the subject. Basically, you're using your hand as a rake loom -- each finger is a peg. I begin with my tail in the palm of my hand and wrap behind my pointer, in front of my middle, behind the ring and around the pinkie, then carry the yarn across the front of the pinkie, back of the middle and around the front of my pointer, dropping my yarn to the back. Wrap around in a figure 8 for a second row then, starting at the pinkie end, lift the bottom loops over the top of your finger and drop them to the back, in sequence. For some reason, in that tutorial, there's a picture of her with three loops on her fingers, and I am not quite sure why -- ignore that part, I guess. Once you have dropped your bottom loops to the back of your hand, do another figure 8 wrap around and repeat. Easy-peasy.

Yes, using aran weight yarn will make a very loosely knit strand -- for a tighter knit, adults should finger knit with a bulky yarn. Finer yarns will produce knits that look like you used a fingering yarn with size 10 needles. Do not panic, this is as it should be.

Special Note: Once you start a strand, you really can't stop until you get to the end. I mean, you can, you can slide the live stitches onto a holder and then put them back on your fingers again in order, and eventually as part of this pattern you will, but it's problematic. It's best to just set aside a solid 15 to 20 minutes to work on each individual strand and finger knit like the wind.

When you come to the end of your strand, don't cast off. Slide the four stitches from your fingers onto a stitch holder. Cut your yarn leaving a long tail, at least 8 inches long, and put it aside. Finger knit another three strands of the same length, sliding each and every one onto the holder with the first. You should have some yarn left over. Cast on and knit a fifth strand, a little longer than half the length of the other four, closer to two-thirds of the longer strands length. Don't bind this one off, either, and slide onto its own stitch holder. Set aside-aside, as in away from the other four. (I didn't, as you'll see in the pictures below, but I've got a super long stitch holder. Please yourself in terms of the arrangements you make.)

Secure the stitch holder on something so you can braid the strands, like so:

I braided mine by wrapping the rightmost strand (A) around the one immediately to the left (B). B goes all the way around A and then over the top of C. C goes around the top of B and D. D changes places with C and becomes the new C. Repeat from the right to left again, over and over until you get to the bottom. OR figure out your own braiding pattern. In either case, braid rather tightly in the middle -- it will get loosened up after it gets bound off and you putz around with it a little. Pinch everything together, then take it all back to a chair so you can bind off in comfort.

I didn't take pictures of this part, but what you do is take the loose loops of the first strand off the stitch holder and slide the stitches back onto your fingers, making sure the yarn tail is hanging off your pointer finger next to your thumb, as if you'd just finished knitting. Pick up one of the cast on ends (it doesn't matter which one) and find four loops to slide onto your fingers above the other row. Use your long tail to wrap your fingers once in the figure 8 pattern and then pass the bottom two loops over the tail loops (in essence, knitting the ends together -- sort of a three needle bind off without the needles). Bind off the single row of loops left on your fingers in a normal fashion and tie the bind off tail and cast on tail together for extra security. Repeat with each of the four finger knit strips. Your cowl will now be four feet in diameter. Put it on, double it up to make sure it fits around your neck, and then remove as it is. This will ensure it's long enough when doubled up to pass over your head. Mine was, so now we consider the short strand.

Wrap the short strand around the doubled up cowl in a spiral fashion, securing said cowl in its doubled-up form (think in terms of tubes: The doubled up cowl is wrapped in a loose spiral tube of finger knitting). Knit the ends of the short strand together as you did with the first four strands. I left my knots in -- the point to the thing is to look a bit rough and rustic, plus I'm a bit sloppy anyway with the finishing. You've seen my work, you know how I am. Anyway, you end up with visible knots like these:

I simply trimmed mine down as far as I felt safe doing so and then pushed them all to one side of the cowl. This side goes to the back, under my hair. Not that they're really visible -- the thick and thin nature of the yarn and super loopy nature of the finger knitting tends to hide things you don't want seen. Bless.

Here's a nice shot of the colors:

And there you have it: The Sea Glass Cowl. A tribute to the kindergarten style of knitting. Perfect thing for a lazy Sunday afternoon. It reminds me of those gimp bracelets (the plastic lacing is called gimp; don't come at me for the name) that we made when I was in grade school as friendship bracelets. Just softer and prettier and in a less obnoxious color-theme. Of course, if you love florescent colors, choose your yarn accordingly.

And yes, I still have my teddy bunny on my bookshelf. Gunderson got me through many a long dark night when the boogey man was hiding in my closet and/or under my bed, and we don't even talk about what was hiding in my mirrors! -- he's a friend, not a stuffed frippery! You don't just throw your friends away.

Heartless jades.

The trials of photography.

2011-10-21T16:34:00.000-04:00

Do you know how hard it is to get a cat to pose? Yoda isn't about the pimp swagger, which is sad because he really is very beautiful. I'll have to take my phone up to bed tonight -- he gets seriously adorable when he snuggles. And I guess it's awful cold on his paws lately, what with the weather change, because he's been all up in my face this past week. It's cute, and he's soft as a bunny, but it makes my eyes itch.

Ah, well. C'est la vie!

I was supposed to work today on my fiction stuff, but I've had the megrim today, in all meanings of the word. Between the headache, the aura and the exhaustion, I'm beyond it all. So I just gave up on the day earlier, had a lie down and just now got back up.

To get myself back in the saddle (although which saddle I mean I have no idea, nor do I know if the particular saddle is of any importance at all), I have decided to start a new knitting project. I think I'm going to frog the scarf I started with my Mochi Plus and go with the finger knit idea. I'm going to use one of the balls for a hat -- something with a tight band, so it sticks to my head, and a loose cap, so it doesn't smoosh my curls completely -- and the second will be a finger knit scarf. I want to make an infinity scarf out of finger knitting, and I have a cunning plan for connecting the top of my knitting to the bottom. I'm curious to see if the process will work as well as I think it might.

If it does, you all will be the first to know. Since I have precious little else to do and blogging, while technically a nonsense activity, I suppose, gives me a sense that I haven't completely wasted my day, I'll probably be blogging a little more often.

Oh, oh, oh, I knew I came on here for a reason! I want to pimp my favorite writer: M. R. James. It's the time of year (for me, I know Christmas is traditionally the time for ghost stories but they fit just as well in the October time, at the end of my year) to pull a compilation of his stories off the shelf and read them.

I had a realization when I started going through the foreword of my favorite edition of his tales (not all of them; I have them all, but this book is merely a selection of his 'best', if there could ever be a 'best of' when considering his stories) -- I love his writing. I love the way he uses words. In his own, slightly over-blown Victorian way, he's just as spare and elegant with language as Fitzgerald. There's the ornate style of the time, yes, but he's stripped it down a bit, heralding a more modern style of writing than was prevalent at the end of the 1800s.

When I work at finding my voice, I often find that I tend to write in that sort of high-British Boarding School voice -- because I love M. R. James and his style. I talk like that. And then I suppress it mightily, because too many people say that no one likes to read stories written in that voice anymore.

That makes me sad. It's a beautiful style, and I should be allowed to use it. Granted, it means I'll lose some of my American readers (if not all), but...eh.

I'm still working on it. Work in progress, so my thoughts are a bit disjointed (the migraine isn't helping, either.) What I'm trying to say is, writing in my own voice is fraught with tension for me -- it's unstylish, but when I try to write in the more active, American style voice (which I have, if only because it's how you have to write for AP) it comes across as tense because it's inauthentic.

I wonder what would happen if I just let my voice go to do what it wanted?

And go read some M. R. James. He's kick-ass fabulous. I mean it!

Yet more screaming out here!

2011-10-18T14:25:00.000-04:00

This popped out of my knitting today, with a little help. And look, just look at what was left behind in my lap:

Look at the beading on the second half! Such beautiful asymmetry! Such beady wonderfulness!

It's so strange, really. To have finished it, I mean. You get into the middle of the thing, wading knee-deep in left-leaning mesh, and you feel it will never end, but suddenly...the needles spring free! The scarf falls to your lap, and you are left with nothing to do but block the thing and weave in ends.

I'm a bit at sixes and sevens, I must say. What now that the thing which has been, to a certain point, the only project in my life in which I had total confidence is done? I'm not sure what to do next.

Strange lassitude aside, I've got some leftovers.

That's a massive ball of yarn there, just in case you weren't familiar with the size of my weird man hands.

I also have beads leftover. These in silver and the one token blue (which I'm going to string on something and use as a necklace) from the three tubes originally opened and used. It's been so long, I'm not sure where the other three tubes are -- I know I've kept them, I just don't know where. Well, maybe that's what I'll do with the rest of my day.

But that yarn ball had me curious. Just how much yarn is left over?

European bakers, drug dealers and knitters all have one thing in common, what is it?

Metric scales. After that whopping great scarf, nearly six feet long unblocked, I've got 50 grams of sock yarn left. By my measure, that's about 250 yards. My friends weren't kidding; I could make a pair of matching wristers. And I may, when my eyes have recovered from the trauma of knitting on a dark day with black yarn.

The exhilaration has worn off, lunch is now two hours late and I feel in need of food and, perhaps, a nap. Then I'm going to soak the scarf, pin it out and dry it out for the wearing. I've got my rust-proof t-pins around here somewhere.

Something else to look for in addition to the three tubes of beads.

In case you heard the screaming where you are....

2011-10-15T18:16:00.000-04:00

around one in the afternoon-ish, here's why:

That is the last of my left leaning mesh! Woohooo!

Yes, there's two safety lines in there. Yes, I have security issues, why do you ask?

Anyway, I got to the end of my mesh section and tested all my stitches by pulling on the fabric. Everything was secure, nothing started running so I did this:

I took two of the security lines out. The one in the center of my mesh is still there -- my momma didn't raise no fools -- but the other two are free. Well,...

I left one in at the end of the mesh. So right now, there's two safety lines in my knitting -- the one in the center and the one at the end of the mesh. Still and all, that's one fewer than there was before, and, most importantly, the mesh is done!

I wish I had a bottle of wine, I'd get snookered and do a secret Little Loki happy dance. I cannot believe I've finally gotten to the end of the endless mesh. Sigh.

Only one thing left to do:

Get started on the beads!

I hate it when the weather changes.

2011-10-12T19:22:00.000-04:00

It's the start of orange tree season! I loves me some orange trees.

Not that I don't like new weather. I do, I love new weather -- particularly when we arrive at the beginning of Supposed To Be Cold season (we have two seasons in these parts, Supposed To Be Cold and Supposed To Be Warm, which is why I always laugh when someone says they won't move south when they retire because they "like having seasons." What seasons, for the love of qiviut?!?!?) I love the first half of Supposed To Be Cold. But the change, the actual process of going from STBW to STBC, gives me headaches. I've been battling a rather nasty one today, as a matter of fact. As I was trying to function and write despite the feeling that my head was being slammed repeatedly in a metal drawer, I realized my tolerance for pain has radically dropped since I had my wisdom teeth pulled. The magic of the little brownish pink pills has made me weak, I suppose. So I began to frantically toss my desk drawer like a robber on the clock, looking for my bottle of magic beans. No love. I start moving things on the shelf of my desk complex where my drive sits, trying to find the bottle. Again, no love. I knew there were some pills in my purse (insurance against facial swelling from days of old), so I got one out, swallowed it and came back to my desk to await the magic.

And then I just about slapped myself silly. Here's my desk as it was this afternoon (taken only moments ago; I swear I haven't touched anything but the sticky note pads):

Oh, my. What could that ever be sitting right in front of my monitor?

Maybe I should have slapped myself. Not that it would help, the Advil is helping (my headache is no longer pounding, it just feels like my sinuses have been filled with lead shot), but slapping myself around would not help. I will blame the loopiness on the pain. Yeah, that's it, the pain. Because I'm totally not blonde or anything like that. *facepalm*

In other news, the work situation may be looking marginally more hopeful today. I just have to not screw up an interview I've got on Friday and hope for the best possible outcomes. Which is, really, all anyone can do -- hope for the best possible outcomes. Control is a seductive illusion, and giving it up is hard, hard, so very, very hard to do. But I understand that, while I can control myself and my reactions, I cannot control others or their reactions, either to me or other events.

I hate that aspect of life.

I also got some work done on one of my fiction projects. Precious little else to do today, really. I've got that and a non-fiction project in process, and a second fiction project that's on hold until I get my first one done. It's a trope that your first fully-realized piece of fiction sucks, and I want to get that out of the way before I work on the one that I really, truly love. In the hopes that it won't suck, if you see. I figure I can use any help I can get when it comes to writer juju and rituals.

Writers are very superstitious, you see. I suppose all artists are. Because we know, deep down in our heart of hearts, the art isn't coming from us. We're just transcriptionists of something that floats out in the ether. So we do all we can to raise the best antennae we can muster and hope we get the best signals to transcribe.

Despite the fact that I've been worrying myself sick and cross-eyed the past three or four days, I managed to get some work done on Little Loki. I'd show you, but seriously, do you need to see three more inches of left-leaning mesh? If you do, might I recommend therapy, because, dang, that's strange. I mean, it's my scarf and even I'm having trouble working up enthusiasm for looking at any more left leaning mesh.

But I'm thisclose to getting to the end of the left leaning mesh (and, oh, the parties we'll have then, my friends) and finally, finally!, gaining the tail section, which is chocka-block full of beady, stockinette goodness. And then the cast off. And then the blocking and the wearing. *shudder*

Is it wrong of me to feel more enthused about wearing my Little Loki scarf than I ever have at the thought of an actual man? I know I'm a yarn pervert, but I hadn't realized how much of a yarn pervert I was. Then again, I can honestly say that Little Loki is absolutely perfect for me -- seeing as how I designed him (well, took the transcription on the coolest scarf inspired by a movie villain ever) and then made him my very own self -- which is more than I can say for the poor guys who had to endure my presence in the years I was pretending to be Little Miss Business Suit.

I wonder if I can send them apology cards after all this time, that had to have been a trial....

Assumptions

2011-10-10T22:33:00.000-04:00

I learned tonight not to make hasty assumptions.

One of my knit coven members (we had shockingly few members present tonight -- four, at our peak numbers) brought the following tonight:

It's Lion Brand -- one of my go-to yarns -- in a color called "Catskills". The picture hardly does it justice, in person it's quite...quite. Catskills. Not an image you can bring to mind with that candy yellow, hot pink, screaming purple melange up there, is it? I posited that perhaps it's actually inspired by some high Victorian, steam-punk, Moulin Rouge inspired bordello in the Catskills, not the mountains themselves. That theory, oddly, was shot down. I thought it was a good one. Anyway, I learned my lesson that it's unwise to mock -- see, here's where assumptions get tied in with the tale. I assumed that since, in skein, it's a bit cat-barf-after-Christmas-when-the-bows-vanished, it would knit up the same. However....

It's actually quite beautiful. Yes, there are still eye-wateringly bright spots in there, but overall, the softer colors mute the effect of the others.

You know what they say happens when you assume. Granted, I won't go so far as to say that I completely fell in with the entirety of the saying, but I did feel a bit sheepish for making the assumption itself.

So just because a yarn looks like a hot mess in the skein, don't assume it will knit into a hot mess. It might just surprise you!

Freakin' the frakk out.

2011-10-08T18:42:00.000-04:00

Random pretty picture from Cedar Bog, because readers like pictures.

I love you, isn't that nice of me?

I'm trying to remain calm, but it's hard. Something has changed in the last three days with regards to my working situation, for the much worse. I'm hoping I can pull a rabbit out of this hat, but I'm getting really worried that I've stupided myself into a big problem.

Think some positive thoughts for me, or at least send me a comment telling me to get off my lardy bottom and do something already. I may need some encouragement to get out of bed on Monday -- the fear is very strong.

Anyway, in other not freaking out matters, my friend and I went on a local ghost tour last night. I love ghost stories and tours, if only for the history that you get in them. We toured her neighborhood (it's got a fairly long and exciting history) and it was coooool. She's a bit horrified by the terrors perpetrated in her 'hood in the Bad Old Good Old Days, mostly because her house has been there since nearly the beginning of the town and centrally located. Her fear is that some of the seriously bad actors of the Day might have visited the people who lived in her house, and that gives her some serious psychic ick. Personally, I'd see it as a sort of special cachet, to have had a seriously evil person in my house, particularly if the person who lived there at the time lived to report the encounter.

I value her different perspective, even if I wouldn't be quite so squeamish. Everyone mentioned on the tour has been dead for at least 40 years (and the one in particular that gave her the willies has been dead for over a century), and it's not like they've got Evil Cooties that can linger or anything. If anything, I'd think it would be a selling point to a certain type of buyer, you know?

Sigh, but what do I know -- I am not, nor am I ever likely to be, a homeowner. I have no idea of the realities of real estate.

