Best Quote I Heard All Day
I have not lost my mind - it's backed up on disk somewhere.--Unknown
So I've been getting error messages in my head. Now I can retrieve the data more easily.
Sorry for the computer analogy. I'm really a Luddite at heart and hate them, while at the same time understanding their place in the world.
Clap On, Clap Off, Clapotis
I just have one word for this thing--stupid and a waste of time, as most of these knitting fads tend to be.
Cleo agrees and thinks anyone who jumps onto knitting bandwagons are skanks.
I will admit to have knitted several Wonderful Wallabies for Liz and Ian when they were smaller. Liz really loved hers when she was around 5. Now she wants black fingerless gloves with pink skulls. Grammy understands perfectly. Ian doesn't care about sweaters whatsoever.
So while I was laid low trying to overcome my disgusting medication side effects, I really couldn't control the tremors in my hands enough to draft. Well, that's more or less over and I started spinning some wool and mohair that I bought at Rhinebeck.
It reminds me of van Gogh's Starry Night.
I bought three pounds of the stuff, more than enough for a sweater. I'm tired of spinning four ounces of this or that. Time to be a big girl. Spinning all of this will take months but that's fine.
For those of you interested, I spin using a worsted draw. My singles are about 31 wpi, 2-ply is about 18 wpi, which works to 6 spi in stockinette. Just exactly what I like to knit.
However, I did coerce my shaky hands into finishing a sock. Yeah, big fucking deal, but at the time, I was amazed that I had enough wherewithal to shape the heel.
Martha, Ponchos, et al
Plenty has been said about Ms. Stewart and her charming crocheted jailhouse poncho. I keep thinking this poncho madness will go away and another inane genre will take its place, but that's not happening.
I recall back in the '70s, when ponchos were big, that my mother, who decided to learn how to crochet, made a poncho from some kind of cream-colored yarn. I think she wore it twice and then relegated it to her loveseat, where Chloe, her cat, used it for a nest until she died.
Cleo forgives her adopted owner Mar for not changing her name to Clapotis but refuses to hump Mar's handspun because she's been fixed.
Ah Cleo. What a dopey cat indeed. But occasionally rare and handy, especially when asked to pose nude.