SallyKnit made a dozen or so of them and let knitters choose their favorite at last week's Knit Night. The bunnies hide Cadbury creme eggs inside. I had never had one, even though my children have had many of them and love them. I knew there was imitation egg yolk and white in them ..... euwwww........ However, I craved chocolate the other day and ate the one in the bunny. I HAD to buy a replacement, but they come in boxes of four. So I bought four, replaced the one I had eaten, and ate a second one. Yummmm.......... All those years, I was wrong. I told my husband that he could eat them as well, but he said that he doesn't like creme fillings. So they are MINE, all MINE, and it's SallyKnit's fault and my husband's fault that I will have to eat all four. Really! What else could I do?
My younger daughter set it up for me last summer. I have looked at it once or twice, but I:
don’t get the point of it.
can’t not read every entry.
I was an English major in school; what a wonderful major it was for someone who loves to read. While math majors were busy puzzling out calculus and trigonometry and who-know-what, while science majors and history majors were memorizing, I was reading. And writing. Heaven for a reader.
Years and years later when I was subbing in my daughters’ school, another teacher in the break room asked me what I was reading.
A biography of Isak Dinesen, and it’s really boring.
She asked me why I was reading it since I didn’t like it.
It had never occurred to me to not finish reading something I had started. I had never done that. Sacrilege!!! But who would have thought that the biography of someone who could write such a beautiful story as Out of Africa and who had lived such a fascinating lifecould be the subject of such a boring biography? I had finally made it to the part of the book where all the author wrote about were dinner parties Dinesen had attended and whom she had been seated near, what they had eaten. Dinesen at this point was old and ill from syphilis and perhaps attending dinners was all she could do. Either that or a mediocre writer was making a mess out of good material.
I put the book down and never finished it.
But therein lies my problem with Twitter. My daughter selected people for me to follow, and apparently all of these people tweet many, many times a day. I felt obligated to read everything because that’s what readers do. I would be scrolling down through all the tweets, noticing how long ago they had been tweeted, and OMGah, 2 minutes ago??? And there’s a whole 24 hours left? Maybe even days left???
The only solution was to delete the account. I hated to disappoint my two followers (who are a mystery to me since I had never tweeted anything. What on earth were they following?) but I clicked on the delete account key.
I haven’t resorted to shouting in the streets yet. I’ll save that for when I’m senile and confused.
So far, so good. I have made more gauge swatches for this sweater than I have for any other project. I have discovered the joys of making sweaters that FIT, so now I understand that swatching, no matter how boring, how mundane, is something I should do. So I did. And I even wet-blocked the swatches. I am getting gauge with size 4 (instead of 6) wooden needles for the cuff of the sweater, and with size 6 (instead of 8) metal needles for the sleeve itself. Whew.
I have been warned, though, that gauge can change during the course of knitting. Maybe because of the phases of the moon; maybe not enough chocolate; maybe bad hair days vs good hair days? Who knows? So I will keep checking gauge and hope that I can continue getting it correct. But if all else fails, I will tell myself what I told my daughter when I mailed her sweater off to her: 1. If it's too small, lose weight. 2. If it's too large, gain weight. 3. If it's too short, wear higher shoes. 4. If it's too long, wear flats. 5. (Or 3 and 4 the other way around. I'm not sure.) Now I do know that numbers 3 and 4 won't actually work, but it's all I've got. Oh, and for the record, it turns out that UPS does not let you insure packages for a million zillion dollars. I insured the sweater for something less than that, and I am hoping for the best. (Please, get the sweater to LA safely, UPS. It will not fit Tom Hanks.)
I started working on this sweater last August, and I have now finished it. I am thrilled. Maybe even more thrilled than my daughter will be to get it---Finally! (And no, she won't keep it on a hanger.) Here is the back:
After it is properly introduced at knit night this Thursday, it will go in the mail, insured for a million zillion dollars. Because I'm not making another one.
No, you do not see a seam. Because....I haz the skillz. But mostly--- because I watched a Craftsy class on seaming and finishing and because I took off my cast in order to sew. (Shhhh...) The entire sweater is now sewn together and ready for the button bands. And I even have the buttons.
They do match. The colors aren't showing true.
See? They match.
I started knitting this sweater last August and it may actually be finished tomorrow. Except for final blocking. It seems as if there has always been an "except."
Rats. (about the plate, not about not unloading the dishwasher!)