Of trees and leaves.

2011-10-05T20:52:00.000-04:00

Today was my weekly walk-and-eat-pizza with my friend and her two sons. She's one of my writing friends (and a cater-cousin, actually; my mother has practically adopted her so she can get some extra grandchildren), and it's nice to get out and get some air and synthesize some Vitamin D with someone who understands the rigors of the craft herself from practical application. I mean, I've got friends who are writers, too, but none of them are doing the freelance thing or write for money (other than cater-cousin). When I whine, they take it as an indication I need to change back to a desk job, she understands I'm just engaging in your typical office-place whining. Heck, she works for the same place I do, she whines with me.

Just like being back in an office.

Anyway, we found some autumn beauty today.

She also informed me (correctly or incorrectly I do not know, but I choose to accept her statement as reasonable -- let me know if she's got it wrong) that the trees in Europe don't do these beautiful colors. The leaves just go brown and fall. It has something to do with the wide swings in temperature we get (from 55 F to 85 F from midnight to 4 in the afternoon), which I thought were only good for degrading pavement (I do know that most Europeans don't get potholes like we do -- the ones big enough to break your axle or lose a small dog in -- and I hate them for it. Or, rather, I hate my parents for being American and subjecting me to such concrete depravity.)

Is that really so? Are you denied the glories of popsicle orange (I didn't see any on our walk, but the orange ones are my favorites), screaming yellow and hot reds just because of the crappy climate we have here?

Sad.

I loved these leaves, the red is just glorious. And they look so perfect, as if each one has been hand painted in preparation for the fall. Soooo pretty.

And we aren't even at peak color yet! Since I have the free time, I might even go to the scenic bits of the state and fetch back some pictures of color. Just because it's incredible, and if anyone out there doesn't get it first hand, they at least deserve to see it second hand.

And if there are any botanists out there, does anyone know what THIS:

is? We pass it weekly, and she sees them daily on her walks (we walk in her neighborhood, due to the proximity to the world's best pizza) but doesn't know what they are. They've got the bright red branches and purple berries smaller than grapes. She was wondering if they were elderberries, but I really am out of my depth here. I kill plants just by thinking about getting one, I try to avoid thinking too much on matters plant. It's very pretty, though.

Anyone?

Vacations never last long enough, you know?

2011-10-04T17:18:00.001-04:00

Although some can last too long. Not this one, no, but some. Mexican cruise, I'm thinking of you.

Picture heavy post ahoy: I'm putting in a jump cut.

Last Thursday, I drove out to Ohio in a driving rain. A driving rain as in: it was raining like someone was seriously pissed off with the traffic and trying to wash us all off the road. The field of vision outside my car was...probably far too short for the speed I maintained. It took me nearly twice as long to get to my friend's house as it usually does, and I needed a large glass of beer to calm myself once I'd arrived.

Thankfully, though, I did arrive, safe and (mostly) sound, and I proceeded to enjoy my time with my friend. Well, except for the part where I sliced off a quarter of one fingernail. Or the part where I almost stepped on a garter snake while hiking -- and I don't really want to be scraping garter snake bits out of the treads of my sneakers. Blech.

But other than those two things (which fall under the heading of "OMB, I'm going to be so neurotic about this sort of thing in future, aren't I?" than anything else), the trip was a blast. While there, I had a discussion with my friend about humor and jokes, which I am currently percolating into a post for later this week. Isn't it nice to know I'm thinking ahead about posts for you to enjoy?

I also got to spend some time with my favorite evil furball:

Her name is Trill, but we that knows and loves her all calls her Psycho. She's adorable, but she's got some serious anger-management issues. I tried, this time, to leave her alone, but she...well, the only way I can describe it is she forced me to pet her (what else would you call it if a cat puts her head into your palm forcibly?) and then bit me for having the temerity to touch her.

See? Psycho. She's lucky she's cute.

Her sister is sweet, seriously sweet, and emotionally traumatized by living with Psycho. I don't have any pictures of her because she spent most of her time on my lap itself, and it's hard to get a good picture of a cat that's sitting on your lap. Besides, I needed both hands for petting; Bella is soft as a rabbit.

Then I did what I usually do and made some tourist decisions that, in hindsight, make me question my sanity. Sort of like taking a detour to Rock City and Ruby Falls Caverns when I'm claustrophobic and moderately terrified of caves. Go ahead, check out the pictures. I'll wait.

See? I had no business going there. And those gnomes are darn creepy.

This time? I decided to visit a place called Cedar Bog, which is actually a fen, not a bog. It sounded right up my alley, being a park (I love a good hike when it's followed by a hot shower, some cocoa and a warm bed after) and beyond that a glimpse into what the midwest looked like thousands of years ago.

I should have figured it would look like my backyard after a rain, but noooo. I had to go see.

The map wasn't too complex:

The colors signify the different types of what, for lack of better term, I'll call 'microclimates'. There's open fen, a nasty wet forest, a bit of cedar-y forest and some fields. It's not a bad place, per se. Bits were really pretty.

I liked it quite a bit at first. Until I saw the sign warning you about rattle snakes.

RATTLE SNAKES?!!? I had no idea there were temperate region rattlers. I mean, I'm a city girl, the closest I get to snakes nowadays is my niece's corn snake, Snakie. And Snakie is pretty and sweet and totally non-poisonous. He's not even really prone to biting so long as he gets his two frozen mice per week and the heat lamp is directed at his favorite rock.

Anyway. Back to the pretty:

Not bad for a cell phone camera, I guess. I wish I'd had my actual camera-camera, though -- it has a wrist strap, unlike my cell phone, and I was terrified at several points along the hike that I was going to drop my cell phone into the bog. Excuse me, fen. And with all the signs promising danger and imminent, slithery death if you stepped off or extended an arm or leg over the magical boardwalk boundaries, I was quite concerned about the chance of going home phone-less.

Never fear, I managed to hold on to my hardware. Obviously, since you're looking at the pictures.

Despite the super-magical safety shield that supposedly keeps you safe if you stay entirely on the boardwalk, a couple of garter snakes managed to get up on the boards. One of them almost got a one way ticket to the Great Snake Den In The Sky under my shoe (that's what you get for being so still!) and a second scared the bejabbers out of me by zipping across the boardwalk right in front of me like a greased pig. I believe at that point I asked my friend why the one who missed seeing a huge garter snake to the point of almost stepping on it was the one leading the way, but she just laughed at me.

I think she was hoping any danger from the front would eat me first, giving her time to run away. Hmm.

Don't think it was all terror and dripping wet. Yes, there was an awful lot of poison sumac overhanging the boardwalks and benches along the way, and yes, the threat of snakes seemed constant, but there was also overwhelming beauty. And this:

was my favorite part of the trail. Looks so mysterious, doesn't it? As if you're about to head into haunted territory, all festooned with ghosts and goblins and creatures of the other realms.

Ah, I love the season. October and November are my favorite months of all!

Charity squares -- check.

2011-09-28T21:18:00.000-04:00

I managed to make seven charity blanket squares. That's, for the record, four more whole squares than I'd originally planned.

I so rock.

In other news, I leave tomorrow night to visit my friend in the next state over. I may or may not blog this weekend while vacating. I should -- I'm under obligation to blog at least three times per week -- but I'm not sure I will. I'm not even sure I'm going to answer e-mail all weekend long.

So, there, internet. See how dependent I am on you -- not! :-)

Half-way mark

2011-09-26T23:54:00.000-04:00

Tonight I went to knit night. I admit, I've not been feeling the knitting mojo lately, and that's always a sad thing. But I still go every Monday -- if nothing else, it keeps me in contact with humanity at large. I wasn't feeling what I've got on the needles, so I asked the group what I should work on. The only vote I got was for the Loki scarf. So I worked on it.

And then I frogged everything I accomplished at the end of the night. My friend was right; mesh doesn't TINK. Thank the knitting goddesses that I use not one but two safety lines -- one where I stop for the night and one was left at the base of my mesh. You know, just in case I find something way back that I missed the first time. So I only lost seven repeats of mesh -- 28 rows. When you only have 21 stitches, that's not all that much.

Still and all, I got home and was waiting for Castle to start and decided to try again. I mean, there was nothing to do until 10 but knit, so...

I got everything I'd done at knit group and frogged re-done, and more. You'll notice, too, that the rescue line at the base of the mesh is gone. Where did it go?

I moved it up. I measured tonight and I'm at my half-way point. Half-way through the entire scarf.

Good Lord, y'all. I never realized how tiresome mesh can become! But at least I'm on the downhill side of the scarf, and there's more beadwork to look forward to, so maybe now that I can just...fold over the scarf to check my progress vis a vis the mesh, I'll be moving along more quickly. If nothing else, I can now see how many more repeats I've got, and just having a number is a great relief.

Of course, when I get to the beading section, the knitting will slow right down again, but that's just to be expected. The last few rows before the center and the last few rows before the bind off warp time so that they actually take longer to knit than anything that came before.

Oh, well. I'm closer! That's what counts.

Things I want to do because I just want to.

2011-09-25T18:24:00.000-04:00

1. Crochet. I've written several articles about crochet, people, and I never, ever get an edit requested on them. I should actually, you know, crochet something sometime.

2. Finger knitting. Ditto. Plus I have some nice yarn that would make a lovely braided scarf.

3. Cables. I've designed my own stuff and I've never actually done a cable. I know how they're done, and I'm not really afraid of them, I've just never gotten around to a project that had a cable. Probably because cables add bulk and if there's one thing I don't need it's additional bulk.

4. Knit-on edging. I'm unreasonably afraid of this technique, but I don't know why. And I'll need to know how to do it if I'm ever do make the patterns I truly love out of Victorian Lace Today. My favorite knitporn.

5. Knit a sweater. I say this all the time, and I never do it. I think in my head I'm thinking I should wait until I lose weight. But honestly -- will I? Why don't I just accept my chub and get on with knitting on the sweater? I need to keep warm no matter what, and God knows I've got enough yarn for sixty sweaters in my stashtainer. Might as well just go for it.

Maybe I'll make a boyfriend sweater (read: big and boxy) with cables, edging that's partially knit on and partially crochet, with a finger knit accent bow. Get all five out of the way in one go!

Things I should be doing but am not.

2011-09-23T20:13:00.000-04:00

Working. Eating dinner. Researching other freelance opportunities.

What am I doing? Uploading pictures from the walk I took yesterday. But look, look!

This was the prettiest red leaf on that tree. One or two others were trying, but they couldn't quite cut it. Sorry, leaves. Try harder.

I love the gold color of these leaves. Once upon a time, back when I was more emo than I am today, I wrote a very sappy free-verse poem about these leaves and the fans dropped when the fair folk left the dance. You can see why. You can also see why, I'm sure, I gave up on the poetry.

Every leaf on this tree had the same pattern of gold/brown edging. I wonder if the trees co-ordinate themselves in fall, or if it's just dumb luck?

And my favorite picture of all:

A combination of bad angle and dirty finger touching the lens made this image possible. It almost looks like I've filtered it, out there on the edges. But I didn't. Just a lucky shot!

Weird things on the street.

2011-09-21T20:35:00.000-04:00

Bamboo. In a local neighborhood. And you can't see it, but on the other side of that fence is a veritable forest of bamboo.

Someone's all highlands of China up in here. I wonder if they've got a pet panda, too.

I'm doing a little better today, since I went walking with one of my best friends this morning. We dragged her poor children all over that neighborhood while we chattered on like a couple of monkeys, then went to lunch. This is my regular Wednesday schedule, but somehow it makes the day that much better. If only I could get the same sort of happiness hit every day. It lasted me so long, I even got work done today. Real, for-pay type work. I'm going to log off here and do some knitting, too.

Whoo. Hold me back, kids, I'm just going wild.

And that's Numberwang!

2011-09-20T19:40:00.000-04:00

I become convinced life is a game of Numberwang (look at the top of the first section, Recurring Sketches, for an explanation if you aren't a Mitchell and Webb fan). I guess that means I've got as good a chance as anyone else for winning.

In knitting news, I managed to get some extra squares done for my charity knitting project. I'm now up to four complete squares, with a fifth on the needles. I should be able to finish it tonight.

Considering I never thought I'd finish up the three I'd planned, I think I'm smoking on this project. Granted, it's about all I'm cooking with gas on this month. In other matters, I'm so hosed it's not even funny. Again, I do the hosing (self-hosing, heh), so I can't blame anyone. I'm not sure if that makes me feel any better or not.

Maybe it should make me feel better. Giving up the victim mentality is the first step to taking control of your life and choices and therefore being able to take responsibility for your successes as well.

I won't bore you with a recitation of my work life -- God knows it bores me to tears -- but suffice to say I've got wonked out priorities. I'm having trouble making my non-fiction word counts (I'm going to have to bust some sass tomorrow in order to catch up on what I should have done this week), but I'm working hard on my fiction.

That, too, should be consolation of a sort. I may not be doing the right writing, but at least I'm writing. Surely that counts for something?

Tangled.

2011-09-16T22:31:00.000-04:00

This is almost literally a visual metaphor for my life right now. Tangled up blankets, tangled up skein, empty soft, squishy chair waiting. Just...waiting. I know I get this way periodically, but I dunno. Today I'm just a bit burnt out on myself. Things are strange up in here, and by "up in here" I mean in my head. Sigh. Maybe I should be getting more sleep or more protein or whatever, but I just can't find any enthusiasm for just about anything lately. Well, aside from knitting, which I have precious little time for anymore.

Maybe that's my problem: I'm fiber deficient.

Anyway, I decided to splurge a little and feed myself amply (if not entirely well) by gorging on pizza at my favorite pizza place tonight. So I called in an order (and got my mother a salad, too, I wasn't being completely greedy) and hie'd me off to fetch yon cheesy goodness, and this is what I found:

Little claw-feet yarn bombs on the benches outside the restaurant. Awwww. You might not be able to tell (or this may be the wrong shot), but one set of them (there are two benches) is sparkly.

That did make my day, you know. Sparkly dino-claws on benches. I feel a bit better about the world for that.

Rocking on the charity squares

2011-09-14T18:49:00.000-04:00

It's on a dishtowel because there was grease or something on the yarn that I had to wash out. It washed, so I'm not upset. I've got my third square cast on and I'm going to work on it tonight as I watch some television. I may get my target of three squares done by the 30th after all!

We're waiting on storms here, but while we're waiting I decided to hop on and make a small post. I've done nothing else today that remotely qualifies as "working" or even "writing". Or, frankly, anything. I went walking with my friend, discussed the trials of being a mother to a toddler and a newborn at one time (yikes, she's nuts) and then went to lunch. I got lazy after and went to get cat food and treats and pasta (for me) with my mom when I got home, then made some dinner. Nothing too exhausting.

Now I'm just sitting here, digesting and feeling a bit disgusted with myself that I've not accomplished anything today -- other than socializing, which is, for me, actually quite a big deal. Just three years ago, I had very few friends and spent even less time with them. So I suppose I shouldn't be too cranky about not doing for-pay work, I did get out of the house with someone not family. That's an accomplishment of sorts.

And I suppose I should quit writing. I had a glass of wine with dinner and now I'm a bit...loopy. I'm sure this post makes about no sense whatsoever. But at least my back doesn't hurt anymore. Again, I suppose that's an accomplishment of sorts!

The scariest thing I think I've ever seen in person.

2011-09-12T22:44:00.001-04:00

I went off to my knit group tonight, not at all expecting more excitement than usual. But it was not to be as soothing an experience as it usually is. The apartments across the street from our little cafe caught fire about ten minutes before I got there -- meaning that by the time I arrived, it was a conflagration. And in the next five minutes, I watched huge, brilliantly orange flames shoot skyward as they ate the front and roof off the unit and then jumped the parking lot and started chewing on a second unit. I don't think I've ever seen anything half so horrifying in person. The speed with which the flames moved across the roof, the color, everything about the sight was designed to trigger my central nervous system to put distance between me and It. I admit, I stood by my car for a moment and watched before the way the front of the building began disintegrating in the orange glow disturbed me into backing off, but my retreat was a fairly speedy one. I did not muck about outdoors but headed into the cafe as soon as I noticed the wood of the balcony turning a mottled black.

Strikingly, there were plenty of people who didn't find the sight as frightening as I did and actually stopped their cars on the street to rubber-neck (in the middle of the street, I might add, like, where the moving traffic goes), crossed the street on foot to get a better view, and several people stood along the side of the street taking pictures. One woman with two small girls stood close to the street taking pictures with her cell phone and all I could think was Way to set an example, lady -- someone could be dying in there!

