Maybe the title should read, “Purl’s list of greed”, or “How to piss away $500 in one afternoon.”  Either way, it would be accurate.

I am going to spread out the greed over two events, I think.  The Finger Lakes Sheep and Wool Festival is in Hemlock on September 20 and 21st.  I have already coerced a coworker into going with me to that one.  I am thrilled at this prospect, because A) it sort of looks like I have a friend, and B) I can buy a Bossie and maybe the Golding I lust after, thereby relieving the stress of finding them at Rhinebeck, along with everything else I want.  

(I want, I want, I want…to breathe in the autumn air…to see the leaves on a sunny afternoon…to wander around and pet soft, gentle creatures…to inhale the scent of the sheep barns (my mother, if she’s reading this, will likely being muttering, “that smells like sheep shit!”  I can’t help it; I love the smell, shit or not)…to get totally overwhelmed by color and sensation…and go home feeling simultaneously satisfied and wishing the day had lasted just a bit longer…to spend the evening pawing through my treasures, knowing they’ll bring me a whole year of happiness.)

Oh, yes, and the other rationale for spreading out the greed is that my mother will be none the wiser about the spindles I pick up at Hemlock. She already thinks I’m nuts; no sense in worsening that sentiment.

Here’s the spindle from Tom Golding that I’d like to purchase.  

I looked at it several times last year, but for some reason chose a plain ring spindle with an ebony whorl. Don’t get me wrong; I love the spindle I have.  

But I love the new tree spindle, too, and must have it.

Bosworth spindles are another breed.  I put myself on the waiting list for a Moosie.  I love, love, love the idea of a Moosie.  The antlers of moose that are either shed (do they shed their antlers?) or found on deceased animals found in the wild are carved into spindles. I believe the Bosworth’s when they assure me that no creatures whatsoever are harmed in their endeavor.   Rather, a naturally occurring thing of beauty is recycled into a useful tool.  I like to think the spirit of the moose lives on.  Anyway, this special spindle takes a long time to manifest itself.  First they have to wait for the right season to find the antlers to begin with.  Then it takes Jonathon a good bit of time to fashion the material into well balanced spindles.  So, my expected date of shipment is somewhere around May of 2009, which is really nice, as that is my birthday month, and I can rationalize nearly any purchase then.

Here.  I lifted the Bosworth’s photo of their moosie off the website.  I’m sure they won’t mind, particularly if I include the link to get your very own moosie.

My daughter returns to Oswego on Tuesday, so today we’re spending the day together, and I can’t wait.  We’re going to American Eagle so she can find some (more) jeans for school.  We’re going to Verizon so she can check out the new cell phones, because her contract is up for renewal.  We’re going to Sephora so we can play with all the goodies.  Then we’re going to see the sequel to The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, and then we’re going to California Rollin for a sushi dinner.

Things I’ve finished since I posted last:

1) a washcloth.

Things I’m working on, still.

1) Blue/green Noro silk garden light clapotis.  (Dear lord, will it ever end?)

Things I started:

1) My so-called scarf

2) Assorted Solstice gifts which cannot be shared.

Hey, I’m really liking Joe Biden for VP.

I’m also liking this sentiment. Yeah.  

So there.

As in, “where the hell did my weekend go?”

I am grumpy and melancholy because I am starting a 12 day stretch at work tomorrow that includes being on call 24/7 — but with the potential for going out only until 8 PM or so. The latest I’ve ever been out is just before 10 PM. But that was because of the endearingly clueless nature of the first year resident I was dealing with (and it was only October, after all). Most nights are not like that, really.

But. That’s a hell of a long stretch when dealing with grief and loss and pain. It’s too many days in a row of watching tears fall. (Yes, that sounds melodramatic and adolescent, but it’s the truth. Some days I feel that’s all I do. Watch people cry.)

So anyway, long story short. If you don’t hear much from me, you know it’s because my nose is pressed to the grindstone. I will be up for air sometime next week.

I am always on the search for the most best-est knitting bag ever. I thought I might have scored the perfect one. This bag from Tom Bihn called the Swift was designed based on recommendations from Knitty readers.

My verdict?

Eh.

I got it in cocoa and plum, which is good. Nice fabric; looks like it will outlive me, possibly.

I find the accompanying Yarn Stuff Sack essentially useless.

I don’t have much of a need for a separate bag in which to feed my yarn out from. It’s not like I’m knitting in dust storms or in swamps, so I don’t really get the need for special protective clothing for a ball of yarn.

Then there’s the issue of floppiness.