However, with the permission of my PT, I am allowed to take off my cast to knit (which I had been doing without permission...shhhh), and I have now finished both sleeves. I was almost finished with the first one when dH said Let's go ride bikes and we all know how that turned out.
I am so happy to be able to work on this but not so happy that now I have to rip out about four inches of the right front. All I can think is that in an apparent bout of misplaced optimism, I decided to work the last few inches without the chart. Now I will rip back and knit using the chart. And those little white feet? Baxter, my supervisor, checking my work.
Really and truly, this is progress, because two weeks ago today I broke my wrist and last Friday, I had this:
installed in my wrist. The surgeon told me that once the cast and stitches were removed (on Monday, two days from now), I could try to knit. Hah! said I (to no one in particular) and I just finished my second Sundry.
I even put on the picot edging! What I have learned from all of this is that exercise is bad for us. I was riding falling off my bike when I broke my wrist and to add insult to injury, I fell into a swamp. I was covered with mud and muck and I might hold the record for the dirtiest person ever to arrive at our local emergency room. But now I can knit, and on Monday, I bet I will be able to work on finishing younger daughter's sweater, the one I started in August. I hope.
My Valentine's Day started with my cleaning up cat barf. And yes, that is a photo of a ski slope at Gore Mountain in New York State. So what do cat barf and Gore Mountain have to do with Valentine's Day? Let me explain: Usually dh cleans up cat barf and other disgusting things. But he is not here; he is skiing at Gore Mountain. And the ski slopes at Gore Mountain were a big test of our relationship decades ago. We were dating, and we decided to join some of the members of dh's family at Gore Mountain for a day. Of course I can ski, I assured him. I had taken group ski classes one day with a group from college. ONE DAY. I truly did think I could ski, but when we got to the top of the mountain and I looked down the mountain, I told him that I could not ski that well. OMG---can anyone ski that well???
Well, future dh could, but he spent the whole day acting as ski instructor, and skiing small bits of each trail down the mountain with me following behind. He skied a bit; I skied a bit. Until I ran into something or fell down. I was very good at running into trees, other skiers and falling down. Not so good at actually skiing. It took the whole day to get in one run. Not the day future dh had planned. He had just enough time left to get in one run which took him all of about twenty minutes. BUT, four decades +, two daughters, and four grandchildren later, we are still together. I get to clean up cat barf; he gets to ski. But that's OK. I probably owed him.
So I exaggerate. A little. MY LONG local nightmare is over. I have finished the back of the Currant sweater, the one I started August 15, 2013. And I know this exact date because, unlike SOME people I could name, but won't (you're welcome Sallyknit and Lucille), I enter my projects on Ravelry. I like to share. Here 'tis:
I cannot understand how this project has kicked my b*tt, but it sure has. I'm hoping that I have learned all the new things I needed to learn in order to do this and that I remember them because I still need to knit the two sleeves and the two fronts.
Maybe it could be sleeveless....hmmmm..... And yes, I am back from my week in Mexico. A very l.o.n.g week. And because as a child I was taught that if I can't say anything nice, I shouldn't say anything, I will list only the three things that were good during the week. 1. Gorgeous weather the entire time. Upper sixties through the mid-seventies, cloudless blue skies. 2. I saw whales the second morning there. They were where they were supposed to be, out in the ocean, eating and making their way north. There were three for sure and possibly a fourth. They wouldn't hold still enough to be accurately counted. 3. The place we rented (and I still can't explain how we came to be in a residence with no walls in the living areas) was 100 feet from the ocean. So---perfect views and a lovely ocean breeze all of the time. And now I'm home. Knitting indoors.
Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive. Yes, I know Sir Walter Scott wasn't talking about knitting, but he might have been if he had seen this:
The sweater that has been torturing me suddenly seemed to make sense yesterday and I just knit like the wind, making PROGRESS for once. I even made it to the decreases for the armholes. I was so encouraged that I kept on knitting, even though I had started making small mistakes, mistakes that were easy to fix. And on I knit. Until suddenly I had the wrong stitches in the wrong places for one set of cables. My apparently-tired mind figured it ALL out and fixed it, meaning that I sort of faked it, because really, who would know? Anyone studying it closely enough to spot the errors would deserve to be smacked upside the head. But the faked fix didn't take. I still had the wrong number of stitches in the wrong places. This morning, with two cups of strong coffee in me, I frogged the six or seven (I don't even know and that is a bad sign) stitches and remade the cable. Success? Nope. Now I have the wrong combination of purl and knit stitches for the other half of the cable. Attempted deceit didn't work. I thought I could fake the fix and no one but me would ever know. Sir Walter Scott: Knitting Expert. And an update: I have learned something valuable and I will pass it on to you. Apparently it is not possible to fake repairs on cabled knitting when the cables sort of wander around the fabric. After too many attempts to do this, and after too many times of thinking, incorrectly, that I could get away with it, the knitting demons (I am convinced that they exist) just totally rejected all my fixes. There were purl stitches where there should have been knit stitches and knit stitches where there should have been purl stitches. I don't know how or why. I had to take back all the rows I knitted yesterday, row by sad row, stitch by sad stitch. I still don't understand WHY what I did didn't work. But this is what I have ended up with tonight:
A tangled mess, indeed
It's very sad. I'm very sad. But determined, against all odds.
