Yarn-A-Go-Go

10 to 15 Days

Here I am! But I’m only back for a minute. Horror of all horrors: I have to ship my computer away for a while to be fixed. Nothing wildly wrong with it – just an internal part that charges the battery – but I want to get it fixed while still under warranty.

But this: It’ll take ten to fifteen business days! Oh, sweet Jesus. I’m one of those TechnoReliant people. If you’re reading this, chances are good you are one, too, and god knows if you have a blog, it’s a certainty. How am I going to do this?

Oh, I’m terrified. Isn’t that silly? It’s not even the thought of being cut off from blogging, which I’m sad enough about, but the thought of sending my whole little baby out there into the world. I’ve seen what the postal services can do to packages. Hell, when I ordered this laptop from HP, FedEx never delivered it. Two weeks later, after many tedious phone calls, it seemed that my computer had just walked away from their Oakland office. HP cheerfully sent me another one, overnight, but WHAT IF THAT HAPPENS TO THIS ONE? I am sentimentally attached. Silly, I know. But I’m not wiping the drive before it leaves me (although I have backed everything up), which means that 477 pages of my novel will be crossing the country without me. All my photos of Italy (also backed up). Lord. My finances, in all their bloody chaos.

Will it miss me like I’ll miss it?

I’m going to have more time, though. I’m giving myself a break from the novel (always an easy thing to talk myself into – hooray! One more excuse to procrastinate). I’ll write, the morning pages at least, but that might be all.

I think I’ll mop. Yeah. I haven’t mopped.... wait, let me think.... Maybe not this year.

Hey! I Swiffer! Big Swiffer girl, me. And I Wet-Swiffer, which cleans the floor with some kind of liquid chemical cleaning agent, so I call it mopping. But actually sponge mopping, down on the floor scrubbing? Not in a looonnnnggg time. Maybe I’ll do that with my extra time. And clean the hall closet. And decide on an archival method to store my knitting patterns (all ideas cheerfully accepted). I’ll knit, of course, but that’s obvious.

So if you don’t hear from me, don’t fret. I’ll be checking email from work when I can, and perhaps browsing a few blogs when I duck into them, but that’s just not the same as reading from home, tucked on my couch, knitting at the same time. Now THAT’S happiness. Browsing blogs at work is rushed and half-assed. I doubt I’ll post at all – half-assed reading is one thing, half-assed writing another (not that my posts are things of great meaning or content, but I like them to be somewhat edited before plastering them up on those great BlogWalls).

For a goodbye – here’s from this morning, before Thanksgiving dinner (fabulous, Christy did it all), before watching Love Actually (silly but JUST the holiday ticket), before the drive up the coast and home. We're all wearing sweaters I made! Not planned, but cool.

I’ll miss you. Come back in a couple weeks? Mwah.

On the Road

Quick post. Yep, sure am feeling better than I was over the weekend. However, I haven’t been taking it easy, working long shifts with short turns (ten hours off) because now other people are sicker than I. That’s the way the cookie crumbles, though, isn’t it? (Oh, I loved the Cookie Monster....)

Have to go in early tomorrow on my day off for overtime and then I’m driving from work to the folks' for Thanksgiving, so I won’t be posting or checking email until probably Friday night. I’ll be taking the two cats (my catsitter doesn’t do holidays, and can you blame her?) so wish me luck. Sometimes I put the top down on the 'vertible just to drown out the howling. Five solid hours of Digit keening is enough to make me a dog person.

I leave you with the scary fact that my site got hit by a person searching for “Indigo Girls stalker.” That’s frightening for many, many reasons.

And this. I know we know where angora comes from, but look at this. This kills me:

From here (more pics, but slow load). Thanks, OutOut, for the link.

And proof I still knit occasionally, the sleeves and the fronts of the Must-Have, just cast on for the back:

Happy Thanksgiving. Give the love you’ve got – we’re so lucky, ain’t we?

Things Not to Do With Cascade 220 Wool

1) Bungee-jump
2) Caulk
3) Leash a cat
3) Wash in the machine

Okay! I know.

I know! I heard you, I heard that gasp of horror.

How was I supposed to know? I thought felting happened when HEAT was applied. Even some warmth, perhaps. But in COLD water? And just a little agitation?

The secret project felted. Oh, just a little. ON ONE SIDE.

I panic-blocked it – you know the method – where you throw your whole body into the object, twisting and pulling, muttering things about gods and saints and things you wouldn’t want your grandmother to overhear. I think I managed to right it. Almost. How many times have I said I’m of the “never be noticed from a trotting horse” camp? Too many? Is this fate? Taunting me? Testing me? Seeing if I really am a tithing member of the Church of the Trotting Horse?

Well! I am! Vehemently! I’m gonna give this project away at Christmas and ride away quickly. On my trotting horse. And I’ll never be noticed.

