A dropped stitch

Big Bad Blue

I lived in Chicago in the early 90's.  My boyfriend was an artist.  He drove a big old blue ford pick-up truck.  He had blue eyes, and often he would wear a blue flannel shirt.  We lived together for 3 years, and thanks to yours truly, it ended badly.  

It's been almost 20 years since we broke up.

Maybe it was the birthday blues (turned 42 again this year).  
Maybe it was the blue sky of summer (so much nicer than the steely gray of winter).
Or maybe it was my blue, my perfect shade of blue, for my perfect yarn that triggered the memory.

And the memory triggered more memories, and the memories triggered some internet research.

"Yup, that's what I am calling it". 

The outcome was that I found myself staring at a face, that I hadn't seen a long time, and desperately wanting to hit that evil icon:

I stared at both for quite awhile, and then I closed the computer, and dyed my yarn.

Funny thing about my perfect yarn, in the perfect shade of blue, it didn't take long for our perfect relationship to head south.  

Here is what happened:

I dyed my yarn, but I was late in the day, and I was in a hurry (no surprise there).

I pulled the yarn out of the dye pot, the color was perfect.   

I put the skeins in the sink to rinse,  but as with all yarns dyed with turquoise, the yarn bled and bled and bled.

I rinsed it and then re-rinsed it, but it kept bleeding.  GRRR.

I told myself that it would be okay.  I was going to have to wash it again, when I blocked the sweater anyway, right?

So I hung up my wet yarn up, let it dry, and then put in back on my swift, pulled out my my ball winder, and ended up with 4 scrumptious, ready to be knit up beautiful blue balls.

I cast on.

And within 20 minutes of knitting my perfect sweater with my perfect yarn, I was cursing the yarn and my blue fingers, and realizing that life with this yarn, in it's current state, was pure misery. 

"How could I have let this happen?"

Okay, flashback to 1994, unhappy 26 year old girl with no patience and no understanding of how life works leaves Chicago and very nice artist with sapphire blue eyes to move to New York, for a new ball of yarn that won't bleed and will be perfect.

Okay, flash forward:

Surprisingly, inperfect yarn does not get thrown across the room.   Yarn does not get abandoned and replaced with new yarn.  Unhappy 40ish woman puts the skein back on the skein winder and then puts the less than perfect yarn back into the sink. 

Wash, rinse, repeat.  

Wash, rinse, repeat.

It's 1100 yards, so it takes awhile, and it keeps unhappy woman off of Facebook. 

And unhappy woman thinks to herself, "That some days it is a very good thing to have 6 fleeces under the bed."

The Perfect Yarn

The perfect fiber, the perfect shade of blue, the perfect knitting pattern, the perfect sweater.  

These are the thoughts that have filled my mind this spring.

OBSESSED. 

"Yup, that's the one way to describe it."

Recently, I became completely immersed in my spinning project, so much so that every free waking hour that I could the last few weeks I spent working on it.

It's been a long time since a project has so completely consumed me.

And I am not sure what it means when a project does.  Is it me, or is it the project?  Is it some  unresolved issue in my life that can only be fixed by knitting the perfect garment? Huh?  Maybe....

I know when we first moved to Macon in 2006, the clapotis with very overpriced yarn seemed to be the answer to all my problems.  If I could just get it knit, I am sure I would be able place to sit outside and drink the perfect cappuccino.

In the summer of 2009, when I moved back to New York with 2 suitcases and a laptop the project of my obsession was the ice queen. My apartment didn't have any furniture, I had resorted to listening to audio books on my computer because I didn't have a tv and the internet I was boot legging was spotty.  My bank account was beyond empty, but somehow the combo of beads, lace, mohair, and air-conditioning made it more bearable. I knew if I could just finish the ice queen my life would start to feel more like my life again.  

I have used knitting a lot over the last 14 years to combat the DIS-EASE.  It's been a way to make perfect, the imperfect.  My Linden sweater was knit when I was recovering from my lumpectomy.  The yarn was over dyed by me, and the original sweater was blotchy.  The sweater itself turned out great, but the uneven blotchy colors  were maddening, and then last summer I threw it in a dye pot, and managed to get all black and perfectly even.  The imperfect no longer showed.  I was able to fix the broken.  It made me immensely happy.  

As I think back on my spinning, there has been a lot less in the way of perfection.   A lot less in the way of obsession.  And a lot more in the way of imperfection.  My knitting can consume me, my spinning tends more to annoy me.   I find more often than not, I become like a petulant child when it comes to my spinning projects.  I find myself aggravated that the fiber doesn't behave how I want it to.  It's overspun, it's not thin enough, it's too thin, it takes too long, the fiber has too nubs in it.  The list goes on and on, and what has started in my mind as the perfect yarn, ends up all tangled up in my hands.

My last big spinning project was right before Rhinebeck.

"Okay, that statement alone is enough to tell you where I am heading with this."

In early September of 2013, I decided I was going to comb out and spin enough fleece for a sweater, and of course knit it about a month and a half before Rhinebeck.  This is a story until itself, but for purposes of this blog post, I will just say that the sweater didn't happen, and I was so aggravated with the outcome that I sent the rest of the fleece out to be processed directly into yarn (which came out beautifully by the way- see photo below) and I swore of spinning for most of the fall and winter.

And then I woke up one day about a month and a half ago, and I wanted to spin, and I knew exactly what I wanted to spin.  I wanted to spin a nice lightweight yarn for a fingering weight sweater.  I also knew I wanted to spin cormo, and I knew I wanted it to be a combed top prep, and I knew I wanted to spin it on my support spindles.  

I started slowly.

