Beginner's Amazing Lace Socks

It's the first weekend of the Amazing Lace!

This Amazing Lacey Sock interrupted by the Letter Q.
Is Q for QUITTER? Absolutely NOT.

I've only picked knitting needles back up since December 2005. To learn socks from my mom. Was ready for more than the basic utility - it's okay if you run out to the Jeep for something in stocking feet - socks.

Along came the Amazing Lace.

Pattern: Old Shale 2 - Yarn Socks
Needles: 2 sets of DPN's - size 1
(both socks underway at nearly the same time)
Yarn: Lace cuff (toes & heel)/Patons Kroy Socks - Winter Eclipse; Foot/ Bernat Sox - Blue Hot
Lace Knitting Experience: NONE
Previous skill level: I knew how to KNIT & PURL. Just. There's no wrapping yarn around the fingers; it gets pinched and carried. With purpose. Like I taught myself when I was 8 most likely.

My first attempt at knitting holes on purpose got off to a bit of a shaky start. Stitches were pulled off the needles twice and carefully picked back up. Some of them faced the right direction. One complete do-over ensued. Still have a lot of knitting to do before they become socks . . . but they qualify as lacey at this point!!

2 cuffs are complete!

So this is how a new addiction starts, I'm sure? My thoughts were of lacy knitting attempts even as I finished getting the garden in. Even as I diligently worked on the Letter Q, with Y & X still waiting on the sidelines to be finished, before a sock gets done most likely. School is nearly over and we can't have our 14th Street kindergarteners heading off to 1st grade thinking there are only 23 letters in the alphabet because one of their volunteers decided knitting was more enjoyable. Can we? NO, definitely not.

We've sailed away to South America

Dear Steph,
Sunday dinner at Gram's has been followed up with a trip to Port Glenburn Elementary Playground. 5 year old Kyle, Sara and your mom have climbed aboard the S.S. Sara Abraham Lincoln and sailed away to South America. Gram was last seen sitting on the port bench waving us off, knitting the cuff of a sock in pretty, pretty Candy Print raspberry pinks.

According to Captain Kyle it's 3,867 miles away and there's no danger of us getting lost as he has set the controls of our ship by spinning the math wheels (NO, you can't touch them!) at the top of the tall curvey slide. (This slide has some sort of static electricity thing going on with it, as every time mom slid down it, her denim jeans created enough static that everyone touched got a shock strong enough to light up New York City. She thought this amusing until she shocked herself nearly senseless).

Captain Kyle could not convince Aunt Laudie NOT to go down the slide many, many times into the shark infested waters that surrounded our playground Ship. At the time, he refused to let Sara walk the suspension bridge plank although he has since changed his mind, as she kicked his BIG blue brand new ball against Gram's roof (the sharp metal roof?) and it fell to earth in a flattened puff of plastic/rubber.

I'M TELLING DAD!! (golfing at the time, although he forked over money for Cotton Candy ice cream at BJ's before he left.)

We had a proper burial for the dead ball in the back yard. A two sided marker was made to reflect our sadness. Kyle's side read RIP and he drew the smiley face as he had first drawn it on the actual ball. Mom included a note at the bottom: Sara is really sorry...ROOF SUCKS!
Sara's side of the marker stated: POOP HAPPENS. The dejectedness of your young cousin nearly had Sara driving to town to purchase a replacement ball - but it was a holiday after all.

Telling on her was good enough...And oh, DON'T think he didn't tell daddy on cousin Sara!

Wish you were here in South America!

(no pictures as these clueless tourists forgot their digital camera)

Amazing Lace is about to begin.

Stick around and watch me try to pull something lacey out of my Knitting Bucket!

I have just now requested to be signed up for the Amazing Lace. Knitters around the world will get up off their couches and take their knitting out for a little summer adventure. The main requirement seems to be to knitting in public and putting holes in it...on purpose!

It's called Lace when you put the holes in the right place?


Having never actually knit anything that was supposed to have holes in it, I plan to start off small.

First up will be Old Shale 2-Yarn Socks. If it goes well, I see several pairs of these socks tucked away as Christmas presents. That does mean I'll have to resist the urge to pull them on and walk around in them as soon as they come off the needles.
I suppose.

After that I intend to knit some Over-The-Knee Socks from Holiday Knits.
I have this book through the inter-library loan program and the pattern is all printed out. Perhaps I should buy it. CONCERNED? Well yes, I am. By Round 2 I'll be consulting the abbreviations & Special Techniques section to see how the hell I'm supposed to *P1, RT; Repeat from * around. RT? Mother of god. (Haven't actually specified which year someone might get these as a gift ;)

This Knitting Bucket is a gift from Sam. A Kindergarten thank you gift from last year's Letter People adventure and one of my most prized possessions! It says: This is your Knitting Bucket. ABCDE...XYZ.

