Sticks and Strings is back from hiatus. Yesterday morning I curled up on the couch with the January Mystery Socks and worked endless1 rounds of K3P1 ribbing while listening to his pleasant, soothing voice.
One of the options for Ravelry’s February SKA sock challenge is entrelac. I have gone so far as to download a free pattern that calls for Noro Kureyon sock yarn. No idea if the budget will allow a yarn purchase before the first of March; February seems as if it might be my last month of industrial-strength penny-pinching, with March considerably easier, and my raise and bonus in April. This might be one of those instances, as with Eleanora, where the challenge sock gets done nearly a year after the challenge was issued.
The Clapotis en Soie is shaping up to be a knit-at-home project. It’s a little nerve-wracking to wrangle that silk yarn on Addi Lace needles. [Not as nerve-wracking as dealing with the Alpaca Cloud, but still...]
Which means that I need to come up with another commuter project. The yarn should be here midweek for Brother Sushi’s belated Christmas gift. [I was astounded at the “2-3 business days” notation on my confirmation email. If true, that is some serious customer service!] The January socks are not likely to be done by the end of February; their PITA2 factor is pretty high. It’s not the yarn; I love the yarn.
So, do I grab that last skein of Jitterbug in the bilious green and unvent another sock? Do I grab Rosie the Riveter and knit a fresh pair of Monkeys? Do I focus on knitting up ornaments from leftover bits and bobs? Do I curl up with my Barbara Walker stitch dictionaries and design a lace-ish kimono from the last of my Gloss Lace?
In the meantime, let me just say that cream of wheat with real maple syrup [cooking-grade, not that wimpy stuff they sell to tourists] is a lovely way to start the day. And there will be chicken salad sandwiches for lunch this week.
Gentle readers [I do love Miss Manners], I started this post before church yesterday, when my outlook was rosy and my nose was not. About five minutes before the end of sacrament meeting, I started sneezing.3 As I was edging down the hall toward Sunday School, I popped my head into the ward library to tell my friend M that I was going home and would not be attending the potluck and fireside. When I popped out into the hall again, there was a member of the bishopric waiting for me, with a big smile and a request.
Would I be willing to speak in sacrament meeting next Sunday?
Sure. Even though that means sitting in front of the congregation and not-knitting for the duration; I don’t think that the railing which separates the choir seats from the congregation comes up high enough to cover my hands. And I don’t want to be a distraction.
So, the first half of the carcass of the rotisserie chicken became Saturday’s chicken pot pie. When I woke up Sunday morning, I threw the other half into my mini crockpot and drowned it. After taking a long nap, I went out to the kitchen and peeled three small potatoes and put them into my favorite pot, along with a can of Ro-Tel. Then I put my strainer over that pot and drained the contents of the crockpot into it. The strainer and the twice-cooked chicken cooled, suspended over the empty crockpot. The stock, Ro-Tel and tomatoes went onto the stove to simmer awhile.
Tonight I will slice up that avocado, save part of it for salad tomorrow, toss in some tortilla strips, and have a nice bowl of tortilla soup. Last night, after a simple dinner of microwave quesadillas4 and a Pink Lady apple, I had half of the butterscotch pudding that I made on Saturday.
The house still smells wonderful.
I had enjoyed a small, open-faced chicken salad sandwich when I first woke up. So I didn’t want more chicken for dinner. I just wanted to have soup on hand for later this week. I had gotten five meals [counting the individually-portioned dinners I took to the elders on Saturday] from this chicken, by Sunday evening. And there are two small containers of cut-up chicken in the freezer and three or four sandwiches’ worth of chicken salad in the fridge. Plus the chicken that was cooling on top of the stove, which rejoined the soup once the potatoes were done.
I listened to the new KnitPicks podcast as a break from To Kill a Mockingbird, and then I dragged my 6’ tall tower bookcase out of my room and put it in the corner by my desk. It now holds most of my knitting books, a basket with stationery and cards, the reference books and paper associated with the computer, and all of my software CDs. My two-hole punch sits on top, alongside a red chicken-wire basket that corrals my vast collection of cellophane tape and packing tape. I’d show you a picture, but the top of my desk is still messy. I think I will be hanging a couple of shelves above the desk, to hold the scanner that I want, and maybe a flat monitor as well, though I might put it where the behemoth now sits.
This is all my follow-through on the inspiration I got from unclutterer.com over the past week or so. I need/want to corral the kluge of cords beneath my desk, but that is a project for another weekend, and another paycheck. Preferably when the weather and my living room floor are somewhat warmer.
The second January sock was ready for its heel flap when I went to bed last night. And I slept like a rock.
Footnotes. [I feel just like Hugh Nibley, only not dead (the children’s father and I used to refer to him as Brother Footnote.)] Woohoo! I figured out how to format a superscript in Word and transfer that formatting over here! I think that calls for a mug of milk and some cinnamon toast.
1 in this case, about four
2 Pain In The Ahem
3 sneezing. An activity which many women can perform in a quiet, ladylike way. When I sneezed during the finals in my mechanical drawing class nearly 40 years ago, most of the guys started so, they broke the leads on their pencils and had to resharpen them. My name may have been taken in vain.
4 lay thin slices of cheese on half of a flour tortilla (or two, or three); fold tortilla in half and nuke 20-30 seconds, until cheese is melted but not all over the floor of your microwave.
- Four years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!