As Scarlett said: ...tomorrow is another day. And this time, this had better go perfectly...or else. Or else what? No idea.
I never say that, do I? It's always BAXTER! NO! But nope, this time it was Molly and I caught her in the act. Do you see Gertie? This is Gertie. Isn't she c.u.u.u.t.e? She was a Christmas gift from Sallyknit, who made her and her nine buddies.
Do you see where Gertie lives? in a top row cubby, between a photo of younger daughter and some books, where cats can't get to her. (Hah! say the cats.)
Do you see sweet, innocent, widdle Molly, sitting in front of the bookcase? Hi Mom. I'm just sitting here, doing nothing. Yes, Gertie was on the floor. I don't know HOW she got there. Really. Prolly Baxter did it. Yes, it was Baxter. He's the bad cat.
No, Molly, it wasn't Baxter.
I just came upstairs and found poor Gertie, being assaulted, assaulted, I tell you, by Molly. I rescued Gertie. She is fine.
Something happened while we were away for Christmas.
Molly learned many bad things from Baxter. Soon after we came home, I looked into the kitchen to see Molly on the kitchen counter. I had never seen her there before.
And no bail required! I was going to throw the boot over the deck railing and into the back yard, but then I would have to go out in the cold and pick it up, so I just sort of tossed it across the room, and Molly is now checking it out. For the millionth time. The PA (the ortho seemed to be in hiding. Kinda odd...) said that the broken bones are 100% mended and after a few sessions of pt, I am finished with all this. Yay! Yay is right. Does this mean you will stop whining? I haven't been whining. I've been complaining, a little, and I was entitled to complain. A little! Hah! And no, you weren't entitled. The PA told you that of all the patients she has seen with the type of breaks you had, only three have not required surgery, and you are one of the three. So really, you are LUCKY! OK. I'm lucky. And as much as I normally hate going to the mall, I am going there tomorrow to get something from the Gap and also to ask a question at the Apple store. I can go to the mall!!!! Oh, yay. Yes! Oh yay!
Official Me: I KNOWit! Leave me alone! other me: Then stop complaining! I'm tired of hearing about how much you hate the boot. Official Me: It's been ten %T^&*() weeks that I've hobbled around in this thing. It's heavy. It's uncomfortable. And I think it might smell a little. I can't tell. I'm tall. other me: Blah, blah, blah. Official Me: You don't know. You haven't been wearing it. other me: Really? Where have I been then? Official Me: You know what I mean. It's getting really, really old, wearing this thing, and the orthopedist better tell me tomorrow that I don't need it any longer or... other me: or what? Official Me: Breaking News!!! Orthopedist beaten about the head and neck with a walking cast left at the scene. other me: Yeah. Sure. Official Me: Suspect ran off. Authorities expect her to be caught soon. She was last seen limping, wearing one Dansko and one sock, possibly hand knit. other me: Oh, great. Stuck in a jail cell with you. Lunatic.
[She is knitting using the Irish Cottage Technique, employing a knitting belt (makkin) to hold the right hand needle. The Yarn Harlot holds the needle under her arm instead of using a belt. She is very fast.]
When my husband and I replaced our antique Honda Accord a couple of months ago, we had the following color choices: gray, grey, light black (gray), and dark white (gray), and, as a bonus choice---silver. We bought a crossover SUV. Surprise! It's gray!!! The first few times that I tried to find my car in a parking lot were tough---ALL of the vehicles are some form of gray. And almost ALL of the vehicles are some iteration of SUVs. Now, thanks to my ankle, I have a temporary handicapped parking pass hanging from the rear view mirror in the front window that allows me to find my car from the front. On the back bumper I have a magnet sticker of a ball of yarn with knitting needles in it and I can find the car when I spot that. (It might help if I bothered to remember where I park the car but.......no.) The other day in traffic, however, I spotted a very rare color choice----PINK! A pink Cadillac! (Isn't there a song by that name?) Of course, it's probably only available to a Mary Kay salesperson. But I bet that it sure is easy for her to find her car.