An excellent use of the . . . !

UPDATE: Anxious to get started with my first Amazing Lacey Sock, I cast 64 stitches onto size 2 needles. Did I mention I knit a little tight? Pattern says to use size 1. These stitches would be a bit snug if I use 1's!! Not to mention needles would be bent into paper clips after a few Knit 2 Togethers!

By the 3rd YO I wondered randomly if I was YOing in the right direction. The 2nd SSK went dreadfully wrong - slipping off the needle, causing me to rip the first 16 stitches out and start over. Followed by frantic grabbing for a crochet hook to pick up the stitch I had just dropped.

Onward I went through the 4 rows of the first repeat and started the next. Quick check here and it turns out I was NOT yarn over'ing in the right direction and my lacy holes were not so, I don't know... LACEY? I tore out 6 rows and managed to pick 64 teeny little stitches BACK UP - most of them facing the right direction!

I was ready for a lie down while I reflected on my ability to knit holes on purpose.

I finished the 3rd repeat this morning - I hope I'm not last at the check-in.
Will this be an elimination pit stop?

2nd Update: Went to ACMoore's with 40% coupon in hand to buy 2nd set of needles so that both Amazing Lacey Socks might be completed at the same time. The 2's were the wrong color? Bought another set of 1's because they seemed to be the correct color. Disregard the paper clip comment. Apparently my knitting has loosened up a bit.

I was knitting with the 1's all along. I'm an idiot? No, that's harsh.
I'm clueless.

Alphabetically Last !

Alphabetically last is okay by me :)

My name is among the Acknowledgments on page 2 of the new book just out: fast, fun & easy: Fabric Postcards by Franki Kohler. The first fabric postcard I ever made and sent to a stranger is on page 42!

We both discovered the fabric postcard concept through Quilting Arts magazine - issue 14. We both tracked down the group the article mentioned, joined and started begging for another round of swaps to form. Franki took the initiative and started a yahoo group, Postmark'd Art. They're now doing round 4 but I'm sitting out this one, as I have too many things going on. Plus I like finding people I haven't already gotten cards from to trade with.

This fabric postcard is one of my latest:
Prince Charming Kit!
*Kiss NOT included. Use caution opening the lid as we are not responsible for escaping frogs, or defective prince.

I have a thing for African Violets!

African Violets & Friends on the internet

For 20 years my idea of growing African Violets was going to mom's house and liberating a couple in full bloom and bringing them to my house. To finish blooming. And then they usually died. I'll admit it was my fault. I often let them go dry and then watered the crap out of them to make up for it. No matter!

Mom had more; often blooming and in 3 or 4 colors. One that Aunt Vena gave to her often had 2 different colored blooms on the same plant? Turns out that's called a "sport" and not actually a desired result. Leaves from these plants had been passed around relatives and friends for years. So why couldn't I keep them alive for more than 6 months?

I went to the internet several years ago to find out more about the care of African Violets. Figuring they're not supposed to be disposable at the end of each blooming cycle, perhaps I could do better? What I found amazed me. African Violets have NAMES! People trade leaves and collect varieties to the point of addiction. AND host flower shows specifically for AV's. There's even a national organization, African Violet Society of America, that puts out a magazine and hosts a website with loads of info.

I started out on the GardenWeb site and soon found there were several online groups offering advice. Some of the groups were well established, some a little clicky; some actively feuding with each other. A friendly, older gentleman by the name of Fred seemed to be all knowing and everywhere. Always above the fray and wise in the ways of AV care, dispensing logical advice.

And then I discovered an MSN group, The Violet Voice just starting up by a lady in Montana. Mrs. John. I posted a note announcing the news of my find on GardenWeb and was promptly yelled at by Spike the moderator; my first run in with the "we don't play well with others" attitude. No matter! I tried several of the online groups on for fit. This group is the best!

I went into a funk over the winter and lost a bit of my first enthusiasim with growing AV's. I think I took up knitting? There were no blooms and I had way too many plants. Each day I walked past them with a promise of "tomorrow" and it's a wonder any of them survived. An email from Montana to the original Charter Members snapped me out of it and once I owned up to being lazy and ignoring everything I had learned, I renewed my effort with AV's. Just a few short months and the turn around still has me joyfully surprised. Repotting & consistant care did wonders. Plus the golden rule: Grow only the number you have time to care for.

