The color isn't true here, but it shows the pattern nicely. I like working with this yarn [Telemark, from KnitPicks] as much as *most* people like working with Cascade 220.

When I snapped these, I had just finished two pattern repeats. I'll be two rows shy of four full repeats when I start the triangular flappies for the armscye shaping. This is a better approximation of the actual color:

Not quite a royal purple, not exactly fuchsia or magenta. But a lot more purple than their "aubergine", which resembles no eggplant I've ever seen!

This is where I ran out of black:



I ordered more yarn from KnitPicks on Friday. And I repeat that it was not *their* error which caused me to run short. By the original specifications and their calculations, I should have had plenty.

And here's a closeup of the armscye shaping on the sleeve.



The pattern specifies 4.0mm needles, or American size 6. I'm using an Addi 1, which is approximately an American 1.5.

At posting, I am just shy of three pattern repeats in the purple. And I am loving this pattern. Possibly enough to knit one for myself after I've finished a dozen or so other projects. We'll see if I feel that way after inserting the zipper, LOL.

Still no bluebonnet pictures for you. Maybe this weekend. I know, I said that two weeks ago, didn't I?

Adventures and observations

Thursday was one of those comic-opera days, the kind where you know that major blessings must be right around the corner because of the minor annoyances that drop one by one like a broken strand of pearls. Please don’t think that I fail to appreciate the irony of having tripped on the curb as I entered the YMCA for my workout. How can it be that we fall in slow motion and think in complete sentences as we plummet? I distinctly remember thinking, “NO! I don’t want to fall down!” My shoe, the curb, and the universe had other ideas.

While I landed squarely on my bum knee, and my water bottle went one way and my reading material for the recumbent bike went another, I somehow managed to hang onto my planner and to avoid breaking my nose or anything other than my dignity. My knee is a little sanded, but no real harm done.

This was followed by some of my post-workout water going down the wrong pipe on the drive to work, resulting in coughs, hacks, snorts, and the loss of any remaining aplomb. Thankfully, I did not cough so hard that I needed to go home and change my clothes.

And then there is the matter of the cable needle that has vanished into the Bermuda Triangle between the bath tub, the bed, and the sink. I was knitting as I ran the tub. When I stopped to turn off the water, I tucked my cable needle into my waistband. When I got back to my bed to finish the row, the cable needle had dematerialized. I checked the tub. I checked the commode. I checked the sink. I checked the bathroom floor. I checked my bed. I checked the path between the bathroom door and the bed. I carefully shook out my clothing. That needle is gone, well and truly gone, like any illusion that I am in charge of my own life.

I had hoped to avoid any stiffness on Friday morning by a leisurely but thorough workout at the Natatorium on Thursday night, but when I got there the pool was empty because of lightning. There is some sort of rule that they can’t have anybody in the water until half an hour after the last flash of lightning. The pumps are outside, and if they were to be struck by lightning, well… I am thankful that they don’t want any poached patrons, though I wish I had known about this rule before I drove twelve miles there, and twelve miles home, swim-less. Still, I had to grin at least a little on the drive home. One less obstacle between me and whatever heavenly surprise is lurking out there.

It was raining cats and dogs and little fishes on Friday night. Dinner was Panda Express. My kid got home safely from her date. I let that lovely rainstorm sing me to sleep.

Pictures from lunch with the tribe, post-yoga on Saturday:



BittyBit is a real Texan; she sure loves her queso. That blur is her hand double-dipping.



BittyBit mugs with Aunt Firstborn. Secondborn was studying for next week's exams.



Lark not-mugs for the camera. I scanned the entire blog to see if I'd ever come up with screen names for her and her big sister. I hadn't. So, she's Lark, because she sings as beautifully as my girls and her father. And her older sister is now officially Willow, because she's tall and graceful and alas! not a singer. I've just recently started scratching my head over what to call BittyBit's brother when he gets here.

We will spare you the mug shots of LittleBit and me. She was clowning for the camera, and I looked like somebody had used *me* as a yoga mat!

Knitting content? How about these? Made from Schaeffer's Lola; I bought it for the greens and was amazed at how equally purple these socks are. There is some serious spiralling going on, and I rather like it. These were cuff-down, and I wish I'd made the tops longer. I was afraid of running out of yarn before I got to the toes, and I didn't want to do a short-row heel because the heel flap fits my foot so much better. I also used the more gradual gusset that I should have used on my pumpkin Gloss socks, and I really like it.

