Non-knit

but exciting nonetheless.

After six months of procrastination, bouts of depression, hang-overs and any other excuse I could come up with, I bring you this:


I love, love, love lilac. Smells good as a flower (not as paint, paint smell is yucky) and I look fantastic wearing the colour. Someone (I think it was A) told me that the bathroom colour should be flattering to you. I couldn't agree more. My face, even un-made up and pasty while painting looked much more rosy and even-toned when I caught a glance of myself in the mirror. And that was before I broke out the celebratory wine while doing the touch-ups.

I am so proud of myself. And man, do I love spring. I actually feel like doing stuff instead of sitting around feeling sorry for myself.

I had such a good time today that I'm wandering around the house (it takes about three seconds to do a lap) wondering what to paint next.

These are my options:

• The dining room (which is a good idea, I could finally assemble my new ginormous bookcase and unpack my books). And have a proper place to eat (and read the newspaper).



• The kitchen. True, I do enjoy cooking more now than I used to, and therefore spend more time in the kitchen that I ever thought I would have. It's amazing what buying real estate does to a person's dining habits.
  


• Finish the storeroom so I can move all those blasted Rubbermaid totes of precious junk in there and then...



• Finish painting the concrete in the basement. The basement concrete, where intact, is covered in hospital-green paint. I kid you not.
  


• I could finish stripping the wallpaper in the study and fix all the cracks. Then paint. I really should do something with this room. I spend most of my time here, and I do want to procure a daybed so I have a place for guests to sleep (or me to nap).
  


• Arts 'n' crafts outdoorsy projects - I have lots of left-over paint, in fun colours and plant pots that would look lovely outside filled with flowers...



• I could walk down to Canadian Tire and buy paint for my front and back doors (the little grey bungalow needs some pizazz. I'm a saucy girl, so my house shouldn't look boring. It should match me). What was I saying about spring? I waaant to be outside!
  

Oh my dog, the knitting startitis has taking over my home-improvement efforts. Is there no hope? Doesn't matter, I'm feeling alive right now, and that's all that counts.

This is fun! More pictures:



Before. Notice the tape? I did that in October. So long ago that the humidity from my showers had steamed a bunch off. Argh.






A clearer view of the tape.

Obligatory self-portrait. See the man-sized hands? Not pretty, I know, but those hands are strong, and I'm just fine with that. Well, more than fine. I have this weird thing about noticing things about me and figuring out where in my family tree those things came from. Those are my mom's hands, but sized up to match my dad's stature. Love 'em.

Also, can you believe I used to wear that sweatshirt in public? Granted, I was much less fashion-savvy and had NO MONEY, but still, that's a Glamour Don't if I've ever seen one. To be truthful, it was a gift to my ex-husband from his mother, but it was too small for him, so I got it. Perfect for painting, now that I'm done college (well, I've been done for several years) and have an income to buy nicer clothes, oops, I mean a house.

Conclusion: Chez Peepee* is a good place to be today.

Why? Well, in a bazillion years of renting, I never before have been able to dry and curl my hair in the same room as having a shower and applying my makeup. Owning a house lets you have things like this:

Not a big deal, maybe, but that's MY outlet in the bathroom, and no landlord is going to give me shit for painting it purple. Yup, life is good.

*One of my darling cats has had some plumbing problems over the past couple months. As a result, there's some, um, leakage. Needless to say, I've had to be much more diligent about my housework, and my dry cleaning bill has gone through the roof. I'm pretty sure he's worth it. Painting took about twice as long as it should have because the little bugger had to sit on my lap and purr whenever I sat down to let the paint dry. Yet another reason to have kept that scabby sweatshirt. Technically, this is HIS cat. Parker can pee on it all he likes. I think I got the better deal.

Being worthy of dreams

What I want to make:











The tools I've got to do it:



This is the hand-dyed yarn that I referred to an earlier post. I have been admiring it in its skein-ful glory since the postman dropped it in my mailbox.




I'm not sure I'm worthy. I mean, I can make beautiful things using some sticks and some string. But this yarn is beautiful just by itself. I don't want to muck it up, and end up with a horrible tangled mess of string. Career-girl pink is not string. It's hopes, dreams, pure potential. It's my image of myself as someone who is rather good at this knitting thing (I was going to say "master at my craft," but then I realized how pretentious that is and how very much about knitting I don't know. YET. I WILL LEARN, oh yes I will). This yarn was made especially for me, by someone who loves the craft as much as I do. Other's expectations are wrapped up in this too.

Wouldn't it be a shame if that all came crashing down in one night of not paying enough attention to my yarn-overs?


Well, it would be several nights. I wouldn't give up that easily. I'm OK with tinking, and ripping. Very big fan of the life-line. Got a big-ole ball of crochet cotton just for that purpose.