In memory of my sister

Nola Jean Grant
May 16, 1960 - July 3, 1983

Today my sister would be 46; next week I'll turn 47. For 5 days we were the same age (a lot alike) for complete opposites. She was the laughter. The free spirit. Often the leader finding some form of trouble for all of us to get into - a neighborhood full of kids; lots of cousins. It usually seemed like a good idea at the time. She was the one we sent to "ask mom" for something; if it was the only hope. Encouraged with "Mom will say yes to you; cry if you have to!" often she went to get us the response hoped for. She had a temper. She was no angel.

At 3 our tricycles were hung up in the rafters of the spare room. Out of reach for a month. To this day I'll swear it was all her fault! She bit my face. Little angry teeth marks covered my entire cheek; because I took MY bike back. The one with NO missing shiny hubcap. I saw a tricycle on the side of the road yesterday, waiting for trash day. I almost rescued it.

Nola was a unit secretary at Eastern Maine Medical Center; on the fourth floor - where cancer often ended the lives of strangers she grew to love; in a very short time. And their passing would break her heart. Until another needed her smile. Her cheer. And their smile back was the thing that made returning to work where people died. Nearly everyday. Bearable.

Our Guardian Angel watches over us. Her name is Nola.
Nola died at 23.

Five minutes from home. Five minutes from a picnic area on a sunny afternoon. Her boyfriend Lance and our cousin Dwight were in the back seat; his wife Sylvia was driving and baby Faith Ann & Nola were in front.

She volunteered to work on that July fourth weekend so co-workers with children could have the day off. A quick outing after work.
Best Friends together.
Today Dwight remains in a wheelchair. From that day to this.
Sylvia has remarried.
Nola's Annie has a family of her own now.

Witnesses said afterwards the 19 year old was passing everything in sight. The state trooper put William Haney Jr.'s drivers license in my hand the next day. It was said he had been partying, woke up to discover he was late for a job at KFC; so he drove fast. And recklessly. Hitting them nearly head on. Less than five minutes from home.

I was home with our new baby Sara, born March 18, 1983. Tom had gone fishing for the afternoon and had actually driven past the accident scene, not knowing it was someone he knew. Someone I loved. On July 3rd all of the newness & wonder of having a brand new baby was smashed by grief. Sorrow. Despair. ANGER. Loss. I can still hear a wailing scream in my head when I remember being told the news.

We couldn't find mom and dad. To tell them this awful thing. They'd gone for a ride, met up with friends with an extra bed in their camper and stayed overnight. An impulse drive in the opposite direction we thought they might have gone. An all-points bulletin by the police failed to find them. The vigil began. Waiting in a little trailer next door for mom and dad to come home.I can still hear the scream in my head when I remember telling daddy on his birthday.

They could tell something was wrong. Something was bad. No, Grammie Grant was okay. So much worse. I don't know how parents get through something like this. I've only experienced it as a sister. Dad took up golf because his older brother recognized he needed something to save his soul. I think it helped. He still plays.

Mom. Today is hardest probably on her. I couldn't bring myself to pick up the phone today. I stopped in yesterday but she wasn't home. I'll call tomorrow. How can another year slip away?

One of the last pictures I have of Nola is of her holding Sara. I knew what LOVE looked like the first time I saw Sara's Aunt Nola hold her. Look upon baby Sara with love. And I knew what Love (and that look) felt like the first time I held our brother Kevin's baby Kyle.

With sadness and some guilt I know that everything new, every first for our 2 daughters has been measured by me, at least for a moment, by the absence of Nola. Whenever there's a moment of uncertainty at how long it's been without my sister, I remember it can be measured by the number of birthday candles on Sara's cake. Stephani Nola is enough like her namesake to be a little frightening. Laughter and free spirit. And NO angel!

But I have to believe one watches over them.

Plus I'm deluded.

I admit it.

I'm grinning ear to ear because the Yarn Harlot sent me an email, in reply to a comment I posted on her blog entry: Curse of the optimist.

"The baby sweater is at such a fine gauge, that the adult sweater actually has way fewer stitches in the whole thing than the baby sweater.

Plus I'm deluded."

It's clearly a case of Procrastiknitting - casting aside a current project for something new. Her word: FAST SUCCESS. I understand completely, even being new to knitting. Plus the Teeny Needles Takes Lots MORE Stitches concept has just started to sink in as well. Size 2 is about small as I ever want to go (with socks at least) anytime soon.