I had done a little bit of combing last summer, and I had already washed the fleece.  I had even spun a few ounces on my support spindles.  I dragged them out, and put them on my bobbin winder to see how many ounces I had.  I think I had around 3.  I then pulled out the locks and started combing.  The original fleece was probably around 7 pounds, but I had spit the fleece with another spinner in 2012 when I bought it, and I had worked with the fleece a few times  in the couple years, and made a few small projects out of it.  

"Hmm, would I have enough for a sweater?"

Thankfully, even in my "sworn of spinning forever state of mind" I had still managed to by a 1/3 of the same fleece this past year at Rhinebeck, so if I did run out before I hit the required yardage, I could always wash some more out.  

As it turns out, I did end having to break into the newer fleece, and wash some fiber.  

My tendency as a knitter (and so often as a spinner) is just to sally forth and dive in.   My gauge swatches if I do gauge swatches are about the size of my palm.  I guess I am a slow learner, but the good news is eventually, I do learn.   

I had decided to spin the fiber on my support spindles for a few reasons, one is because I can spin a pretty fine consistent yarn on them, but if I am honest with myself that isn't why I chose them.

My singles are much more consistent on my wheel, but spinning hand combed top on a wheel, for me, in my 40's, is similar to how I how I drank and partied in my 20's.  Fast and furious, and then it's all gone.  

DAMN.

The bottle is empty, the box of chocolates is now just wrappers, and that well, "let's not even talk about those little baggies of white stuff." 

Portion control had never been my thing, but on my support spindles the white stuff just seems to last longer.  Hooray!

And enjoy I did, and for the most part this was a pretty mediative project for me, I would comb, then I would spin, and then when my supply got a little low, I would comb again.  

And I got to hang out with this guy.  (Actually, this is a picture of my spindle filled with cormo- but you get the idea).

And then somewhere along the ways something shifted and my nice mellow project become a bit obsessive.  This happened about 2 weeks ago, when I decided to ply a couple bobbins to check my yardage, and to do a gauge swatch. 
I plied two bobbins and I got 250 yards, I swatched, and then as I was swatching, I decided it would be fun to do a little sample dyeing.

  And I found the perfect shade of blue, and then my nice little project became a nice little obsession, and I found myself washing, and combing, and spinning and plying until finally I hit the magic number of 1130 yards, and well I hit that yesterday morning.  Whew!

And here is my almost perfect yarn.I say almost perfect because it's not yet the perfect shade of blue.

For that, you are going to have to wait a few hours.

Hopelessly overcommitted

Okay.

Fess up, don't you think summer should be a down time for knitters?

It's not like there's an impending winterstorm upon us.  We should be able to take a break, knit a few pairs of socks, maybe a nice shawl or two.  Instead, we are being bombarded by things like Ravelympics or Ravellynics (what ever!), tour de fleece, and endless knit a longs and spin a longs. I, personally, spent from 8am-4pm on 4th of July,  trying to nab another bristlecone support spindle. The sick part of my personality was proud of myself for my fortitude. While other knitters and spinners where out at picnics and BBQ's with their friends and family, I was being dedicated to my craft. I was sitting resolutely in front of my computer knitting a sock and waiting for these lovely spindles to land in the Artfire shop.

I think I could of justified this a little bit more if I had actually landed a spindle, but "c'est la vie." And more often than not, I have found myself reciting this French catch phrase to myself.

"I forgot "Tour De Fleece" was starting C'est la vie. I am behind in the 365 hexipuffs in 365 days knit along," "oh craps, c'est la vie." I missed the summer WEBS sale, f--k, c'est la vie.  I know it's a total cop out but I have decided to make  finally finishing a few WIP my Ravelympics/ Ravellynics goal, c'est la vie."

Am I really overcommited or do I just enjoy making myself crazy. I mean really, "Why in God's name when I live in a city like New York, do I ever even consider joining things like KAL's, SPAL's, SPAKAL's, ravelympics or Tour De Fleece?"

Early this summer we spent three lovely, and  extremely boring weeks in Georgia. IT WAS AWESOME. My biggest concern each day was what to make for dinner, and what I had missed on "Dancing with the Stars."

Now, I am back in the big city and I wake up feeling behind.  My Saturday knitting group is planning to knit the "Haruni" and I found myself casting last week. One of my girlfriends gave me crap for this, and I had to explain to her, I am starting a new job soon, and if I didn't cast on NOW, when I was unemployed, I would never cast on.

As an overcommited person, I really don't know what the answer is. I, often, hear other knitters saying things like, "I absolutely have to get this project done by such and such date." In my head, I have an entire list of knitting and spinning sins I am guilty of. "

I NEED TO, I WANT TO, I SHOULDN'T BUY _________________ UNTIL I FINISH ______________. I SPENT TOO MUCH MONEY ON __________."

"Really? What the f--k?"

When did this hobby that we love become a job, an obsession, a chore, an addiction, a family member, a task, a ball and chain? I remember about six years ago, I was broke as hell and living in Georgia, and one of my local group members, chimed in "that her stash was her retirement."

No truer words have been said to me about knitting.  If I am working on a project and it takes me 10 years, "who cares" as long as the project still holds interest for me.

Not all knitting projects will hold interest after time, and that's okay, they can be ripped out, and the yarn can be recycled.   There seems to be a lot less of a time constraint with spinning projects.

And I have to say in complete honesty, I very rarely look at my enormous stash with regret. Yesterday, I wheel spun with cormo from last year's Rinebeck, knitted a sock with yarn from last year's Maryland, spindle spun from a bat that I had made from an array of fiber I had picked up here and there over the years, and knit a hexipuff from yarn from my friend Laura's stash. Honestly, I enjoyed every single project equally.

Occasionally, I think that it would be nice to knit my stash down so I have room for UMM stash (how crazy is that!)

