In nature, nothing is perfect and everything is perfect. Trees can be contorted, bent in weird ways, and they're still beautiful.--Alice Walker
In my living room, this doesn't exactly hold true.
It's a sad truism that the older I get, the less I am able to manipulate Christmas trees by myself. Small wooden sticks I can twiddle. Large wooden trunks I cannot.
Christmas Crap-Along Cometh Along
Two weeks until the deadline. I've gotten some really amazing entries so far. This is going to be a tough one to judge.
With that in mind, I have asked the Wolverinas' assistance: Joe, Franklin, Carol, Kathy, Loopy, Selma, Liza and Lisa.
Tough judges? Absolutely. These people know crap when they see it. And I think they'll be impressed with the high quality of the garbage that has been constructed by the contestants.
You really want to piss me off? Then do a Tag-You're It meme in my comments.
If you've been reading this blog for any length of time, you should know that I don't go with the bloggy flow.
- No memes
- No chain letters
- No -alongs (except for the Christmas Crap-along, which is, as you may suspect, slightly satiric)
- No maps showing me where you live
- No maps showing you where I live
- No wishlists
- No slideshows
I'd rather spend my time writing than junk up my blog any more than it's already junked up.
Somehow, the Gematriculator disappeared, though. I thought that had real value. I ran the rating recently on the Homokaasu website and I'm down to 22% evil. Read into that what you will.
I suppose I should put back my list of blogs that I read. I don't mind the buttons, actually. They have some kind of iconic esthetics that can be pleasing.
Obligatory Knitting Shit (with spinning and weaving cameos)
I wish I could say that I've been flailing away with the needles, getting large gobs of work done on the Melanie shawl. I have not. Nor have I even gotten around to warping the loom for that sampler. Some spinning on the Cormo and Starry Night, and that's it.
Here's what I am knitting at the moment. A pair of insipidly colored socks.
It's the fate of a mother such as I to be blessed with a child who was walking, talking cotton candy. Corinne was that child.
Pink and baby blue--her favorite colors then, her favorite colors now. This was the child of mine who loved Barbie and owned 22 of them at one time, along with the Dreamhouse, the Barbie boat and the car.
Corinne, the mother of Liz. Liz, who wears black and poison green, dyes her hair blue on occasion and has a marked preference for Rastafarian colors a la Bob Marley. I'd say that paybacks are a bitch. So Corinne gets the insipid socks because I'm a good Mommy who still respects her kids' color choices.
Those bamboo needles do curve with use, don't they?
Unabashed Friend Promotion
The Cast-On podcast featuring the lovely and multi-talented Franklin Habit is now available. Please go and listen. You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll be thrilled. Very funny and very true stuff has my boy written.
Off to straighten the Christmas tree, if I can get John away from his rare and handy online poker game. We have way too many computers in this house.