And my newly enhanced yarn STASH has taken on dimensions that frankly have me CONCERNED. A local yarn shop with a sign in the window that reads "BRING IT ON! Every item 50% OFF" caught my attention on Monday. Unfortunately the sign next to it said CLOSED Sunday & Monday. Seriously. 20 minutes each way and gas at $2.89. Made me (almost) glad the patio table I bought on Monday had one leg that was an inch shorter than the other 3, all the screw holes lined up in the wrong place and it's curve bent at the wrong angle. Making a return trip excusable? No. Reasonable.

Some assembly required:
I noticed right away that one leg seemed a "little off". This should have been a heads up, so why the freaking table still tilted 3 hours later should not have been a mystery. Back we trooped to the store for a one chance only replacement. Went together in about 10 minutes.

And $50 worth of sock & felted bag yarn has been mixed in with all the rest of my stash before anyone might notice she's buying more yarn when she's already got more than she can knit in 6 months. The real CONCERN is that the sale goes on through all this week.

Knitting at the DMV

So I've heard the horror stories about waiting your turn at Maine's Department of Motor Vehicle offices these days. They've improved things so of course that means LONGER WAITS. Hours in line even, as reported by local news.

I received a renewal letter ages ago - 2 months early? Decided on Wednesday to get it over with, even though my birthday is still a month away. (I am not 47 yet and it's just mean to send me a paper saying I am so.) I would take my never ending second Bernat Sox yarn sock on size 2 needles and wait. More importantly: KNIT. At the DMV. (60 stitches cast on for nearly 100 rows each makes these 2 socks nearly as much work as my gigantic pre-felted bag?)

I took a number 29 ticket out of the machine, sat down and knit exactly 2 needles worth of stitches before my number was called. Could probably have done another half needle but figured they might not take it well if I shouted, "Just as soon as I finish this row."?

Probably better I didn't go there.

I finished the sock on Friday, sitting in folding chair on the driveway; in between watching Kyle play in sand and nudging slimy tennis ball to insufferable dawg - with toy shovel so I wouldn't get my yarn icky. I'm wearing them this morning! They look a little too National Guard/ military green. Considering the label calls them Army Hot, I'm not sure why I was surprised they turned out a little too camouflage green.

And my first 2-color felted bag got on a bus to New York with Stephani's luggage. I'm halfway done with another one! Family will likely be getting handknit items for any future gift-giving needs.

...Make him walk the plank!

5 year old Kyle spent the day with Aunt Laurie on Friday. A Kyle Day to fill the Stephi-void that's had me walking around knowing something's missing since her return to Brooklyn after a spring break week at home. (Also missing are the glasses on the back of the couch, bowls under the couch, wet towels at the end of the bed and Saved By The freaking Bell reruns. I really do miss you kid!)

And now Sara has boarded a plane to Nashville for a renewable energy conference. The empty nest void has grown a little wider this morning.

Kyle Day includes lemon-poppy muffins fresh from the oven. A blanket tent draped from love seat to artist easel to rocking chair back - taking up most of the living room. Secret hideouts. Hide-And-Go-BOO! (Seeker must count to 5 slowly and then both scream BOO when hiding spot is found). Treasure Box filled with precious (vintage) toys from the basement - yeah that's right girls: your 80's toys are old! Buried Treasure in the front yard. This requires 2 radio flyer wagon loads of sand scrapped off the end of the driveway. MUCH easier than digging a 2 foot hole in the middle of the lawn, although it took some convincing on my part before he accepted this option. Oh, and a MAP! To find the buried treasure silly.

And the cartoon song I cannot get out of my head involves a moose, a peg-leg penguin and another (forgettable) pal singing (repeatedly) "What ya gonna do with a scurvy pirate? What ya gonna do with a scurvy pirate? MAKE HIM WALK THE PLANK!"

Make it stop?

In a FINISHING mood!

Well, this last week has just been a turning point for finishing things. I used up the last of my yarn from The Skein Who's Price Must NOT Be Mentioned. Finished a second pair of socks out of it!! Ran out about halfway down the second foot, but I had 2 small balls rolled off trying to get to the right colorway starting point between first & second socks. I was able to find the matching color segment TWICE! All was going well until the very tip of the last toe. It was supposed to be green, but I ran out of yarn segments for a third time and not one smidgen of green remained.

So one sock tip is green & one is blue. Whatever. Will probably NEVER pay that much for yarn again. Anyone know where there's a good sale on Opal, let me know!! Tried to convince Sara to make her German friend request something from home. Tell his mom he needed something really fragile, he couldn't live without and: "Pack it in Opal yarn please, mom as I've taken up knitting, along with my chemical engineering studies."

Yeah, not working out for me... but what an idea, huh?!