I’m feeling better – and THANK YOU for the well-wishes. I really felt like I was on death’s doorstep there for a couple of days. It needed a good sweeping, too, I can tell you that. Back at work today, where I’m going to try to take it easy, but it’s going to be tough to train for ten hours without much of a working voice. But it’s nice to be moving around again. (Oh! Go say hi to Bethany!)

Less Ack

Not feeling up for much today, either. The well-wishes mean so much, though. Thank you!

Only this point:
Recently Cari had a post about the song you won’t admit to liking, even though you boogie to it in private. This is along the same line – I have a new addiction to a very embarrassing food.

You know when you’re sitting at the beach or in the park, and you see young mothers feeding their children out of those little plastic pre-stuffed child-food bags? And then you see them sneak a little something into their own mouths? In my mind, that always smacked of eating cat food somehow. It’s just not right. We’re not SUPPOSED to eat baby food.

Oh, my friend, yes. (Deep sigh) Yes, we are.

May I suggest Gerbers Graduates Fruit Juice Snacks? They’re (shhh!) awesome. They’re like gummy candy but with less stick and more sugar. They rock. I bought three boxes the other day at Target and felt a little guilty about it. I was depriving needy children of their sugar high.

Seriously. Go get some. Plus they’re rich in vitamin C. Yup. Those moms on the park bench knew what they were doing. Now you. 'Fess up.

Ack2

You know you’re sick when you can’t knit. I can’t even bear to touch anything, or have anything touch me, and the very thought of wool running through my hands makes me squirm. And that’s just too sad. A cold, sure, knit away. But this kind of flu? I want to lie in bed and never move again.

But I’m up for a minute to say: Thanks for the comments. I swear to god, I got up just to read them, to make myself feel better. And they work! I love two things when I’m sick, and two things only: 1 – taking my temperature (I have one of those electronic dealies) and 2 – getting nice notes from wonderful people who want me to feel better.

The only thing about being a grown-up and living alone is that you have to take care of yourself. It’s so easy to just let the kleenex pile up on the floor and eat nothing but vitamins and that last piece of wrapped cheese, but it does make you a little sad. Just a little. I was lying on my sofa, thinking of the good old days when my little mama would cater to me, bringing me Nilla wafers and 7-Up, and I wished for one small feverish (101.5) moment that I was little again. And you know what?

That’s when sis Christy came over bearing:
Taco Bell Mexican Pizza
7-Up
Ginger ale
Nilla wafers
Orange juice
Theraflu
Good wishes

Aren’t I luckiest? Just a little food in my tummy and a lot of love in my heart – I’ll be better in no time and knitting again. Now back to bed with me (101 even).

Ack.

Not a cold. The effing flu. A good one, too. I hurt everywhere, temperature 102. Going back to bed.

This blows. I even got the flu shot – but that was 10 days ago, and it doesn’t start to protect you for 14. I never get the flu. Hyperbole. I rarely get the flu.

Bleah. (Speaking of which, my site was hit by someone who googled Bleah in Russian. That’s funny to me. Not much else is, though. Teeth chattering....)

We're BAWKin'

Drumroll please....

The Hot Water Bottle Cozy’s new name is:

Bottleneck Avenger Who’sKnit (BAWK).

Thanks go out to all who helped, especially the Grammar Avenger Who Knits (GAWK), Cari.

The problem, as I told Mopsie, is the damn name of the item that goes inside the cozy (or cosy a La Brainy): Hot water bottle. Could it be a little more utilitarian, please? And if you go to Longs and ask the employees where they carry the hot water bottles, nine times out of ten you get blank stares. “You mean like a thermos?” Where did they grow up? What did their mother give them at night when they were cold? Oh. Central heating. Besides that, I mean.

I won’t attempt to rename the item (although this should happen). But hey, make a BAWK, make someone happy. (Me! The person who gets it will be happy, too, though.) I’ll be happy to email you the pattern.

Knitting Question:

This is Beth’s Boxy sweater (no relation to sister Bethany). Headless, as I had a cold that day, too.

I don’t wear it, as it turned out a little TOO boxy, too wide around. Can I just machine sew the sides closer in and cut out the excess? It’s wool, so the ends will felt a little upon washing.... Why does this sound so simple in my head? Because it sounds so easy, it must be wrong. Will I eff it up terribly if I do this? Help!

And look! I spy a finished Wave-Along! This is from Joan in Reno, and isn’t the model beautiful?

Now I’m off to have a day. I will write today, I pinky swear. I’m getting a cold, so the Tomorrow Goblin is telling me I should just knit and eat the dark-chocolate-covered cherries I bought yesterday, but no. I’ll walk to the coffee-shop and write. And then I have a surprise birthday party tonight for a co-worker’s wife, which should be fun, so I have to chase this cold away. Lots of tea and vitamin C for me. It’s only threatening right now, and my goal is to vaporize it before it grabs me (that makes it sound like a bad horror movie) (but is there a good horror movie?) (enough parentheses).

