If you always do what interests you, at least one person is pleased.--Katharine Hepburn
As I recently asked Loopy, remind me why I hate to knit to a deadline.
I am Melanie-consumed. I have now reached the official Knitting Ennui level of a project, wherein you have long since mastered the knitting and are trudging your way to the next milestone, if there is one.
In my case, this will be picking up around the square for the border/edging. I'm almost there. No pictures until the shawl is hanging from the bride's shoulders.
But I do have plenty to write about, having not written anything of substance since my birthday. I've been in work hell, still. And it's not going to let up soon, I don't think.
The Final Fibs
Here are the Top Ten. Read 'em and weep. Good job, everyone. If nothing else, I promise you that I'm always on the lookout for stimulating topics and this one seemed to appeal to tons of people.
Of course, if you don't want to be stimulated, I can easily write about my runny nose or sucking chest wound, my adorable but annoying cats, my new haircut, or my kids (they're too old to be cute, thank God).
Or even better, I can regale you with stories about my rapidly disintegrating love life.
But I won't. We all deserve better.
Sit 'n' Spin (with apologies to Playskool's version)
When I'm thoroughly sick of knitting the Mel, I've found that spinning does refresh the palate. I finally plyed up some of the Emerald City and did a little science experiment with it. I plyed it to the brink of overtwist to see how it would react.
It was a rather dumb thing to do, admittedly. This fiber needs to breathe. Which shows to go ya that you can't ply everything the same way, just as you don't spin all singles the same way.
It may look lovely in the picture but trust me, it was not at all lovely to knit.
You can barely see the big honkin' gaps where the fiber is so tightly plyed, there is no loft whatsoever.
Now. Every book I've ever read on spinning says to take a single, let it ply back on itself and then duplicate it when you ply. I don't necessarily agree with this. This blend in particular needs some space.
I've never used a plyed-back single as a guide. I've always let the fiber tell me how to ply it. Gut instincts are still the best. However, I am really pleased with the color blending, that's for sure.
Etsy Wetsy (with apologies to Ideal Toy Company's doll)
OK, so I've been remiss. But Carol sent me the loveliest skein of her hand-dyed yarn for my birthday in all my favorite colors.
This rivals anything I've seen, either commercial or non-commercial. So off I went to Carol's online Etsy shop for her company, Black Bunny Fibers, and I bought this incredible roving that's marked as "similar to Corriedale."
I'm going to spin this on the Joy--there are 4 ounces of it so it should be enough for something for Jenn, since I'm making Corinne the shawl. Of course, I did promise Jenn a shawl from the Starry Night, since there's more than enough for one for each of us. Jenn, you can have either this or the SN. Take your pick.
Wolvies on the Prowl
Arguably one of the scariest things to hit any yarn joint would be a pack (a murder?) of Wolvies and that's exactly what's going to happen this Saturday. Carol, Lisa and her mom, Kathy, hopefully Selma, who is recovering from broken arm surgery, Carol's friend Ed, Lars Rains and me. Look for a ghastly photo essay on Sunday.
I had a peaceful Mother's Day getting my hair cut and colored and then taken out to dinner by Corinne, Liz and Mike. Didn't see Ma but I sent her a card and a potted kalanchoe because I just had to. We did chat on the phone though.
My mother will be 83 in August, but you'd never know it.
This was taken this past Christmas at my sister's house and it's really how I always have seen my mother--mouth open opining, with knitting.
So many people have "issues" with their mothers. I don't. And even though my mother doesn't read what I write and doesn't quite get the writing anyway, I'd like to take this space to apologize for the following:
- Sorry I sat on top of the stove and turned on all the burners while you were on the phone when I was 18 months old.
- Sorry I ran into the ocean at Atlantic Beach and almost drowned when I was 2.
- Sorry I pushed the old lady down the hill at Forest Hills and rode on the back of her wheelchair when I was 3. I thought she needed some fun. It was a hell of a ride.
- Sorry I ran away from Grandma's stateroom when she sailed to Europe on the United States when I was 4. I'm really sorry they had to hold the ship from sailing until I was found. It was a cool place, what can I say?
- Sorry I took off for the big park next to our new house the day we moved to New Jersey from Queens. At least you found out exactly how good the Montclair Police Department was.
- Sorry I hit Rich on the head with that milkbottle but he always had "victim" written on his forehead.
- Sorry I experimented with your nailpolish and got it on your expensive bedspread.
- Sorry I cut my hair with my paper scissors.
- Sorry I got pregnant before I was married. But it did work out quite well, didn't it?
I'm sure there is more for which I should beg forgiveness--somehow, I think you forgave me a long time ago. But you did a damned good job, Mom. Even though you always claimed you were on the brink of a nervous breakdown. (And now, here's my sister's opportunity to chime in and make a big deal about how fucking good she was. Uh huh. Little brat.)
My mother is about the rarest (although she would never claim to be handy) person I know. And I love her.