In Which I Attempt to Buy Yarn

So my “core” group at work went out today for lunch, a burger shop across the street from A Store Which Will Not Be Named. I was salivating just looking at it and it wasn't all about the burgers. After lunch, the rest of them went to one of the other little shops on the block so I went to ASWWNBN.


Front table: tiny cotton sweater in gorgeous summer colors (1 or 2 skeins required, depending on size) with the pattern beside it. That’s all that was on the table—one pattern--the display pattern--and several piles of the yarn in different colors. Very feng shui, if you ask me.

Perfect little shrug for Ruby. Cool. What the heck? Make one for Isabelle and Emily too, while I’m at it.  (Did I mention I just bought yarn at Stitches South and don't really need any more but .... it IS yarn we're talking about and I'm relatively helpless in its presence.)

I pick up two skeins (coral if it matters, which would be beautiful with Ruby's blue eyes) and ask one of the two people behind the counter (no one in the store but them and me): “Where will I find this pattern? Or is this your last one?”


“Don’t know – you need to look in the patterns.”


“Okay—where are they?”


(Pointing) “Over there, in those binders.”


(Rifling through binders) “Okay—hmmmmm, there aren’t any of these patterns with the other children’s patterns. Do you have more?”


“Nope.”


“Okay—so you don’t have any copies of the pattern on display with all that yarn?”


“Guess not”


“Okay—thank you for your help. Good bye.”


Did I mention there were NO other customers in the shop?

Well, poot! I tried.

Irreconcilable Differences

First, for the record, I am in love with ... nay, impassioned by ... Malabrigo sock yarn. All Malabrigo sock yarn. I don't think I've found the color yet that doesn't make my throwing finger itch to cast on a sock. Any sock. All socks.

My most favorite used to be Archangel. Archangel has a mixture of all those reds that call my name with little hints, glints even, of gold. Fabulous. Truly like an archangel at sunset.

After that, Tiziano. Deep, vibrant, screaming blood red.

Finally [drum roll, please] Botticelli.  Botticelli Red, to be exact, but, to be exact, it's not exactly red. More like red wine with a little soda. So, like a Renaissance wine spritzer.

Or the color of the pinky-red in the painting above. (And by the way, yes, that DOES look a little like the Stitches South slumber party in the lobby of the Waverly Hotel last week, but without the bunny slippers.)

In fact, Botticelli-color. A color that should be in a stained glass window of the Virgin Mary in a magnificent Italian cathedral.

Okay, I'm done. You get it. I love this yarn. (Are you seeing a trend? Why do I keep buying red sock yarn? Why did I buy Sedona by Lisa Souza for a pair of socks and Blackberries, the color of a squished blackberry on your hand on a a hot summer day, also by Lisa Souza, for a shawl? Could it by any chance relate to my mother's admonition that "nice girls don't wear red"?   Nah, surely not.)

So, why, why, why, doesn't Botticelli want to be a sock?

First, I tried a lacy toe-up sock from Wendy Johnson's first book. No go. Frog.

Next, Nutkin, toe-up. Whoops, heel's too tight. Frog, reknit with more stitches on the instep.

Nutkin, more stitches. Whoops, cuff's too tight. Frog, reknit with more stitches on the cuff.

Nope, not working.

Botticelli's showing its age by this point. The yarn, like the knitter, is showing a little fraying around the edges.

Last night, cast on a pattern from Wendy's new book. (Rosebud, if it matters.) No, no, no.

Sivia's Cherry Blossom pattern. No, nein, nyet.

I don't think Botticelli wants to be worn on the feet. Maybe it wants to be a shawlette. Hmmmm. We'll see.

In the meantime, I'll just hold it close to my face and purr.

Goodbye to a New Friend, Hello Again to an Old One

Reading a book is a little like knitting a project ... sometimes the anticipation is even more pleasaurable than the actual event.