Am I the only person who thinks taking pictures of someone else's misfortune and possible death is vulgar? Maybe. Whatever else it is, it was a major time-suck, as it took at least ten minutes to put the big flames out, longer to get rid of the little smoldery flames and then even longer still to knock out walls and take down the rest of the roof and clean up and write reports and such. All the trucks (at least 10; it was amazing) were still there when I left the cafe two hours later. Which is, if you know anything about the process of dealing with house fires, unsurprising. There is a lot of administration and subsequent paperwork that go into fires.

(Addendum: I just found the article on the fire and no one died. Some people inhaled some nasty smoke and several families lost their homes, but no one died. Praise God.)

I am not an adrenaline junkie, I don't like roller coasters, horror movies or super fast cars. Well, maybe I do like fast cars, when I'm driving. I understand that there are some people on this planet who live for the little frill of adrenaline that goes around your kidneys and up your spine when you see or experience scary things. I have never understood this. Never. I don't understand the phrase "fun-scary" -- to me, there is no such thing. There is "fun" and there is "scary", but the two do not intersect. I do not get the concept of fear as fun. Fear shouldn't be fun -- if it's fun sometimes, how do you know when it's supposed to be serious? Perhaps it's my past, perhaps it's just my nature, but I don't enjoy horrific scenes of destruction or thrill rides designed to mimic an out of control train or dating American-Style (which always trips my stranger-danger sensors because you're sitting at a table with a stranger who's trying to look down your blouse -- how is this fun or interesting or just not creepy as hell?) so, yes, perhaps I'm a weenie for finding a fire frightening, but I don't think it's entirely unnatural. I felt the fear almost as if I were in the apartments, not across the street. Fire is a very hungry monster, and this one was taller than the trees around it.

Anyway, after the excitement died down (and I'd sat down with my back to the windows), I managed to accomplish something tonight:

A square! Squeeee! And it's actually square -- 6" by 6". Seed stitch, my favorite. I'm so unreasonably pleased that I got the first square done that I promptly sat back down and started up a second:

in the lighter blue. This one will be garter stitch; dull, uninspiring and (hopefully) quick. I want to finish three squares before the end of September -- that's when my knit-along ends. Between the teeth and the baby and the not-being-able-to-sleep (which I haven't bothered you about, but lately I just can't fall asleep at night -- I hope I'm not discovering my inner insomniac again, insomnia sucks big time), I haven't knitted anything. I haven't, frankly, done much of anything at all.

Hopefully, this square will reverse that trend. I can't let this lassitude catch hold, so tonight -- after I knit a few more rows to settle myself down again -- I'm going to take a Mommy's Little Helper (or maybe I'll try using my wine; the buzz doesn't last as long, but I just need it to last long enough for me to get to sleep) and try to get some rest. God willing and the creek don't rise, I'll be functional enough tomorrow to get some heavy-duty work done on the day!

Last of the summer wine....

2011-09-09T14:39:00.000-04:00

Well, not really. Just almost the last of my birthday presents has finally rolled in. I'm waiting on one more, but as I a) know what it is and b) get a vacation out of the fetching of it, I'm not all that chuffed about its arrival.

Here is what I got this week:

Actually, my friend gave me cash money instead of a gift -- there was a bit of chaos in our lives this past month, and if she'd actually gotten me a gift, it probably would have been destroyed in horrific fashion. So much better done this way, really. That's an image of two skeins of Cascade Yarns Heritage Silk in a stinkin' hot blue color and a bottle of my favorite wine. Mmmm, sweet wine. I love it like buttah. I've already cracked into it, actually -- not while knitting, of course, that lesson I've learned in ages past -- and will be having another glass again tonight with dinner. Good for the cardiovascular, you understand. And, to be honest, my jaw. The internal bruising and swelling has (for the most part) receded, but there's some leftover tenderness and muscular tightness from the whole bollywoggle still going on. So I take a glass in the name of medicine every night to relax my jaws a bit.

Don't knock it, it works.

And here's a close-up of my supah-swanky yarn:

Isn't it beautiful? I had the shop wind it up for me, and since I've got 874 yards of it, I'm pretty glad I did. Fingering weight, silk and superwash blend. I'm thinking shawl, if I can find a stitch pattern I like passing fair, or maybe use someone else's pattern. Gasp! Me, use a pattern?!?!

I know, I can hardly credit that myself. But it's been known to happen, and quite often for proof of concept projects so I can see how they work and figure them out before I make up my own ride.

Don't be looking for a shawl out of this anytime soon, though. I've got a project queue about sixty miles long, and I'm stalled out on Little Loki. All my excitement for the bead work has exhausted itself in the tedium of miles of left-leaning mesh. It's a wonderful project for those nights when I'm not sure I feel quite like knitting on something I have to think much about, but not so much for long-haul knitting. It's a bit...tiring, really. Oh, I still love it and I'm looking forward immensely to having the thing finished, blocked and on my person, but I'm bored of mesh.

Oooh. I've got some worsted weight silk/merino yarn wanting to be turned into a shawl, too, somewhere in my stashtainer. Maybe a simpler shawl pattern will work for me.

Hmmmm. I must go have a think now. Between Loki and the other projects I've got going, I need a warm pattern that's fairly mindless. And I need to make my mother a new scarf for the winter, but that's neither here nor there right now. She can borrow one of mine, if needs must. Until I finish hers.

See what I mean? Sixty miles long. If I got paid, that right there would be job security!

My phobias

2011-09-06T19:21:00.000-04:00

People who know me know I have several phobias. Some of them are reasonable: bats, clowns, small, creepy children in nightgowns singing songs in high-pitched voices. Some of my phobias are a little less reasonable: wind turbines -- the kind on wind farms -- architectural statuary and large glass buildings. There's a bit of a trend in those last three, apparently I dislike things that loom suddenly out of nowhere over me. Maybe not so unreasonable, then, but still. You try telling people you dislike big statues because they frighten you a little. Apparently, it's the pinnacle of my personal weird. Granted, saying my fear of architectural statuary is the pinnacle of my weird is sort of a statement along the lines of it's a very special drop of water in an ocean, but there you have it.

I would like to say that the phobia only applies to human statues. I have no problems with giant space widgets or animal statues or free-form metallic things that turn gently in the breeze. Those are ok by me. Giant people with odd proportions because they're designed to be viewed from fifty feet below...creeptastic.

They've cleaned up the Soldier's and Sailors Monument in downtown Indianapolis, including the giant bronze statue of Victory that traditionally stands atop it. Despite the fact I dislike huge human statues, I figured she might not be so hard for me to gaze upon at ground level -- she's all wrapped up in a box and wires and ropes and chains and hooked up to a big crane so she can't get me. I saddled up, invested in the gas and went to town.

She was supposed to be flying back up to her natural perch this morning, but the winds were too strong, so I had some time to get some photos in. I wasn't sure what sort of reaction I'd have to Victory up close, but I thought there would be other people there and witnesses always keep me from freaking out visibly in public. I was a bit surprised, to tell the truth, at how few people there were there aside from the construction workers loitering around the crane waiting for the wind to die down. Aside from the workers, there were maybe 20 people there. Part of the sidewalk was blocked off for safety, so in order to get around to the back of her I had to circle all the way around -- and then when I got there I discovered they'd taken the tapes down to open the sidewalk. Oh, well, at least I got some exercise.

I was also surprised by my reaction: She is Beauty Incarnate:

The grace of her lines, the elegance of the draping of her gown...her face is beautiful. Such glory designed to sit on top of a giant plinth, however many yards over the casual observers' heads.

Criminal. But beautifully criminal. I can't believe all that pretty sits all that way up there, so far from her admirers.

I'm glad I got to see her, though, up close and personal. How often does that happen?

Radio Silence

2011-09-02T13:21:00.000-04:00

I've been busy this past week. I wish I could say I've done actual work, but alas. My friend went and had her baby (aka my Godson -- someone is making me the Godmother of their child) and I've had to take care of the Big Brother for a few days. He's a good kid, but, well. He's two.

Anyone who knows kids knows exactly what that means. If nothing else, the experience has broken the slightly broody mood I've been in the past few years. If I can't hack two days of little/no sleep, dealing with a cranky child at 6:45 in the morning while in mild dental pain, I'm not cut out for Mommy Duty. I'm such a wuss. I think I'll keep my 7am wake up hour, though. That 6 o'clock is for the birds. And toddlers.

Sigh, moving on...I've been lazy all week. It's amazing how not eating solid food for seven full days will take it out of you, you know? So I have decided to just take the whole week off this week (no worries, I can do that) and rest, relax and completely recuperate. Although I had my follow up exam today and was told that I'm healing "better than (they're) used to seeing". Take that, mean people who thought I'd have big problems for being old! I healed up nicely and quickly -- the resident was surprised that I wasn't feeling quite so bruised today. And he says my clots are "beautiful." See, it's not just a consolation statement for the physically unattractive, it's true: everyone has different standards of beauty!

I came right home and ate the pizza I didn't get to eat at my birthday party last Sunday. It felt good. Now I want a beverage I get to drink through a straw. shudder The pleasures of non-post-recovery living!

I'll post more tomorrow. After I've slept a bit and gotten some pictures together and have two thoughts to rub together that aren't about "Oooh, solid food! I want some solid fooooood!"

Ow.

2011-08-26T16:34:00.000-04:00

Just. Ow. I feel like I've been smacked around pretty good, but at least my bleeding's stopped. Considering it was making me sick yesterday, that's not anything small.

Despite the fact that I was not a good girl and had a massive crying jag after the procedure (I blame the sedatives and bleeding, two of my least favorite things), I decided to go ahead and use my birthday money on yarn. Hey, my face is stretched out of shape and bloaty, I feel like I've gone a round or two with Tyson and I wanted new yarn. I think that's a good enough set of reasons!

By the way, this is going to be a huge, long, photo-intense post, so I'm going to put a jump break in here:

OK, now we're done with the jump break, here's my new toys:

Cascade 220 in a pretty heathered green and brown. I loves me some 220. It's superwash, so it's not a full on worsted, but it should still knit up into something big and pretty. Me likey.

Mochi Plus in a pretty swirl of blue, purple and green. It's an average of worsted weight, and only 196 yards. But I likes it, and I wanted it. So I bought it. All she had of that colorway, actually, so 196 yards it is. I'll figure out something for this, too. I'm clever like that.

Right before I went to the yarn shop, I went to the store:

See, previous to this, I've been subsisting on stuff like this:

That stuff's pretty good, by the way. Tasty. Probably better for me than the crap I routinely eat.

Luscious Gerber Vanilla Custard Pudding with Bananas aside, I wanted to make myself some mashed potatoes. I mean, it's got to be more solid than baby food, yogurt or ice cream and all I've been able to eat since the midnight between Wednesday and Thursday has been yogurt, ice cream and baby food. OK, maybe the ice cream is pretty darn solid, but you can only eat so much ice cream before you get tired of it. I made a trip to the grocery to get potatoes, leeks, onions, chicken broth and some sour cream.

Then I started up with the doctorin':

Three big cloves of garlic. Smashed with the side of my knife to get the skins off and chucked into a pot just broken up. Big chunks don't matter in this recipe. You'll see.

A white onion. I didn't want to blow my head off with onion power, so I only used half of this one.

Chuck it in the pot with four green onions -- the whites and half of the greens -- , the white and light green part of one largish leek and a great big chunk o' butter for juice (around about 1 1/2 tablespoons):

Sweat it out until everything is soft then toss in a can of chicken, including the juice. I use a generic brand that does chicken in water with salt -- no other additives or ingredients, but use your best judgment. Salt and pepper it gently and let it warm through completely.

Chuck that stuff in a blender and let 'er rip! It's not completely smooth, there's still some slight chunkiness, but I like some chunk to my chow. Your mileage may vary.

Now, cut up about 7 smallish yellow potatoes -- the kind they tout as 'buttery' -- and put them in the same pot you just used along with most of a 32 oz. box of chicken stock, just enough to cover the potatoes. I personally love Kitchen Basics, but again, pick your own poison.

Boil until they're soft and mashable and drain most of the stock out -- most, not all; leave in about...eh, 1/8 cup of stock in the bottom. It's good for you. Slop your leek/onion/onion/garlic/chicken goo into the pot on top and mash it like you mean it.

Don't forget to make like Paula Deen and add some more butter at this point. It really helps smooth out your mash. As you can see, I personally prefer the aerobic benefits of a hand masher, but you can use your hand mixer if you must. Weenie.

And you can barely see it, but I grated some fresh nutmeg on top. Mmmm, nutmeg. Sorry, I didn't mean to channel the KY commercial, but it works with just about everything: leeks, potatoes, onions. I have a grater and a big bag of nutmegs, so I have to try it out on everything, anyway, but that's neither here nor there -- it tastes good, trust me. That's maybe...eh, a sprinkle of less than 1/4 tsp.

(And the green tinge in this photo is from a suncatcher in our kitchen window. It doesn't look like mold in the pot, believe me.)

Toss some in a bowl, put some sour cream on top for garnish (to cool it down; I'm not supposed to be eating really hot stuff right now, so I'm telling myself it was to cool it off) and complete the picture with a spoon.

This is the result:

Good golly, that stuff was good. And thanks to the puree setting on my blender, I not only got some veggies and potatoes, I got chicken, too. Without having to make do with the incredi-nasty canned meat of baby food jars.

It was so good, in fact, that I went crazy and ate two bowls. I'm having trouble choking down baby food, but I could take in two whole bowls of this meal mash.

And yes, I'm schlubbing around there in that photo. I just had four teeth pulled/drilled out of my head. I feel like crap.

I'm going to go pet my yarn and maybe have a little more baby food for dessert and then drink some water. I hope it gets me through the rest of the day which is, according to the dentist, the worst of the recovery.

From his lips to God's ears, is all I have to say.

I came online to post this....

2011-08-24T22:57:00.000-04:00

and got started watching Supernatural convention videos. I've really got to get hold of myself, you know?

Anyway, I've gotten involved with the charity knitting, as I mentioned the other day. Here's proof of square:

I've been working on it all day to keep my nerves in check. It helps, when I'm knitting. I put it down and the freak outs begin again.

I just want to say I do not understand it. I've had surgery before -- major surgery -- and wasn't as wangsty as I'm getting over this stupid wisdom tooth thing. I just took a klonopin, people. Actual sedatives. I knew if I didn't I wasn't going to get any sleep tonight, that's for sure and certain. I. Do. Not. Understand.

And I never understood the generalized anxiety people have about dentistry, either, until today. I mean, I know part of my anxiety is the helpful "information" video they force you to watch which lists all the possible complications of wisdom tooth extraction, up to and including death. Yeah, 'cause I needed you to make me more paranoid than I already am! Sheesh. But still, this is extreme.

Ah, well. By this time tomorrow, I'll be home with ice packs on my cheeks, a bit sheepish that I got so wound up over something so easy. I'm not doing the work, after all. That's my dentist's job. I'm just lying back, relaxing under the force of IV sedation, getting a nap in edgewise.

In other news, my mother took me to my nephew's first football game as a middle schooler tonight. He didn't play for much of the game, but he started. He's such a nice boy, though. I worry his killing instinct isn't strong enough for school football. The minors, yeah, but playing with the big boys.... Sigh. Ah, well. He'll shake out properly in a few games.

It was nice to get out, though, get to the game. Took my mind off things for a while. The evening was muggy but the wind was high and we sat in the shade so it wasn't too terribly unpleasant. I got some knitting in, on the square. I enjoyed it. Well, until the metal bleachers made my butt go numb, but overall, a pleasant way to spend the evening.

Now I must go fit my dental appliance -- I'm a night time tooth grinder, and I want to have a chewer molded to my teeth before I get the work done tomorrow. I kept putting it off and putting it off, but I think the time has come to fit my appliance.

I hate working with boiling water!

I did something I rarely do today....

2011-08-23T17:34:00.001-04:00

I cleaned my desk.

I got a new file box and new pencil holder and just went ballistic on the dust and (shaming to admit, but it's true) cobwebs and cleaned it all up. Now I've got more space again. Well, it helps that I actually did my filing today instead of just piling it up and waiting for the filing fairy to visit. Little tramp, she never comes to my house.

So now I have a tidy workspace and all kinds of room to work. Let's see if I actually use it, shall we?

In other news, I'm doing another something I rarely do: Charity Knitting. I don't like to knit for others, I always feel I'm imposing on them to accept my work. Leftover emotional baggage from childhood. Whatever. But this month one of my Ravelry groups is doing a charity knit along. Since I'm a mod, I felt beholden to join in the festivities. Sheesh.

Here's the yarn I bought:

Royal blue and

soft blue in my favorite acrylic.