And, I often think, with envy, that other knitters knit faster than me, but when I actually sitdown and compare lifestyles I know it's not usually about their speed or dextierity.  Some of my friends are monogomous knitters or have longer commutes, and a lot of them don't spin.

I can't change my career, but I am able to catch up when I am out of work, and a few times a year, I am blessed with long blocks of time where I don't feel overcommited.  On other days, where I am feeling rushed, and crazy, and the only knitting I get done is sitting at a traffic light, I have to turn to my friends in France and say, "C'est la vie."

The Many Moods of Little Kitty

I  am a firm believer that there are cat people and there are dog people.  I'm a dog person, BUT our Georgia cat, "Little Kitty", is one KOOL CAT":

 

"Gismo!   WTF Dude? This post is suppose to be only about Little Kitty!"

"Hmm, alright I admit it, you do look pretty fabulous in those glasses."

 

I'm too sexy for your feet.

Recently DH and I decided to make our annual migration south to GA. As is often the case the decision to make the trip came upon us suddenly (meaning we had talked about it in the abstract for weeks, and then we were both out of work at the same time, and the opportunity to escape NY was upon us).  In years passed, I have packed my spinning wheel, all the contents of the refridgerator, two dogs, all my knitting needles, all my WIP's, a couple pounds of fiber, three or four novels, and a 1/3 of my yarn stash.

This year, I settled on Gismo, my computer, three WIP's and one skein of sock yarn. 

As we approached the Georgia State line my favorite WIP was almost complete. 

They were the pair of socks I had started around Easter, that represented both the joy and despair I had felt in early spring in NYC.  I had used a lovely pink colorway.  The yarn was Araucania Ranco Multy. I had decided to use a grey for the cuff, the heel, and the toe, because "Hey that's spring in NYC."  The color of spring is there, but there is just enough grey to remind you it's not summer yet.

For over a year, I had hemmed and hawed about what I should do with this glorious yarn.  Funny thing about sock yarn, as much as we all love it, it so often can be debilitating.  We often only possess 400 or so yards of it.  400 yards? 

"Hmm?  It's too much for hat, not enough for a sweater, hmm, I guess you could be a shawl?  Socks, hmm I know your sock yarn, but REALLY am I suppose to put you on my feet?"

"Aren't you too lovely for that?"

I have often heard my other knitting sisters lament over this very subject, so I know it's a common problem, but I can't help but wonder how many of them lay in bed at night obsessing over what the yarn wants to be.  

"Are all knitters certifable, or is it just me?"

In January, when my season of sorrow, had moved it's way into an entire year of sadness, I had firmly decided that all of my sock yarn would be knitted up into the beekeeper's quilt.  I had reached for the Ranco Multy, more than a couple times during this period.  It was pink, I was sad, but even in my sadness, my inner knitter reached out for bright colors. 

By April, Gismo and I had gone on enough walks that my sadness had turned  if not into joy, at least a desire to leave the apartment from time to time.  He had reminded me that there was enough light and color on the gray days to move forward.

And I guess somewhere in there, I remembered that sock yarn might make up way too much of my stash to be entirely dedicated to the Beekeper's quilt.   

"Hmm, the yarn is pretty.  Is it too pretty for socks?  Hell, at this point, I have used a lot of it to make puffs.  Do I even want a blanket?  I hate knitted blankets.  Given how awful my night sweats are as of late, am I even going to use a knitted blanket? 

Socks..........

SOCKS

SOCKS!!!!!!!

I LOVE KNITTING SOCKS!"

Socks don't care what you weigh.  Socks don't care how much yarn you have in your stash. Socks don't have to be sexy.  Socks can just be, well you know, socks.  So I did what knitters before and after me will do, and have done, I just cast on.

And you know what happened? I became what I hadn't been in months.  I was once again a content and happy knitter. 

My cute little pink socks were probably over half way done when we made the decision to travel south.  My experience with the socks had given me the courage to once again pick up my breezy cardigan.  I had been cruising along on the cardigan for a couple weeks, and after months of sitting idle, I just finished the body and had started on the first sleeve when it made it's way into my travel bag.

The socks had even given me the confidence to cast on a lace shawl.  Honestly, I can't remember the last time I didn't have a lace shawl on the needles, but somewhere during the season of sorrow/ year of sadness, I had lost the courage to knit lace.  I'm not sure why.  I had knit lace throughout my treatment of cancer. I knit lace both times we had moved cross country. I even knit lace at my Godfather's death bed, but somehow when Frankie got sick, knitting lace no longer felt like an option.

Sometimes, the only option is to go back to the beginning.  After looking at a slew of lace knitting patterns, I decided to cast on a lace pattern from my knitting bucket list.  I remember the first time I saw the Adamas shawl.  I was in Macon, and one of my knitting pals and I had both decided to cast on another one Miriam Felton's patterns the Icarus shawl.  The Icarus was managable.  The Adamas was pretty, but "Wow, knitting an entire lace shawl!?"  Did anyone really do that?

I had knit the flower basket shawl, but that was in sports weight yarn and it was a shawlette.  I had knit the Flower Meadows shawl in lace weight yarn, but it was all in garter stitch. I remember looking at the chart and feeling nothing short of overwhelmed.  That was 2007, flash foward to 2012. I looked at the chart, and went, "Hmm, it's a 12 row repeat.  Knitting only on one side, no nupps, no beading. Simple increasing and decreaseing.  It's really only one chart until the border.  Shouldn't I try something more complicated?  Hmm, maybe not."

It's time to cast on.  And just like that, the curse had lifted and I was knitting lace again. 