You know ... you see a project somewhere ... a sweater or a scarf or a shawl ... and you can't rest until you've bought the pattern, read it 'til it's ragged, bought the yarn, wound it into balls, found the needles or ripped them out of another project, and cast on. Then you knit 'til your hands bleed and then ... it's done. Now what?

I've been waiting and waiting to get my hands on the audiobook version of An Echo in the Bone, #7 in the Outlander series. My library ... no, forget it, I can't even call what my county has a library ... the library to which I have a paid membership doesn't have it. It's not on Audible. Yes, I have the book but it weighs a ton and no, I don't have it for the Kindle. (And I understand the Georgia state troopers frown on finding drivers hurtling down I-75 with a hardcover book open on the steering wheel.)

So when my wonderful friend Debra offered to let me listen to her library's copy, all 40 discs of it, I jumped at the chance.

For the past two weeks, I've been hanging out in my car, hanging on every Scottish burred word. These books make me remember I'm part Scot and when I listen to Davinia Porter read them I'm all, 100%, Scot. Nothing else. My blood runs plaid for the time the book is playing.  And this last one ... no, not the last one, the latest one ... well, most of it takes place during the Revolutionary War in the area where my own ancestors were fighting it (on both sides!)--Ticonderoga, Saratoga, Long Island. For the past two weeks, I've felt like I was truly home, and surrounded by family.

And now I'm done. It's finished. Kaput!

Luckily, Jamie and Claire are apparently NOT done. There will be another book ... there has to be.

What will I do 'til then? Well, this morning I put Outlander in the CD player. It's the only one that I own except in MP3 form, and I guess I'll start over.

But ... sigh.

I Am Alive!

That probably sounds a little dramatic to you. Well, not if you're a Diana Gabaldon Outlander fan, of course. Then you know it qualifies as a literary reference, if somewhat paraphrased.

But darn it, it feels like I'm barely alive, but slowly coming back from the dead. So bear with me.

It's been an ... unusual ... couple of months. Actually the whole year, all 2.5 months of it so far. And I'm trying not to obsess on the fact that the Ides of March is tomorrow ... just have to live through the Ides, man! (And try not to think I've made a hideous grammatical error ... Ides is singular in this case.)

So, first there was the whole Mr. Pug health thing, which I think is an ugly blot on our memory at this point, but otherwise no prob for the moment. Well, except for the fact that he's become more focused on his health, to the point that we actually drank decaf coffee for a couple of weeks before we both agreed we'd rather be dead than drink that stuff on a regular basis. In reality, we each drink only one cup of coffee in the morning, maybe two on a lazy weekend, but not enough to make ourselves totally miserable over. He's still drinking no-caf Diet Coke and more power to him but I'm not traveling that route with him. It's Full Power Diet Pepsi for me.

Then there's work. I wear four or five hats at work and one of them is Information Manager, so there's always a lot of work at the beginning of the new year to pull together all the EOY reports. And March marks the first month in which our licensing authority (Georgia Department of Human Resources) may show up on any Monday to do an unannounced weeklong inspection of the whole facility, including buildings, records, kids, etc. Just in case we needed some more stress, this March was the date set for our every-three-year survey visit from our accrediting organization, CARF. And we're a pretty well run organization but it's an opportunity to show everyone that we're really special. So you can imagine that we've all been running around like chickens with our heads off putting together documentation binders, dotting i's and crossing t's, and spit polishing the units. It was my first CARF inspection so I put in several 7-day workweeks making sure my area sparkled since at least 60% of the standards relate to my areas of responsibility (safety, consumer advocate, corporate compliance, data management, data from persons served, etc.).

Whew! CARF has come and gone. We're still waiting for DHR but that already seems modest in comparison.

But, a lot of work. Then there's family. Grandson Cole turned 17 in February and next grandson Brandon turned 15 a week later. That meant a road trip to Virginia, with a car full of people who couldn't wait to see Cole. (Well, I wanted to get my hands on him because it's been awhile, but since he's so grown up I tried to be a little restrained ... probably not as restrained as a 17 year old would like but I did my best.)