Also finished is my Making It Up As I GO felted tote bag!! Picture is pre-felting. I felted it last night and actually LOVE how it came out. I tried 2 stranded knitting and made up the pattern design myself. The felting softens it a bit and this one shrunk much less than my first effort.

PLUS: I made 2 fabric totebags from stash fabric.

Current mood: Just PLEASED WITH MYSELF as all get out :)
Using it up so I can buy more!

For 81 years she lived well.

Funerals are supposed to be sad. Aunt Nonnie passed away recently and this one proved to be no exception. Thank goodness for 2 of her devoted grandsons all but taking over the service from pastor greg. I dislike our town's right wing zealot-preacher. It would have been grim if the entire service had been done by him. As it was, only most of his part was awful.

Jonathan sang & played guitar and it was like I was 12 again; seeing & hearing his dad. Amazing Grace went a little rock-n-roll, in a really good way! Aaron has followed in his parents path as well. George & Linda both went to bible college after high school - although it didn't lead to where ever they thought it might. But for Aaron it's working out well. He spoke of his grandmother - through the eyes of her grandchildren . . . all boys. All 6 of the great-grandchildren have been boys as well. One of her last laments was still waiting for a great-granddaughter.

Aaron confirmed all I knew about her and much that I never knew. She was one of those people you know is Good. They are the meaning Good intended. His words made such an impact they still ring in my ears and I've promised myself to try to be a better person in her memory.

I had made it through the week with not much more than watery eyes a time or two, knowing an all out weeping wail felt like it was brewing just below the surface. As I hugged Yvonne at the end of the service and she whispered the knowledge of Aunt Nonnie's love in my ear, I lost it. I drove through tears and halfway there, I knew: I needed to talk to my sister. Instead of going home or to the church gathering, I turned in at the cemetery and visited with Nola a while. Each time I lifted my head to look at the sky through tears, a warm breeze swept over my face and around me. I felt the comfort of her hug again.

I wonder how it can be that I've lived half of my life now without Nola.
Sisters should be treated well & with love, always.

V is for variegated!

30 Letter V People are off to school this morning, along with an African Violet with variegated leaves, a ball of variegated yarn & baby socks knit from variegated yarn.

Plant pictured is named Nancy Reagan; plants that went to school are Honeysuckle Rose & Baby Tears. They were just starting to bud...was hoping to get them to open a few blossoms by the time letter V arrived but no luck!

Sunday, so to speak!

Happy Day After Birthday, Steph!

Traditional Sunday dinner started off with a bit of a shocker. A moment we've been waiting for with hopeful certainty, surely this day would come. Uncle Kevin said he had to say something; not trying to start something, in fact it would make my day. "George Bush is an idiot."
And then something about being "done drinking the Kool-Aid" but I was giddy with the joy of the moment, so exact quotes escape me!

There was no gloating, no joyful celebration, as we are stuck with these fools intent on ruining our country for 3 freaking more years. Just a relieved and thankful little, "well it took you long enough."

But he still thinks it's okay for the government to be spying on people without oversight or a court order. There's work to be done getting him to cough up a little more of that fruit juice he's been drinking.

Knitting News

Not that Tom has been infected by the knitting craze going on in this house, but we're planning a road trip during April vacation to Harmony. I've discovered there's a century old yarn mill here in Maine and they have a factory outlet. I also mentioned the Maine (quilt) Shop Hop going on during April and pointed out other possible stops along our route. In reality it's still too early for trout fishing, so he may just be humoring me into thinking we'll actually stop at shops generally veiwed with my nose pressed to the window at 50+ mph.

Other signs of knitting infection:
While watching DVD on Saturday (Bend it like Beckham), just as movie was ending Tom shouts, "She's Knitting a SOCK!"

On Sunday he came home with a bag of yarn that's been up on the back of the stage since he started working at 14th Street School. "Anything you can use, here?"

In a FABRIC postcard mood!

I've agreed to be postcard pals with 2 little girls in Pennsylvania just learning the Art of Fabric Postcards! Here are 2 of my newest creations off to the post office this morning.

There's Garden Fabric, fussy cut >4x6< and then fused with 2 sided fusible web to stiff facing. The butterfly stickers didn't scan too well, but they're in a clear window with shaker confetti - evolved from the snow globe concept. I added some star buttons for balance.


Bird or butterfly buttons would have worked wonderfully . . . must go shopping?!