Okay, but in the spirit of full disclosure, it wasn't like I traveled down south and all of a sudden I became a lace knitting, cardigan knitting fool.  I finished the sleeve, I finished a couple repeats of the shawl, but the project that got finished first was of course, the "almost summer" socks. 

In fact, they got finished within hours of us arriving down here.  I had planned for it.  I had printed a copy of another sock pattern.  The Blackrose socks.  They featured an eight row lace repeat panel in the front of the socks.  Not quite as mindless as the stockinette socks, but not quite as challenging as the lace shawl. 

I cast on, and worked about 10 rows. 

"Yikes.  OMG, the yarn is Saguine Gryphon skinny bugga.  What the hell is wrong with me?!  My friend Laura had waited in line at Rhinebeck over an hour for this stuff.  The yarn is waayyyyyyy tooooooooo SEXY for my feet.  It's black and magenta.  I am crazy to think that this yarn wants to be socks! What the hell is wrong with me!  Crap, I didn't pack spare needles or spare yarn.  I have some of that gray left over.  I could put my shawl on scrap yarn, and use those needles.  I could buy needles, I could buy more sock yarn.  God, I have way too much sock yarn at home, and buying needles is sooooo out of the question.  Maybe, I should surf ravelry and see what else this yarn wants to be?"

"Hmm, but who the hell says sock yarn can't be used for socks? Why can't super sexy sock yarn be used for super sexy socks?  I have pretty feet, maybe I deserve pretty socks? I like knitting socks, is there something wrong with that?  At the end of the day, am I really worried that I wasted a perfectly good skein of sock yarn on socks? "

"God, no!" 

Not only is there another perfectly good skein of sock yarn at the LYS, there is also another pretty good skein of sock yarn sitting in my stash. I have often said, that I don't knit for the outcome, for the potential of what the yarn can be.

"What if when I wear these socks, I go ice skating at Rockfellar Center slip on the ice, break my leg, and Dr. McSteamy has to cut of my skate and set my leg?
What if when I wear these socks I am completely naked except for my socks and the firefighter that rescues me notices my sexy socks and then notices my eyes?
What if I am at a local spin in, and Judith McKenzie shows up to make a guest appearance. Wouldn't I want to be sporting a pair of lace knit socks?
What if one of my ex-boyfriend from my punk rock days calls me out of the blue and once to get together?  At least if I have my Blackrose socks, I will have something to wear under my combat boots."

And of course there is something completely decadent about taking such a high end sock yarn, and allowing myself the luxury to just knit socks. 

The Support Spindle, because we could all use a little support.

Okay, I have to come clean.  I have become a support spindle junkie.  Over the last few months I have found myself stalking Etsy, and the Bristlecone Artfire site daily.  The Bristlecone site is especially amazing. Like most addictions, this one grew quickly.  Three months later I am on a first name basis with the designer, and I am admittedly a fangirl.

From the Bristlecone website:

My lampwork is made from Borosilicate glass which is heated to over 2000 degrees to allow the glass to become soft enough for shaping and color mixing. The shapes I make with glass are freehand 'off-mandrel', and I make certain that they are properly annealed.

Every single artisan heirloom made by Bristlecone, is absolutely one of a kind. When you by one of our tools, you are purchasing a unique piece of functioning art that you and *only* you will have. Literally, no two pieces are alike. Each piece of wood is turned by hand - no computerized machinery. Every bit of carving is by hand. All pyrography is by hand - no woodburning stamps or brands. All lampwork glass is made by my own hands - nothing looks alike. Each piece is truly individual and a treasure.

The pieces I craft are all made with power from the Rocky Mountain sun.

 I thinking it was around Christmas that I started really surfing the web and looking at support spindles.  When I found the Bristlecone site, I would spend hours drooling over the spindles.  I kept waiting for the shop owner to post new pictures on the website, and then I realized that just doesn’t happen, the sell out rate is too high.  So I emailed the store asking for a custom order, and I joined the mailing list and I joined the Ravelry group.  I have been waiting for my custom order for a little over a month, BUT on Easter the shop had a sale, and I walked away with Esther.  Isn’t she sweet?

Let me say that I barely walked away with her.  All the spindles on the sale went in 5 minutes and I kept hitting refresh in hopes of finding one that was still available.  I think Esther was one of the last to go, but “Whew, I am so glad I got her.”  I have been spinning on her every day since her arrival.  She’s dressed in some overdyed corriedale, Romney, along with some tencil, silk, cashmere, and Angelina thrown in for glitz.

This is a picture of my latest purchase.  She should be arriving on Tuesday.

SQUEE! I can't wait to dress her up in some nice cashmere.  OMG, maybe support spindles are just a grown up version of barbie dolls?

Okay, as usual I digress, back to the topic of support spinning. 

"Hah, there is only one way to say this!" One of the great things about support spinning is you can do it in bed.  Last year when I was going through treatment, I really couldn’t spin comfortably on either a wheel or a drop spindle.  I had purchased a couple support spindles, and over time I learned how to use them.

I started with the spindolyn  which is like support spinning with training wheels, and slowly I taught myself how to use a Russian spindle.

Here is the thing, support spindling is probably going to be the most challenging type of spinning a hand spinner learns because so much of it happens (if your right handed) with your left hand.  You have to learn how to long draw, but there are some cheats that can make learn how to spin on a support spindle easier:

1. Pre-drafting.  I finally figured out how to use the support spindle, when I spun up silk hankies.  You have to pre-draft them before you spin them.  Pre drafting your fiber when you support spindle makes the process a lot easier.
   
2.  Although, the left hand is doing most of the work, the right hand is still active.  One of the best videos I have scene that demonstrates how the right hand works is the one below posted by Fleegle.  See how right hand pinches the fiber when she goes to draft with the left?  She pre-drafts with the right before she drafts with the left. 
   