That's Cole in the middle with grandson Brandon to the left and grandson KC to the right. (youngest grandson Cooper stayed home ... not quite old enough for me to do 12-hour trips in the car with yet ... I do have some limits.)

While we were there, we went into DC for a day which was a very nostalgic trip for me. After all, I spent the first half century of my life there and it was fun and a little weepy to see all the old sights. One thing I DO NOT MISS is the traffic. Hellacious, and definitely a good competitor for Atlanta's traffic.) That's the White House in the background though it's not too visible. Granddaughter Kerrigan is peeking around Daughter Jen. Anyway, after walking around the monuments and eating one of those fabulous vendor hot dogs that's been boiled in God-Only-Knows-What but is not to be missed, we felt our day had been well spent.

But my final souvenir from that trip? KC's cold.  Thanks, big guy! I guess that's what you get when you have a 10-year-old who still wants to snuggle.

But I've been sick all week. And, going back to the fact that we now know that Mr. Pug dodged a bullet and a bypass, it feels a bit whiny to complain about anything so prosaic as The Common Cold. So, I've been going to work, holding my hand over my face, not shaking anyone's hand, eschewing my knitting groups, and not complaining.Much.  But I suspect that all my whoofing and hacking and groaning have given away my secret ... I've been Totally Miserable. In fact, yesterday I slept all day. Yes, about 22 hours off and on. 

And today, still whoofling a little but basically, I Am Alive!

Now to get back to knitting. It's about time!

Avatar Schmatavar

Okay, I guess I'm officially old. No, make that Old, with a capital O.

I didn't love Avatar.

I didn't hate it ... I just didn't ... love it.

First off, those dumb plastic 3D glasses hurt my eyes and I had a massive headache when I left the movie theater. They're obviously not meant for those of us with less than 20-20 vision. In my case, they had to fit over my regular glasses and that just didn't work--it left little areas on the periphery that weren't 3D and were uncomfortable and distracting.

And this must be the coming thing because fully half of the previews of upcoming movies were in 3D--Alice in Wonderland is the only one I remember. I mean, Johnny Depp is HOT but definitely weird and he's no less weird when he's standing in the foreground of an animated background with hair flying in all directions.

And it freaked me out a little that, although the movie theater had signs posted everywhere that said they 'sterilize' their 3D glasses before they reuse them, I watched the teenage 3D dispenser guy handing out glasses from the same bucket he was putting the used ones into. Kind of like drinking out of a stranger's coffee cup. Frankly, I want dinner and a few drinks before I share that much with someone I don't know again.

But back to the movie. Here's the plot:  It's 2154, and a young disabled Marine is going to the planet Pandora to participate in a scientific experiment, one in which he'll be the mindforce behind an avatar that will move among the native Pandorians (?) without being noticed. Yes, he's going to transform through sleep from a paraplegic humanoid into a 10 foot tall blue guy with a tail. But the important part is: he'll have working legs and he'll be able to run and jump and stand up to brush his teeth. Maybe that's worth being blue for.

And, of course, there's an evil military security type and a corporate goon who just wants to rape and pillage the environment to get control of a rare element hidden deep in the ground. To get this element he's going to have to bulldoze the civilization of Pandora, which is based on respect for the environment. The center of power is inside a huge tree.  And, also of course, there's a girl--she's 10 feet tall and blue too but when his tail and hers meld, virtual fireworks explode.

Anyway, you know where it's going to end, right? With a huge computer-animated battle with the Pandora people and various amazing other creatures vs the military types. And really, once you've seen one or a dozen of those movie scenes, whether the battle's led by Mel Gibson in a kilt or Bruce Willis on a motorcycle or Brad Pitt in a toga, you know how it's going to end.

Trouble is, it was Fern Gully all over again.  Don't remember Fern Gully? Well, you probably didn't have a toddler grandchild in the mid-90s. I watched videos with those kids until I thought my brain would fall out of my head and FG was one of the all-time favorites. We probably watched it literally hundreds of times.