Well, this means WAR

I filled my coat pockets with trash bags, hooked Jasmine to her leash and decided to spend Monday's spring-like weather outside, picking up after Nasty Litterbugs. What trait in a person causes them to roll down a window of their fast moving auto and fling whatever they will to the ditch and drive off oblivious of their pigginess? How can they drive back by the next day (assuming this is not someone from away driving by, one time only?) and not notice the mounting trash heaps on the side of the road . . . knowing they contributed to the mess . . . and NOT feel guilt?

I don't understand it. I'm not willing to ignore it. Especially the stuff on OUR property. Since we live on a corner, 20+ acres gives us quite a bit of road frontage to clean up. It used to be I could convince the kids, both mine and the babysitting variety, that picking up trash was an Earth Day Event and I had willing helpers. Today it's just me and the dog!

Starting at the mailbox, we headed down to the corner. By the time we reached the stop sign Jazz was giving me the "This is NOT fun" look and I had decided it was too much effort to try picking up all of the mess and still keep her safely leashed. After filling one bag, dragging a broken trash barrel in our ditch back to the neighbors side of the road, so the trash truck would collect it on Tuesday, Jasmine got put inside and I continued up the other road by myself.

In an hour and a half and just a few 10th's of a mile, I filled 4 bags. FOUR HEAPING BAGS. Every driver of every passing car was glared at and if they could read lips at 50+ mph they know I was curious if any of this crap was theirs. It occurred to me as the last bag was filled, right at our farthest boundary and turned to trek home: I needed to rethink future plans to do this ONLY on trash day. I could drop off bags at driveways already boasting: it's trash day. I faced the folly of my plan as I realized I would be lugging 4 full bags of trash 5 miles back home. (Yeah, well a few 10th's seems like 5 miles when 4 bags of disgusting trash are being dragged back to my mailbox!) The found Walmart bag now holding about 75 cents worth of returnables did not seem payment enough. I'm hoping the spotless landscape next time I drive to town will be as satisfying as I remember it in years past.

And WAR? That's now on with our neighbor in the trailer behind our house. By the time I got all of the bags of trash down to the road, where it will be picked up and hauled away, the broken trash barrel was thrown back into the ditch on MY side of the road.

I dragged it out, spouting several loud expletive deletives and dragged it to the pile of roadside crap I had built. CURSE THEM! When I looked out later to see they had brought out their trash for tomorrow's pick up, it had tipped over. I swear . . . not me who tipped it over!
Some neighbors SUCK.

KNITTING is one of the 12 Steps!

In December of 2005, when I asked mom to teach me to knit Grammie Socks, there may have been a moment of fear hidden in there somewhere that morning. A grain of truth recognizing that if her art of socks, her knowledge of knitting was to be passed on, time was an issue.

We were headed to the eye doctor for a check up of the laser surgery done on both eyes in the past year or so and unfortunately it left her vision worse off than before the surgery. Before she could at least read. It was the damnedest thing to have a nearly legally blind parent with an inherited eye disease, most frighteningly passed on to women in our family, lift her glasses off and read better without them. Now she doesn't even have that. It takes a book held in one hand, fairly close to the face and a magnifying glass in the other. After an hour or two, her joy of reading has been replaced by a headache of gigantic proportion and arthritic hands now aching from the effort of holding both magnifier & book aloft.

I'm nearly finished reading Yarn Harlot's book, The Secret Life of a Knitter. It has been one of the funniest, laugh-out-loud reads I've enjoyed in a long time. I've been reading it slowly. . . savoring! A chapter here or there, in between knitting a sock or making letter people or fabric postcards. Sometimes housework. So when I got to the chapter What her Hands Won't Do I wasn't expecting the light hearted fuzzy feeling of my new found step towards inner peace to be replaced by sadness and fear. A knitter who can no longer knit. A knitter who gives away her beloved stash to friends who will cherish it because knitting physically hurts too much. As a quilter - or perhaps as a confessed packrat - the Stash concept for knitter's is a familiar one. But I was not ready to admit this truth likely awaits my mom. Some distant time, far too soon, knitting will hurt too much.

I put down the book and picked up the baby sock I'm working on instead. There was no way I was ready for the next chapter entitled Freaking Birds. It was clearly going to be funny and lighthearted once more. Perhaps a sad chapter needs to be savored as much a funny one?

Knitting seems to have woven itself into my daily routine without my really being aware it was happening. Maybe I've stumbled onto one of the true steps to finding my inner peace. How do I suddenly have more online bookmarks for items in a knitting folder than any other category? It remains a bit of a mystery!