3. Also if you aren't getting enough twist into the fiber, pinch with your left hand, and then give the spindle another turn.  

 

What I love about my support spindle is it stays with my knitting bag, and when I get tired of knitting I just spin for a bit.  It's also great when you are out with friends, and you hit a part of the pattern where you need and want to count but it would be rude to.

Also I have noticed over the years I have noticed I am seasonal knitter.  My color choices are always affected by time of year, and weather. In the last two three or weeks we have had a lot of grey days, but when I walk Gismo I see big splashes of pinks, greens, oranges and blues. I love the contrast of the pink against the grey sky. I recently found myself completely dissatisfied with all of my U.F.O.’s.  Everything I was knitting was dark, lots of rich yummy burn reds, dark purples, and browns. How is summer ever going to come if I keep knitting with these colors?

I had promised myself I was not going to start another project, but then I realized that I was knitting a lot less than usual, and spinning a lot more, so I reached into my stash and pulled out a pink yarn, and cast on a pair of socks.

 

I really wasn’t think about a color palate.  I just knew I wanted spring. The other night at knitting, my friend Cameron commented on the fact I was both spinning and knitting in the same colorways.  I hadn't even noticed. It was then that I realized I was both knitting and spinning spring.

I really love that I can card out small batts based on my mood.  I also love that I don’t have to spin an entire sweater.  I can spin up enough for a hat, cowl or gloves.  I have already spun up 4 spindles worth of fiber, and I am still not sick of the fiber, the spindle or the color.  I am about halfway through this spindle project.  On a side note:  chopsticks are making great holders for my singles. 

It’s another grey New York morning, but it’s warm.  Captain Jack and Gismo are laying at my feet.  I am surrounded by pinks, and purples, sky blues, and greys.  All is right with the world. 

Welcome to Crazy Town, I will be your Tour Guide.

In my last entry, I told you all about how sick my dear dog Frankie has been.

Almost two weeks ago, I had to put him down. He was coughing non-stop and I knew he was in pain. This was after spending most of December and all of January sleeping out on the couch with him. Near the end, we were only getting 3-4 hours sleep at a time.   That was about how long his pain meds would last before he would start coughing again.  I went through all of “Buffy the Vampire” on Netflicks and most of “How I met your Mother.”  I also knit a lot of hexipuffs.  I am already up to 101.  It was a good project for me, it required very little brain power, but all the color changes kept me from completely losing my mind.

I’m not sure what I did the Wednesday after I put Frankie down, or for that matter Thursday.  I know I slept a lot.

By Friday, I was online looking at ads for little doggies. I should say right now, DH really didn’t want us to get another dog.  He is sick of walking them, but he was willing to bend if I would get a small dog, but he really wanted me to wait a bit. I told him that I would wait, but at that point I had already answered an ad on Craig's list, and  agreed to meet one owner in Park Slope on Saturday.

"Just me look at this one, if he's not right, I will wait a few weeks."

The ad said that they were getting rid of small, white Pomeranian and his name was Luca. The dog I met on Saturday was reddish blonde, 22 pounds, and then the people told me he was 2 years old. They also hit me up for a re-homing fee of $---. For some damn reason, I gave them $--- and took the oversized dog home with me. 

"Was it grief? Was it the bad vibe I got off them?  Was it hormones? Was it that my entire life I have never been able to wait for things?"  Maybe it was just a bad combination, but something inside me said, “You should take him, he needs you.”  At the very least, the people who brought him to me gave me the creeps, so I wanted to get him away from them.  "Crazy?"

"Yah, I know, but I have already admitted to that."

When I got him home his collar said Gismo on it. WTF?

Also DH was really annoyed when I got home, because the dog was so big, he wanted a small dog that would use wee-wee pads, not a big dog that would have to be walked. On Sunday, I ended up calling the number in Long Island, because as much as I liked the little guy I knew I couldn’t live with myself not knowing what his real history was.  I found out that I had been scammed. The people that brought me the dog, weren’t the actual owners, they had got him for free, and then placed an ad on Craig’s List asking for a re-homing fee. The dog was actually 6 years old, and the real owner, would take him back if I needed her to. They were getting rid of all their dogs, because the owner's mother-in-law had gotten sick.

At this time, I ALMOST thought about giving him back. I was feeling ICKY from being scammed, and DH was still pretty annoyed with me.  I was also feeling overwhelmed by everything that had gone on, and I had taken to spending time in the shower,  so that I could weep openly. "God, I love the shower."

Thankfully, I decided to check in with breast cancer group on Ravelry. I told them that "I wasn't sure I was going crazy or not, but I put my dog, down, adopted another dog and was crying all the time."

One of the women reminded me that sometimes tamixofen causes depression & mood swings, and that maybe should call my oncologist and try and take a break for awhile to see if that was contributing to my weepiness.    I was okay the first few months I took it, but the last several months I have felt like I was in a state of PMS all the time.  It also caused severe night sweats, hot flashes and heavy bloating.  Fun stuff!

More than one woman, told me that DH would mellow and that of course, I should keep Gismo.  It didn't matter how he got to me or how much I paid for him.  He was with me now. 

And of course, in a few days DH did mellow.  He knew that I had been scammed, and knowing my love for animals, I couldn’t help but be concerned for the dog’s welfare.  He also knew that between the BC, my surgery two weeks before, the hormones I was on, my recent weight gain, and losing my 2 dogs in less than a year, I was going a little crazy.  He also knew that for the most part, I tend to be a pretty sane, responsible person.  Or atleast, I think that's what he thinks!

Here are some pix of new boy:

 Doesn't he look so much like Frankie?  Except he weighs 22 pounds!  He's super sized!