It's the story of a human who falls in love with a fairy who lives in a magical tree of fairies. The whole fairy life is all about love for the environment and respect for Mother Nature and all that. And there's a bunch of evil humans who want to bulldoze the tree to get control of the land. Of course, there's a big battle between the fairies and the magical creatures and the corporate yahoos who want to bulldoze their tree. Sound familiar? Yeah, I thought so.

Finally, this movie is L-O-O-O-N-N-G-G. I thought it might never end. I thought I'd be tall and blue by the time I left.

Sad to say, for the last hour of the movie I just kept thinking "now wouldn't that blue make a great sweater? Or socks? Or a shawl? Where can I get that color?"

Okay, I'm Old. I admit it.

Valentines Day Update

Mr. Pug came home from the hospital yesterday after getting his third stent, this one all the way in the back. It was a day of delays as the procedure was postponed for emergencies. In the end, all went very well and he's home today, surrounded by happy pugs. (Lulu refuses to sleep when he's gone for the night, meaning that she took one look at him, gave him a big kiss, and went to sleep.)


So, since there's no drama, I thought I'd comment on The Day:


How You Know You've Been Together A LO-O-O-O-O-NG Time:

1. You pick up your Valentines flowers together at Sam's (where you went to buy chicken for the dogs). (Him: Oh, honey, what color do you want for your flowers? )
2. You forgot it was Valentines Day because you're supposed to be at The Mountain knitting with friends and because you've been hanging out at the hospital for days. Whoops!
3. You pick up your Valentines card on the run at Kroger. (Me: Oh, honey, while you're shopping I'll run to the card rack.)
4. The card you pick doesn't have anything at all to do with him but it does have a great picture on the front of PUGS.)
5. But it's the Perfect Card and you can't wait for him to see it because he'll think so too.
6. You spend Valentines Day doing the taxes.
7. You can't print out the tax return because he's put the power cord for the printer somewhere REALLY safe.
8. But it's all okay because you're doing it together.

Happy Valentines Day, Mr. P. 

I'm a Contented Knitter

So, have you taken the Knitting Personality Test yet?

It's very short and I found the possible answers in the drop-down menus surprisingly unsatisfying--like Goldilocks, I found it hard to find the one that was "just right."

But, here I am, The Contented Knitter:

You are to be envied as the happiest of knitters. You knit for the enjoyment of it. Whether it's the satisfaction of making a jumper for yourself or the pleasure of making a gift for a friend. Knitting is a relaxation. You don't get overly worried about learning new techniques. (Yup! Still can't do Fair Isle or Intarsia--and I don't care!)

You tend to lack confidence in your abilities and will often stick to a tried and tested pattern rather than try something new. (Oh, like that's the reason I knit the same sock over and over and am afraid to try an actual garment? Oh!) Remember that your favourite patterns were new once. Beware of getting stuck in a rut, especially when you knit for other people. (No problem here--I never knit for others--remember that "lack of confidence" thing?) A good knitting primer would be ideal for boosting your confidence, especially something which combined the theory with suitable projects. (Which could explain why my favorite books are still the Maggie Righetti's.) Something like Sally Melville's Knitting Experience series would be idea. (Well, except for that Einstein Coat!)

If you want to branch out a little why not try felted knits? This will add a new dimension to your knitting. There are many felted knits that require nothing more than basic knitting skills and a washing machine. (Actually, I'm always attracted to felting but am basically too insecure to do much with them--I prefer things that are more exact and predictable. I really don't want to knit a bag the size of a two-bedroom apartment and then not know what size it will end up.)

So, bottom line: it's pretty Spot On. I have been knitting for 40+ years but stick to projects that are easy for me to understand and don't require too much stress and strain on the old brain. When my friends dive into new techniques, I find myself on the sidelines knitting that same old toe-up sock.

But let's face it: You just can't beat being "envied as the happiest of all knitters."

So, who are you?