As a new fan of Yarn Harlot's blog & books (also the founder of 2006 Knitting Olympics ;) I went to Amazon.com and read book reviews of her books, thinking it would help me decide if I wanted to read her books. Most of the reviewers were obviously true fans of both blog & books already. I've decided several mean reviews were either posted by Knitting Snobs or knitting book/blog writer rivals with an axe to grind. I will give the one mad about a chapter disbelieving wool allergies might be real the benefit of doubt, since Uncle Elbow once ended up in ICU and they blamed wool.

This copy of The Secret Life of a Knitter by Stephanie Pearl-McPhee is borrowed through the library interloan program. I'm reading the Portland Public library's copy from four hours away! I requested her other book at the same time but Bangor Library decided to buy it, so it's going to take longer to get my hands on! I hope the publishers will/consider publishing them in large print. Having told mom of several antidotes from the book, she wants to read Secret Life next. It will take determination as this copy is very fine, small print.

Final story shared with mom before she declared she wanted to read it also:

Harlot approved method for darning socks: Hold above trash can and exclaim "Darn it!" as you deposit sock with holes into bin. I would suggest pairs go in together for this treatment, except my mismatched sock bag, overflowing in oneness, proves I have issues with letting lonely socks go.

Knitting has become my newest obsession. That and trying to learn Hardanger. This stitch work either requires natural light in front of the brightest window in the house, a trip to town for a light bulb that gives off better glow than anything currently installed or visit with an eye doctor confessing, "I can't see!" So far I'm sticking to the sunshine spot in the living room.

I'm finally "getting" the Hardanger buttonhole stitch. Though not perfect (yet) and at times wondering why on earth I think I need to persist in learning something THIS difficult to see . . . counting threads of fabric? OMG! But it's pretty and a Needle Art with history, worth my best effort. Plus it may be that I'm just too stubborn to quit? And now I have all these supplies, thanks to several trips to ACMoore with 40% coupons in hand!

I'm waiting for delivery of my newest Ebay purchase: Hardanger, Basics & Beyond by Janice Love. (Book seller notes it's even autographed ;) My starting bid of $4 won, which feels a bit like theft as the book sells for $15 at all the shops plus outrageous S/H fees. That elusive handling cost some feel compelled to charge really ticks me off! I gave up on the first copy of the book I bid on, it at $9 something. It went for nearly $18 plus S/H - a bidding war gone nutz!! Feeling quite smug with my win actually . . . that fool, HA!

But KNITTING? That can be done in just about any light; it's relaxing to do and a few mintues of channel surfing to see what's happening in the world convinces me more often than not lately to turn the crap onTV off and just knit! Frankly, I'm as surprised as anyone about it.

"Another Weasley!"

They're FINISHED! And another (slightly wonky) W showed up on the other heel. The socks match better than I thought they ever could!

(Also finished Letter People W this week and sent them off to be with the 14th Street Cabbage Patch Kids, in between socks ;)

Skein Whose Price Must Not Be Mentioned

Hey, Look! The Skein of Opal #1125 . . . or as I prefer to speak of it: Skein Whose Price Must Not Be Mentioned has been specially designed, just for me. My initials have appeared as if by magic, into the bottom of the heel. (LW)
See it?! I think the W is defined without too much extra imagination;
L takes a little lower case acceptance.

I'm fighting my almost compulsive need to mark the W with a diagonal red slash.

Once again I'm having issues looking for the beginning of a skein of yarn. This adult size sock is at the point I have just used all of the yarn I had to wind back to the outside of the skein after I pulled a glob from the center of the skein trying to find the end. If there's a trick to finding the center pulls, I haven't discovered it yet!

Notes from my half empty nest . . .

It's time to purge the clutter, again...

My Sewing slash Laundry Room is so messy I can't find the cutting table or sewing machine. Time has come to put things in order. I'm not going to move everything SEWING back into Stephani's room while she's away. This room works when it hasn't been taken over by sewing stuff not put away since the last time it was used or dirty clothes. The shelves & drawers are set up well enough to contain reasonable amounts of sewing items. The rest needs to go. Stuff given to me "because I might use it" needs to go. Obviously, I can't or won't use it in this lifetime. Time also for a little more effort towards finishing quilty UFO's that lost my attention.

It's day 3 of Lofty Cleaning Goal - not making progress very fast :) I found this hastily scribbled note from last year (down behind a box that needs purging!) and I came to the computer to see what it looks like in more permanent font. Not that I would procrasticlean?

(First time our Stephani Nola went away to be grown up)

A few tears crept past
Unexpectedly
And yet, not.
You write wonderfully
Just as I've said since grade 3
So as I read your blog
31 Days gone
31 days Lived
Frighteningly
Wonderfully
Away from me
By so far that even if you called
To say that you NEEDED me
(which you won't)
The getting there
Would take too long.