Or this? Did I ever show you the wisteria mitts that I made LittleBit from the leftover heel-and-toe yarn for the socks I finished in my second round of Sock Wars?

Here's a detail. The yarn is Debbie Bliss Baby Cashmerino.

Green Sock KAL

Here is my only slightly tongue-in-cheek offering for this KAL.



These are Los Lobe Hose, a pattern by Carol Breitner that I picked up some time ago at a LYS. The yarn is Schaeffer's Anne. I made over a dozen pairs of these in the last month or so as gifts for various girlfriends. These were supposed to be on their way to Ireland earlier this month, but the cell phone company triple-debited my account, and I got so cranky that I ate half of the pralines that were the raison d'etre for the mailing in the first place.

This is me, blushing. Jo, new pralines will be along eventually, along with these goodies. Belatedly, I seem to recall that your ears are unpierced. I guess you can hang them on the tree, come Christmas. The earrings, I mean; not your ears.

Random Thoughts

Random thought: It probably doesn’t make much sense to wash down a multi-vitamin and a fish oil capsule with Cherry Coke.

One of my Sisters of the Wool gave me the link to this website, so I can compare the yardage of designer-specified yarns with yarns that I can actually afford and make sure I order enough on the first bounce: http://www.yarndex.com/

The yarn that Fiona Ellis used for LittleBit's Celtic Icon hoodie is not listed on this site, as it's a very small company. So I looked in the back of Inspired Cable Knits and found the yarn company's website and did a little sleuthing. And the calculations that KnitPicks made, *should* have worked. This yarn is a little heavier than the yarn specified in the pattern: 210 yards per 100gm, as opposed to 250 yards per 100gm. And KnitPicks allowed for that, quite generously I hasten to add.

So I guess I won't be calling them indignantly and insisting on free shipping when I order more black yarn to finish my sleeves and make the side panels, LOL. Because this sure looks like operator error. I'm not sure what's going on, as my vertical gauge is perfect, and my horizontal gauge is nearly so. Must be one of those “your mileage may vary” things.

I ordered six more balls of the black today, which ought to be more than enough to finish the two sleeves and whip up the side panels. Regrettably, it's a different dye lot, so I'll get to teach my knitting students/buddies at the office how to work around that.

Meanwhile, I have cast on the two fronts and am galloping along on them, as they are narrow rectangles until I approach the underarm and neckline shapings. The purple yarn appears to be a bit lighter grist than the black; my gauge is infinitesimally tighter than on the sleeves. I wonder if it's due to the dyes used or if it's just more “your mileage may vary”. I am hoping to have enough of the purple to finish the job. I figure that if I get to the top of these fronts and have used half or more of the yarn, I'm in trouble.

More random thoughts, excerpted from my quarterly report on the status of the petty cash fund to my office manager and the managing attorney:
Here is the report for first quarter 2007. We are, unaccountably, 40cents long. I suspect this is due to change that [my backup] or I have found on the lobby floor over the past couple of months. It might be money overpaid in change by our perpetually malfunctioning junk food machines and returned to us by delightfully honest coworkers. [It might even be the tooth fairy. Your guess is as good as mine.]

I do what I can to bring a certain whimsy to office life.

Fiberjoy, I responded to your query under your last comment.

More miscellaneous ramblings, no photos

Written on Friday in between phone calls and emailed to myself at home but not posted until tonight because I'm offline at home. Posting from Firstborn's.

There is a billboard as I drive under the notorious Triple Underpass on my way to the office. It is indigo-verging-on-periwinkle with white lettering. And it says “Sleep with Fibonacci”; it’s an advertisement for Hotel Indigo. [I wonder if Signora Fibonacci would object; possibly not, as he is apparently available for $109 to $189 per night for a single room in downtown BigD, which would certainly keep all the little Fibonacci children well supplied with fettuccini alfredo.]

This morning I had time to check out their website. http://www.hotelindigo.com
Click on their “Fibonacci and Phi” tab for an interesting discourse on one application of the legacy of my secret love, Signor Fibonacci. And then click here http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fibonacci
for a brief biography of the dear man himself.

It is entirely Jacqueline Fee’s fault that I am enamored of the man. In her Sweater Workshop, she introduced me to Fibonacci stripes. I have the first edition, which I purchased in 1984 shortly after it was published. I used it as the basis for several sweater commissions in the mid-80’s. And it’s the foundation of my Rust Fibonacci Sweater ~ the first FO of 2006 and the wellspring of my renewed passion for knitting.

