There aren't enough hours in the day

I had big plans for the weekend. I was going to transfer all this wine:





into these:





Friday, I was too tired.



Saturday, I was too busy.



Sunday, I was too hungover (but totally worth it. Who knew there are video games that don't have death and violence as main themes? I think I need to have Guitar Hero. It's amazing!)

In which my ovaries shoot across the room

Once a month or so, I spend an afternoon at the world's greatest yarn shop, WW. I prepare a little workshop, help people, answer questions.

Around four this afternoon, a little guy, maybe eight years old, sat beside me and asked me what I was doing. It was quiet, so I explained. Then he picked up my scrap yarn, two pens, and asked if he could learn.

Well, I grabbed some spare needles, cast on four stitches, and I stood behind him, holding my hands over his, saying "through the hole, over the stick, pop it out and slide it off." We knit four rows, and then the little guy had to go try on some clothes. When he was done, he sat down beside me again. The other clerk gave him some beads that weren't selling. He put four beads onto the ends and made a necklace.

Then he gave it to me.

I damn near cried, I was so moved.

Algebra is your friend

I decided that the 56 stitches called for in the pattern weren't enough. Especially since I'm substituting yarn and needles.

So, this is what I did - I counted the number of stitches in the pattern repeat and the border repeat. Figured out a number that would evenly divide into both of them. The result? 86 stitches and eight pattern repeats instead of five. I'll get much closer to the finished width of 23" when I block, and I will be a happy woman.

I'm loving this yarn so much that I knitted lace at the pub last night. It's a simple pattern, and the light was fairly good. Strangely, I get fewer rude comments when I am not knitting something that is vaguely penis-shaped.

It's very simple, and rather intuitive, but I am loving the result. The beauty of Noro is the transition between colours, seeing where the slubs will appear in the fabric and the truly unique results.

Speaking of pub-knitting, Ed the plumber was wearing a jacket and tie. I did not recognize him with out his ball cap. Of course, I didn't tell him that he looked nice. That would never do.

Neil the Irishman was there, quite nervous because this guy was buying him drinks. I told him he was safe from unwanted advances. And when I said hello, he didn't even look me in the eye. I wonder what Rodney the railroad guy said about me. Rodney and I don't get along.

All in all, not a very exciting night. I walked home, and was in the house by eight. Rock and roll party queen, eh?

I'm not as smart as I think.

I was all gung ho on the new project. That should have been a sign.

Six rows in, and I've screwed up. Why? Because I missed the freaking border instructions, and started right in on the pattern.

Sometimes, wine and knitting truly do not mix.

I think we will just call this a swatch, break the yarn and start over. I think I wanted it bigger than 56 stitches, anyway.

Holy sh*t! I see grass!

I present to you my latest yarn acquisition:

Noro sock yarn, photo taken on my newly discovered cement-pad.

And when I stood up, this is what I saw:

I think I'm going to look at seed catalogues for a bit. And dream.

While I am using my new yarn to start this.

A great loss

The Misstea household suffered an unexpected and significant loss this week.

These socks were deeply loved, and will always be remembered.

Funeral services were held Tuesday, April 2, 2008. Misstea said a few loving words as she threw the socks into the washing machine for the last time. Misstea firmly believes in reincarnation, and expects the socks will eventually reappear as a change purse, or notions bag, or something.

Our knits are only with us while we knit them. After that, the journey belongs to them.

Don't eat if Stan is the chef

One of the very few things I dislike about spring is how the melting snow reveals six months worth of litter. I saw this during my little lunch-time walk the other day. So I had to take a picture:




I stopped counting beer bottles one I reached 24.