Now I just have to get down to, you know, knitting my blanket squares. I've decided to knit squares for the Afghans for Pine Ridge Reservation project. It seemed a good fit: I'm crap at hats, baby blankets are just too long and dull for me to get into at present, but 6" or 1' squares...I can do those all day. That's basically a glorified swatch, and the product gets used to keep people who really got the short end of many, many sticks (which were generally stuck into their eyes, but that's an argument for another day) warm in winter.

Which, as a chill-prone person myself, is an excellent goal. People should be kept warm. I can help do that!

Just too exciting for words

2011-08-19T21:11:00.000-04:00

Look, a pretty picture of fishies and a Chihuly glass ball. Deep breath in, let it go slowly.

Let me tell you about my day.

I got up and went walking, thinking, oh, yes, this is going to be a boring day. I have to get some work done and renew my license plates, but hey, overall dull, dull, dull.

No.

I decided to go to the license branch right after a quick brunch of my favorite food (Frosted Flakes). I sing along with my new Supernatural music mix (I am starting to really love Led Zepplin again; thought I'd broken the habit) and am enjoying the sunny summer day, when I pull into the license branch.

And my car starts to smoke.

Not "oooh, some wispy smoke tendrils!" smoke, but "OMGWTFBBQ, my car's on fire!!!" smoke. As in, I seriously thought my car was on. Fire. Now, I've busted a radiator hose or two in my time, so I know what it looks like. This was California In Springtime smoke curling up out of my hood.

I bolt out of my car into the license branch, only to discover (to my horror) that the one time I actually need the stupid thing, I've left my cell phone at home. A place I can no longer get to, as my car is smoking out in the parking lot like a juvenile delinquent with some serious lung cancer to develop. Crap.

This is when things get real interesting: I rush in to the desk to ask the ladies if they've got change for their (really rare and, it turns out, defective) public phone or a fire extinguisher or some advice for a damsel in distress, and I hear a woman in the back shout, "Oh, my God, there's a car on fire in the lot! Call 911!"

Before I can do anything, almost before I can speak, the lady at the counter comes out and asks if she can help. I'm freaking out (naturally), some guy in line comes over and asks if that's my car and the disembodied voice from the back takes physical shape in the person of Counter Lady 2 and comes out front to let me know she's already called the fire department. Ok, fine.

The guy in line turns out to be some sort of engine whisperer (or at least more conversant with cars than I am) and goes out with me. The smoke, by this time, is no longer pouring out in great, gusty waves so he pops my hood to discover that one of my coolant lines has, indeed, sprung a leak. The line in question is a hard plastic pipe that looks a bit like a crevice tool for a vacuum and the leak it has sprung runs the length of the pipe, right across the front of my engine, creating a long high-pressure leak that is spraying coolant over the entirety of my engine. Not just the flat metal heat exhaust pan right in front of it, no, from side to side across the width of my engine, like some sort of hellish engine sprinkler, watering the daisies of my oil pan with green water. Which is why there's so much smoke -- the coolant was everywhere at once, not just in a single spot. He grabs a jug of water out of his car and wets the engine down, probably stopping something melting worse than it already was before.

Meanwhile, the fire dudes arrive, sirens blaring, and check it out, too. They declare my engine fire (which never really was) out, lecture me about raising the hood when I see smoke, throw down kitty litter and saw dust under the car on my coolant leak and call a tow truck for me. Fine, excellent, get me out of there, whatever.

I finally manage to reach my mother (through the kindness of Counter Lady Number 3, who loaned me her cell phone), who calls Dad, who yells at me for calling a tow truck. I didn't call the tow truck, the firemen did. Well, why call the fire department? It was obviously a coolant leak. I didn't call the firemen, the BMV ladies did. Silence on the phone. I guess it's hard to blame me when I didn't really call anyone, on account of I didn't have my frakkin' cell phone in the first place.

So, anyway, the upshot is for all that excitement and bollywoggle (and the three hours I spent towing my car hither and yon, visiting my insurance agent to get my tow fees reimbursed and then getting the lunch for my mom I'd promised her before my car started making like Vesuvius), I ended up needing a $25 part, no real damage was done to my car and I only just now managed to finish the base work load for this week. I'll have to put in some time tomorrow, because base pay isn't going to cut it anymore, but really...stick a fork in me, I'm done. From about...1:30 onward it's been nothing but hustle and bustle and heat and smoke and noise. I need some dinner and a stiff drink, stat.

To add to the auto hubbub in these parts, I was supposed to go to a movie with my friend tonight, Fright Night. I only want to see it for David Tennant. Anyway, she calls me around 5:30 as I'm frantically working my arse off to make my goals before we meet up, and tells me she can't go to the movies tonight, she's been in an accident and totaled her car. She's fine, but her car...eh. Not so much.

I should note, I'm not sentimental about things. The minute she herself called me to cancel and not the hospital or her family, I was fine, perhaps to the point of sounding callous about her car. But seriously -- two cars gone A.W.O.L. in one day? In such spectacular fashion? What phase is the moon tonight?

And another soothing picture, just to help us all relax again:

There now. Doesn't Chihuly make it all better?

Surly Knitter: Birthday Edition

2011-08-17T19:56:00.001-04:00

Well, well, well. Here we are again -- although I hope to make many happy returns. :-)

They say it's my birthday, and I have no reason to doubt anyone involved, so I will celebrate it. I love my birthday, it's a reminder to me that I am alive and there are infinite possibilities ahead. I never feel "old" when I have a birthday (although the occasional work day will give me cause to work my Methuselah mojo), unlike some people I know who weep and wail and mourn. Hey, I get free cake and stuff on my birthday, that's gotta be a good day in just about any book.

Weirdos.

So, anyway, I always check my horoscope on my birthday (for fun, I don't believe it, but sometimes it gives me ideas that are worthwhile) and this is what I found:

Today's birthday (Aug. 17): You will invent and reinvent. One of your past creations will be

used in a new way, and you'll make more money.

Leo (July 23-Aug. 22): Reconsider the way your workspace is organized.

There is a noise or lighting issue to be addressed.

Interesting notes, considering I have immediate plans to re-do my desk (it's a pit; not quite The Pit, more like the outer edges of Purgatory, but close) and a new project for the year that will make my next year The Year Of Writing Dangerously. I plan on taking a few new risks with my writing and hope they'll pay off, but really...the risk itself is adequate why. I don't need money to provoke me.

What can I say, I do love chaos and nothing makes for good chaos quite like wild, uninhibited risk-taking. Bwahahaha.

Also I am thinking of knitting challenges to take up. Cables, for one. I'm not scared of cables, really, I understand the technical side of it too well, it's just...finding a smallish project with cables on that I won't get sick of too quickly. Cables and, I think, color work again. Or maybe...maybe knitting with my Kidsilk Haze (which is only about sixty trillion years old, being one of the first sets of yarn that I stashed) which doesn't tink or even frog.

Now, that's scary.

Early pressies.

2011-08-16T20:43:00.000-04:00

The birthday gifting has already started.

A friend -- to be honest, the pervert who got me hooked in the first place -- sent me the second season of my new favorite (and only favorite among broadcast television) show, Supernatural. It's my favorite season. Well, it's one of the favorites. I like the first three seasons most, although I've yet to see an episode that makes me think, What the hell were they thinking!?!?!

Yet.

I bought myself a book for my birthday, the newest from Robin D. Owens, who is one of my favorite authors. Fortune smiles at me that she's considered romance and Borders was clearancing out their romance category at 50%. I don't like short-changing authors, but when you're a freelance writer any discount is a happy discount.

Then I went ahead and manufactured a present for myself:

I digitized my music collection -- all sixty trillion hours worth -- in anticipation of getting a new car stereo that would allow me to run the show through my iPod. Which didn't happen. So once upon a time, I had an actual copy of Bauhaus' Mask that I purchased from a legitimate record store, but after I digitized it, I got rid of it. Hey, it saved a ton of closet space for me -- storing all those jewel cases is a bear. But that means I can't listen to it in my car anymore, and I do so love screaming along the highway with Hair of the Dog screaming along with me. So I put it on plastic again, just until I get that new stereo.

Additionally, this week got off to a weird start, so I decided to reward myself with a little iTunes surfing once I finished work, which I did -- I pulled down a list of tracks used in Supernatural episodes and went on a shopping spree. I made myself a CD for use in my car (which does not, as noted, have a thoroughly modern, iPod accessible stereo in it) while driving. Granted, I haven't got a '67 Chevy Impala (as if I'd drive a Chevy!), but I can pretend I'm on my way to kill some demons or something with my uber-cool soundtrack playing.

Hey, we all have our fantasies.

Words, Words, Words

2011-08-12T22:36:00.000-04:00

I tried an experiment today. Since it was so lovely -- warm without the muggy, soft breezes that felt cool on the skin, blue sky and bright green greens -- I took my laptop and went to the local art museum to write. In the hour before my battery died (well, didn't die, per se, but the computer kept warning me it would fall asleep if I didn't shut down) I managed to write 10 pages. I haven't done that in...years. Days were, back before I started taking my writing too seriously, I could occasionally rip out a story in an hour or two, making my pace about 10 pages per hour. It felt good to be able to lose myself in the writing so well that it just flowed like water. Seriously good. I've been blocked for so long on my fiction that just sitting down on a bench, listening to a lovely fountain, feeling the breeze on my face and just clacking out 10 pages of story felt a bit like...giving birth after a very long, very painful pregnancy.

A load off my mind, literally.

Now, I'd also like to note two things: One: I type like the wind. I've been earning money for over fifteen years in one capacity or another from typing some nonsense or other. I test out at around 90 wpm, but that's testing out. You almost always test slightly slower than you can actually type because you're being cautious when you test. Two: Because I type like the wind, I can almost type as fast as I think, edit, revise a little and come up with a good sentence. It can get stream of consciousness after a while, once I get into my flow.

Now, this doesn't mean I'm writing anything good, necessarily, it just means I'm writing a lot of stuff very fast. Still and all, I wrote! I've been blocked for ages and yet today I just wrote!

Little Loki seems to be spreading to other aspects of my life, as well. The win oozes out of my knitting bag and onto my laptop.

Plus, I came home tonight and managed to get my work writing quota in. More than, actually. I'm pretty darn proud of myself and my words today. Of course, I've probably used up all my words for the week in one day. God knows I've used enough of them.

In other news, I did not get to much knitting this week. I'm still thinking about putting a shrug on the needles, but now I'm not sure if I want to use the Knit Picks Shamrock or if I want to use some Bernat Chunky Alpaca I've got stashed away:

I just can't decide. Smooshy alpaca or warm wool. Hmmm. I'm spoiled for choice in this.

After I finished working on my last article of the week, I decided I wanted mashed potatoes. I love mashed potatoes and I feel I am severely deficient of mashed potatoes. So I got out the five organic potatoes I had left (of a 3-pound bag), boiled them, mashed them and then buttered and sour creamed them to diet hell.

Mmmmm. Potatoes.

I'm going to go finish my bowl of dairy with a little potato in and then go to bed. It's been a long day.

Am I insane?

2011-08-09T22:37:00.000-04:00

Rhetorical question, don't answer that.

But seriously, since the big, muggy heat-wave broke this morning, I've been getting chilled both at my desk and when indoors where there is air conditioning. It's strange. I'm sure I'm not coming down with something; I turn down my fan and I'm ok. Still...chilled in August? I shouldn't be surprised -- I hate air conditioning; it supercools the air when mere cool would do -- but it seems odd. Then again, maybe I'm the odd one.

Anyway, the chill has given me an urge to make a shrug. I just need something I can sling around myself when at my desk, working, so I don't catch an ague.

I like that word, ague. Makes me think of the ocean, somehow.

Anyway, I was thinking I need to make a shrug for myself. Maybe it's time to realize the design I had in mind for these yarns:

I've only had them for-freakin'-ever. Knit Picks Shamrock in two colors that I don't even think they make anymore. Heck, I just went to the Knit Picks website and they don't even make Shamrock anymore. Yikes. I've had them a long, long time.

I bought them ages ago, intending a shrug. A shrug with a tree theme. I'm considering digging them out -- once I've gotten the gift off the needles, natch, -- to use as a second project for when Loki finally burns me out on knitted left-leaning mesh. Which it hasn't, not yet, but I anticipate a day when it will.

I have found that now the Big Heat is, for the time being, moving south again to where it properly belongs, my thoughts are turning to sweaters and shrugs and arm warmers, oh, my. I hate winter -- the cold literally makes my skin crawl -- but I find I don't mind a cooler season that requires a sweater, a hat and maybe some gloves on a bad day. As a knitter, you know I find the thought of cool weather wear just...knitter-nip. I love thinking about shrugs and scarves and sweaters and hats. I love bundling up and snuggling up with a cup of hot chocolate on a frosty night.

I'm not much of a high-summer girl, and I detest low-winter with all my heart, but I do love the in-between seasons. The liminal seasons, when heat and cold are on the way but not quite here yet.

It's a pity I live in a place that doesn't do reasonable weather for long!

Grrrr.

2011-08-06T12:45:00.001-04:00

So I've got half my white roses painted red, yeah, taking all that time off my beloved scarf, yeah, and I get word yesterday that the recipient isn't coming over this weekend. She's not even coming to town as I was told -- apparently, her schedule doesn't permit. While I'm indeed glad I don't have to finish the scarflette by tomorrow (possible but unpleasant and liable to inflame the repetitive knit injuries to my elbow), it would have been nice if the person who knew this fact would have told me last week when they themselves first heard the news so I wouldn't have been knitting like a Spartan to get that thing shuffled off the needles.

Sigh. Not their fault, actually, as they didn't know I had decided to knit something for said person -- and, frankly, knitting for others without asking if they want me to knit for them is mental anyway so why would they assume I'd take it up spontaneously -- , but still. Grrr. And I'm not even sure if I'm grrr'ing at myself for being a twit or life in general, because it's just being...life. Said in a pejorative tone of voice. The upcoming tooth pulling, my work (which is going better of late, it's just being work for once), my everything. And, maybe, my incipient migraine. That always makes me cranky. Crankier, anyway. I'm usually pretty cranky in the general course of matters, but when I'm migraining it takes it to a whole 'nother level.

Oh, well. That just means I get to go back to my Loki for a little while and put the scarflette on the back burner, which is all to the good because I need some of my therapeutic knitting. And that daisy pattern--P.I.T.A. Purl 3 together, wrap and purl the same 3 before dropping. Seriously? Do you know how hard that is to do when your US 8s with the good, sharp tips are already tucked up in another project and all you have left is a set of blunt Clovers?

Even with being able to slow my pace, my elbows may never be the same again.

Grrrrrr. Maybe I've been possessed by the spirit of Elvis, because that's a sound I feel very inspired to make today. Grrrrrrrrr.

Painting the white roses red

2011-08-04T21:41:00.001-04:00

My default euphemism for working like a galley slave to make up for either forgetting or screwing up on the work once before. This time, it's a forgetting.

I have a gift on the needles. I don't know if the recipient will want it, but it's one of my nicer yarns so if she doesn't, I'm sure I can find a use for it.

It's just going to be one of those short, buttoned scarves in a daisy stitch, but that's Jo Sharp Silkroad DK Tweed there -- wool, silk and cashmere. Yes, you read that right, I'm making something of one of my higher end yarns and I'm giving it away.

God, I hate forgetting things like birthdays. I had planned to pay this person back some money that I owe her, but I just found out it's going to be $700 and change to have my wisdom teeth out (in one go, wish me luck) so she's not getting that right now. Maybe later, after I'm sure I don't end up having to pay extra for antibiotics.

Yes, I'm freaking out about the extraction. Yes, I know the procedure is, in all likelihood, going to go well and I'll be fine. Doesn't help. Still freaking out.

Anyway, I have to get this thing done pronto Tonto and then I can get back to my beloved Little Loki. Every time I work on the neck scarf, I get misty and sentimental. It's green.

I've never been so consumed by one project before.

2011-08-02T17:29:00.000-04:00

I have no problem knitting on my Little Loki scarf -- none. I will state right now for the record: That is hella weird. I've always, always made a habit of having three or four projects on the needles (and in my knitting bag -- I'll be honest and admit I've probably got about six project bags in the Stashtainer of Yarny Goodness with needles in them, but they're not in my knitting bag, big distinction) due to the occasional onset of knitting boredom. Suddenly, it's nothing but Little Loki all day long. When I'm working, I want to be knitting on LL. When I'm reading, I want to be knitting LL. When I'm watching t.v., I want to be knitting on LL. And when I give in and knit on the Loki scarf, I keep knitting past my bedtime. I never do that. Or, at least, I never did before.

Part of it is the sheer giddy joy of designing something, using a technique I've never even tried before, and having it turn out just like what I saw in my slightly overheated imagination. I'll probably never do that again, you know, hit it right out of the gate. I'm making hay while the sun shines on this feeling of Awesome Win because it's not likely to repeat itself frequently.