I am in a fey mood this morning. On Friday we unlock the big recycling bins and decant our personal recycling containers into them. Some weeks it’s the only Zen moment I have, where I symbolically de-clutter my work area with the visual equivalent of a deep, cleansing breath. My coworker sent out the following reminder: “The Recycling bins are open.” I responded, “Can I put my ex-husband in there and ask for a new one?” And she replied, “You can try, but I do not think it will work, but if it does let me know and we can make a fortune.”

Oh, absolutely, just in this office alone. And I could thumb my nose at my small-but-growing 401K, because I would never have to worry about eating cat food or sleeping in the garret at one of the kids’.

The odds

Beauty and the Beast is probably my favorite Disney movie. And one of my favorite scenes is when Chip announces to all the enchanted servants that there’s a girl in the castle ~ which inspires the tour-de-force “Be Our Guest”.

I like that movie because Belle is Disney’s first intelligent heroine. Aurora and Snow White are insipidly good. Ariel is a brat, not unlike Cathy in “Wuthering Heights”, whose choices get most of the characters into deep [if not exactly hot] water. The only thing I really like about Little Mermaid is the music, which is infectious. Remind me to show you a picture of my own “Ariel” necklace; I’m often tempted to warble her theme song when I put it on.



La la laaaaaa, la la laaaa, la la laaa la la la la la la laaaaaa ... la la laaaaaaaaaaaaaa.

I bought the kit for this when I worked in a quilt shop when I was expecting Middlest. So it's approximately 25 years old, as she'll be 24 this summer.

I may have mentioned that a sibling for BittyBit is under construction. We are anticipating another lively character in the tribe. “Over-the-moon” would not be an exaggeration; we take the admonition to be fruitful and multiply seriously around here!

I may have also mentioned that this is an estrogen-heavy tribe. As the girls grow up and marry, the odds get a little less, well, *odd*. [Which reminds me of the joke that a woman in search of a husband should not seek to date fellow employees in the tech field, because while the odds are good, the goods are odd.]

The only brothers I have are those acquired through marriage or hand-picked since my 45th birthday. The only sons I have, have never felt the need to throw up on my feet; they came to me housebroken and charming and fit to have dinner with.

The Almighty has apparently decided that life is not exciting enough at Diva Central. So, in addition to the regular portions of angst, drama, and slapstick comedy served up chez nous, there will soon be Matchbox cars and Legos and dinosaurs underfoot.

“Mama, there’s a *boy* in the castle!” OK, not in the castle, not just yet. But definitely in the oven.

Somebody mail me the Secret Decoder Ring, fast!

Oh, you want knitting content? This is the inside of my repurposed makeup bag, a leftover from my days as an independent beauty consultant. All those little pockets are wonderful for stitch markers, cable needles, row counter, and sundry other tools.



Here they are, all spread out on the table for your edification:



Blogger didn't think I should be able to upload the photograph of the other half of the contents, but you get the gist.

These are the sleeves for LittleBit's Celtic Icon hoodie, taken about ten days ago.



I'm now about 40 rows shy of the underarm shaping, and I think I will not have enough yarn for the side panels, which are also black. Also please note that nowhere in the book does it tell you how to “decrease 4”. You “increase 4” by K1P1K1P1K1 in one stitch on the right side of the sleeve, and doing P2K1P2 when you get to that point on the reverse. So I unvented my own “decrease 4” by doing SSK for the first part of the cable, then K3tog for the second, and passing the SSK over the K3tog. As near as I can tell from the photos in the book, that's what she did.

Be gentle with me; with the exception of the Ariel necklace which I snapped tonight, these are the first photos I took with my camera.

The bluebonnets are blooming. Will try to get you some decent pictures of them this weekend, though nothing can convey how amazing they *smell*, or the sound they make when the seed pod pops and broadcasts seed in the most unpromising terrain.

We look, she said, like we've been heavily sedated

In which our intrepid heroine cobbles together a series of drafts and submits them for your enjoyment, eye-rolling, astonishment, and/or general mockery.

Notes from Thursday:
I'm still not thinking like a photographer, or I'd have snapped before and after pictures. LittleBit and I began our day-off-together with half hour massages at the local massage therapy school. It was her first massage, my umpteenth. I started getting massages about a year after my mother died. The title of today's post is from what LittleBit said after we walked back to the car.