(This second time goodbye was easier, but still...)

Putting your clean clothes into the dryer
Such a wave of despair washed over me;
You're leaving in the morning.
No more crying
Not like last time.
Not for three days.
Not for such everyday things easily fixed:
Too many dirty dishes
Not enough counter space.
FEAR:
Fear leaving here makes you too glad.
More glad to be gone
Than glad to be back in New York.

New Respect for WOOL!

I will never wash (Sara's) wool sweaters in regular laundry again!

(I probably will never own one if they have to be specially washed ... oh, now convinced they do!)

I've just felted my first knitting project - on purpose - I'm speechless!

I sort of wish I had taken it out and looked at it a little longer the first time I checked. First impression was: It's yummy! I put it back in a little longer - and then let it rinse for a few minutes in the machine. That extra rinse agitation may have shrunken it more compactly than I remember it looking at first peek. Anxiousness at water growing cold ... not knowing what I was looking for exactly, I put it back in. WOW! Thicker than I ever imagined those knit stitches could become. I believe I'm now hooked on knitting & felting wool.

Let the next project/ pattern search begin!

Strappy Doneness, at last!

I chased after 5 year old nephew Kyle all day; my proud Olympic Knitting Completion moment has become exhausted!

Posted the following at Team DPN while the the thrill was new. 3o seconds into my shower Sara knocked on the door to announce her car wouldn't start. Went outside with hair still drippy to confirm; battery sounded like it needed a charge. Kyle would be arriving in less than an hour, the house could use some kid proofing before then and there was no coffee left. Give me back my knitting needles and let me start this day over some place quieter and more peaceful!!

My French Market Bag is finished...the knitting part, that is.
(Still needs felting. Tomorrow is good :)

Connected the straps, bound the 4 top edges, wove & snipped all ends and pulled out the basting by 5:52 a.m. 02.21.06. (2 scrids of 14 inch pieces of yarn are all that remain from 2nd skein.)

Explanation for color change from 2nd skein/ not matching dye lots:
I MEANT TO DO THAT...my story and sticking to it ;)

New techniques tried: Knitting with wool; Knit1/Purl 1 Rib, bound off with Kitchener stitch; joining seams NOT a toe with Kitchener; circular needle knitting and FINISHING item within time allowed. (Also made first buttonhole on one of those other projects!)

Strappy Progress!

Yes. I'm done procrastiknitting (for the moment) and have moved forward with work on French Market Bag straps & binding.

Of course, when just re-learning the art of knitting, do what I do:

CHANGE THE PATTERN? Original pattern says to Bind Off edges every 25 stitches. BUT I've just discovered this Kitchener form of binding off a knit 1/Purl 1 RIB. (scroll down but you put all the purl stitches on a second needle from behind and pretend it's the toe of a sock!!)

I'm changing pattern to: knit 1/Purl 1 (from starting mark) next 12 stitches,* knit next 26 stitches, knit 1/Purl 1 next 24, knit next 26 stitches * around ending in final 12 knit 1/Purl 1 stitches to complete set of 24 rib stitches. For 3 rows.

(Hope this works - or - she's too dumb to know she should be afraid?) It's been suggested I swatch a square to see how this edge felts. Since I wanted to do a mini version of the bag so I could journal my Knitting Olympics month for February at 4x6 Lives, I'll consider this an assignment and NOT procrastiknitting!! (Steph, verbs are not capitalized?)

LOOK how well I baste...quilting knowledge comes in handy for knitting. AND the number of stitches came out perfect. [(24*4)+(26*4)=200] LOOK, Sara...mommy does math. YIKES!!

Procrastiknitting

Procrastiknitting v. to knit on a project NOT already assigned. Continuing to knit project NOT under (self imposed) deadline (Knitting Olympics). my editor should evaluate/update this definition. I'm making it up!

Steph, the ipod cozy2 has biggened itself into a Cargo Pod@.

(Aren't I clever to keep the word pod in there and yet cargo allows for the size factor? I thought it up; so if it's already been done I couldn't find it online, allowing for the fact that I suck at search engines ;)

Finished Procrastiknitting item (not an FMB) seen here is nearly large enough for your camera . . . if I move the button up about 3 inches. And fix that wonky flap, while I'm at it!
*insert in Steph's sarcastic-tinged voice, "YOU are SUCH a perfectionist." here*

It's additional size would also allow your ipod, school id, money for coffee & subway pass. Dad says, "Sure. Then someone can steal all your crap at one time."