I guess what I am getting at is that I want to have stuff done RIGHT NOW. I want to be able to look at a project and say: wow, six inches in an evening. My inner cheerleader would be saying: "That's good going. You are a productive knitter. Go, Misstea!" Ya know, "instant gratification takes too long." (Thank you, Homer Simpson).


It's like comparing apples and oranges, or lace knitting to a sock. In a couple of hours, I can get quite of bit done. In an evening out, I can do nearly half an adult sock, if I moderate my drinking. When I knitted Swallowtail, I counted myself lucky if I did four rows in an evening. Sitting at home, not drinking wine. Wow. I did a lot of tinking in the beginning. It was my first lace project.

My point is, it's all about perspective and expectations. If I want to pump it out, I need to stick to things I know inside out. If I want to challenge myself and actually learn a thing or two, I need to SLOW DOWN. Speed isn't everything. And I should know, I tried it in the early '90's.

I realize I'm not saying anything that hasn't been said before, but this is my diary, of sorts. I can repeat myself, and others, as much as I want. Because if you say it enough, it becomes true, correct?


Therefore: I am worthy of Icarus, I am worthy of Icarus, I am worthy of Icarus....

P. S. There is NO WAY I am winding this by myself, after the mess I made of 360 meters of sock yarn. My ball winder and the 800 meters of yumminess will be accomanying me to a future knit night, where I know someone will help me in order to fondle this yarn.

Guilty as sin

I don't adhere to any established faith. I believe in being kind, helpful where I can be, assist others less fortunate, etc. The Golden Rule, basically (Do unto others as you would have done unto you). I fail sometimes, but I do try to not be rude. Rudeness should be the eighth deadly sin, but that's neither here nor there.

Therefore, I'm a little surprised at myself. I am guilty of coveting thy (former) neighbour's yarn shop.

Last fall, I moved from my beloved, spacious apartment in a very desirable neighbourhood to a tiny little house far, far away from my friends and favourite watering holes. I did this because the house is perfect for me, and to purchase a similar house in my former neighbourhood is far, far beyond my means.

In this desirable neighbourhood, there is a consignment clothing store, which changed hands about a month before I moved. The new owner is a knitter, and she converted part of the shop into a yarn shop. So, perhaps it's just as well that I no longer live just three blocks down the street. In fact, I know it is. The day before I moved, I marched in to see what this was all about, and got talking to this wonderful woman. And signed up for the mailing list.

Now, I go to knit night without fail, and it is the social highlight of my week. She has done a lovely job of making a little yarn heaven. Every time I go in, I want, want, want to own my own business, teach others to knit, and be surrounded by yarn all day long. So, I've done the next best thing.

I've horned in. I have loads of business skills, I can sell things, when I choose to, and I know knitting. So much so, that I'm teaching classes, beginning shortly. My lovely yarn-shop proprietress thinks I'm doing her a favour, but really, I'm doing it for completely selfish reasons. I want this business to succeed. I want a community of knitters around me. I don't want her to get burned out and pack it all in, because I can't afford to buy her out. I've been pretty aggressive about this, too. I give unsolicited business advice. I offer to teach. I interrupt conversations, giving unsolicited knitting advice. I volunteered to work Saturdays in exchange for yarn (that was really selfish!). Details to follow.

The sin part: I am completely unrepentant. I am thrilled that the proprietress has accepted my large knitting personality, and I don't care that I'm being bossy. I will envy her shop, but root for her success as much as I can. In fact, that's where I'm going to spend all my yarn money. I might as well pay her to work there.

So, if the stars are aligned, and you are a knitter in Winnipeg, or want to knit in Winnipeg, please drop by: Wolseley Wardrobe, 889 Westminster Avenue. Once I start working, I promise I will leave the hot rollers at home.

Socks, continued.

Yesterday was indeed a lovely day. I went for that walk, and I was so warm when I got back that I stood outside, in my shirtsleeves and had a beer. It was lovely, and a very pleasant treat considering it's only the end of March.


My yard needs tons of work, and I am now regretting not doing any yard work last fall. Where the snow has melted, my lawn looks terrible. I will take some pictures today or tomorrow. I have big dreams for the yard, and the cost keeps going up. But, there's no price tag on dreams, so I can dream all I want. Reality will tell.


Now for the knitting.


I did get more done on MW's socks, but not enough to warrant a picture. Instead, I will talk about another sock.