Part if it is...I've dreamed of this scarf for so long, seeing it unfold before my eyes is just unbelievable. It's been percolating in my head since the first time I went to see Thor, maybe it popped up between the first and second showings, who knows (and yes, I think I'm getting the DVD for my birthday -- well the pre-order, it doesn't come out until several weeks after -- so I'll have hours and hours and hours of personal enjoyment of my favorite anti-hero of all time -- I grok his story so well, it's creepy), and now it's flowing off my needles with a quickness.

In a life where so little goes to plan, this one thing, this silly little scarf, provides a beacon of hope. So, yeah, I get a bit weird about it. I suppose I shouldn't be confused as to why I'm so up on the Loki right now. I need a smidgen of win to counter the great masses of fail I'm going through right now.

Is that so bad of me?

And just because:

Look at that pooling. The colors are even schmexier than I'd hoped they'd be when I ordered the yarn. When I finish this thing, I'm emailing the nice lady who dyed the yarn for me, just so she can see what I did with it.

Lovely Little Loki

2011-07-30T21:46:00.000-04:00

OMB, I am just rockin' out on my Little Loki scarf.

Bead Segment 1 is complete, I've started up on my mesh. The mesh is the middle of the scarf; basically it's the length of the scarf.

There's a close up of my mesh. It's a fairly easy pattern, but I'm paranoid about messing up. So, yes, that's two rescue lines you see in the stitches. I don't want to have to burn my Little Loki for inattention -- not that I didn't completely enjoy the act of beading (although there might be some sort of muscle strain in the wrist inherent in the act of sliding beads down the flosser and onto the stitch), but I don't want to have to redo that segment. I love that segment. It's beauty incarnate. Taking it out and redoing it would be like scraping the Mona Lisa down and repainting her on the same canvas. Vulgarity.

The other bead segment will be every bit as beautiful, I'm certain.

Here's a close up of the part of the bead section you didn't get to see in my previous pictures:

It will be asymmetrical, the beading. The pattern on the other end is almost a mirror image, although the straight row sections are different.

I am conflicted about the matchy-matchy thing, you know. It's like rhyming iambic pentameter, take it too far and you could serve apples with the cheese. A part of my mind is eased by symmetry and equality between parts, part of me is just as soothed by asymmetry -- and sometimes, it's the very same parts. The conflict makes for some interesting breakfast conversations, I can assure you, but there is a middle ground. Well-reasoned asymmetry. I believe I have found it in this project and am greatly pleased with myself.

If it weren't for my remaining flaws, I would be impossible to live with, with this massive wave of self-satisfaction.

Still and all, can't wait for tomorrow. I shall have some prime daylight knitting hours to work on Little Loki. More inches of mesh, will the thrills never end. But every little bit gets me closer to the casting off, blocking and wearing!

I'm Sorry, I Can't Hear You...

2011-07-26T12:49:00.000-04:00

over the sound of my awesome.

By the gods, that's some brilliant beadwork! If I do say so myself. ;-)

Yes, I'm proud. For a first beading project, it's looking almost exactly like I wanted it to look. I'm pretty stoked. But I'm sure you didn't notice that at all.

I'm spending today getting the scarf through the first half of the beading section (there will be another, at the other end of the thing) and maybe getting started on the mesh middle bit. It's hot, I'm dehydrated and I don't feel like writing today. So if I'm going to bunk off, I'll darn well bunk off on something I desperately want and need to get done -- like this, and then maybe some more of my homework that I've been putting off for a while. I've been working through Julia Cameron's The Artist's Way with a group on Ravelry, and we're up to Week 7. I got sidetracked when Week 5 started (that was the week I came back from vacation), so I did the last two weeks sort of half-tock'ed. I'm trying to get my stuff together for this week, though. I'm just past the half-way mark and I so want to see it through.

Plus, the little furry intruder is coming back for another holiday. Apparently, her housemates are wearing down her nerves so she needs a trip to our house to recoup. And her human mommy's human children are coming for a visit and need the space she normally uses for decompression.

Yes, I've hidden the good knives already.

In the spirit of clearing the decks and catching myself up, I should note I forgot to post a picture of this a while back:

Mom's Tess Shawl. The perspective's a bit wonky because of how it was laid down on the couch to photograph, but it's triangular. I finished it while I was on vacation the first full week of July.

I even did a crochet bind-off (picot edging.) I am so boss.

My awesome, it roars!

The Wee Loki

2011-07-23T21:10:00.000-04:00

I'll call it Little Loki, properly. I've plotted and planned and gotten extra dental equipment and finally it's underway:

This is the very, very beginning of the first beaded section. There are somewhere north of 75 rows of beading to begin, followed by several feet of lattice lace, then another 75 to 80 rows of beads and selvage at the other end. I'm debating some type of fringe. I don't know, though. It may not suit.

The project has begun through the kind support of these:

It's a flosser. One of these flossers:

I don't mind giving Oral B a shout out; they keep my teeth clean (so far as that goes). I've never had braces or bridgework, but I can honestly say these Superflossers are da bomb when it comes to beading knitting. These work way better than the other ones I got.

I'm still in some small pain from the stress of knitting on a black and green scarf past dark (why don't I ever think these things through?!?! Granted, it was required by the inspiration, but I'm going to be knitting on this thing for ages and ages -- those are US 5 needles in the middle of that sock yarn -- but if I could have chosen a different conflicted comic book villain, maybe someone whose colors are...oh, I don't know, off-white and bright blue? Yellow and spring greens? I'd be happier).

I'll get over it, I'm sure.

Another one comes home.

2011-07-22T21:50:00.000-04:00

I got something yesterday, again in a gift bag.

I'm developing a complex about gift bags.

The nice people at my vet's office made me a gift to go along with the tin:

An imprint of his massive, almost people-like paw. With two hearts and his name pressed into it, too. It's sweet and a little bit creepy all at the same time.

But just look at the size of that paw, people!

My thumb fits in the center pad and I've got ginormo-man-hands. I mean, I knew he was big, but if I'd known how big I might have been more cautious around him. He always seemed so contained. A little furry Max Cady in my home.

Anyway, I went shopping today and got something to help with the Little Loki:

Dental floss threaders. I can bead away to my heart's content. I know, I know, they're the wrong sort of threaders for beading, but I can make do for now. Until I can get back to the drug store and find the other sort, which won't be until tomorrow or later.

I have had a hard day -- which is odd, since I've not done as much as I'd planned, but the past few weeks have been very difficult for me so just about anything I do seems to take so much effort. I think I will pour myself a glass of hydrating fluids (no wine for me tonight, alas) and then I'm going to get a start on Little Loki. I've finished the last of the first three seasons of Supernatural on DVD which my friend loaned me when I visited her (addiction, I so haz it), so I haven't got anything to watch -- unless I want to re-watch my favorite episodes. In true 'me' fashion, I am a Trickster addict, and I've got all but his last (SOB!!!) appearance in the pile on top of my television. Hmmm. Knitting on a scarf dedicated to a trickster god while watching The Trickster kill Dean over and over and over.... Sounds fitting.

Oh, and for the record? Despite the whole Trickster fetish, I am totally a Dean girl. Not that I'd kick Sam out of bed for eating cookies and not sharing them, that b*stard, but one gets the feeling that Dean has slightly more imagination in the ways that count to a groupie, you know? Very Alpha, slightly aggro, but probably lots of fun over a long weekend.

I don't know as I'd keep him in my house for long, though. It'd be like having a large, muddy, hyper dog. With a gun collection to make the US army cry with envy. Hmmm, maybe not so much with the Dean girl thing.

Ok, ok, ok. He can come over, but he has to leave that duffle bag in the car. House rules.

This is how the big boys do business, kiddies.

2011-07-19T13:54:00.003-04:00

I'm only slightly bitter over this bead issue, sorry. I had control over the design process, yes, so the under-buying of beads was my own fault, but honestly. The lack of business acumen shown by the bead shops around here.... It's disturbing.

I had it pointed out to me that maybe the bead stores I contacted had minimum order requirements. All well and good, but.... They sell Miyuki beads. Like, as part of their regular stock. They've got a minimum order amount just in doing business, I'd think. Two or three extra tubes of smokey pewter shouldn't be that big a deal. If it is, the beading business is harsher than I thought. Or the market for Miyuki isn't as hopping as everyone tells me it is and they don't rotate their stock all that often. One or the other.

Anyway. Moving on. Success!

This, oh my children, is a 24 gram tube of Czech glass beads in metallic silver. Big Box Store (aka, Joann's, I have to give them credit for this one) is having a sale on bead supplies -- buy two, get one free! So I got:

Six for the price of four, which wasn't all that hazardous in a financial sense, really. I mean, I got these six tubes and a pull chain for my ceiling fan for the same amount I got the two tubes of Miyuki at a proper bead store.

Now, I'm not disparaging all bead stores. The original store I bought my beads at (Viking Fiber and Beads in Dayton, Ohio -- they had a name change, don't worry, that's the right link) was fabulous. They let me browse to my heart's content without pestering but still offered help when I looked up and did my lost puppy/shopper face. It's not their fault I did this backwards and have never designed with beads before. They also offered to order more of the same bead for me, if needed. Also not their fault they're two hundred miles away from my home, give or take, making their offer impractical to say the least. If I lived any closer, I would take them up on it.

Anyway, if you want my maths here, I figure I've got six 24 gram tubes of size 6/0 Czech glass seed beads. Considering glass seed beads of that size come in at 12 beads per gram, I've got 1,728 beads here, give or take. Which is more than double what I need for my project.

Awesome.

Oh, I should be precise and note:

I've actually got 1,727 silver beads and one blue bead. I suppose it's a bonus with every sixth tube or something.

At least now I can get working on my scarf. I've got it mapped out at 3" wide, which is my standard scarf width (I like them narrow -- that way they don't bunch up around my neck; I'm weird about things touching my neck), but it will probably stretch to closer to 4". Que sera, sera. I'll get over it.

Wish me luck.

And, by the bye, does anyone need two tubes of Miyuki 6/0 Duracoat Galvanized Smokey Pewter seed beads?
(Side note: I posted the Miyukis on Ravelry and had a buyer within an hour. God bless the Ravelers.)

I seriously hate beads.

2011-07-18T21:36:00.000-04:00

I hate beads.

I've been working on my pattern for the Little Loki scarf:

Look at that. Look at that beautiful graphing, the straight lines of beading.

Then I counted the number of beads I would need. 772. Gah.

See, I went to visit my friend out of state two weeks ago, right around when everything went pear shaped (I won't go into it here, suffice to say Elvis was the last in a series of really bad incidents.) I found the perfect beads for my project there, Miyuki 6/0 Galvanized Duracoat seed beads in light smokey pewter color. See:

They're perfect. Perfect I tell you. But I bought them before I plotted out my scarf, before I came up with the finished pattern. How many Miyuki beads has Surly Knitter got? 480. At best. Bloody hell.

And how many shops in Surly Knitter's town do you think carry Miyuki 6/0 Duracoat Galvanized Smokey Pewter seed beads? NONE. And how many of the five shops she called do you think offered to order them? NONE.

That's right; of the five one didn't carry Miyuki at all, so I can hardly blame them, but the other four knew I wanted that color of that style of that size bead. They have relationships with the vendors. And none of them offered to get me more. I had no idea the bead business was so good at the moment they can just toss paying business out the window like that. And the only on-line store I've found thus far that carries them requires a $25 minimum order. Sucksucksucksuck.

Oh, well. I guess I can try to find some other 6/0 metal seed bead, somewhere. Then I've got $17 of Miyuki seed beads to offload. Maybe someone on Ravelry will want them.

I wonder what other type of bead I can find....

Elvis, July 15, 2002-July 11, 2011

2011-07-11T21:08:00.000-04:00

Elvis, the iconic cat of Surly Knitter, has passed away today. Not quite 9.

He'd had asthma for a few years now, and I knew he wouldn't last the full spread of years given to most cats, but I always expected he'd live a bit longer that this. He died at home, and I do feel guilty about it. I believe, based on the position of his body and the fact that Yoda, his brother, was untraumatized, that his heart just...gave out. So some comfort, that he didn't drown in his own fluids. It was quick. I hope.

Elvis was a valiant cat. His hatred of veterinarians never abated, leading to not one, not two, but three Red Spots of Evil being affixed to his record. They never bothered save once, in the last three years, to try and examine him conscious. They just gassed him insensible and handled him that way. Oddly, I'm vaguely proud of that. He never, ever, ever lost his fighting spirit.

And it was a fighting spirit indeed. He never seemed to like me much unless I had a cup of food or a brush in my hands, but I will miss him. I will keep him as the face of Surly Knitter. Moreso than anyone or anything else I know, he embodied the true sense of the word 'individual' -- no one, but no one told him who to be. He told us all who he was and we just had to put up with it. In the past few months he had taken to getting up on my bed in the mornings, purring and making biscuits on my feet, allowing me to pet him. I hope that means he was happier there, toward the end. I hope I made his life a little bit...well, if not completely happy with sunshine and buttercups, at least a little better.

I love him and will miss him. He's left a chunky, cranky, wheezy, slightly sweet hole in my heart. I've already lost one big piece this year, I'm hoping no more pot shots get taken anytime soon.

Done with the Turkish Flaw

2011-06-28T21:40:00.000-04:00

You can't see the length of it, but it's longer than I am tall (for the record, 5'8"). It's longer than I can reach over my head, even. My arms are...2 feet long give or take, so that would make the scarf nearly 7 feet long. Nice. It turned out really well, I think. The three stripes on the one end line up with the middle three stripes of the other (as if that matters), so while it's asymmetrical, it's not, really.

I find the sparkly aspects pleasing, I find the colorful bits pleasing, I find the fringe pleasing. I find the scarf itself pleasing, plus I now get to work on my new scarf pattern. Booyah.

Life is good.

I'm like a toddler at Christmas.

2011-06-27T15:29:00.000-04:00

My yarn is here! It's home and tucked up safely in its home for the next little while; a plastic baggie.

Golly, it's pretty! And absolutely perfect. I was not sure how well it would turn out (I mean, how vague can you get, black and green and sort of like this) but I'm pleased beyond all recognition at what happened.

I was so giddy with joy (and low blood sugar; I really need to be more vigilant about eating meals on time!) that I caked it up as soon as I got it home.

It's every bit as purty in the cake as in the skein. Possibly even more perfect, if possible.

I also have the other skein of pre-dyed green and black yarn that I got at the fiber fest caked up (there's something to having the yarn ready to go that makes my designer juices all drippy, which is sloppy but necessary if I'm going to actually get knitting on it):

See, there's more green, and the green is lighter in this skein. Not really what I had in mind, but close enough for government work. It would have sufficed, had I never gotten lucky and found the wonderful lady with the bottomless dye vats and a strong desire to try new color combos. She told me she enjoyed this project, it gave her the chance to play with this color combination. I guess black and green isn't popular as color combinations go, unsurprisingly, so she had the chance to see how best to accomplish the feat. There were actually four test skeins she did (I only ordered one), and I got to choose the one that met my mental needs best. It was a difficult choice, being as I love green and black and they were all very well done, but in the end only one really made sense for the scarf I see in my mind.

I will be making up my new pattern soon. Right now, my sugar is so low I'm about ten seconds from falling out of my chair. I have soup on the hob and I need to get in there and add the final few ingredients. It's supposed to be Vichyssoise, ergo, served cold, but a) I like potatoes and leeks and I like them warm and b) you can't really ruin vichyssoise, no matter how warm you serve it (or how chunky), so I'm just going to mush up the potatoes a little, add the dairy and go.

Before I faint, that is. Between yarn fumes and not having eaten much today, I'm about there!

Like a boss.

2011-06-24T22:00:00.000-04:00

Here's what I did today:

Those recently submitted items? All today.

So like a boss.

And now I'm off to bed as I have to be up at unnatural-thirty tomorrow to help my friend with her garage sale. At least I've got the tables stashed in my car already, all I have to do is get myself in order, get some caffeine for both of us and breakfast and get there in one piece.

I cannot wait for Sunday. I have nothing at all to do on Sunday except...read. Knit. Enjoy my time freely. Sigh. Loverly.

It's ready, it's ready, it's ready!

2011-06-23T22:05:00.000-04:00

My special dyed, pretty fabulous yarn is done! The lady who did the work is going out of town until Sunday so I can't have it yet. But soon. Soon I shall have my fabulous, specially dyed, super-unique and wonderful yarn in my hands. My hot, over-excited hands will soon have the yarn I've wanted for the past month and I can begin my designing for real.

Bwahahahahahhaaaa-cough, cough, sputter. Ahem.

