knitting in miniature

Happy post Halloween. Hope your sugar highs are high enough, and the subsequent crash occurs right at your usual bedtime!

As predicted, I avoided Halloween by A) working late, and B) later pretending I was not home.

However, I did celebrate by laughing hysterically at this. Whoever this Reynolds guy is, he and I must have been standing really close together when they were handing out senses of humor.

The title of this post refers to the business of knitting the cuff of a sock in what appears to be extreme miniature. My eyes are burning. But it’s pretty. I’ve stretched it out, and it seems it will fit on even my fat foot, size 2 needles and all. The Silky Sock from Adirondack is a nice yarn; it doesn’t split or do anything funky, despite it’s silk content.

I finished row 6 of 18 rows of twisted rib for the cuff, and that’s quite enough for tonight. Like I said, my eyes are burning.

H.P. Cat was a bit miffed that his outdoor activities were curtailed for the evening. I tried to explain to him that I was saving him from evil in the form of 15 year old psychopaths, but he was neither enlightened by this, or amused. In fact, he took to the top of the cabinets in protest.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow, Cat, you can go outside. Tonight, please. Stay inside with your mama and stay safe.

Work was crazy busy today, but it felt good. Lots of good things done today. That’s why I’m really lucky. Not many people get to end their days knowing they truly, honestly, did a good day’s work and impacted other’s lives in (what I think) is a profound way. I get to do that every day.

Lucky, lucky me.

Boo and all that jazz

I am a party pooper. My intentions for tonight are to keep the lights off and ignore the doorbell. I did not buy candy (fearing I would eat it all). I am a bad, bad, very bad neighbor.

C’est la vie, folks. Get over it.

Harrison P. is skulking in the pre-dawn hours (sitting on Charlotte again, damnit), hoping to escape into the great outdoors for a day of hunting and stalking. Mais, non, my little kitten. You must stay inside today, as evil lurks out there on this all Hallow’s eve, and even though you are a gray kitty and not a black one, you must still stay safely inside.

Tomorrow you can go.

He is not happy to hear this news.

If I keep goofing off, I will be late for my early appointment. Death and dying wait for no (wo)man, so I will return later with more news of my oh-so-exciting life in Rochester.

It’s all come back to me now

I hear Celine Dion’s voice shrieking in my head. “It’s all come back to me now” (or something like that).

Oh, dear. Tonight is why squeezing 18 hours of knitting, spinning, and other fun stuff into 4 hours after work is a great idea while one is vacationing. Otherwise, perhaps it’s best to pace one’s self.

I am exhausted, and heading straight to my bed with the cat in tow. I need to catch up on my sleep.

So as not to disappoint my great hordes of readers too much (all one of you, oh, hey, I’m talking to myself! Note to inquiring family members…I blog for myself, dearest relatives. I don’t care if no one else reads it. This is the most marvelous form of self-centered journaling ever invented), here is a picture to delight your senses until I can get back to mine.

Behold the spartan closet office space I share at the hospital. Looking at that, don’t you feel just the slightest bit exhausted yourself? Note the plethora of cleaning products, some consisting of high percentages of chlorine bleach. Like degerming the joint will do anything for the herds of dust rabbits and the piles of crumbs under the chairs. We are pigs trying to pull ourself off as clean and neat and orderly and oh so crisp, starchy nurses. Fat lot of BS, I tell you.

Knitting content tomorrow. There has been some progress on the Silky Sock socks, done during The Bachelor last night. Which I did not catch the end of. Although I hear the blonde with the crazy mother who wanted to skip to the chase and plan the wedding already got dumped. Lesson to all. Silly psychobabble about “the one” does not work on millionaires. Probably not on anyone else, either. And please, God. If I ever sound as silly as that broad’s mother was, just shoot me.

Yarn cake

There’s something shiny and new in the air when I get the ball winder and swift out. Fresh possibilities, the opportunity to create beauty, the lust of new wool, those gorgeous colors; it’s a veritable feast for my eyes and fingers. I touch, sniff, and drink in the deliciousness of a new yarn.

On the swift this evening — Silky Socks from Adirondack Yarn, bought yesterday, quite by chance, at Spirit Works. When I got home from work today, I dug around for needles, and actually found a brand new set of wooden #2 DPN’s in the closet. My concerns with the wood DPN’s is the snapping factor, however. I snap crackled and popped straight through a set of wooden #5’s when I was doing the heels (doubled yarn, though) of my Morehouse Merino socks. I hope for better luck here. At least I can start the socks tonight, and if need be, stop at Knit-N-Purl on the way to the hospital tomorrow and grab another set. Or maybe just go to Michael’s and get some Susan Bates metal ones. Try and snap those babies, right?

