Don't judge a book...

By a quick perusal. Admittedly when I first picked up this book at Alfred Knitting Studio The Best of Vogue Knitting Magazine I was wrapping up a cr-ppy week and heading into another week that also promised to be cr-ptastic. So it didn't speak to me. No patterns, no pretty eyecandy projects, weird coloured print and tiny font. However, when I went to the Library to pick up my last load of books before moving, there the book was in all it's pink glory. It is quite good. I don't know that I would buy it as a reference for techniques, given that most of the techniques I would refer to are found in smaller easier to carry volumes. Yet, it's a lovely read between packing.

Sadly the week lived up to it's promise but the tide is turning. I got a great haircut ala Rebecca DeMornay in her recent More magazine interview. Several compliments received on it. Which is unusual in that I don't travel with blowdryer or curling iron, I need that room for yarn. As result my hair usually is exceedingly unflattering. I called The Adored One and told him he owed me sock yarn since he was part of the stress. He said okay and I jumped on the Sneak Up for Loopy Ewe. It will have to wait until I have a new address though.

If the last paragraph made you think: Need that room for yarn? Let me make you smile.

Packing involves: Uniforms for work, a few civilian clothes for weekends, shoes, PJs, small clothes, change of season clothes - because what is supposed to be 13 weeks sometimes stretches to 6 or 8 months- bedding, pillow, reading pillow, floor lamp, clock, bed, mattress topper, limited accessories, go in your bathroom - pack everything but the blowdryer-, parttime licensed manicurist supplies, stereo, Ipod player,camera, iron, ironing board, table, chair, yoga mat, vcr, exercise videos, walkman, Laptop, trackball, software, 2 storage drives, air filter, humidifier, workout ball, weights, minitrampoline, stepstool, yarn, roving, dyeing, knitting needles,Kromski spinning wheel, books, magazines, potential knitting patterns, papers for work, reference books for work, electric tea kettle, GF grill, pans, plates, flatware (because hotels don't have, or furnished really isn't), cooking utensils, measuring cup, food, tea, supplements, water filter, calendar, beautiful coasters from TAO, place mat, favourite coffee mug, heating pad, Squirrel, money frog, rubbermaid containers, vinyl backed table cloths to block out the border patrol lights that always shine in the window, and sense of humour. Schlep it all down the stairs from a third floor walk up, place in car and toodle down the road. I wanted to get a jump on the loading of the car but the weather has been erratic and since everything only fits one way and I can't put stuff in a car that goes from 110f to 50f daily and expect it to be in good shape in a week I am in the dreaded holding pattern.

Why so much stuff? Think about all the stuff you use daily without realising it. Think of the stuff you use only weekly or monthly but have to have. I used to travel with alot less and then spend 3 months either having to run to the store alot or not having the comfortable feeling when I came back from work. If I schlep stuff around it's MY stuff and I settle down into a routine instead of feeling like a vistor at your Aunt's house. I have other traveling friends who live a very spartan lifestyle, but they have mostly out of house hobbies (hiking, hunting, drinking, tarting, going to the gym) and I am essentially a home person. I am on stage all day and when I get off work I Want To Be Alone. I don't even "turn the Tv on for company". I don't want Company. I also find as I age I am more particular. I want MAC X mascara, my favourite coffee, and certain kosher foods. I've started packing more "homey" touches. Little gifts from The Adored One that make me smile. And then there is the matter of Stash. I am fickle. I want to be able to put down a project and fish out a new one without having to chance that my new area has no Yarn Store. I have to be psychic...how much job stress will the new place have...what will I want to knit 2 months from now...what will I want to knit when this project goes horribly awry?

Of course I regret all this when it comes time to pack and carry : )

Fortunately my packing was interrupted by my Ravelry invitation arriving. Yay! Told you things were looking up.

More vacation Knitting finished.

Off the needles: the Cropped Bolero Vest by Veronik Avery. I made a few modifications. Starting with the wearing: I plan NOT to wear it with 80s eyeliner and Porn Queen pigtails. I was thinking more along the lines of jeans and a jersey shirt. Being not very tall and short waisted as well, I made it longer as a more functional vest. Also I added the Super Hero Boob Mask to the fronts to allow it to drape over the curves without hiking up unattractively.

The Yarn met Knit from Your Stash 2007 guidelines in that I had three balls of "Shannon" by Tahki in my stash. I actually got the fronts and back done from the three balls -92 yds each - and realised that I wouldn't have enough for the neck and side ribbings. I knit the ribbings from the Main yarn and alternated with a close but not quite yarn. Yeah. Then I went for the last time into Alfred Knitting Studio (sadly website-less) in Alfred Station NY (lovely store, gracious people, fun ideas) and found the yarn; sitting....waiting. So I invoked rule 2C and brought home a last ball. Ripped out the ribbing et voici!

Fiber happens.

There has been fiber related activity going on here. There has been swatching and frogging and, sadly packing...it's time to waddle on down the road.