Yes. I will be designing something very special with my yarn. You'll see. *smirk*

Interesting Occurance

2011-06-21T22:43:00.000-04:00

The last time I went to the movies (previous to today, that is) I thought, as they showed the little service commercial stating that the emergency exits were there for a reason, how odd, I wonder if they ever do have fires in movie theaters? Wouldn't it suck if there was one today?

Yet nothing came of it, I watched my film, went home and life went on.

Today, I went to the movies (X-Men First Class, good flick, highly recommended) and we did have an alarm sound and we did evacuate the theater. Then we all stood around in the shadow of the building (owing to the hour, we were all standing with our backs to the front wall; probably not the safest spot to be, but if there'd been real danger I figure the employees would have left the building as we did--as it was, they stayed inside) and watched the firemen and, eventually, the fire marshall go in. We waited and waited some more, then the firemen came out and told us we could go back in. STILL no employees to be found, but that was ok. We all went back to our theaters, sat back down in our seats (sort of, I got shifted out of mine by seat poachers who had arrived after me initially and decided to take advantage of the situation to get better--ie, my--seats when we were let back in) and the movie started back up where it had ended before.

It was quite interesting, really. I've never been in a building that had a legitimate fire alarm. Everything proceeded so smoothly and easily, it was as if we'd rehearsed!

Sorry, went AWOL for a while.

2011-06-15T23:14:00.001-04:00

I can't explain it, really. I got busy. I went to my favorite place in town and did some thinking:

Then I went to the movies again and did more thinking. And then I've been thinking all week long.

Well, I say I got busy, but what I mean is I just Went Inside. Another Jungian Introvert will understand that, the general public maybe not so much. But I needed some hermit time with just me, myself and I. I've been doing movies like mad lately, and they've been movies that have gotten into my head and started moving furniture, re-shelving my books and dusting around the nick-knacks, pushing them slightly out of alignment. I had to go inward or I'd have imploded.

Then I realized that I'm horribly under-read. My grade and high school literature experiences were decidedly Steinbeck heavy. For the record, I detest Steinbeck. If I never read another of his over-rated pieces of drivel again, it will be too soon.

Why the hateration on Steinbeck? Well, let's see. I read Of Mice and Men...four or five times, The Pearl twice and was threatened with The Grapes of Wrath until I was allowed to shape my own literary experience that year and spent the time reading off the shelves (and chose the Gothics; Mary Shelley, Bram Stoker, I discovered Ann Radcliffe) and wrote two term papers for my grade instead of taking tests, reading along with the others and writing only one.

The lack of variety, I realized, has stunted my growth. I thought all literature sucked because Steinbeck sucks, but that's not a valid comparison. Steinbeck is not all of literature and literature is not, thank God, only like Steinbeck.

I hadn't realized until I saw Midnight in Paris how little actual literary experience I have. I'd never read Fitzgerald, I'd never read Hemingway. I've never completed a Dickens novel, or an Austen book or any of the others my peers have complained about through the years. No Herman Hesse, no Somerset Maugham. No official Poe, no official Mark Twain. For the price my parents paid, you'd think I'd have gotten something a bit more sophisticated than the All Steinbeck Channel. So yesterday and today I've been trolling the libraries and bookstores, trying to find some new reading material.

Yes, that's an audio version of Austen up there. I have trouble with the language in Regency novels; if I have it read to me I understand it far better from vocal context than if I'm reading it with my eyes. I'm trying to translate the book, if you will. I might have to go that direction with Dickens. I'll give it one more go with Martin Chuzzlewitt, but if it's too bendy for my eyes to follow, we're going to try the audio book route.

The one you don't see in there is the one I read last night, The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald. That one I took a flyer on and bought, so it's now on my bookshelves. I actually quite liked it. He used language in a very pretty way, although his commas confused me. What can I say, I have a comma style. It may be right, it may be wrong, but it's my style.

Anyway, I started Hemingway this evening. My friend who went to MiP was right; the Hemingway in the movie spoke just like the real Hemingway wrote, and it's hilarious. Oh, it's a generational thing--sort of like in the movie The Maltese Falcon when Humphrey Bogart's character looks at another character and says (in what must have been menacing fashion in the day but now was just amusing), "I'll slap you 'til you like it." I had to shut the movie off at that point; you must see why.

So I'm starting some assigned reading this week. We'll see how long the kick lasts. I'd like to know if there's some kind of proper Literature I'd have liked that I've missed because of poor lesson planning and bad communication between teachers in my over-priced private schools.

Actually, it's kind of funny; I read Of Mice and Men twice in a row under the same teacher. You'd think she could have remembered something like that. I sure did. Blech.

No pictures today.

2011-06-10T22:52:00.002-04:00

Barely any words. I went to see the most un-Woody Allen film Woody Allen has ever written and directed tonight: Midnight in Paris.

I'm not sure what it was a love song to, or even if it was coherent enough to really be a love song, but it was...sweet. Not a word I associate with Woody Allen, really.

I'm biased; I love films about Paris, I love films about writers, and there was quite a bit of wisdom in there for writers (and even more for people who love Paris), so I was bound to love it. And that guy who played Hemingway...I am in awe. How he kept his face straight while he delivered those lines I will never know.

It was lovely, really. A good cinematic choice. I'm glad I went. I generally don't regret movies (even if the only thing I get from it is a strong determination never to see another one like it again) but this one was special. I will remember it for a long time.

You have to know that if I ever got the chance to run away to Paris...I would so be gone. If I were standing in front of you, you'd be sucking contrail before the sentence, "Hey, Surly Knitter, would you like to move to..." even got out of the invitee's mouth. I don't even care that I can't speak French. I'll learn.

Prodding buttock.

2011-06-07T19:33:00.000-04:00

I actually had a good working day today. I got five articles written in good time and with little strain, which is my proposed daily target. Now, if only I can do the same over and over and over again, ad nauseam!

In more cheerful news, I've made progress on the cheap and cheerful Turkish Flaw:

The wad of yarn on the right there isn't as big as you think it is. It's the innermost bit of yarn, probably no more than an eighth of the skein, that's gotten loose as I've unwound it. The scarf itself is maybe about three feet long, so it's a good thing I decided to get that second skein. I like my scarves long.

Long scarves with long tassels. For some reason, the combination makes me giddy stupid happy.

The title of the post? It's a Terry Pratchett reference. At some point in one of the Night Watch books, Sam Vimes says something along the line of, "We're not kicking arse, but we are at least prodding buttock." A saying which in and of itself makes me giddy cheerful.

Anyway, it's been a quiet week for me thus far. I've written seven of a proposed 15 articles so far (I even worked on a Monday; I must be getting stronger), I knitted outside of knitting coven and otherwise have just been keeping my head down. That'll probably be the entire course of my week, if I can keep it up.

I'm not sure about the working or the knitting, I'm really just hoping I can keep out of trouble. I seem to have a disturbing talent for finding it.

Came in on time and under budget.

2011-06-04T19:34:00.000-04:00

No, I'm not talking about a work project, I'm talking about the fiber festival this weekend. This is the second year I've attended and I'm getting really, really fond of the practice.

I had a particular colorway in mind this year for my prospective yarn purchases. Not a popular one, unfortunately. But I tend to do that. Let me sing you the saga of my day at the fiber festival.

I arrived early, mostly because I was commuting with a member of my knit coven and she needed to be back in town early, but also because early bird gets the fresh, farm-spun alpaca! Also, I was looking for a particular colorway in my yarn--I wasn't even too specific or needy about the fibers involved, it just had to be black and green, like old bronze that's been polished up a small bit--and I knew it would be difficult to find. We're not talking the hot, new spring colors (mostly sherbet tones, if what I saw this morning is representative), but it's not like I'm looking for something completely beyond the pale. I simply had hopes of finding something more suitable than is available at my Box Store of choice.

The first thing I saw that I snagged was a nearly $20 skein of sock-weight green (wrong shade, but...) and black yarn. It was super wash, but I figured for a proof of concept scarf, it wasn't too terrible. We wandered about a bit more and then came back to that same booth (my friend wanted some yarn she'd passed by at it originally) and I saw something else:

A better green and black (with a bit of poison purple tossed in for good measure). AND, it's got bamboo in. Wool, bamboo and nylon. Typical sock yarn, but softer. I went over to the lady manning (ladying?) the booth and asked how much it was. It was the same price as the one I'd originally bought, so she let me just trade out.

This one was far more...sinister in appearance, and for the pattern I have in mind, "sinister" is key. Well, not key, but certainly a nice feature.

After I got that, we wandered around a bit and I realized I should have stopped and checked out booths in the center of the first display hall before I bought. I found a very, very nice lady who offered to special-order dye some soft superwash sock yarn for me. We had a nice discussion about the specific colors I wanted and in what proportions, and how I wanted them arranged...and I get this yarn, dyed to my specific request, for only $5 more than the one I bought off the rack.

Granted, I have to wait two to three weeks, but knowing the exact yarn I want is on its way to my hot little hands helps me practice my patience.

Then I decided to go ahead and splurge a little. Hey, I'd had a good shopping day--some pretty sock yarn in a really nice color, specially dyed yarn in the exact colors I wanted originally, a bookmark made out of old aluminum knitting needles (oops, didn't tell you about that one: well, I bought this bookmark, it's really nice and can be used as a bookmark, hair ornament or a shawl pin and it looks like this:

) so we trudged back to a small booth toward the exit that had a 50% off basket or two sitting on their counter and played with the yarns. Actually, to be honest, we'd passed it on the way in (both entrances were at the same end of the hall so we had to pass this booth to get in and pass it again to get out) and hidden some of her more choice tidbits beneath the fluff and novelty yarns.

I dropped a little bit of cash on this:

300 yards of what appears to be laceweight alpaca cotton blend. I've never had an alpaca cotton blend yarn. It should be interesting to play with. Or terrible; that's the thing about new-to-you yarns, you just don't know if it will be Halloween or Christmas when you get the ball band off!

I actually came in $12 under budget for the day! Ok, ok, I'd spent the cash I was carrying and some $8 of banked money, but that's still $12 less than I'd originally planned to spend. I know how I work, really--I carried the cash and hoped I'd only spend that much, but really knew I wouldn't be able to resist spending at least $20 more.

It's handy, knowing yourself that well. You can plan better that way.

Something I've never done before.

2011-05-31T22:55:00.000-04:00

Went shopping today for yarn of a particular dye lot a month after obtaining the first skein. Typically, I'm too squeamish and terrified of not finding said dye lot to let that much time pass, but since it's for the Cheap-n-Cheerful (which will probably soon be renamed Turkish Flaw--for reasons you'll soon understand), I wasn't too worried. I mean, seriously, the yarn's sparkly. Sparkly acrylic. Where's the harm in a slightly off dye lot?

But I still trudged off to Box Store with my original ball band and lo, the entire bin of Caron Simply Soft Party is the same dye lot. At least this bin is. Thank the yarn goddesses that Caron has long dye runs.

I now have something like 30" of Cheap-n-Cheerful on the couch there. I had a plan for the scarf that got scrapped, then I realized after some calculations that I was going to have to scrap the new new plan and make a new new new plan. I don't know about any of you, but I've about reached my limit on plans for this scarf. I just can't bring myself to type 'new new new new' with any level of seriousness or conscious intent. Besides, I sort of like the new new new plan.

The name will be changed to Turkish Flaw Scarf, because, well, it will have a major Turkish flaw. See the five stripes there on the end of the scarf (five is folded slightly under, but you can see the corner if you look)? I like odd numbers. Numbers are part of my OCD crazy and, while I haven't been severely OCDish for a while now, there are some carry-overs into my "closer to normal" years that I see no reason to get rid of. Harmless peccadilloes, little eccentricities that I can cast off or just leave in as the mood takes me, and one of them is the numbers. For whatever reason, almost all OCD sufferers enjoy a bit of crazy around the numbers. Most find even numbers to be 'safe', I (ever the rebel) am just the opposite: Numbers should be odd. Prime, when I'm spoiled for choice.

I had planned, when it was the new new plan, to do two sets of five stripes and a large swath of blue sparkles in the middle for the scarf--because that Miro itches like nobody's business and I really have no desire to have it lying on my neck. *shiver* Just the thought makes me twitchy. As to the stripes, five is an excellent odd number--a prime, too, which just makes me giddy as a schoolgirl. But then I noticed:

This. The ball of Miro that remains after my five stripes. I thought I'd use my wicked math skillz and weigh it to make sure I've got half the ball there.

I don't. I don't even, to be honest, have a third of the ball there. Um. Ooops.

So the new new new plan for the Turkish Flaw Scarf is to have the five stripes on the beginning end and three stripes at the other. Sort of an honorific, too, as the Miro swaths are 8 rows long. And there's 8 rows of garter stitch between the Miro bombs. The numbers fit together nicely and I'm pretty happy with it. And I hope there's enough left over for my tassels. If not, I might cry, but I'm saving up the scraps and such, so I should be able to bodge something together. I'm good at the bodge. It's a useful life skill, particularly when you spent nearly 15 years of your life physically incapable of opening doors for yourself because you'd have an uncontrollable, hysterical crying fit in front of the entire mall population if you did.

Don't ever mock the OCD, people. Unless you've been there, you have no idea.

Although, on reflection (and to get back to the scarf, which is the purpose of the post), is it so much a Turkish Flaw as an exercise in asymmetry? Asymmetry is a pleasing visual, too, you know. I have a new scarf planned (beyond this one) that makes use of asymmetry. You will see, when I get there. Anyway, I think we'll keep going with Turkish Flaw as the new new new working title for this one, since I had no intention to play with the asymmetry theme for this scarf. It would be a flaw, if I didn't like the asymmetry.

Practice. I'll regard it as practice.

Cheap 'n Cheerful progress

2011-05-29T19:02:00.000-04:00

I had a hot technicolor dream last night, inspired by the fact I was taking the Phew to the movies today (my Thor obsession knows no bounds). I dreamt I was in a huge building, all modern and super-shiny, with really cool all-glass elevators. Somehow in this dream, I broke my left wrist, went to the hospital floor of the super-shiny building and checked in. As they issued my new brown, warm and fuzzy robes, complimentary tea set (eh?) and Samurai sword (even more eh? than before) and set me down in a soft chair with a manicurist coming over to handle my feet and right hand (I wonder if they were going to take care of the left after it was put in the cast), I wailed that I was going to be late, I had promised Phew to take him to the movies and I needed to be there by 10:30 (the actual time I was picking him up). The nurse dude patted my shoulder and reassured me I would make it. Unfortunately, the worry in my dream kept waking me up. When I finally fell back asleep each time, I went right back to the same dang waiting room. Each time I'd ask the nurse when it would be my turn, each time he'd reassure me I'd make it on time to pick up my nephew.

Just as in real life, the waiting was interminable. In the last segment of sleep/waiting in my mental hospital waiting room, I just got up and left, going down to the ground floor in the glass elevator and walking out of the building before waking up for the last time at quarter of 7. And I took my sword with me when I went.

When I finally took the Phew to the cinema, he had a great time. I did as well, but the sound of all that water rushing over the edge of Asgard made the soda I was drinking a bad idea by the end of the movie. I'd wondered why I had to use the public restrooms each time I'd gone to see it. Oh, well. I made it home safe and dry, so no harm no foul, even if I'm no longer thinking as kindly of Heimdall as I did before.

After dinner, I had some knitting time. Look at what I got done:

Now you can see the concept a little more clearly. Tighter bands of garter in the sparkly yarn, some ruched stockinette bits of the Miro. The Miro is about as soft as barbed wire (well, knitted up it's not so bad, in the act of knitting, it's pretty harsh), so I'm thinking...three sets of five stripes of ruching with long, long, long bit of the blue in between. Long, dangle-y tassels. I like tassels.

Works for me, anyway. I ran into a bit of an issue, though, working on this scarf. The Miro was suspiciously bulky for a mere 73 yards. I decided to unroll it and see what was in the middle.

See it? See it there?

Wait, here's a better shot, free of all the yarn:

A really big, Pepto-pink cardboard tube.

Not heartbroken, really, I knew it wasn't a ton of yarn up front. But this bothered me excessively:

A knot. Gah! Granted, I just cut the short segment past the knot off and saved it up for tassel usage. Still. Knots are the glitter of the knitter's world. Infuriating, really.

Oh, I've gotten over it. I'm a grown up, after all. Mostly. I just hope I don't have to make my tassels smaller than I was hoping because of this bollywoggle.

Short tassels make me cranky. Crankier. Not that it takes much effort, but there you have it. Who wants that?

All hail the conquering heroine!

2011-05-27T23:49:00.000-04:00

After a very frustrating, tiring and exasperating year and a freakin' half of creative 'block', I HAVE WRITTEN AND IT IS GOOD!!!!