Witness the yummy yarn cake:

Today, of course, was my first day back at work after the-vacation-that-included-Rhinebeck. I still have Rhinebeck hangover. I got up at the crackass of dawn this morning and sat in the dark sipping my coffee and wishing for just one more day to stay home and play.

However, reality, as usual, was not nearly as bad as anticipated. It was a quiet, nice segue back. My brain, still asleep at 10 AM, was asked to do nothing more than sit in front of a DMV style camera and pose for (an absolutely horrifying) ID badge at the hospital where I contract. I ended up at another hospital this afternoon, but that was okay, too. Home by 4PM to chart, and that was my day.

When I came home, my DVR from Time Warner was here. I was anticipating an evening of frustration in getting it set up. (Last time I had a DVR, it was TiVo, and that was an all night affair.) The contents of the box did little to assuage my fears. However, the actual set up was more like this.

Cable in, cable out, plug ‘er in, warm ‘er up, and now, not another show missed.

My mother (thank you very much) got me hooked on yet another silly TV show. Yes, tonight I’ll be DVR’ing this. I’m such a dork.

And check out the remote. This sucker glows.

Back in the days of TiVo, I used to record endless episodes of House Hunters and Buy Me on HGTV. I love those shows. Great for nights when sleep is elusive. I highly recommend a few episodes with a glass of warm milk and some peanutbutter toast.

No cat pictures today. He’s sleeping so peacefully, that I hate to bother him. May we all sleep so peacefully tonight…

Je suis un chat amant. Really.***

Me: Harrison! Get your furry gray ass butt off my shawl!

Me: Now!!!!

Me: No. Forget it. You stay right there. Let me get the camera.

Harrison P. Cat gives new meaning to the word “cute”, doesn’t he. Look at that imploring face, those eyes…

Me loves me my kitteh.

Clearly it’s time for someone to return to work.

I stopped by Spirit Works today, and this Adirondack Silk Twist found it’s way into my bag. I think I’m going to use it for a Branching Out. The colorway is called Navajo, and the picture doesn’t do it justice, even when I adjusted the lighting…

Adirondack Yarns also has a wool/silk sock blend called Silky Socks, which I picked up in Serendepity and plan to make some lacy socks from the Interweave Favorite Socks book.

Sock yarn here.

I’m almost looking forward to returning to a routine tomorrow. I’m not particularly good with long stretches of unstructured time, though this week has been nice. I’ve been very domestic, which is unusual. My kitchen has that lived-in look. Witness…

(*** I am a cat lover. Really.)

Saturday rambles

Can you guess what this is? Or this?

Yeah. I know. It’s a pile of Kuryon. More orange and purple and pink. Geesh. I can hear you thinking. Doesn’t this woman do anything else?

It’s destined to be fulled and shaped and, hopefully, morphed into something like this.

Then I’ll have to buy a teapot to fit.

In my end-of-the-vacation-funk that I am in, I decided a wise course of action would be to get the hell out of the house yesterday. I took a drive, and for the benefit of my friends in S. Florida, here is a picture of what I see every day. Note the absence of I-95 bumper to bumper gridlock. Unfortunately, also note the absence of palm trees and blue skies. But here…can you see the foliage? Now that’s a good reason to live in New York…

Something weird happens every now and then. I often see license plates with initials of people I love that are far away. It’s like they’re popping their absent selves smack in the middle of my ordinary day and startling me out of the dullness that is my ordinary mind. For some reason, my mother’s initials pop up on a lot of New York license plates. Like this.

The Brooklyn Tweed Silk Garden scarf is coming along. I pick it up and knit a row here, knit a row there. I’m in no hurry. I think I like this color combination better than the last one. What you think?

So, it’s Saturday. What the hell am I going to do come Monday. I’ve fallen into this horrid habit of staying up until 1 or 2 AM, then rolling out of bed around 10. 6AM Monday is going to be quite a shock to my system. Returning to the work world, after such a long and lovely break, is going to be rough. Oh, to be independently wealthy…

If I was independently wealthy (or a medical director), I would own these. However, since I am an RN with a limited amount of discretionary income, and a fond recall of my college years (think late ’70’s) when I owned the original version of these boots, I got these.

Even the box is exciting. (To me.)

Plans for today.

1) Clean the sty.

2) Finish fringing Charlotte.