And I sound like a cat with bells on my collar when I carry this thing, due to the metal zipper pulls on the interior.

But, it holds a crap-load of yarn, my 50% complete Clapotis plus a scarf project that’s nearly completed, and there’s room for ton’s more. Even though the bag really isn’t all that big. I am going to have to experiment, and see how much I can actually cram in there. I suspect the true value of the bag may lie in that. And, it doesn’t look like my grandmother’s knitting bag. It’s sort of cool, in an urban kind of way, which is why it appealed to me in the first place. I imagine it will grow on me.

For comparison purposes, I used a standard 15 oz. box of cereal.

What’s that, you say? That bright colored half a tablecloth of knitting? What is that????

It’s my Clap, of course. Growing, and just at the 50% mark.

I have four more straight row repeats. It’s taking me forever to get through them, because A) I already have a full-time job, and B) I’m trying to finish my brother’s scarf, too.

In cat news, H.P. Cat hacked up a pile of worms the other night. When I was done screeching, I picked them up with a paper towel and whipped the little bastards out into the snow. Where they remain. Dead.

Warning. This is so NOT for the faint of heart. Do NOT proceed if you are squeamish. Out of consideration for others, I did take the liberty of significantly reducing the picture size, so as to reduce the shock value. If you’d like the full bore experience, by all means, click on the little picture and enjoy the big one.

And by the way. I’m all for protecting sentient creatures. I am. But please. These things are biology gone horribly wrong.

(Yes. Harrison has a vet appointment. Wednesday night, for a nice little pill that will kill the cousins of these bad dudes post haste.)

And now, without further ado…

Aliens in the Snow –

My hair itches.

Does yours?

All this, and only $8.99 on eBay. I didn’t look up the characteristics of ruby until after the ring arrived, but it’s a nice surprise that’s it’s so appropriate for what I do. (Or try to do.)

The Clap. Oh, my. Dropping a stitch, even on purpose, is a little unnerving. But I like the result, I think. I really like how every bar is a different color. I can see myself wearing this all the time. I’m already planning on wearing it to Rhinebeck next year unless I come up with something even better before then.

As promised, the contents of my Yarne Source shopping bag –

Delicious Noro sock yarn! They have a bunch of colors. Get thee over there and get some before it’s gone.

And this. For a cabled bag. My favorite yarn. Noro Kureyon. In my favorite colors of old olive green, brown and pond scum, with a little brilliant turquoise thrown in for good measure.

I love Kureyon.

That’s all, folks. Someone has a project called “cleaning” around here, and someone ought to get to it.

Someday I will have a nice housekeeper type come to visit me every week or so and take this cleaning business out of my hands for a fair wage and a cup of tea.

8:33 PM Oh, and, yeah. This is how I feel, too.

I’ve had this book for several years. On many more occasions that I care to count, I’ve opened it randomly and found a page/meditation that spoke to me.

Today, for instance. #220. Threshold.

Why mourn for a cocoon
After the butterfly has flown?

Without even reading the thoughts that accompany this in the book, I know it must be about death. (Most likely it’s the word mourn that does it.)

Why mourn for a cocoon after the butterfly has flown…why mourn for the person, when the soul is finally free…in a nutshell, that’s how I interpret it. Death isn’t the ending. It’s a metamorphosis.

Maybe these are the thoughts that keep a hospice nurse going back to work, day after day.

Anyway, works for me. I like that little book.

So. Today is payday. There’s a little overtime in the bank now, and I’ve been quite frugal. On the way home from the hospital, I made a stop at The Yarne Source in Henrietta, because I read on their web page that they had…well…

Can you see it?

It might have something to do with this…

I’ll show you tomorrow. Bet you already guessed anyway!

But speaking of Noro, here is the project that I stuff into my bag and work on during random moments of freedom…like the last few minutes of a rare lunch break, when the food is gone but I can’t bear to go back to work yet…waiting at the lab for a blood draw…you get the idea. This is my second Brooklyn Tweed scarf. The first one got frogged due to painfully awkward color changes. Hunter orange and forest green coupled with Carrie Bradshaw pink and NYC black just didn’t work. I called it the gender bender project. Deer hunters and fashionistas alike could have used that scarf. Or their respective pieces of it. So anyway, I started over and am ending up with this, which I’m much happier with. I love how Silk Garden, under the right circumstances, sort of glows.

I have this half baked scheme in my head that I will (finally) accomplish this weekend everything that I have planned for the last 3.