God, that felt good. There's such catharsis in fiction for me, I hate it when I can't write it effectively. It's like...trying to wear shoes three sizes too small and then running a mile in them. Or wanting to open a door and realizing the knob is covered in grease and you haven't got any Dawn to clean it off.

And right now, I'm sure you're all making faces like this (link goes to an OMG so not work safe animated GIF; if you are easily offended, do not click). Tough. My blog, my life, my rules. If I want to whine about my block or my words not working right or my writing being inauthentic, I will do so.

Oooh, see? The writing gave me a head rush and sent me on a power trip.

Now, if I can just keep it up. The mental hygiene is invaluable.

Ok, I'm tired now. I think I'm going to bed, but first a quote:

Obviously, the idea that the artistic impulse is inevitably the product of a psychological condition is not new. After all, history is filled with examples of the tormented artist stricken by melancholy, going on drunken binges, cutting off an ear, and generally behaving--as we therapists like to say--inappropriately. But to infer that some kind of "craziness" underlies creative endeavor, or, even worse, that the impulse to create is itself an indicator of some condition is just plain wrong.

Dennis Palumbo, Writing from the Inside Out: Transforming Your Psychological Blocks to Release the Writer Within. p. 58

I'll have to elaborate on how Mr. Palumbo's book has impacted my thinking as a writer, but later. Maybe tomorrow. For now...sleep.

Summertime

2011-05-24T16:59:00.000-04:00

And the Surly Knitter is drowsy. And not really working all that hard. Gah. It just means I'll be working extra hard over the next three days. Sucky.

On the upside, since I went to my knitting group last night and did not have to fight the intruder over my yarn, I got started on a new project. An illusion dishcloth--which sounds silly (why the fancy knitting on something designed to scrub pots with?) but it's a good 'getting the basics down' pattern. Better than starting out with the piano scarf. A lot less yarn, at any rate.

I'm washed out with the weather and bad blood sugar control (I forget to eat at regular intervals, sigh) so today was a near wash. I did get one article done, yay me, and did some work on the genealogy front. I realized today that while my great grandfather may have lived in my state, that's no reason to think his father did. I've been searching and searching for my great-great grand's grave (I have a dim memory of his headstone) and haven't been able to find it in state. Suddenly I realized the single great might have moved here after the double great died elsewhere.

Suddenly, my search options opened up. There's still the possibility that the double great never really immigrated and died somewhere in Germany (in which case, he gets put on the back burner until I track down some other family members), but I begin to feel like it's more likely he moved here with his family in 1874, died sometime between then and 1880 (he's not in the census) and his son moved his family across state lines for whatever reason.

I guess that's some progress today. Not a whole heck of a lot, but some.

Taking over.

2011-05-22T19:53:00.000-04:00

Three days and she's already acting like she lives here.

That's my chair. Mine! Have I had access to it in the last three days? NO. And when I do manage to gain access, she stands on my person and meows at me as if I have to get up right away and go do something else for her.

Evil. She's evil.

I tried to knit for a while Friday, but with all the 'help' coming from this particular quarter, I got very little done. I wanted to try illusion knitting today, but it's already complicated enough with the two colors. Adding in the little white paws and pokey-pokey gray nose and I'd end up with a serious tangle.

She goes home tomorrow. Granted, I like her, but it will be a relief to be able to knit in my own chair in peace again!

Tea and company

2011-05-18T15:41:00.001-04:00

I finally, finally used my Brown Betty.

I've had this teapot for...a while, let's just say. I finally used it yesterday to try to power through my work. Didn't really help; I've been rather exhausted this week. I think I need more protein.

Yesterday was a lost day. I spent all morning doing research for work then slept. Got up, watched my friend's little boy, went to see Thor. Aside from the movie, not a sterling day, although I did get my cheap 'n cheerful scarf started. And partially frogged and restarted. And again. And one last time, and I think it's going to stay the way it is now.

It's really hard to make out the general idea--it's early rows yet--so when I get along a bit farther I'll post a better picture. Thank heaven the yarn is slightly crunchy so I could just frog back and pick up the row I wanted with ease or there'd be no scarf to show you today, just a pile of smoldering ash.

I also, just as an FYI, have a new roommate for the nonce. My aunt went away for a week and she brought one of her cats down to stay here (the other kitties pick on her and it's making the kitty nervous.)

Class, say hello to Precious. I call her Pumpkin (she's got that black triangle nose and a black triangle on her chin and her eyes are permanently dilated so she looks a bit like a jane-o-lantern), or sometimes Killer. My aunt is her fourth owner, Precious has ki...uh, outlived three others*. So far my aunt looks good to outlast Precious, so I think her murderous days are well behind her. Thank goodness, as Precious seems to have taken a shine to me. I will be counting the knives before I fall asleep at night, though. Just in case.

She's staying in my sun room/office, so we'll see how having a needy, desperate for affection animal stropping my ankles constantly affects my ability to work.

And now, on to commentary about the movie....

I go to the movies alone a lot. As often as I can, to be honest. I prefer going to movies alone; having a person next to me in the theater makes me nervous. But the ratio of scary, deep-down comic book fan to me at this showing was a bit unnerving. Don't get me wrong, I like a comic book hero as much as the next girl, and I really love movies based on comic books, but I don't know details about these characters like the color of the underside of their cape or where and when they were born and what they like for dinner. These people do, and they do not hesitate to whine about anything they feel is non-cannon. Aloud. Sometimes during the movie which is, as you can imagine, a bit of a downer for those of us in the audience who really don't care. I've read some comic books, you know, and the non-cannon crap in some of them is a lot worse than the non-cannon stuff in the movies, so shut it already.

That all said, there were more people there than I had anticipated (I love going to 'private showings'--movies either extremely early or late on a weekday when you can safely anticipate a very small audience, like one or two other people), and they were obviously hard core comic book fans. Anyone wearing a winged hat and carrying a hammer has got to be a hard core fan; I tremble to think of any other reason they might sally forth out-of-doors like that otherwise. I was tense with anticipation of their displeasure, but, shockingly, with the exception of one guy (who might not have been huffing in upset over the movie; it is allergy season, he might have been sneezing or blowing his nose) they were very quiet. I was the only one who actually laughed at the appropriate places, though, which makes me feel a bit awkward.

I like Thor. It's loud technicolor, like my dreams, and the men all cried and then went on to kick serious ass, proving sensitive men can kill you casually while wearing skin-tight leather. The 'bad guy' (no spoilers here, although anyone who's read the old legends knows who the bad apple is before the opening credits even roll) is more conflicted and angsty than evil, and you like him although he's doing naughty things. My favorite type of bad guy--you don't want him to win, because that would be morally wrong, but you don't want him to completely lose, either, because you understand his motivation and you feel it sometimes, too. You cheer for both the hero and the villain, and a good time is had by all.

I love cognitive dissonance.

And the actor who plays the, shall we say, Very Misguided Guy With Redeeming Qualities is some pretty hot real estate. It's sad; I'm getting to the point where a lot of the hot guys in movies are younger than I am and I'm starting to feel like a dirty old woman. Well, not old, but certainly a little crinkly around the edges.

Still. Le sigh. The true reason I like comic book movies (referring herein to Thor in particular): you have the good guy with washboard abs of titanium, the bad guy oozing Sexy Bad Boy all over the scenery (the cape helps a lot) and the good guy's buddies all being snarky cute. It's an awful lot of hot testosterone, colored in by someone on a bad acid trip with sound provided by one of those junkyard machines that crunches cars. A total head rush.

I need more. Maybe it will wake me the heck up and I could manage some productivity this week!

* Ok, ok, two were old and the third was already dying before he took Precious, so calling her killer is a bit harsh. Funny, but harsh. I apologize.

Cheap 'n Cheerful Scarves

2011-05-14T11:53:00.002-04:00

Wha?!?!?

Sorry, I just loved that look of stunned dismay Franks is affecting there. Not that he doesn't wear it a lot (apparently he's just a little better than we are) but this is the first time I've managed to catch it on camera.

Franks is our cockatiel. Heh, nymphicus hollandicus. I'm going to have to tease him about that. We got him when a nursery and craft store my brother worked for at the time got rid of its pet section (and that should tell you where he worked, if you're from the midwest). Frankie, alas, had been abused for years by unsupervised yardapes who shoved fingers and sticks and whatnot between the cage bars at him. He doesn't talk--apparently the trauma rendered him aphasic--although he does wolf-whistle a good deal.

I think the horror is because he just saw my new yarn:

Heh, heh, heh. It's got sparkles. I love sparkles. Strangely, despite my attempts to pretend I'm just Too Cool For That, the sparkles have wormed their way into my heart. I wonder if there's an anti-parasitic for that...

Anyway, I got it to go with this yarn:

My Anchor Style Miro. I got given it about a year ago when I sent an emergency care package (with Bernat Chunky Alpaca in) overseas, along with some nice lace yarn, chocolate and teas. Mmmm. The chocolates.

Anyway, most of that care package is gone, long gone, and all I have left is one tin of tea and the yarn. The lace I will find some suitable project for, but the Miro has been a mystery to me all along. It's pretty, but there's so little of it (73 yards) for the weight (DK). All the projects I've seen for it on Ravelry either use a ton of it for some sort of cozy or scarf, or turn it into dishcloths. It's too cheery to be a dishcloth! Plus it's plastic (acrylic and polyester) so I imagine it's crap at the sink-work.

I then thought I need to make a cheap and cheerful scarf for myself, using the Miro and something either fluffy or sparkly. I went to my favorite Big Box and found the Caron Simply Soft Party in Royal. There were two skeins, but someone had torn the ballbands off and unwound them partially (why? Why, for the love of my KnitPicks Zephyr Interchangeables, WHY!?!?!) I called a Big Box Drone over to my side and asked if they had any in back that hadn't been pawed through like the undie bin at a white sale and she said, Alas, no. But I'll give you these half off.

So I got some really cheap and cheerful yarn to go with my completely free and cheerful yarn in a scarf designed to lift my spirits in the winter with sparkle and sheer power of rainbow color.

It's so '80s, I might gag on a spoon.*

*Yes, I totally dated myself there. No, I don't care.

The power of details

2011-05-11T14:44:00.000-04:00

I'm a big fan of to-do lists. Lists in general, really. There's something soothing about the notion that the hurly-burly of daily life can be distilled down on a sheet of creamy white paper into its controlled, black lined essence. It's pure fallacy, of course, but it's a nice idea.

Today I decided to try something suggested in one of the blogs I read and write a detailed to-do list. Not just, "Work, Banking, Knit" but a long, drawn out and detailed diagram of the actions required to fulfill those tasks. Mine, today, reads:
~~Article~~
~~Article~~
~~Article~~
~~Article~~
~~Article~~
~~Plan weekly money dist.~~
~~water~~
~~water~~
~~Plan VO prep steps~~
~~Blog Update~~
(Cross-throughs added to show that I've marked them all off! Yay!)

Granted, I did not split each article down into "Research, Write", but I figured two steps could be consolidated into one. Yes, I put water on my to-do list; I'm getting terribly dehydrated in this heat (we're up to the mid 80s Farenheit) and if I don't make it an obligation of some sort I'm likely to just skip it. I could have made my list even more extensive (and I think I will for tomorrow, although I'm a bit limited by the size of my paper--a small, 1.5" x 3" notebook) by listing out the leisure activities I want to do today (ie, get some knitting done on Mater Gloriosa's shawl).

The possibilities are endless.

I always forget how good I feel when I do the tasks I set for myself for the day instead of goofing off. Maybe if I use the extended to-do type list every day, that feeling will come to be normal and the only productivity related feeling I'll generate is the slight discomfort of not getting stuff done.

That would be when I really feel like a grown up.

Progress!

2011-05-09T22:28:00.000-04:00

Gah. I've felt emotionally stalled the past couple of weeks. Emotional stalling leads to all sorts of stalling, and one of the things to most suffer was my knitting. However, tonight I managed to progress on my mother's shawl to the point I had to tie on the second (of three) skeins of yarn! Witness:

Ok, so it's not much, but I'll take what I can get.

I also need to select a new nom de guerre. I've embarked on a project designed to help me find my writing voice again, and I no longer want to write under my old names (it might make my writing just as dry as it has been under those names, shudder). And since I'd rather choke myself voluntarily with a fork than write under my own name, I need a new name to baptize myself into this new writing life.

I have a new first name, I just need the second. I need to find an interesting name generator -- you know, one of the "what's your Lord of the Rings Elven name?" things. They frequently churn out un-usable drivel, but sometimes you come across a strangely appropriate name that way.

From Total Fail to Epic Win in one week!

2011-05-06T19:37:00.001-04:00

Wow. In one day, I've completed (they're not totally sold, yet, mind, but they're written) all the articles I require for my minimum expenses. One. Day.

Granted, as days go, it was pretty harsh. Harsh! Ha! Listen to me, six to seven hours of sitting at my computer reading websites about getting certain jobs or making illusion knitting patterns and then regurgitating the knowledge is harsh. I forget how working in an office used to feel.

On the whole, though, it is reassuring to think I can maybe make a steady amount of money doing the bare minimum to call myself a writer.

Now I'm going to have some soup (fresh yesterday; it's the sort that just gets better and better as time goes on) and maybe one of my mini-Hagen Daazs tubs (single serving size! Convenience that is actually convenient!) and read for a while. I need some down time after today's power writing session.

Sheesh. Power writing. I need to get over myself.

I got nothin'

2011-05-04T20:57:00.000-04:00

Seriously. I have done nothing at all this week. Well, I've blogged pretty regularly (shocker), but it was mostly babbling about my internal psychodramas. Bo-ring. I haven't worked on my knitting, I haven't worked on my work (potentially trouble-making), I haven't worked on self-improvement, nothing. Well, I did some writing on a fiction project today, but I don't know that 15 minutes of fumbling on a keyboard really counts for much.

Feh.

My next project will be to do something with my Sunlit Grotto:

Classic Elite Silky Alpaca, 460 yards of lace weight goodness. I've gotten the Barbara Walker stitchioneries out of the library again, looking for inspiration. Not finding it. Oh, there are indeed tons of pretty, pretty pictures, I'm just not feeling anything this week.

I have just lost all mojo this week. I do not understand. It must be the moon phase (new moon in my area, for those who are curious) or the weather or something. Hormones, maybe. The impending holiday which will pull all my family members in for the day (not a restful thing for me, alas).

I don't know. I do know that tomorrow I cannot let myself be a slacker. I've got at least...six articles to get out of the way tomorrow. Oh, I can do it; I could do all 10 and then some if I let myself, I just have the feeling this malaise will not be going away by tomorrow.

I say it again: Feh.

Fail. Much, much fail.

2011-05-02T23:37:00.000-04:00

I should totally keep my mouth shut about some stuff, you know?

I should never have mentioned that I had resolved to go on one date this year at New Year's. I really shouldn't. I also shouldn't ever talk about the possibility, either. The knit coven has latched on to this concept now. I keep getting told they're going to fix me up, the sort of man I 'need' (ie, used; they all tell me that I need to marry a divorcee, not the attractive option, I hate to say), how to 'manage' him (what is he, a clerk at Mall Wart?)

I really wish I hadn't ever said anything. Really, really. Every time I think about the issue, I get mightily depressed. I have no self-worth in the dating arena. I think about even thinking about dating again and all the unpleasant, hateful, evil things I've ever thought about myself plays over and over in my head like a seriously scratched record. It's like I'm suddenly 15 again (ironically, about the time I gave up on the thought of men for myself*) and there's nothing about me I like anymore. And every time they bring it up, the same thoughts play, even though I'm not the one originating the thought. Amazing! I self-loathe on auto-pilot!

I can't take it. I'm at such a delicate stage in my new life, I can't handle the negativity.So by and large, I've given up on that resolution for the year. Maybe I'll revisit the issue when I can get by working without having to hold my own hand all day long from sheer terror. Although I confess there's a strong urge in me to never contemplate dating again. I have a feeling that I have incredibly unrealistic expectations of romance in general and coupledom in particular, so I'd have to cope with constant disappointment. I don't know if I want that. I mean, at least now I can have my daydreams and cuddle them close to my heart, which at least gives me hope of some sort and keeps me warm. Experiencing reality...then I wouldn't even have the daydreams, you know? And knowing my past and the truism that you seek in your romantic relationship to repeat the dynamics of your past family relationships so you can "overcome" the bad patterns...yeah. Not interested in that nonsense. If' I'd enjoyed any of my past familial relationships, I'd be in one of my own.

A quandary, then.