The last week my hexipuff turn out has gone way down, and so has my tv watching.  Thankfully, I am sleeping again.  Gismo sleeps on the bed with us, just like my dear Beanie dog did before she got so old.  We have been inseperable, and park-bound most days.  Although my little guy is a little older, he just loves to get out there and walk. I can’t believe I have only had him for 9 days.  It feels like we have been together a lot longer. He’s such a good dog!

I have talked to Gismo’s orignal owner a couple times since I adopted him.  Her and both agree that although it stinks that we were scammed, at least Gismo landed in the right place.  

And well, I am thinking that my Dear Mr. Pom would approve, because that was the kind of dog he was.  "Goodbye, Dear Friend, I am going to miss you!"

 

I'll have what she's having

Okay, have you guys seen the Little Owls “Bekeper’s Quilt” video?   

  OMG!!

Okay, if you know me, or have read my blog, you know I am the first one to admit that I want to be swept away, and even when it comes to my project choices, I tend to go towards the romantic, and the good storyline.

I knit the Clapotis when I was living in Macon, GA.  We were renovating.  I remember working on the Clapotis while driving back and forth to Lowes with DH in his beat up pick-up truck. 

For those of you that may not remember Kate Gilbert’s fabulous pattern here’s is the opening paragraph:

French women are known for wearing scarves. Starting in September and until summer arrives, this is a most important accessory. The scarf may be striped or patterned, colorful, wrinkled and is much bigger than the scarves you probably have. Women just wrap the scarf around their neck in a "Je suis belle et ça ne demande aucun effort*" sort of way and off they go. 

Translation, I will knit this fabulous scarf, and I will move to Paris, drink wine and cappuccino, and have fantastic sex all the time. 

Although, we were both out of work at the time, I made the big splurge and bought the yarn that the project was originally knit with at the local yarn store.  The yarn cost around $29 a skein, and the project called for four skeins.  It was Lorna’s Lace “Lion and Lamb” and it was a silk merino combo.  It was like knitting with butter.

It made me happy, gloriously happy, and I wore my clapotis into the ground. For some darn reason, I didn't bring it to New York with me.  I left it in Macon, and sadly after many attempts to try and find it, it's become an LFO (Lost Finished Object). 

Other projects that I have been swept away by were the Ice Queen (which I knitted with the AC turned way up in July); the Lion Neck Cardigan (which I have yet to wear to the opera); and the Secret of the Stole (which has yet to reveal it's secret).

Currently, I am knitting the “Sothia.”  For the life of me, I am not even sure how I got roped in.  It’s a triangular striped ruffle shawl designed Robin Ulrich.  Here’s the thing, I don’t even like stripes, but after hearing Jasmine of the Knitmore Girls swoon over it, I found myself stalking the pattern, and late one night I found my fingers hitting the “Buy now” button. 

I mean really, didn’t I need a striped ruffled shawl, I mean seriously, “Doesn’t everyone?”  And to add insult to injury, my original plan was to use up my stash, but about a 1/3 of the way into it I realized I needed a more contrasty color combo, so I bought yarn to go with it.  And ofcourse the yarn was yarn I had fallen inlove with 9 months before when Anne Hanson showed me a sample of it in her class at Vogue Knitting Live.  “She told me that silver grey color way would look good on me.”

I am about 1/3 of the way through the project, and I can’t wait to finish my ruffled shawl so that I can wear it, like the pattern’s model does, frolicking through a field of flowers.

Okay, a little dose of reality here.  Or maybe not so much a dose of reality, as much as an explanation.  The last few weeks I have been on doggie death watch.  Frankie was hit about a month ago with a really bad case of pneumonia. If I sound morbid about it, it’s because it has been pretty brutal.   There were a few long nights were I stayed up rubbing dear Frankie’s chest while he hacked his little lungs out.  The poor guy has had a rough time of it the last few months.  The vet wanted to hospitalize him, and honestly I did too, but it’s bad enough our finances have suffered so much the last year from my health, as much as I love Frankie I can’t see going into debt over him. 

So we hit him hard with meds and I have spent hours playing nursemaid.  We are on the third round of antibiotics and though were aren’t out of the woods yet, I am feeling more hopeful.  He’s been able to sleep through the last few nights, which means I have been able to sleep more. On nights when he was up coughing and we were both waiting for the medicine to kick in, I did what I often do when I can't sleep, I looked at patterns online. 

On a recent episode of Electric Sheep, Katie talked about the "Beekeper's Quilt."  If you haven't listened to Electric Sheep, you really should.  It's a lot of fun, and Katie has a great voice.  Her comments about the beekeper's quilt intrigued me.  There was a project out there that over 2600 knitters were knitting and I had never heard about it.  How did it slip buy me? 

Okay, here is the thing.  I hate afghans, blankets, baby blankets, quilting, sewing, fiddly things, toys, etc.  There is NOTHING about the Beekeper's quilt that calls to me, EXCEPT for some darn reason it called to me.  I watched Stephanie's video, and once again, I was swept away.

Wouldn't it be great to get rid of all those little balls of sock yarn that I had been collecting?  And wouldn't it be nice to have a portable project? And everyone needs a blanket, and some knitters out there were just making cushions with there puffs.  Who doesn't need a cushion. 

I hit buy now, and download, and within in the hour I was casting on.  For two days in a row, I have overdyed yarn to make miniskeins. 

You only need 15 yards per puff!

The other thing about this project is it's immediate gratification.  It takes me about 45 minutes to knit and stuff a puff.  Some people are doing it in a half hour, I am not there yet, but I have around 480 more to make if I want a blanket so there is time for me to get up to speed. I get to change yarn, and color constantly.  There are colors that I never get to knit with because they don't look good on me.  I haven't knitted with orange in six months.  I never knit with yellow.