In fact, I had packed up the spinning wheel but after a really bad day decided to pull it back out and sooth the troubled soul. This is a lovely merino from Winderwood Farms (hi Bob!) and someday will be a light worsted weight that shall be the Fern and Flower Shawl.

Some of the lovely fiber was sacrificed to stress, I gripped it so tightly that the weight was 32 wpi instead of 28 wpi. Yikes! Otherwise the only other fiber related fun has been window Internet shopping. Anyone want to come help me pack?

The recipient of the little cardigan has decided to try food dye and microwave dyeing. Wish us luck!

Some Days...

The quote fits:

"I've always been interested in people, but I've never liked them."

Henry James

One vacation project off the needles.

While on vacation I did, of course, knit. And here is the evidence:
Just a simple baby cardigan from a knitting magazine - don't ask which one, I left it in Wisconsin. Done up in Knitpicks Worsted Bare. Just in case the parents are those kind that come over all queer about colours by gender. I figured if they didn't like classic cream I could dye it the appropriate hue when the gender was determined. Looking at the photo I see it looks a little wonky but that's because it was blocked before construction and I was too impatient to block it again. I'll get to that before gifting.

Colours, striping, Seeking your opinions

I figured I would take the time to spin and ply a couple of different ways and see what I got. Isn't unrestrained control issues that part of why we learn to spin?


So here are the swatches: A controlled spin of the roving with each colour change fully exhausted before the next colour and then navajo plied

A spin of the roving split into 4 sections, spun out and then plied from opposing ends of the colours using Andean plying.

Again the roving split into 4 sections, divided into 2 balanced balls and plied from the same starting end.


The yellow....well....hmmn.

You've worked in Healthcare too long when:

Perhaps it's more than my adrenal glands telling me I'm due for a change. Perhaps I've been in healthcare too long.

I am currently spinning and swatching some dyed roving in order to decide which way looks best (to me). Pictures will follow so y'all can give me some input as well. But that's a different post.

I took my swatch to work to ask one of the new knitters her opinion. And I commented to her that there will be two solids I'm spinning to go with this variegated. One lovely warm cocoa brown and a cheerful blue. And that the dyer must have mis-understood me because when he said "yellow" in the variegated I'm certain I said "No Yellow" or "Only a tiny touch of Yellow." In fact, I recall his reply "The yellow will spark it up". And my response "Yellow doesn't go with my project Idea."

I'm dowdy and let's not do the yellow thing in my lovely subdued blue/brown project.

So my very sweet co-worker (the nice kind of girl who sees good in all people) says:
"Perhaps he didn't think that was yellow, maybe he thought it was Bile colored."

Two things wrong with that right off the bat:
A) How dowdy am I that she thinks I ordered BILE coloured roving? and
B) Bile has a little more grey/green tint to it.

Perhaps I need a broader circle of acquaintances. I have a big birthday in 2009, if I plan now, I can change my field before then. (in my bile coloured sweater)

Decoration Day

Today is a USA holiday that when I was a kid went by a different name, but today is known as Memorial Day. Sadly it has had many opportunities to add to the ranks of observed.

War of the Republic, War between the States, Spanish American War, Great War, WWII, Korean, Vietnam, Beirut, current Actions. And others that have slipped from the history books.

Please, before you get offended by the following, remember that I don't believe that 2 people with opposing viewpoints are wrong/right. I don't have to be right. Your being Right doesn't make me Wrong. These are just my thoughts on this subject.

It is popular to bash military actions, government decisions, and by extension, the Men and Women who Serve. It's been that way since the Vegans and Meateaters chose sides with Cain and Abel.

On this day, I chose to ignore the Big Labels, and think instead on the people who fell. Why did they fall? Because they Served. Why do people Serve? There is broad spectrum to that answer.

Patriots - with the capital P - because the US of A is great and anyone who says differently needs to be smashed.
Draftees - with the capital Oh Sh-t - their number was pulled and they had to go.

And in between - so many reasons - because 2nd sons didn't have any way to make money, because there weren't any jobs and the military gave room and board, because all your friends did it, because your friends died and someone had to take their place, because it got you out of a one horse town, because it made your parents proud, because the check would support your wife and child, because people were dying and you had skills that could help. Rational, pragmatic thought and overwhelming emotion.

Service is an odd job. A job in which one of the hazards is death or dismemberment not just boredom or carpal tunnel. A job which may put you through psychological terrors unlike any other. Where an -ssh-le boss may get you killed, not just give you TMJ. Or your boss may save your life, instead of a bonus check. Where, weirdly, your Aptitude Test determines your training...not your interest. And sometimes...one person dies so that others may come home.

When I think of the sheer numbers who died for War, it's overwhelming. So on this day I prefer to think of Why they did it, rather than for What.

5 of 52 - snail, turtle, still not quitting.

Finished pair 5, a smooshy pair in Bare. Only I left them the plain vanilla color. This was the yardage left from pair #3. Perhaps I'll dye them, who knows.