Sigh. Viewed in this light, the negative self-talk is a defensive gesture; me trying to protect myself from repeating the bad relationships of my past over and over and over again. I suppose I should thank myself, although an email saying, "Hey, you still have some work to do before you do that, kthxbye" would be more appropriate. And it's not as if I'm not weird enough to do that, either. Maybe knowing that the self-hateratin' is actually meant to save me further emotional damage will help to stop the cycle before it really gets going and sends me into a negativity tail spin that lasts for days. Maybe.

I also really need to tell the coven I've put that resolution off. Potentially forever. Then they'll drop it, and I won't have to keep repairing the damage to my delicate ego each week.

I hope!

* You would have, too, if you'd been me.

Throw confetti! Wave the flags!

2011-04-29T21:43:00.001-04:00

I was, like everyone on earth with a television set, invited to the royal wedding today, the wedding of the brand new Duke and Duchess of Cambridge, Prince William and Kate Middleton. It was a beautiful event, one which I do not in the least mind getting up at 3 am to witness.

I wish those kooky, wacky, nutty kids all the best.

Seriously, I love weddings. I'd never do one that frou-frou for myself, but I love the show. I think most people, deep in their heart of hearts, love weddings, too. Weddings are about three big things: Family, community and social contract. I believe in family, community and the power of social contract. We got invited to be part of their community, while they expanded their families, by being allowed to watch the ceremony -- we watched as they stood before the Archbishop of Canterbury, his grandmother and God and 'pledged (their) troth' (which is such a charming phrase, no?)

I do not mind admitting that I welled up a bit.

The news lately has been so gloomy, stressing about the mess the world is in (and I will admit, it is a mess, but can we honestly say it was ever tidier?) and to see such a happy event gives us all something to be optimistic about. These two families have joined together through these two people and the couple has pledged to one and all to take the families forward, into the future, through their children. And the community has recognized this promise and the alliance of the families (forming a new, larger family) and shown their acceptance by throwing a huuuuuge party on their behalf.

Community, family, social contracts.

Some are going all sour, using this as an excuse to criticize the royal family, criticize marriage, criticize, criticize, criticize. Come on, people, can you not just be happy for these two young people? Irregardless of who they are, they're really just two young people in love (if you don't recognize that look on their faces when they look at each other, I suggest you get out more, make some friends or something), celebrating it and promising to start a family together. Yes, their family has done, in the past, some truly wicked things. That's how you get to be king, people. As Terry Pratchett once said (and I paraphrase), the difference between kings and regular folks is that their fathers were bigger murdering bastards. It used to be a quality people prized in royalty.

But times change, and the sad part is some people get ground up in the grist wheel of that change. Yes, there have been bad times and mistakes made, but they're human. And humans are flawed and make mistakes and sometimes, yes, do nasty things to each other. I'm not better, to be honest, so I don't throw stones.

I've noticed that the sour people are generally people who feel they've been burned by one aspect of the wedding trifecta: community, family or social contract. I know that's why I used to hate weddings. I felt very left out of community and burned by the concept of social contracts.

I've softened a bit since I lost my job two years and change ago. I have friends, I have a social group, I no longer feel the social contract has been broken between me and others. I am not afraid of community, and I now fear the loss of my community more than I thought I ever would again. My community makes me feel safe and gives me an extra family. I'm so much happier than I ever thought I could be!

So, I now love weddings again. And it might get me some criticism, but I realized as I was thinking about this that denying homosexuals the right to marry is the most cruel, cold bigotry. We're essentially saying we have no room for them in our families, our communities or our social contracts, on the basis of some factor of biology over which they have no control. How can we do this to each other? How can we treat fellow human beings with such indifference? To not allow others into our communities, our families or into social contracts with us, when they have committed no crime against us, is barbaric. In the day, in America, blacks were not allowed to marry. They were property, chattel, and considered less than human. I have hope that one day, just as now black people are allowed to marry (even marry white people! Oh, how times have changed) we will come to terms with our anger and unhappiness and accept, even if we don't like, homosexuals as human beings.

Happy people are nice people. Happy people are kind to others, even others they aren't quite sure they like or approve of. Happy people are generous, open, friendly and accepting. If you are so miserable that you cannot offer even the most basic kindness to others, maybe you should look at how you're living your life and make some changes. Everyone, everyone has the capacity for happiness, and thereby kindness and generosity for others. I know I never thought I could be happy, and yet here I sat this morning, weeping like a grandmother for two people I'll never meet as they smiled at each other and promised to love, honor and cherish each other.

Best of luck, William and Catherine. May you have all the happiness the world can bring!

Where's Surly Knitter?

2011-04-27T20:25:00.002-04:00

A cemetery! How cheerful.

Actually, I went for a reason -- I wanted to find my great-grandfather's grave. I knew his name and where they lived in 1900 (thank you, census forms) but nothing else. I figured if I found his grave, at least I'd have the years he lived -- maybe not the dates, but it would give me a starting point.

We have very few Catholic cemeteries on this side of town and, thankfully, they all keep one office. I called and found out he died two years before my mother was born. I had thought he'd died years before, since none of the family photos I've seen have him in them. There's great-grandmother, all 13 kids and eventually their spouses, but no great-grandfather. Either he was taking the pictures, or no one wanted him in them. Which is possible, as my mother says he was a wretched drunk.

Eh, the Irish. Whatcha gonna do wit us?

So I decided to drive down to get a map to his grave and my mother asks me to get a map to my older sister's grave (she was stillborn, five years before I was born.) Okey dokey. When I get there, I ask for both great-grandpa and deceased sister, who my mother tells me should be listed as 'Infant M---'. The nice lady in the office goes away for a while, then comes around the corner and says, "K----?", i.e., my name. I look at her blankly, wondering when I gave her my name, until she says again, "K---- M----, 1969?"

Meep. I knew they'd intended to give the name I ended up with to her, but mother always told me they'd changed it to Mary after she died. Of course, mother hadn't attended the brief funeral; my father handled it all while she was still in the hospital, recovering, and there wasn't a headstone when she finally got to visit the site.

I smile, say yes, that was the name, and she goes off again to photocopy the plot purchase cards and get me the map. She comes back, gives me the papers, offers some directions to help me with the map directions, I thank her and go. In the car, I read the papers and on the plot card for my sister, they list my father as Edwin. Ummm, not his name. Right last name, close on the first one, but not his name. It sounds similar, so I know they've got it right.

When I told my mother, she asked my father and he said he'd changed my sister's name to a related name. Mom says, no, the form says K---. It also says your name is Edwin. Well, my father says, that's what you get when you deal with [name of funeral home].

After the shock of finding out someone with my same first name is buried near my great grandfather (they're plot neighbors, almost) I took some photos, and hied me home to make dinner. Between the nasty cold that's now descending into my chest (which is ok, actually, that means it's almost run its course) and the constant rain over the past week, I needed something hearty. Something warm and heavy and that calls to mind the royal wedding in two days which I fully intend to watch:

Ham and chicken pie. The pie crusts I used were a bit elderly (not off or rancid, just old), but the filling is fabulous. It's a recipe from the National Trust Complete Traditional Recipe Cookbook, for which I cannot find a link. This one is an updated version of mine, and I hope they worked on the instructions for the new edition. For this recipe, she had a paragraph that literally said, "Make a white sauce with the butter, flour, stock and milk, throw in the parsley and then pour it over the filling." Now, I can translate this because I know how to cook, I know how to make a white sauce and I'm pretty confident in the kitchen. If I'd been a new cook, I'd have been hosed. This is not a cookbook for beginners.

Still and all, the recipe turned out excellent. To whit:

My first piece. Yes, I said first. It's a lovely pie, the weather is making like a Dyson and I found out I've got a truly recycled name. It's been a rough day.

You can tell what season it is, can't you?

2011-04-25T15:14:00.001-04:00

Look at this photograph:

Allergy meds, check. Saline nasal spray, check. Tissues, check.

Mold season is upon us, people! 'Ware the black mold!

Actually, I think I have a cold -- my allergies are rarely so nasally-oriented, and my mold allergy is asthmatic in nature. Still and all, it's pretty miserable. I did an allergy pill and took two hits off my decongestant nasal spray and I'm draining, yes, but I don't feel much better. If it were allergies, the pill would have made me feel much better than this.

Sigh. There's nothing to do but wait, then. In the meantime:

This pile of paper is the bits of my family's history my mother gave me. I may have mentioned I'm going to hunt them down like the criminals they probably were and, if they were anything like as strange as I suspect, I'm going to write an apologist book for my siblings entitled: This Is Where I Come From: See, It *Really* Isn't My Fault I'm Like This. I think it would go over well with the sibs in terms of reading matter (although they may not accept the possibility of genetic eccentricity), but I'm thinking no one would believe it was non-fiction.

I hope the eccentricity is genetic, I'd hate to think this much crazy came out of standard child-rearing. If nothing else, I'd feel better about how I turned out if I could blame part of it on the genes. Think what it says about my parental committee's abilities in that direction, otherwise. Bless.

I haven't knit in a while (not since my sinuses filled up like lead balloons; God I love living in a terrarium-like environment!), so no knitting pictures for you today. I will be working on something this week, if only my mother's shawl (she's starting to get stroppy about it and nag), although I'm not sure I've got the wattage going for anything more creative than endless garter stitch (blech.) What is it about full sinuses that makes you feel mentally sluggish?

And my music selection just came to the end of the album. Today's music is Time 4 Three's 3 Fervent Travelers. Excellent music, and I love the word "fervent". I don't think it gets used often enough, and to see it in an album title cheers me no end.

New Toy!

2011-04-19T20:26:00.000-04:00

I found the Random Knitting Chart Generator a few weeks ago and played with it a bit, but didn't do anything with it at the time. Today I found it again and realized its potential. Yes, the patterns are randomly generated, but sometimes out of seemingly random chance comes great and good things. I've made three patterns out of it, and I might use them to knit a scarf. I'll have to test knit them to see what the heck I drew in my random generations.

I also found a Maze Pattern Generator, which is cool. To the right are motif and general pattern generators. I'm not sure if this page is random or if they're programmed to rotate with each click, but it's cool as all get out.

I foresee a new place to waste some hours....

How to build it best?

2011-04-16T21:20:00.000-04:00

OK, here's my dilemma (in as short a post as possible, as I've horribly bruised the tip of my right ring finger in a shoe changing incident and typing is painful tonight).

I have 520 yards of Frog Tree alpaca, in sportweight. It's not a ton, but if I nurse it cautiously, I should be able to get a smallish shrug/shoulder moebius out of it. Should I:

A. Knit a shrug from elbow to elbow, with a smallish collar tacked on after?
B. Knit the back from bottom up, do the sleeves from the sides and then connect the front with a larger shawl collar?
C. Do a moebius shoulder shrug with armholes (maybe; I might just leave it the moebius, although they slide up. A lot. And I find that irritating.)
D. Give up and go do some simpler knitting?

Right now I'm leaning toward D, but I'm a bit tired and the constant distress over the possibilities is making me cranky.

And now, I have to go get a cold compress for my finger. I seem to have a talent for creative injury, but this is a new one to me. At least it won't keep me from knitting!

Thinky McThinkerton

2011-04-13T00:53:00.000-04:00

Every so often I get in an introspective mood. The last few days have been A Mood and a Half. Feh. It's tiring, at times. This time I'm busy trying to decide if I'm really an anxious person, or simply insecure. How to push myself as a writer. Where I want to go from this point (because, really, it's a wide open game right now.) The past. My past, and my revisionist tendencies. My omnipresent, ever changing Now and how to navigate it.

Very Zen. In the meantime, I actually got some work done today. More than I'd anticipated, to tell the truth. Then I went to my own personal Thotful Spot with my friend and her sister and then on to lunch (and probably freaked friend's sister out like heck and darn; the social work training, it destroys your social propriety filters.) It was nice, being a 'lady who lunch(es)'. Well, not really a lady who lunches in the sense of the song, but I was sort of ladylike (for a bit), and I did lunch, so....

I've been working on my mother's shawl. Oddly enough, for a simple pattern it's exhausting. I like it, don't get me wrong, and I will probably make the pattern again when I get around to making a shawl for myself, but it's endless garter stitch. I don't know if I've told you my Feelings About Endless Garter Stitch, but they are extreme. Well, let me show you the shawl first:

Bernat alpaca in a light tan. She chose the color, not me; if I'd done so, it would be fuscia or something else equally bright and obnoxious. But I guess she wants to be elegant or restrained or something. Whatever.

It's the Kay's Tess D'Urbervilles Shawl, one of the many Danish style shawls out there now. I'm making it in a heavier yarn than called for in the original pattern to make the shawl larger than the original pattern. It's a problem common to the Scandinavian set. Vikings did not breed for delicate.

I don't know how long it will take to finish it, but I've got about a collar's worth of shawl there with only two or three hours of knitting. I'm hopeful that the endless garter will not be quite as endless as I fear.

I detest garter stitch. I know most people regard it as the simplest thing ever made because it's just knitting. Knit 1 over and over and over and over ad nauseam. I did that with my Mile of Yarn Who Scarf (Season 12 Original) and I bear the repetitive knit injury to prove it.

Give me a nice, sturdy seed stitch any day.

I gave my feathered neighbors some gifts this weekend.

2011-04-09T20:41:00.002-04:00

That's some silk yarn in the grass; the bright red bits? See it there? I had some silk scraps, some alpaca scraps, some silk/alpaca blend scraps, and I didn't want to just toss it out. I read a thread on Ravelry in which someone had some yarn scraps, and she cut her yarn bits into short lengths and put it out for the birds to use for their nests, so I did the same.

Some little birdie is going to grow up on a very, very soft nest.

The day I chose to spread my yarn was lovely. Spring has, apparently, fully sprung around here. Between the rain and the 70+ Farenheit temperatures, I've been feeling slightly better about the weather. At least we're out of the crappy, sixteen feet of snow weathers.

I hope.

Just another picture of one of the flowers on the pretty tree in our garden. It's a happy tree. And I love the dark pink-shading-purple color of the petals at the base.

Daffydowndillies!

That's a sure sign of spring.

Not as naughty as you'd think.

2011-04-07T19:48:00.000-04:00

I did something today that I'd said I wouldn't do this year.

It followed me home, can I keep it?

Actually, it followed me home after I dropped a ten and change for it, so I'm gonna keep it.

Look at the pretty! The colors are a bit washed out, it's actually a little more green--sort of a fresh spring peridot green, actually. I found out by looking on the Classic Elite Yarns website that it's called 'Sunlit Grotto', which sounds rather dirtier than it should. If you click on the link to Classic Elite, the top picture is my color, and it shows closer to true than my pictures do. I guess Classic Elite has a photographer with a better camera than I've got.

I had an hour between my volunteer commitments today, and made the mistake of dropping in to my LYS 'just to look.' Just to look. Yeah, right. I'm amazed I didn't try to sell myself a bridge at the same time!
Still and all, I kept myself under control--I only got the one ball of yarn. 460 yards of alpaca/silk lace goodness to play with and hug and squeeze and love. And then I get to knit with it!

I kid. I will get pervy on it after it's knitted as well. But I've been so restrained on the shopping for so long, that I just wanted to feel like an old-fashioned, mid-90s, consumerism crazed American, you know? I've been so cautious with my money lately I'm amazed I didn't do a serious yo-yo into spending by just...blowing the contents of my purse ($31 in cash) in the one fit of yarn gluttony, despite the fact it's destined for my gas tank. I'm rather proud I stopped at one wee ball of yarn. And it did relieve some pressure; for a few hours today I didn't feel poor. I know I am, by most standards, financially poor, but I could at least slide myself a little fiber-based treat and only have to give up my sugar-fiend beverages (oh, Starbucks, what do you put in those drinks to make them soooo addictive?!?!) for a week or two. That's not really poor, is it? If you can afford an overpriced coffee as an occasional treat, you can't be truly poor--that's just...not rich, which isn't the same thing at all.

I read a blog about simplifying your life (it's not stripping it down completely and wearing a hair shirt, really, it's about figuring out your priorities and spending accordingly) and I recall a post where he said that if you get out of the habit of buying yourself things all the time, that little buzz you get will be stronger when you do treat yourself. Hold out on taking your drug and the high goes higher, if you will. I was a bit surprised today to find out he's totally and completely right. I spent a decade spending with little to no restraint in an effort to boost my mood and all it really takes to boost your mood by shopping is making it a rare event.

Huh. Who knew (aside from that other blogger, that is)? And why didn't any of my therapists from that decade suggest meds to assist during the therapeutic process? Even with the co-pays, that would have been far more effective and waaaay cheaper than the shopping was.Then again, I probably would have refused. I guess this was a lesson I had to learn on my own in order to appreciate.

The clarity of hindsight! Why can we never enjoy it when facing forward?