3) Make chocolate chip cookies to send to my babies. Note the babies are 24 and 21 years old. Whatever. If you’re reading this, wee ones, you will always be my babies. Sorry, but that’s how parent/child relationships work. Good grief. My parents still think I’m a kid, and I’m nearly half a century old.

My point, dear ones. Get over it. (And I hope you like the cookies!)

H.P. Cat says “for godssakes, woman, stop flashing that camera thing in my face.”

Just heard a splash in the frog pond

So this is my last day of vacation, not counting the weekend, which everyone gets. Well, except for the poor RN on call, that is. I just finished up two weeks of that nonsense, but…woah Nellie…I’m way off track here.

Frog pond. I heard a splash, and sure enough. This jumped in. It’s Brooklyn Tweed’s Noro Striped Scarf, his version of which I dearly love. My version, not so much.

It’s hard to love a scarf that can’t decide if it’s a manly chunk of knarly wool that in shades of blue and orange, or a fluffy little chic thing in shades of pink, ala Carrie Bradshaw. Talk about dual personality, gender bender, name it what you like — it’s way too confusing for me.

So I whipped it off the needles and tossed it into the pond.

And started this one, instead. Because, I really do love the pattern, and I know I’d love a scarf with glowing areas of subtle Noro colorwork peeking through (just like Brooklyn Tweed and that gorgeous yellow spot). There are lovely shades of lily pad green (I wonder why?) and soft yellow and blues/grays in this new yarn, and I’ll still use the yarn with the pinks and oranges and reds and hope for the best. I really do want to do Brooklyn Tweed proud! (Tell me you don’t just love those pink hearted pajama drawers in this picture. In spite of myself, I am such a girl.)

Another goal of this vacation was to finish my Charlotte’s Web. I have a mental block with finishing things. I probably should get therapy for that. I have piles and piles of unfinished projects. But my Charlotte is really pretty. Really. I saw some gorgeous shawls at Rhinebeck last weekend, so now I’m sort of shamed into finishing this thing so I can wear it and then maybe people will touch my shoulders, too.

And now, may I present Charlotte, in all her almost fringed glory.

I don’t want to brag, but by God, I love this shawl!

(Brag over.)

She needs another good blocking, because nearly a year at the bottom of the knitting basket did nothing for her stitch definition.

In terms of how I’ll spend my last day of real vacation…I really should clean up this place I call home. And maybe go out and see what’s happening around town today. Grab some pictures for the blog, because once I get back to work next week, all this lovely free time will be just a memory….

You have a problem with bags, don’t you.

Uh huh. I know I said I’d wax poetic about weblog socialization and all that crap. Whatever.

Sometimes I’m quite a pseudo-intellectual jackass.

I woke up this morning with an overwhelming urge to photograph my bags. I love bags. Handbags. Knitting bags. Makeup bags. Accessory bags. Shopping bags. Bags, bags, BAGS.

There’s a social worker where I work who eyed me critically one morning just a few months ago and said, “you have a problem with bags, don’t you?” Huh. How astute of you, m’dear. Why, yes. Yes, I do.

I can’t go into Macy’s or Old Navy or frigging Tar-jay without inspecting every bag in the place. Oh, and please. Don’t get me started on Parkleigh and the rather extensive Vera Bradley collection over there.

I lived in Fort Lauderdale for 11 months last year. In S. FL, the 10 year olds carry Coach bags. Vera Bradleys are cheap whores, and LV is the MAN. I wandered into the handbag department of Nordstrom’s in Boca Raton and made a beeline for the sale table. Freakin’ $1100 bags were on it, marked down, but not tied down with a security cable. The only thing that kept them from being shoplifted like K-Mart lipglosses was their massive weight and luggage-like size. You know. The richer the woman, the bigger the bag (house, fur coat, car, etc.) WTF. Only in Boca.

I am always in search of a good knitting bag. Big is good, but you get too big, and start carrying books and water and food and maybe some tools and work crap and another book or two, and then you have a chiropractor’s bill to contend with. Small is nice for socks, but I feel (as a thick madame) a little silly swinging around a tiny little drawstring silk number with my dainty socks inside.

I found this. I love the huge pockets on the outside, and the cavernous inside. However, at the LL Bean store in Albany, this bag only came with embroidered dogs on the front. I am a cat person, people. Embroider me a tomcat and we’ll talk. Put a yellow lab on my bag, and I’m so out of here. (Hmmm. I see there is a non-embroidered version of this bag available online. This has possibilities.)