Though, listen. There’s hope. I read somewhere that if you take a kitchen timer and set it for 15 minutes, then go and scrub the bathtub and swirl out the toilet bowl for those few minutes, soon the timer will go off and then you set it again and get equal time to do something fun, like knit. And back and forth you go, until A) the house is clean, and B) you’ve whacked off a few more rows.

Sure. I’ll let you know how it goes.

Eh.

That’s my thought for the day.

Just eh.

We’re swinging into February, and traditionally, February is the month where I tend to get a little wired. I think it’s the darkness and the cold. Cabin fever? The endless stretch of gray that looms before me, oh, until about May 25th, when the trees finally start to bud? I’m twitching just thinking about it.

Anyway. It’s still January, and I am trying to ride out the rest of the wave of “Peace on earth!”, “Auld Lang Syne!”, and “let’s get organized!”

Eh.

So I crammed all my yarn into Ziploc bags and threw it into the linen closet.

There.

Organized.

I labeled the bags.

And…

And in the spirit of what-the-hell-am-I going-to-do-with-this-shit…

Anyway. Consider me organized. Now leave me alone.

This freaking Waves scarf made out of Malabrigo is going to be waving me straight to the check-in desk at R-wing. I mean, how long can one scarf take?

The picture on the pattern shows this lovely blanket of a scarf very artfully draped over the shoulders of a woman who must be 2 feet tall. Because after 2.75 skeins of Malabrigo, this is all I have. This freaking thing eats yarn like there’s no tomorrow.

Luckily I was able to score two more skeins on eBay, so I guess I’ll just keep knitting and cabling and cabling and knitting, and maybe if I work really, really hard, in 2009 I’ll have a scarf.

So, bored with Malabrigo and the nightmare on cable street, I’m switching gears. Again.

All hail the Lorna’s Laces. It’s Shepard Worsted, and yes. It comes from my stash. Okay? All the crap I spouted on about last weekend, not spending money, etc., — I meant it.

It will be a Clapotis. I’ve posted the link before and am too lazy, aggravated, whatever, to do it again.

So I think I’ll start it tonight. Since (ah ha! Now she’s going to tell us why she’s mad!) the boyfriend has decided he is too tired to do our usual Saturday night movie thing, and while I am sure this is true, why couldn’t he have let me know this earlier, so I could have made alternate plans. I am not good with abrupt changes.

I am also not good without food. I’m going to go forage for my dinner at Wegman’s and return home to sulk and knit. More later.

**************************************************************

Finishing up things around here.

That felted camera bag from last weekend — sort of lumpy, but functional and attractive in a sort of primitive way.

Sewn together with blanket stitch.

And the button, because it’s all about taking advantage of the primitive feel.

(Crap. If it doesn’t work for you, click here.

Seriously.

I’m trying to start a meditation practice. Yesterday I mentioned engaging in a guided meditation that nearly put me out of commission. I was so utterly relaxed. I’m really making an attempt to live more mindfully. Meditation is part of that. So is simplifying my life, and reducing the amount of stuff I have become a slave to.

Last night I spent with my daughter, perusing the aisles at Target. Not to blast Target (or it’s evil twin W__mart), but the obscene consumerism over there has begun to make me twitch. If I bother to think about it. If I mindlessly wander, like I’m prone to do, then I’m overcome with how much I think I need this item, or that one. And I buy, buy, buy.

Before she dropped by, I was organizing my yarn stash (or trying to), and was stuffing skeins into my curio cabinet in the dining room. When I realized the whole project looked like ass, and I hadn’t even begun to make a dent in the stash, I got wildly anxious and threw everything back where it came from. That’s when I realized I have an obscene amount of yarn. More than I will ever use.

BUT. This yarn brings me a strange feeling of comfort. It feels like money in the bank. Though I suspect actual money in the bank would feel more secure, but at this point, what do I know about that.

Anyway. The stash is going into labeled ziplock bags.

From there I hope to store it on simple wire shelves upstairs in the spare bedroom — well within my sight. I know what I want to use each bag of yarn for — it did indeed have a purpose when I bought it. So when I get the urge to fondle fiber and drool on new colors, I plan to march straight upstairs and do it from stash.

My problem, and it is indeed a problem, is that I view shopping (for yarn and other stuff) as a means of self-care. Now, shopping for food is probably a valid means of self care. Shopping for earrings or shoes or a new lipstick is probably not. But it’s just like the little video above says it is. I work all day, come home exhausted and spent, and think of all the different ways that I suck, and then think, rather obsessively at times, of how I could fix that by buying just the right handbag, or yarn, or the needles that looked really cool, or three shirts that will make me look thinner than I am. Always, the message is that what I have, and what I am, is not good enough.