When we were done, I booked a full-body massage for my birthday next month. And we dropped my red leather tote off at the shoe repair shop to see if he can fix the place where lugging 40-50 lbs of *stuff* on a regular basis, has blown out the bottom. He didn't look hopeful, and I'm thinking that I have just repurposed it as a lovely red leather knitting bag that will stay home and hold WIPs. Even with what I paid for it, it's less than one of those lovely Lantern Moon [?] bags would have set me back.

Between the shoe repair shop and home there is now a baklava bakery, and we came home with samples of the traditional baklava and small pans of pistachio baklava and something called harisa that has a blanched almond pressed into the top of each square.

I'm not always happy about change, but if it involves a variation on a food I love, or something with ingredients that I know I like, that's different.

LittleBit is taking a nap, after washing down her baklava samples with a good slug of water. I'm ready for a mug of milk and a doze and a nice stretch of knitting. But first some lunch: the last of the salmon, cut into squares and layered on party pumpernickel that's been lurking in the freezer way too long. And a Jonagold apple, my second-favorite after Pink Lady. I'm amazed at how a blitz in the microwave can resurrect bread that's past its prime. The leftover brownies are not even tempting; I guess I'll have to pop them into ziploc snack bags and throw them into the freezer for lunches next week. Today I only want to eat things that are healthy.

This, too, shall pass...

Notes from the cusp of Thursday and Friday:
Memo to Ms. Knitingale: You are not allowed to be so funny at 12:51 am. I realize you were funny much earlier, but that's when I finished the movie [mmmm, Tommy Lee Jones, am I happy to live in TX or what?] and logged on while waiting for the milk to kick in and read about the deer not-vomiting on your feet? shoes? My kid is sleeping, and I'm trying not to howl with laughter and wake her up.

One of the girls threw up on my feet once. [Once was enough.] She was about ten, and there was some sort of bug going around, and wouldn't you know, she got it. And I was standing in the hallway talking to one of her siblings when she came barreling around the corner toward her bathroom. And I was in the way. And unlike LittleBit, who is possibly the tidiest barfer in the known universe, well let's just say this child's talents lie in other directions. She had the most hopeless, horrified look on her dear little face as she opened her mouth to ask me to please move, and something other than words came flying out.

Firstborn had her very first boyfriend over, and they were sitting demurely on the front couch, and he cracked up when he heard me say "Oh bleep, honey, why did you throw up on my feet?" I don't think any of my kids had ever heard me use barn language before. Or ask such a ridiculous question, for that matter.

Notes from Friday:
One of LittleBit's friends spent the night on Thursday, and we all watched Wednesday night's movie together, to much howling and ice-cream-eating. "Man of the House" with Tommy Lee Jones. Not as brilliantly deadpan a performance as in "Men in Black"; he actually loosened up and got goofy in this one.

Notwithstanding that the girls are teenagers, both woke around 9:00, and we headed to the YMCA to work out. I did ten minutes on the treadmill and 20 on the recumbent bike and about an hour on the various instruments of torture in the weight room. Then we came home, and while they cleaned up, I found the article on the local artisan chocolatiers, and we had ourselves a little road trip.

We also hit Sam Moon's, a local shopping institution that in spite of living in Texas for nearly 30 years I'd always managed to miss before, and got two purses and a pair of sunglasses for LittleBit, and a new bag for me.

We did all kinds of shopping for her on Thursday: hit the recycled-fashionables shop for her, where they sell trendy things that the rich brats wore once and got tired of, and got her two pairs of heels for church, and some leggings and a ruffly skirt to wear over them [not for church, I hasten to add], and new jeans, and then to Steinmart where we got her a Harve Benard jacket and a Jones New York black pencil skirt and a white linen blouse and a lovely 50's-retro skirt that Donna Reed would have loved, all in black and/or white.

This kid has way better taste than I did when I was her age, even though I was making all my clothing from good patterns and good fabrics. Part of it, I think, is having four older sisters, and part of it is having a mother who is more into fiber and fashion than my own mother was. Mom had great taste, but as we lived in Idaho there were no opportunities to satisfy it. I remember when she made herself a pantsuit [back when pantsuits were new] from a Bill Blass pattern and looked *terrific* in it.