That, and having the orthopedist say: You're fine! Go home! That did not happen today. Instead it was: Here, wear this brace at home; wear the walking cast the rest of the time; come back in four weeks. Go to PT. I swear, this will NEVER END!!! Watch out, y'all. I might be nearing a bad mood. #$%^&*@#$%^&
Sir: I am really, really sorry. I know you were just doing your job, stocking shelves, and when you asked me if I was finding everything ok, you were OMGnot expecting me to tell you the history of my broken ankle. How I broke it on October 5th and how I haven't been to a store since before then (except for an LYS). And how I am so THRILLED to be allowed to drive again, even though I have to wear an air cast when I drive, and then I have to change back into the walking cast before I get out of the car and GAH!!! What a nuisance! And how I won't find out until November 19th if I still need the boot, and how much I hated using crutches and thank goodness I don't have to do that anymore, and how I've had so many xrays that I might start to glow in the dark---hah hah hah--- and... Uh oh. I suddenly realized that you didn't want to know ANY of this and that I was rambling on and on and on because I was so happy to be out of the house and in a place where there are ACTUAL OTHER PEOPLE!!! You were SO polite. When I (thank the baby cheeses) stopped talking at you, you offered that if I needed any help, I could just ask any Target employee (hoping it wouldn't be you, I'm guessing) and that if my ankle started bothering me, I should remember that there were riding electric shopping carts in the store that I could use. Really, you were SO nice. Thank you. If you see me in your store again, you don't have to run to another aisle or into the storeroom to avoid me. And next time, if you ask me if I am finding everything ok, I will smile, I will say yes, and I will thank you. And I will go on my way. I promise. I really, really need my life back. Knit, ankle bones, knit.
I can drive! I can drive!I can drive!I can drive! I can drive! I can drive! I can drive!
I can drive!I can drive! I can drive! I can drive!I can drive!I can drive!I can drive!
I went to my orthopedist’s office today and the PA said that I can drive. I have to wear an air cast and then put the walking cast back on before I get out of the car. And I shouldn’t walk much; the bones are healing well and if I mess that up, surgery, metal plates and metal pins are in my future. No way.
BUT, I have watched Dr. Phil two days in a row, y’all. And that ain’t right.
A girl’s gotta bounce, yo.
I can drive! I can drive!I can drive!I can drive! I can drive! I can drive!
Two crutches. One of two gowns from the ER. Strange souvenirs, you say? Yes, they are, but this is why:
A very broken ankle from a fall I took less than a day after my arrival. (Pretty, isn't it? No? Sorry.) The nice people at the ER wanted to cut my jeans off in order to put on the plaster cast, which I would not be able to pull jeans off and on over. I protested, and they sent me home wearing a hospital gown. Problem! It barely tied closed in the back. Solution! They pulled out what I thought was a robe to match the gown. How nice, I thought. But when I got back to my daughter's house, I realized that it was just two gowns, one tied in the back, one in the front. No beautiful matching gown and robe. My daughter LOVED them, so I left one with her. I'm nothing if not generous. What I have learned: *Look before you step, in case there IS a step where you don't expect one. *Have lots of minions. While I was at my daughter's house, I had four young minions, VERY willing and cheerful minions to do my bidding. (It helped that I had an iPad and iPhone stocked with games.) Here I have one otherwise occupied minion, my husband, and he is not motivated by electronic games. Also, he works from home, so he does have other responsibilities and isn't so quick to respond to my requests. rats *I hate crutches. Hate. Hate. Hate. *If you are going to be incapacitated by an injury, don't do it during the BEST WEATHER OF THE YEAR. Dayum. *I saw my first botoxed man. I've seen a few botoxed and otherwise-enhanced women, but not men. My orthopedist came into the exam room and I couldn't take my eyes off him, not because he was pretty, but because he was botox-pretty Not a good look. However!
I did have a great time at my daughter and son-in-law's home, thoroughly entertained by their cute, funny, helpful children. AND, before the aforementioned orthopedist I saw a couple of days after my visit to the ER could tell me NO, I went to Hill Country Weavers and bought some yarn I need, wonderful light Shelter from Brooklyn Tweed. I can't get it in Atlanta, so I was determined to get it during my trip.