Monday, May 28, 2012

What passes for drama in a knitter's world.

Dramatic scene #1

I may have mentionned knitting dishcloths.  Around Christmastime most years I decide I must knit a few piles of dishcloths and give them to family from "the Italian Christmas donkey."  And then I forget to stop knitting dishcloths and end up with a pile to sell at our church's youth group's annual fundraiser.

For the last few years, I have had the perfect needle to knit dishcloths with - a short circular needle, size 4.5 mm.

That is, until a few months ago, when I inexplicably misplaced my dishcloth needle.  This house may look like it's being organized by caffeinated monkeys, but the knitting stuff?  I KNOW WHERE IT IS.  Always.

Yesterday I found a bag of oddly random knitting thingummies - leftover yarn bits, whole skeins of yarn - things that did not belong together, and all twined up amongst them I found my dishcloth needle. 

I was so happy I immediately knit a dishcloth, stuck in on my dog, and took a picture of it.



Dramatic Scene #2

Look, isn't this pretty?


It's actually not that great a picture of it.  It's a set of interchangeable circular needles - (for those who think I just slipped into speaking Vulcan - ha.  Vulcans don't knit.  They manipulate yarn with their minds.)  Also interchangeable circulars, or circs, come with several lengths of cord, and several sizes of needle tips that screw into those cords, so that if you have 3mm 16" and you need a 3 mm 24", you just change out the cord instead of buying a new needle.  OR if you get to the end of your shawl and realize you are going to run out of yarn, you can go down a needle size right there in your own house, instead of going out to the store.  This is especially lovely at 3 am, when your inner knitter (tm YarnHarlot) doesn't want to go to bed until you've cast the thing off.

(For knitters - these are Dreamz, they're short because they came with 16" cords, and they work with KnitPicks cords and keys.  And they are pretty.)

You'll notice there's a gap where a set of needle tips should be.  Don't stress - the needles in use.  However, at 11:30 last night, there were two gaps, and I spent really really really a lot of time trying to remember all sorts of knitting trivia, because I did not have a set in any other works in progress and I really really really really hate when a piece of a set goes missing.  (made me a VERY RELAXED mother to preschoolers, as you can well imagine)  And I went through a few drawers and some bags that might have been knitting bags at some point in my life and finally, in desperation, stuck my hand between the couch cushions, and yanked up a lovely purple knitpicks cord with some lovely Dreamz needle tips on it.

So that was my week.  Found a needle, lost a needle, found a needle.

Now I'm going to go knit something linen-y to drape artfully around my neck at a writers conference midJune, so I look like  - well, myself, only festooned in summer weight knitting instead of carrying my knitting around in a bag to stroke when I get nervous.  (There's nothing to be nervous about, I'm just really good at nervous, because I practice it a lot.)



Sunday, May 27, 2012

In which A pokes fun at herself.

I like where I live because it cools down at night.  I spent four years living in California and the heat nearly killed me.  I'd huddle in my airconditioned home and whimper about snow.  (not really)

Our daughter, on the other hand, is most comfortable when it's 30C or above.

As you can imagine, this is fun when we're in the same vehicle together.

Also evenings, here at home, when I go around the house and open all windows, especially the ones on the top floor, so it will be deliciously uncomfortably cool come morning.

Last night A was upstairs for something and I asked her to close my office window. 

She came out and said "Did I really just do that?  I closed your window, and then I locked it, and then I lowered the blinds just enough that they were hiding the window lock, thinking that maybe that would make it so you couldn't find the lock."

Only 16, and already she's figured out the "out of sight, out of mind" parenting trick. 

Next she'll be telling me she bets I can't beat her to the car when she wants to leave church before I do ...

Tuesday, May 22, 2012

Curveball

So today I'm napping at noon, trying to shake a five day migraine. 

The phone rings, and my mother asks "Are you coming?"

I squint at the clock.  Its 12:3o, Tuesday afternoon.  I don't go see her on Tuesdays because a lady comes to read to her Tuesday evenings, and she likes to conserve her energy for that.

"Did I say I was coming?" I ask.

"You left a message with the nurse saying you were coming to take me out for lunch, and you 'd be here at 11:45."

I do some math.  She's been out of bed, dressed and ready to go for at least 45 minutes.  The last time she out of bed and wearing clothes was definitely not in THIS calendar year.  She doesn't like to be up and out of bed.

"You want to go for lunch?" I ask.

"Well I'm ready, aren't I?"

So I jumped in the van and took my Mom out for lunch.

I still have a migraine, but Mom and I got to go out together.

A happy little surprise in my day.  We may never know who the original phone message was for!

Tuesday, May 08, 2012

Apple doesn't fall far ...

On the phone to Mom, who I haven't seen in several days because I have a cold I can't seem to shake.
Mom: What are you up to?

Me: Reading bad poetry.  (I read her some, and rant a little)

Mom:  Here, write this down:

     the phone rang
     the bird sang
     the chick chirped
     the baby burped
     the mother sneezed
     and the grandmother wheezed.


So I did.

Wednesday, May 02, 2012

You wish you were me, don't you?

I just passed by the mirror.

I am wearing a pair of black sweats that a friend gave me in 1989 or so.  They were not new, even then.

White socks.

A black tank top.

Boldly coloured fingerless mitts - pink, purple, blue, red, black, white.

A small shawl - black and red, that in no way matches the fingerless mitts, unless you consider that I knit them both.

In other words, I look like I got my clothes out of someone's trash bag, except for the part where I look like knitting threw up on me.

Wouldn't hurt to comb my hair, either.

It's a glamourous life.