They were worked up -accidently- on a multitude of needle sizes using the Crazy Toes and Heels technique. I know that I committed to learning new techniques for 2007, and I am enjoying the process, however it has put a crimp in the Plunge because I spend a lot of time ripping Learning instead of finishing.

On a non-knitting topic: You know how you'll own something along time, and it gradually grows weaker, less efficient, shabbier, whatever? When I went home for vacation I decided The Adored One needed a new microwave. He agreed since this microwave was from 1995 and was grubby and tired. How tired we didn't realise. The Adored One competes in amateur bodybuilding (I know, I know, but I'm not interferring with his MidLife Crisis). This involves a diet (if you do it all naturally) that requires a man of iron to follow. Including 7 hardboiled egg whites with protein oatmeal for breakfast. So I had picked up these groovy microwave egg cookers for him and he had a routine for making them...Fill the cookers, put in nuker for 16 minutes, take shower, get out...eggs ready. Well, that alone was a clue to the effectiveness of the micro - the instructions say 7 minutes for hardboiled and I have used the cooker on the road for 4 minutes for a firm softboiled. Admittedly he was using two cookers at a time. Still.

So he puts the eggs in this morning, thinks *new nuker, less time, hmmn 11 minutes*. Comes back to find that the egg exploded hard enough to blow the top off the cookers and do a pele all over the interior. It's now a really clean appliance. Poor Adored One.

Progress? For Kathryn....

They may look familiar, they used to be a different pair but I decided that unless Kathryn was secretly a troll, they needed to be reworked. So I spent some time in the frog pond before going on vacation, and knit these while bird watching.

Today.

Today is the anniversary of my Daughter's Death. The day the world changed. It was 38 days until her third birthday. That year it was also Mother's Day.

She wasn't in an accident, nor was violence beset upon her by another human, she simply came down sick and within 6 hours was dead. Despite vaccinations a tiny microbe, picked up from contact with another child, killed her. Understanding-meningitis-basics. A doctor friend later told me that she didn't know why I thought to take my daughter to the hospital, she would have put the child to bed and awoke in the morning to find her dead. Grisly.

I still remember the rush to the hospital, the second the blood clot went through her brain stem and killed her, the ER working on her and the transfer to another hospital.
The sweet hospital chaplain whose wife came as well, the time in the freezing waiting room, and the inescapable words from the doctor. I remember being unable to find a quiet private place and finally just putting a blanket over my head and crying.

Eventually I went in to see her before they unplugged her. I was worried that she would be afraid, after all what is death to the young?

The NICU staff wouldn't let me leave, they didn't want me to be alone. All I wanted was to be alone. Finally, a friend showed up and followed me home. She had the sensitivity to leave quickly. Sinking to the kitchen floor I sobbed and wept and screamed. Eventually though, I thought "My daughter can see me, what kind of an example is this?" So I got up.

Anger struck next, after all the World had Just come to an END, and because all these other people were selfishly going on with their lives I had to also. If only they would stop and look around they would Know, and the world would stop spinning and it really would be over.

Because it was a "communicable" disease the media made a big deal of it. (Strengthening my life long loathing of them.) On the other hand, because of the news attention other children were brought in to ERs early and saved. Some will be two forever.

I went to her dayschool and told the loving woman in charge. I watched as she collapsed onto her knees and began to cry. People came rushing from all over and I couldn't speak, couldn't help her, because I had gone somewhere where I couldn't feel. It was weeks before I stopped automatically pulling into the school to pick her up.

A wise woman sent me to TCF. It was both horrifying and healing. There is an old saying that if all the problems in the world were piled on a table, people would fight to get back their own. That's how TCF was. I would be sitting there, listening to people tell their story and thinking "Thank G-d that what happened to me happened, because I couldn't handle what happened to you." And, ironically, they were usually thinking the same thing.

I kept getting up. Every day, every morning, every hour. I would turn off the alarm and bargain "Just get up today. You don't have to get up tomorrow. Just today." People have since told me that I am a strong woman, that they couldn't have survived. I am a weak woman. The reality is, you don't a choice. The rest of the world doesn't care, because to them it never stopped. So you keep getting up.

One day when I was angrily listing all the things my daughter would never do, (Mothers know what I mean, from the moment you are pregnant you start thinking of "Firsts" First day of school, first crush, first date, first prom, first Presidency, first Nobel Prize, first Grandchild) I realised that I could do some of them for her. I finally got past bargaining for one day. The Future had returned.

Sometimes the Future was eclipsed briefly, but it was back. A previously lost child and health issues meant no more children unless adoption. So fine, what life had I envisioned for Her? I meant to live it.

Eventually, I stopped living "Her" life, and found that I was again Living my life. A life irrevocably changed, but a good life. A life that still has tears and that pain in your throat when crying stops breathing. But a good life.

The Adored One touches a very battered heart in tender and healing ways. And he brings in plenty of laughter. I have challenging and interesting work with a variety of people. I have few friends but they are True Friends.

Today, I realise, is a Life I would be Proud for my Daughter to have. I know that She can see it and is happy.