A flashback to Tink with me Tuesday:
If Fiberjoy can have her "walk with me Wednesday"s, then I claim Tuesdays! Made lots of progress on LittleBit's sleeves, both during my breaks at work and at Knit Night. Noticed on one of my work-even rows tonight that my count was off. Turned the needle over and comprehended that I'd dropped half of one two-stitch cable element, about two rows back. *sigh*

I tinked that back and more or less repaired it. As I reached for my row counter, I discovered that the preceding row should have had an increase on each edge. *deeper sigh*

At which point I realized that I was suddenly very tired. Work has been exhilarating and intense; my backup, the data clerk, has been on vacation since early afternoon last Thursday. Which means that I have been answering phones, pulling faxes, and entering all the new lawsuits into our system. But the cool thing is that the class I took last week has inspired me to tweak my paperflow management [I have no idea if this is making sense to anybody but me; just nod and smile] and making me both more efficient and more effective.

So while yes, I'm extremely tired, I've also been extremely productive, and reasonably cheerful into the bargain. I'm home, and I'm safe, and I'm loopy with fatigue. I think I have just enough energy left to take out two rows on each sleeve, adjust the row counter and my post-it placemarker on the graph, eat a brownie, and enjoy a mug of warm milk before lights out.

Further musings on Fiberjoy's comments of last Sunday:
Oh yeah. That whole "Thy will be done" thing does not come easily for me. I would not be at all surprised to learn that Brother Right is deaf, and has his eyes closed so that he can't see God signing to him.

[When I was in the interpreting program, one of my friends was married to a deaf man. And when they fought, she would close her eyes and fold her arms. Talk about giving somebody the "silent treatment"!]

Or he might be somewhere close, with his fingers in his ears, saying "La la la, I can't hear You." I have been known to do that myself. Though not so much since I started knitting, because I might accidentally invent a home lobotomy kit.

I came home from church on Sunday and foraged some lunch. Then I sat down with my scriptures and did what I should have done, first thing. And then I tinked that row and a half. One of the things I realized today is that if I'm tinking a single row of cables, I don't have to put them in their original order. I can just leave them twisted on the left-hand needle and *carefully* knit or purl them back up when I get to them.

Old knitter. New tricks.

Notes from today:
OK, y'all, I think we're caught up. This is going to be another busy one. Swimming at 10:00, yoga with Firstborn and middlest-granddaughter at 11:30, and a wedding reception at 6:00. I'm tired just thinking about it! And, I fear, precious little knitting today. I need to take out about four rows on one sleeve, as I made the same mistake as on Tuesday. I've fixed one of the sleeves but not the other.

Had the monthly dinner last night with Brother Sushi, at RockFish. My turn to buy. I had a cup of the red pepper crab soup, and the crab penne, and insufficient self-discipline to save half for lunch today as I normally would have done. We'll blame it on the workout. Yeah, that's it!

Yoga: it's the new knitting

Tonight after work I stopped in at the friendly local YMCA and signed up for a single-parent membership for LittleBit and me. I'd run into Wally World on the way to work and scored a shocking pink yoga mat. Between work and the Y, I ran into my favorite plus-size shop and found a black dressy skirt for less than $7, to replace my old workhorse black skirt that I bought six years ago, the one that the cleaners killed the elastic on last time, boo hiss, and a pair of yoga pants for 40% off.

LittleBit was unavailable to go with me tonight, but I attended my first-ever yoga class and loved it. I can't do much of anything yet, still too stiff from the broken leg, but I tried a little bit of almost everything, and when I couldn't do what the teacher and the class were doing, I just stood or sat or lay there and b*r*e*a*t*h*e*d. I like the teacher, and I loved the music, and at one point I was standing with a list to starboard and heard/felt my spine go Pop. Pop. Pop. Little languid bubbles of ahhhh rising to the surface. When it was time to list to port, I heard about as many pops from the other side of my spinal column, truly one of the best things that I've felt in recent months.

And way too soon, class was over, and it was time to roll up my mat and grab some dinner. I bought a fat, sassy sweet potato and a perfect little lime and some smoked salmon, about two portions' worth, and I rented a video and came home. Dinner was spinach with a generous dollop of olive/dijon dressing, and half of the sweet potato with a bit of real butter and some freshly grated nutmeg and a sploosh of Grade B maple syrup, the stuff that's oh so flavorful. And some of the salmon. When I want to be really good to myself, I eat fish. I can hear all those microscopic cellular bits yodeling "thanks, Mom!"