So over the years, I’ve established quite a collection of not-quite-right knitting bags. Give me a moment, an hour, hell, a day, and I’ll gather them together and post a picture for you.

It’s embarassing to note that these are only the bags that are upstairs. More languish in boxes in the basement, relics of the Fort Lauderdale period.

I really like this bag from Spiritworks. I bought it when I was up visiting Rochester last year, and homesick. A bag from my favorite yarn store helped the melancholy, at least until we could get our senses together and move back up north.

And just so you know, that Nordstrom’s encounter with the BAGS did not leave me unscathed. I could not leave Fort Lauderdale without my own ostentatious bag. (Just don’t tell anyone I scored it at Burlington Coat Factory, k?) It’s a Kenneth Cole that was great in FLL where bag lust is in full swing, but way too heavy and, well, ostentatious, for Rochester.

Blogging:1, Rhinebeck:3

Ah. A week’s vacation.

I knew I’d need a rest after the chaos that is Rhinebeck.

I also knew I wanted to publish a blog, but never found the time in those minimal hours between work and sleep.

So. Here’s my blog. My name is Ann. I am 48 years old in body, and about 29.5 years in mind and spirit. I live and work in Rochester, NY with a large gray tomcat, who you’ll meet in a minute. I have two college aged kids and a boyfriend who orbits around my moon (light side vs. dark side) on a regular basis.

Vacation goals. Blog. Check.

Rhinebeck. Check. Oh, yes. Check. Check! Check!

Rhinebeck is full of fiber producing creatures. This lovely llama had a bit of the drama in her. Note her haughty posturing and disdainful expression. I was fearful of being spit at, so kept my distance.

And the sheep. The sheep! They were all clean and fluffy, with none of the usual caked on sheep poop/grass/mud stuff going on on their butts. Nor were they recognizable as the usual dumb variety of farm sheep. These creatures appeared to have functioning independent brain cells. No group think for these guys!

Despite my less than glowing opinion of the relative intelligence of farm animals, let me assure you that I am an animal lover. I have my very own animal, even. His name is Harrison. Harrison P. Cat. Sometimes known as H.P. Cat.

Dallas had J.R. Ewing, the library has J.D. Salinger, and I have H.P. Cat.

A fiber artist/weaver at Rhinebeck, Gloria Scannell, fiberart@mhonline.net made wonderful catnip mice stuffed with this absolutely primo ‘nip her mother grows in the garden. Harrison found it a fine diversion to an otherwise boring Tuesday afternoon.

Anyway. Rhinebeck. It was my third New York State Sheep and Wool Festival. (And this is my first time blogging, hence the title of today’s post. Clever, aren’t I?)

THE HAUL.

Here’s a listing of what I got.

1) 2oz ball of llama fiber from an animal named Luna. Who could NOT buy something that came from a llama named Luna?

2) 4oz of wool/merino blend roving from Wellspring Farm (same vendor of Luna’s fiber above), and a cloud blue ball of wool/mohair roving, also from Wellspring.

3) A Golding’s spindle! This one is 2.6 oz., made from ebony and walnut. Perfection.

4) A much smaller/lighter spindle from I’m-sorry-I-don’t-remember-where-and-I-misplaced-the-tag.

5) 4 skeins of Brooks Farms wool/silk for a Clapotis. The color…oh, well…here…have a look.

6) a skein of Decadent Fibers super bulky in all these wild rainbow colors that knit up like stained glass. (I knit a scarf. All it needs is a good blocking and some black wool fringe.)

7) As one who can use all the healing properties she can get, a smoky quartz ring to keep me grounded in reality, and a flourite ring to make my spiritual self soar…

A teddy bear made of fur from a llama named Annie. Annie the llama is quite funny looking, with brown and black and gray spots, so there was no way in hell I could leave that bear made from her funny looking self on the shelf — because I’m “Annie” sometimes, too, and more than a little funny looking. Her fur is a reminder that even us Annie’s of the world are beautiful creatures, indeed.

9) My mom bought me a pewter pin in the shape of a ram, because I “needed” a sheep pin to commemorate the weekend with.

Note those two spindles. I just took a spindling class from Village Yarns in E. Rochester last week. My first skein of yarn turned out like this.

I put the Golding spindle to good use. My singles are getting more consistent, don’t you think? Harrison is impressed with his human’s burgeoning spinning skills, too. See his gray ear flicking at the bottom of the picture.

Tomorrow, some WIP’s, and thoughts on blogging and the new breed of socialization it brings.

And maybe some more control of Typepad. Though not bad for a first day blogging…