Last Sunday, I went to a fiber swap and I left with a bunch of my friends cast offs.  It makes me so happy to know that I will be knitting with their remnants.  I know this sounds hokey, but I love thinking about the fact that when I finish the blanket, I will have a part of them always with me. 

Anyway, I could show you pictures of all my fingeringweight stash, but if your like me you probably have a lot of stash of your own that you can look at, so instead I am going to show you a picture of my first round of puffs.  Since this picture was taken, I have knit 7 more puffs.  I think I am up to 21 now.

 

 

 

 

"You had me at Hello."

 

 

 

 When I met Lucy, it was LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT.  I wanted to cuddle her, hug her, feed her, and tend to her.  

“Take care of for the next 17 years?"

"No problem?”

Our first week back in Brooklyn, my infatuation with her continued.  I bought her toys, made her toys, and would take breaks during the day to play with her. 

DH would look at her wistfully and say things like, “We didn’t do her any favors taking her out of Georgia.  She needs another cat to play with.”

 “Another cat? Really?”

Guilt would set in. I was an only child and I always wanted someone to play with.  I would look at her playing by herself, and I would feel lonely. 

Along with worrying about Lucy's emotional well being, I spent our first week in Brookly back very worried about Frankie.   The first 24 hours back in Brooklyn, he was very sick.  He had a litany of symptoms ranging from frequent urination, to athritis in his legs, to blood in his stool.  The symptom that worried me most was when he got really lethargic.  Frankie has been hobbling around since he was 4. I had taken him to the down in Macon for the arthritis.   He has never been a particularly athletic or active dog, but he’s always been a lover and a fighter. 

When a 24 hour period had gone by where he hadn’t barked at anything, I knew it wasn’t just exhaustion from the trip, or him getting into something foul, I knew there was something very wrong.  It turns out he had a pretty bad infection and the vet also thought it could be diabetes. 

“Dog diabetes? Really?" 

"Oh God, didn't we just go through the BC, and the loss of Beanie.  This was suppose to be the summer of fun." 

Around this time my vet also told me about a little kitten that they were fostering.  “Hmm, sounds cute. Really though, I don’t even like cats, I mean I like Lucy, cause she’s Lucy, but overall I am a dog person.  I really got Lucy, more for Frankie, and now he's sick. I can’t think about another animal until he’s doing better."

About a week and a half later, I brought Frankie back in to re-check his blood work, and to see if the antibiodic was working.  I also brought Lucy in for her first round of shots and to make sure she was healthy.  I had pulled about 100 fleas of her, when we first got her.  She had been leaving outside behind a dead refriegerator, so when the vet said she had ear mites and worms, I wasn't surprised.  

Although Frankie, was doing a lot better, for the most part he still wasn’t that interested in the kitten.  I played with her, snuggled with her, slept with her.   It turns out like me, she loves all things knitting and spinning, which is fun to watch but also doesn’t exactly make for much in the way of project completion.

 

On a side note, I joined the Bridge of Roses KAL on Ravelry. It’s a gorgeous kit, and $2 goes to BC research.

 For the most part, she ignored Frankie but she loved us, and she wasn’t afraid of him.  Overall, she just seemed to adjusting pretty well. 

The vet again asked me if I wanted to see the kitten.  “Yah, I'll look at him.”

The vet tech brings in this little black thing.  He has one yellow eye and one blue eye. The blue eye was clouded over because at 5 weeks old he had a bad eye infection.  He was only 7 weeks old, and he had ready been flawed.  He looked like a tough little street fighter, and he was as ugly, as Lucy was pretty. 

“Hmm, let me call my husband.”

I called DH.  “The vet has a kitten they want to give me.  They will pay for his first round of shots, he’s all black, he has one blue eye and one green eye, he looks like a pirate.  He is the same age as Lucy.”

“Well, do you like him?” DH asked.

"I'm not sure yet, but I do feel bad for him, he's been at the vet for over a month, waiting to be adopted."

(This was a pix, the vet took when they first got him.)

In my heart, I thought he was an ugly kitten, I don’t like black cats (never have) and this one was even scarier looking that most.  When I first brought him home he meowed, and kept meowing. He bit me and clawed into me.  "Lucy was so quiet, and so pretty.  If I hated him, could I return him?  If it was just Lucy and Frankie, we could just hop in the car and run down to Macon.  Two cats, yikes! it was a lot more responsibility."

For 24 hours, my brain went into kitty overdrive.  How did I go from being a dog person to a cat person? Beanie had been my other half, the kittens well they were cute and all that, but “you can’t walk them, they don’t stay on the couch when put them on the couch.  Now that they have discovered each other, they are completely ignoring me.”

About 2 days into my relationship with the black kitten, something shifted.  It turns out Captain Jack likes to lay on the couch and he loves to snuggle.  He also likes to lick fingers. He also likes to push Lucy out of the way to get to his food bowel, and it turns out, he also likes the fiber arts, especially plying. 

 

On another side note, I have been doing Tour De Fleece this year.  Since I don’t typically spin a lot during the summer it’s been a good motivator.  Even with the kitten distraction, I am getting some spinning done.  I should have one of my wheels emptied by the time the tour is over.

It also turns out that Frankie likes the having both kittens around.  He barks at them as they go flying by.  He will even play with them a little which is huge for him. 

   

As for me, I like that everywhere I look there is activity.  I like that there is life in our apartment, after the “spring of sadness”.  I like knowing that Frankie won’t be alone during the day when I am at work.  I like knowing that Lucy has someone to play with.  And well, I love knowing that Captain Jack has a home. 

 

 

 

 

 

I Love Lucy.