And now it's almost 10pm, and I've been up since 4am, and I feel relaxed but not weary. I'm going to pop in the DVD and put on my jammies and the new robe that I ordered online a couple of weeks ago and pretend I'm somebody glamorous in a 30's film, and knit for dessert.

I'm taking tomorrow and Friday off to play with LittleBit, who's on spring break.

What is wrong with this sign?

I was heading north on a major street Saturday morning when I saw this sign. I couldn't wait for Monday morning so I could photograph it for my blog. [It's near the chapel where LittleBit has early morning seminary and just down the road from the kolache shop.]

What do *you* think of when you think "notary public"? We have several in our law office: some of them legal secretaries and some of them paralegals, and each of them a lady [though not one of them stuffy]. Do you not think "respectable" when you think "notary"? Is not the concept "notary + tattoo" a significantly greater oxymoron than "Lynn + camera"?

Thanks. I thought so, too.

OK, now that we've solved the problem of the sign, what about the "moderate comments" tags that remain unchecked if I publish from the notification in my inbox? I am having to come back after publishing a comment to "reject" them. I hope this does not mean that eventually they will all disappear [as EZ would say] like piddle in the sand.

Let the record show that I have successfully liposuctioned a picture from my camera, onto my hard drive, and into a post. Me. While baking brownies, no less! Took me forever to figure out where to *find* it on my hard drive, but I typed out the logic chain into Word and have it saved. One of these days I will have to put my knitting down long enough to finish reading those manuals.

Will try for something a little more scenic:



This is a Bradford pear tree in bloom on the UTA campus [University of Texas at Arlington]. I pulled into a faculty parking lot in a mist of raindrops -- thought I was in Seattle for a moment -- and caught this last weekend.

OK, feeling brave. Will try for some actual knitting content:



LittleBit's purple tweed socks, the first FO of the year, in KnitPicks Essential Tweed in a *much* darker color. I think this neon effect is due to my having photographed them atop the granddaughter's bolero.

The toes:



The heels:



OK, now I'm off to take a deep, cleansing breath.

Pride goeth before a frog

Two or three seemingly disparate issues which I hope to connect, convincingly, sometime before I hit "publish".

My father told me on more than one occasion, "If at first you don't succeed, go back and read the manual." He was perhaps the most naturally competent person I know, or perhaps it was just that I was such a caboose on his timeline that he had figured it all out, or knew where to find the answers, by the time that I needed to ask the questions.

This day, which my computer and my VCR and my wristwatch all say is not even to the midpoint, would have begun far better if I'd stopped to read the manual(s). On a workday, the alarm goes off at 4:00, I start the tub, I write my "take 5" for the preceding day into my planner, I have my devotional while the water cools slightly, I write a few more notes into my planner, I get slicked up and take LittleBit to seminary and either stay there and read or knit, or else come home to finish my preparations. Seminary's over, I drop her and my best friend's daughter at school, and I head to BigD to take on the day.

Today, Sunday, the blessed and occasionally glorious Sabbath, has gone a little differently. I start the tub. I grab my knitting and finish one row and part of another while it fills (we're talking sleeves, the next-to-smallest size, and not much cabling on this row). I get clean, fix my hair, get half-dressed, and sit down to finish the row while LittleBit gets ready for church.

That's when I realize that the simple cabled row is the one where I'm supposed to insert four new stitches on either side of the main cables. Think of it as a sidecar for your Harley. And because I had glanced at the center portion instead of the big picture, no sidecars. OK, it will take less than half an hour to tink back and reknit. I'll just fix it later; on to church.

We arrive, about three minutes late. LittleBit scurries inside. I stroll at a pace more suitable for someone with a recently-healed broken leg [look, Ma, no cane!] and one of my friends greets me with, "Oh, you forgot, too?" I give her the blank look which I have patented through raising 4.9 teenagers. "Daylight Savings Time," she grins.

Oye. I have totally missed the Relief Society lesson, but I'm right on time for Gospel Doctrine. One of my girlfriends beams to see me, "Oh good, you're here. I was afraid that you were still sick." Thankfully, I do not get picked to give the opening prayer, one of the hazards of being late to class, and a particular hazard for me because the Gospel Doctrine teacher is a knitting buddy.