I have this to show for my efforts over the past week or so as well:

This is Posh Yarn's Lucia (the second photo on their site), purchased last November in Toronto at Lettuce Knit. It is amazing yarn, and I adore the colours. I can't tell you how good it feels in my hands, how sproingy and soft it is. I have been admiring it all winter, and, to be honest, I didn't really want to knit it. If I knit it, it would be over, and then I couldn't dream about it any more (I know how nice it is to knit because I had another skein in a different colourway, and I knit that over Christmas). It's difficult to get more - notice that everything on their website is sold out? But, I was feeling springy a month or so ago, and I started winding it up. This is what I got:
















Yup, a dog's breakfast. I didn't even take pictures of the worst of it. I cut it twice, and it took me two days, sitting on the couch untangling this mess. I was rather disgusted with myself, but I also realized that prolonged the fondling of the yarn. Perhaps I'm not stupid after all. Don't answer that.


So, I have made a delightful sock, for me this time. I used the basic sock recipe, but ribbed all the way down the leg and on the top of the foot. Not as annoying as I thought it would be. I had originally started in stockingette, but the pooling was horrible and completely detracted from the yumminess, so, frog it was. It was only about an hour's work so, that wasn't too bad.


I will cast on the second sock tonight, and that will be my at-work sock, and I will keep MW's sock's for the bus. I don't want her to see her socks at all.

You will see in the first picture that I had already cast on for the second. That has been ripped. I was practising my long-tail cast on method, which I taught myself this weekend using this tutorial. Naturally, my tail wasn't long enough (that will take some practise), so it had to go. I will use my regular method of casting on (cable cast on over two needles) for the second sock, and then practise some more. Now that I know what is happening, a long-tail cast on is quite smart looking. Before, whenever I tried to cast on one-handed using some technique that came out of my head, it looked floppy and loose. Not at all tidy, and I treasure tidiness above all things.

Which means it's time to attack my chores for tonight - bathroom! I don't know who sheds more, me or the cats.

Coming soon: other things. I do knit more than socks.

Sunday morning

I'm still perturbed with that bonehead from Friday night. I know that it's meaningless, and I should not dwell on it, but more I think about it, I realize he was incredibly rude. I did nothing to encourage him, did not allow him to buy me a drink (I buy my own drinks, always). In fact, I did not even flirt. He interrupted (repeatedly) a conversation I was having, and it took three times for him to get the message. Then, I was having another conversation, with a male friend, he leaned in and said something strange about owning a nicer suit jacket. Needless to say, I left earlier than I normally would have. I was plainly annoyed.

But, there are good things happening. Snow is melting, rapidly (I guess I will find out if my basement is dry) and the sun shines, sometimes. Today is the day I will do some of my chores, and hopefully go on a long walk, to procure a few groceries. Nothing exciting, but that's exactly what I love about Sundays. The long stretch of hours to do nothing but putter. My head is clear, I'm rested, and I plan on making myself a decent dinner and enjoying some wine while I watch Desperate Housewives or whatever drama is on TV tonight.

My happiness mostly derives from this:

The first of MW's socks is coming along nicely. The more I contemplate it, the more I love the pattern. The picot edge is much more elegant than ribbing, the pattern repeat is fun, the heel flap construction is clever. And pretty. Here's a photo:

My picture taking skills aren't so hot, but I think this shows the lovely diagonal pattern. I think it's called a pheasant heel, but I'm not sure.

Here is my attempt to get a close-up of the pattern:

I adore cables. I know people find them intimidating, but I love the "braid-y" look. Always have, always will. And, not scary at all. I remember knitting a pair of mitts, way back when, and my hands were shaking as I slid the four stitches onto the cable-needles, double-checking the pattern to confirm if I was to hold the needle in front or behind the work, knitting the next four stitches and then swinging the cable needle around to knit those four stitches. My tension was awful, there was a gaping hole, and it looked like garbage. But, I persevered and a few rows on, I looked down, and there it was! A cable!

That's the best thing about knitting, that with two sticks and a piece of string, you can make something three-dimensional. I will never get tired of that feeling of amazement, the mysterious language of the instructions. How one row does not stand in isolation but when put together with all the other seemingly incomprehensible rows, becomes something useful and beautiful.

Hmm, it seems I'm waxing poetic this morning. That must mean it's time to switch the laundry, have some breakfast, and get going before I break into Haiku. That would be unforgivable.

Huh?

Why is it that men automatically think one is a lesbian when you tell them that you aren't dating anyone? Are they that convinced of their own appeal?

P. S. This fellow was NOT attractive. If that was the alternative, I would become a lesbian.

Two of my favourite things, put together

If there is enough interest, I will be teaching a group of men at a local radio station how to knit. I am unreasonably excited about this.

There's the obvious - sharing my knowledge of something I love to people who hopefully want to learn.

Then there's the second thing. One of those men may be cute, single and interested in me. AND I WON'T BE DRUNK! It's a lunch hour class. Being hammered would be totally inappropriate. I am looking forward to seeing how well I can flirt while sober.