This is a crazy world we live in. It helps to remember that I did not engineer this wild consumerist society by myself. I am being manipulated and cajoled on an hourly basis that I need more stuff. The trick is to learn to be more mindful.

Does this make sense to anyone else but me, I wonder. It’s okay if it doesn’t. This is my blog, and I’ll write train of thought jibberish if I want to!

I would like to find a soft little case for my digital camera. My mind tells me that Vera Bradley just introduced their Spring ‘08 prints and they make this fabulous little techie case, and Parkleigh is just a short drive away…

I’m trying to mindfully live, remember. So I am knitting some Berroco alpaca up into a striped bag that I will felt, and I am thrilled with the colors. Much better than any overpriced Vera Bradley, any day!

Wisp is blocked. The cat slept on her last night as she dried on the spare bed.

Like I said, all I need is buttons. It remains to be seen if buttons from my grandmother’s stash will work, or if they’ll be too heavy, and I’ll need to run by Joann’s to pick up some light weight shell buttons.

One more shot of the stash (or part of it). On the right is a pile of Koigu topped with Silky Wool, and on the left is some Fleece Artist, Schaeffer, and Lorna’s Laces. Yes, I have plans for all of it. Absolutely.

**************************************************************

Ready to felt.

**************************************************************

I think this felted pretty well.

I really enjoyed knitting Wisp. The pattern was both easy to memorize and quickly changing enough so as not to cause undue boredom. I really like how it turned out in the natural colored alpaca I bought two years ago at Rhinebeck.

I still have to decide on buttons.

**************************************************************

Whew. What a week it was here, work-wise.

I did this guided meditation this morning that nearly rendered me comatose. I must have been very, very susceptible to suggestion. Either that or very, very tired.

I have the weekend utterly to myself as the boyfriend is still away. I thought I might see a movie by myself down at The Little later on, or maybe tomorrow afternoon. There’s a knitting group that’s meeting tomorrow morning that I’d like to stop in on. I should organize my yarn. The bathrooms need scouring. Yet it’s noon and I’m still in my pajamas.

The boyfriend gets back very late Monday night. (Note to self. Don’t try to be two places at one time. Take a personal day on Tuesday, if you can.)

I think I’m going to organize my yarn in ziplock bags, then put them on a very visible shelf in the spare bedroom. This will accomplish two things.

1) Yarn is protected from cats, moths, and other beasties.

2) Yarn is visible so I can “shop” from my stash this year, and stop making a trip to the LYS a form of recreation. Although it is fun, clearly, my bank account is not so convinced. I really need to practice mindful spending.

In an effort to clean up my space for a new year, I have emptied the spare closet of it’s huge tub o’yarn. It had been sitting there, untouched, since arriving back here from S. Florida a year ago.

Inside were many treasures. Most of which I forgot I had.

Here’s a thought for the new year.

YARN. DIET.

Check out this handpainted mohair. When the hell did I buy this???? And what for???? Finally, is it gorgeous, or what?

And look! Here’s some alpaca from Rhinebeck 2005 that was working it’s way into my first piece of lumpy lace. I remember putting it away, because who wears alpaca lace in Fort Lauderdale?

My fingers itch…just blister, I tell you…to get back at it. Except, where the hell is the pattern?

I’ve got some Schaeffer cotton.

And some orange mohair that I strung some purple/black seed beads onto…thinking of knitting…what???? I don’t remember now.

My house is a mess. Piles of crap (mostly yarn) everywhere.

The stuff I have no clue what to do with, that doesn’t particularly ring my chimes anymore, is going on eBay.

The rest is going into ziplock bags (don’t they make all different sizes now, some really big?) and onto shelves in the bright light of day, so I can see what I have. This should stave off the urge to visit the LYS (sorry, guys.)

Harrison is outside this evening, and offers nothing to his viewing audience, because he is way too busy enjoying the warmer temperatures.

Since my usually keen sense of humor went belly up on Tuesday, and my coping skills hid under the bed on Wednesday, I made the choice to give up a few bucks and take a comp day.

Judging from this view out the front window, I picked a good day to do it.

So, at 1:15 in the afternoon, this is my perspective.

You know I knit backwards, don’t you? When someone asks me to teach them how to knit, I wince. I can’t teach you. I do it backwards. I’m left handed, if that helps explain it.