The last few weeks of radiation, I felt completely shut down.  I was tired, that was a given.  I was sore, also a given and I knew that what we were going to have to put Beanie down, the saddest of all my givens.  Near the end of treatment, I found I just couldn’t talk to anyone.  The words had left me, and I think more than anything I just got tired of listening to myself talking to other humans. 

“My dog is sick, I am sick.  I feel tired all the time.  I have this stupid swelling under my arm.  Blah, blah, blah, blah.”

 I found it easier to read, knit, watch tv and wait for it to change. 

“It had to change didn’t it?”

“When God closes a door, he opens a window. This too shall pass.”

Something had to give. 

When, I finished radiation, more than anything I wanted to just get the hell out of New York.  I wanted and needed things to change.  I was tired of our hiding in our little apartment, and the sadness that felt like it had been going on so long that it had permeated into the walls. 

For the most part, I like myself, but the last few weeks of radiation, I found that I was tired of being me.  This felt pretty aggravating considering that I spent 43 years working on becoming a me that I could live with.  Grrr. 

We were about 6 months overdue for our annual trip down to Georgia, and the “to do list” down in Georgia was about a mile long.  It’s crazy how stuff piles up,

My driver’s license was expired, Frankie was overdue for his yearly shots, and both of our passports needed to be renewed. 

In addition to that,  one of the vain items on my to do list was cleaning out my closet.  When we moved back to New York, I had left the majority of my clothes down in Macon, especially the skinny ones.  In 2006, I had bought a pair of size 8 black pants that looked fantastic on me (for the month and a half that they actually fit) and I was dying to try them on again. 

I also wanted to go through my yarn stash and make sure that I had accidently left a skein of cashmere laying around.  As it turns out, I didn’t.  But I did find some really cute clothes when I went through the closet, and the black pants fit perfectly.  Unfortunately, my day of cleaning out my closet caused the seroma under my arm to swell up yet again.  It was back to the size of a golf ball, and I spent the first week in Macon in agonizing pain.  The first few days, I tried taking 800mg of Advil every 6 hours, but finally I called my surgeon and she told me I need to go the emergency room. 

I felt like I was dying the first day after they aspirated.  After spending some quality time and the foot of our toilet, I was finally I was able to sleep. I ended up sleeping on and off for 24 hours.

Thankfully, the next day a I felt better, and several days after the trip to the emergency room, I felt well enough to visit my friend Mrs. M. 

Mrs. M. is around 75 (?).  As our visit was coming to an end, she asked me she could pray for me.   I, of course, said “yes.”  It’s funny thing with me and God the last 4 months, I haven’t been able to pray and I have felt even less like going to church, but I knew Mrs. M. would do right by me.  She asked God to heal the “thing” under my arm, and I am happy to report that it’s been almost three weeks and the damn “thing” hasn’t swelled up. I have even started doing a light yoga practice again.   It still feels like I have a walnut under my arm, but I am hoping it’s healed up enough that I won’t have to go back under the knife.

On this same visit, I met and fell in love with:

She came from a liter of kittens that had found it’s way under Mrs. M.’s son’s house. 

DH & I have been talking for a few months about what we would do when Beanie passed.Frankie has always had another animal to keep him company, and I was worried he would be really lonely during the day when were both working. 

I also worried that the apartment in Brooklyn would feel very lonely without Beanie.    Beanie is the only pet that I have officially adopted.  Every other animal I have had, just arrived.  I believe in arrivals, and I believe in fate.  I was prepared to go to an animal shelter to look for our newest family member, but I was hoping for an appearance.

When I went home from visiting Mrs. M. I showed DH pictures of the kitten. 

“Isn’t she perfect? Wouldn’t she make a perfect playmate for Frankie?"

Don’t you think we should go grab her before someone else does?”

 Once again, I found myself hating the sound of my own voice.  At 43, I should be able to say, “I want this cat, and we are going to get her.”  Instead, I found myself begging, pleading and cajoling.

DH’s response to my whining was to say the cat was cute, and MAYBE we could pick her up after we got back from Florida. 

“MAYBE?”

Grrrr.  Adults really get to me when I am feeling childish. 

When we got back from Florida, I began my cat campaign again.  I am happy to report that although it took a couple days, DH finally succumbed to my childish antics.  

We kicked around a few names before landing on Lucy. 

For about 6 hours we were calling her Ki Ki, because she makes a strange ki-ki noise when you pick her up, but then I looked Ki-ki up. My favorite definition came from the urban dictionary:

"When two drag queen have sex (hook up) with each other.

Girl, I saw Shelita Buffet and Shanita Quit leaving after the show, together. I bet there was some scary ki ki going on at that house."

Yikes! That’s a lot for a little kitten to live up to. 

The only knitting project I finished on vacation was a pair of “vanilla socks.”

I am about 2/3 of the way through the odelia cardigan. It’s knit bottom up and I knit the sleeves two at a time.  Altough, I am very proud of this sweater because the yarn I am using for is 9 years old, I am also terrified I am going to run out of yarn before I finish.  I have been working on it non-stop so that if I do run out, I can justify the lost knitting time.  Somehow it sounds better to say, "It's okay that I ran out of yarn, it was only a vacation project versus  I spent four months working on it, and then realized I didn't have enough yarn."

 

Working on it non stop has slowed up my process on the Luciole.

I am on the last chart, but at this rate it will take me another four months to finish. 

I also played with my spindolyn spindle on vacation.  I can’t say enough how much I love this spindle.

The last 6 months I have really been trying to master the long draw. The spindolyn is great because if I screw up, the worst thing that happens is the spindle stops.  I can also switch to a modified long draw if the fiber starts to get to thick or thin. I also like it because Ican lay on the couch (or in a lounge chair) and spin.  

Really though, my favorite project right now is Lucy.