Cozy

And dude, how excited am I that the first Hot Water Bottle Cozy (someone give me a better name, please!) made from my pattern was made by our very own Brainy Lady? You rock, Al!

Ink

The morning pages tricked me. It was weird. Why am I surprised? This time around (I’ve been doing them off and on for about seven years) I was using a Pentel roller ball, extra fine. I was proud of myself that I was using a two dollar pen – not getting suckered into the habit I always had of using a fountain pen. Pretentious, I scoffed.

(Not just any fountain pen, but a gorgeous Lady Patrician, seventy years old, that a dear friend gave me.)

This morning? The pages ate three Pentels. All purchased at different times, the morning pages just ate them up and their lives sputtered out. I threw a little tantrum. I have no idea why I was digging my heels in at the thought of using the fountain pen again – maybe I didn’t want to honor the pages that way? Too much commitment? Just being stubborn? But finally I ran out of pens and had to dig the bottle of purple Pelican ink out from the depths of the drawer and I filled the little beauty (the bladder doesn’t work, so filling it just consists of giving her a good dip).

I wrote. And OH! the difference. My hand flew. Of course, flying, you can’t read any of the words. But I ain’t writing the pages for posterity, just for therapy. There’s never been a reason to reread any of them. Lord, if I did, I’d fall asleep. Most of them are pretty heavy with erudite phrases like: Damn, I’m hungry. I have no food in the house. I have to do laundry. What was I going to get at Target again?

But they look better in purple ink, I’ll tell you that. The Lady Patrician is back.

Can I just tell you that there’s a new phenomenon on digital cable television in the Bay Area? Do you have it where you are? They’ve always had those miles of crap radio channels – you know the ones – hip-hop or house or jazz or classical, all songs, all the time, no commercials. And there’s never been one good channel. But we have this new one, lamely titled the Americana channel, and it is amazing. Right now Lyle Lovett is singing – since I sat down this morning, I’ve heard Lucinda Williams, Emmylou Harris, Tim O’Brien, Nickel Creek and Steve Earle.... They play the old stuff and the new stuff, the Waifs right next to June Carter Cash – and they display the name of the song and the name of the album. It’s incredible. I’ve given up any thought I had of cancelling my cable. This makes it worth it. This and HBO.

It’s my weekend! Hope it feels that way for you, too!

Starknitting

Okay, Brooke’s given me permission (and thank god, 'cause I didn’t think I could hold it in any longer):

I was sworn to secrecy some time ago (and I did remarkably well, I think) that the lovely and talented Ms. Dar Williams was preggers. Yup. Can you imagine? A bouncy sweet sprite-like sensitive activist like her? Having a baby? Fabulous.

Of course, babies bring one thing to mind, and you know where I’m going with this, right? Baby sweaters.

So I made her one:

The buttons remind me of candy. But, let me say this, it’s quite small. It’s the two-week-old sweater. At about a month, it’ll be too small, I’m sure. I only know it’ll (probably) fit because I made one a little smaller once, and it did fit the baby (for about twenty minutes).

Anyway, I had shown it to Amy Ray and her girlfriend Carrie earlier in the evening. (All right, I’ll admit it – this part WAS thrilling) Amy said, “That’s the cutest thing I ever saw.”

*quick moment of star-struck-edness as she realizes fully for the first time she showed Amy Ray something she knitted*

All right, that’s over. Levelheaded again and now backstage, Brooke introduced me to Dar and I shoved the bag at her. I didn’t really know how to preface it. I couldn’t really say, “Hi, nice to meet you. You don’t know me from your taxi driver, but here’s a sweater I made for your unborn child.” I must have asked Brooke a million times in the last few weeks if it was going to come off as stalkerish. She said it wouldn’t, and I could only believe her.

This is the priceless part: Dar opened it, made the obvious coo-ing noise, held it up and then exclaimed, “I’m not having a KITTEN!”

It’s a leeetle small, did I mention that? Then she said it was her first baby gift (!) and it would make her husband cry.

I felt like doing a cartwheel, right then, right there.

Okay. Whew. I’m so glad I could tell that part of the story. Hanging out with the rock stars ain’t the same without a little knitting thrown in there somewhere, you know? Oh - and check out Brooke's account of the show - much more well-put than my stammering account - I agree with her about everything, especially Patty Griffin. That girl could gild cotton with her voice. It doesn't get much better than the four of them, up on that stage, singing alone and together.

(And to make up for not taking pictures, here's what I wore – and here's the backstage pass and seating assignment stuck to my cords.....)

Now Officially Done being cool. I'm WAY better at being geeky. Let the knitting/watching Carnivale resume.