You might move your stitches from the left needle onto the right. I move from the right needle onto the left. If I put my needle into the stitch like you do to knit, I end up with a twisted stitch. I have no idea why. So I enter the stitch backwards, too.

(By the way, I had no idea how difficult it is to photograph myself knitting.)

Julie from My 45th Year posted a picture of her messenger bag. It made me remember this really cool scarf that I forgot I made. I bought the Manos from her shop several years ago, and the wooly bits interspersed throughout are from the shop, too. I really love this scarf. Thanks, Julie…for reminding me.

Good grief. That godawful, sappy, melodramatic, BS song about the little boy and his dying mother and the shoes is on the radio again.

CLICK. I hate that damned song.

I should do something productive today and put up the Christmas tree, but the Christmas spirit, if there is such a beast, has yet to visit this house.

Besides, I told myself yesterday that today was all about knitting, spinning, and staying in my pajamas all day.

I wonder if I could get away without having a tree this year?

My mother asked me if I wanted a jewelry box for Christmas this year. I think I said ‘no’, but maybe I should have said ‘yes’. There seems to be an organizational problem happening on my bureau. Some of it is caused by my relentless zeal for acquiring things, like some sort of demented squirrel, packing away the goodies for the coming famine.

We won’t even talk about my yarn stash, which really is shameful. However, judging from my reading on Ravelry, it’s not nearly as “bad” as others.

It’s not like I grew up impoverished. Though when I was in high school, I remember telling myself (on yet another day when my clothes were about as fashionable as ski pants on a lizard) that when I grew up, I would have enough money so that if I saw something I liked, I would just be able to get it, without having to choose between that item and say…heat, or food. I may have taken that self-promise just a bit too far, however.

So when I die, my children will inherit yarn and sterling silver. And books. And knitting needles.

Sorry, kids.

Hmmmph.

The brightness of the falling snow and the streetlight outside my bedroom combined forces at 3:30 AM today, and led me to believe it was morning.

Silly me.

I got up, ignored the darkness of the hallway, and stumbled downstairs. I was ravenous, and so snarfed down my Honey Nut Cheerios with a banana while waiting for the coffee to brew.

I turned on the computer. Checked the time. Oh, hell, what is this? Middle of the night? WTF.

So I stayed up for a while, read some work-related email (bad idea) and finally got tired enough to go back to bed.

I have plans to go Christmas shopping today out at Eastview, but if the roads are bad, I may have to rein that plan in and just go to Greece.

So here’s the damage, in terms of snowfall.

I know. It could be so much worse.

So anyway. It’s stopped snowing, I’m sure the plows have been out, so a road trip to Victor for some Christmas secrets might not be out of the question.

Harrison P. Cat is unsure of his feelings about snow.

Though it seems clear in this picture. It’s a feline version of What the hell is going on, Mom?

Despite a week from holy hell at work (the impending holidays bring out the best in everyone, don’t they?), some progress has been made in the knitting department.

Witness the Waves scarf in Malabrigo merino. This is the Rhodesian colorway. Of which I need more, as this scarf (or, more specifically, the cables) eat yarn.

Version 2.0 of Brooklyn Tweed’s Noro striped scarf is a mindless knit that I can do anytime. I like the color striping better on this version than the previous one I did.

Of course no week is complete without a trip to the yarn store. I’ve found a new appreciation for Knit ‘n’ Purl in Brighton. I used to think they were pretty snobby, but now I enjoy my visits. Besides, it’s on my way to the hospital, so a quick stop at lunch time is a nice way to break up the day. And where else can I get the dirt on what is evidently very old news to everyone else, but news to me…the Debbie Bliss, Noro, KFI cashmere scandal?

I never walk away empty handed. I had meant to see if she had more of the Malabrigo colorway for my Waves scarf, but instantly forgot about that as I perused the Noro silk garden lite cubby.

And got this. Colorway is 2017. It’s earmarked for either a Clap or a Lady Eleanor.

My calm and reasonably pleasant life as I know it is about to be disrupted by a week of on-call. Remember I said holidays and people don’t necessarily mix? Ramp that chemical reaction up a notch or three with families in crisis. So this week will likely be a challenge, and I can pretty much kiss my crafty night life goodbye.

I keep telling myself… Money. It’s more yarn money.

Yep. Uh huh. I’ll just keep saying that.

Harrison P. Cat made his decision re: the snow. He doesn’t look too happy, and seems to be taking his frustration out on some poor artificial creature.

Maybe I should wear my new snow boots to Eastview. Where do I think I live? Alaska?