Now, if I had skipped the knitting-while-the-tub-fills and gone straight to my devotional, I would have seen "SPRING FORWARD" printed neatly at the top of today's planner page. And I would have realized that I did not have nearly two hours to prepare for church, but less than an hour. And I wouldn't have had time to mess up a row and a half on LittleBit's hoodie, and my "good morning, Sunshine" when I woke her would have had a bit of White Rabbit to the tone "we're late, we're late, for a very important date, no time to shave or foof our hair, we're late we're late we're late".

I don't understand how I could have forgotten to "spring forward", especially after reading Ms. Knitingale's brilliant rant yesterday: http://floknit.blogspot.com/2007/03/time-in-bloggle.html
I even responded to it, LOL. In 30-some years of churchgoing, I don't believe that this has happened before, though there were a couple of times when I forgot to "fall back". I blame those on the sleep-deprivation that occurs when one produces five children in eleven years. [Hey, everything was my fault when they were younger; time to turn the tables.]

Color me humbled.

For those of us who live like nuns:

This gem, sent to me by a devoutly Catholic coworker. And then maybe some knitting content.

Sister Mary Katherine entered the Monastery of Silence. The Priest said, “Sister, this is a silent monastery. You are welcome here as long as you like but you may not speak until I direct you to do so.”

Sister Mary Katherine lived in the monastery for 5 years before the Priest said to her, “Sister Mary Katherine, you have been here for 5 years. You can speak two words.”

Sister Mary Katherine said, “Hard bed.” “I'm sorry to hear that,” the Priest said, “We will get you a better bed.”

After another 5 years, Sister Mary Katherine was called by the Priest. “You may say another two words, Sister Mary Katherine.”

“Cold Food,” said Sister Mary Katherine, and the Priest assured her that the food would be better in the future.

On her 15th anniversary at the monastery, the Priest again called Sister Mary Katherine into his office. “You may say two words today.”

“I quit,” said Sister Mary Katherine.

“It’s probably best,” said the Priest, “You’ve done nothing but [complain] since you got here.”

***

I sometimes wonder if God feels that way about many of my prayers. My favorite roommate once said, when I was 25 and still knew it all, that she had this picture in her mind of Him looking down and shaking His head and muttering, "d*mned if I do, and d*mned if I don't". I hope that I'm more easily pleased than I was back then. And I hope that I'm far more aware, and more grateful, and more teachable.

I know that we're supposed to ask for the things we need. I've never quite figured out how often we're supposed to ask, or how intensely. At what point does asking become begging, or nagging?

I have worked so hard to stay busy doing good things for the past decade or so, in part because I truly believe that one reason we are here is to wear out our lives joyfully in the service of God and our fellow beings. And in part because being a mom is the hardest job I've ever loved [the Peace Corps would be a cakewalk in comparison] and being a single mom is hardness squared or possibly cubed, even though I have really terrific kids who, now that they're grown at least, try to make the job as easy as possible, and if I don't do it, it probably won't get done. And in part to stay out of trouble, pure and simple. I've said for years that remarriage is one of those things that is important but not urgent. And that I have plenty to do to keep myself busy and out of trouble until Brother Right ambles into my life.

All of which is still true. But I learned a thing or three during that intermezzo with Brother Abacus. One is that I am deeply weary of single blessedness; it is far superior to an unhappy marriage, or to the counterfeit of love that too many people are willing to settle for. My favorite memory is the night we brought his Christmas tree down from the attic and set it up, and I got chilled, so he wrapped me in an afghan on a chair by the fire and sat there with his arm around my shoulder. I want many more moments like that, before I die. [Just, not with *him*, LOL.]

How do I ask for that, without obsessing about it? How often do I remind God that I was paying attention when He said that it wasn't good for us to be alone, and that I get the whole two-by-two-like-the-Ark thing, and that I'm willing to do my part, but that there seems to be a notable lack of enthusiasm on the part of the brethren? How do I fine-tune the forcefield, so that it only repels the cads and the bounders? [For that matter, how does the egg know *which* sperm is the right one for the job, and why have five of my eggs been smarter about their portion of mankind than I have?]

It's been a busy week at work. The workshop all day on Monday, catching up on Tuesday and Wednesday, doing double-duty when my backup went on vacation Thursday and Friday. An optional meeting on Wednesday, which I skipped, and a two and a half hour class on diversity and inclusion yesterday morning, which could have been *excruciating* but instead was lively and productive. The time just flew by. I didn't quite zero out my desk yesterday, but some of the things I learned in class on Monday have blessed the remainder of my work week.

I've taken a few pictures on my new camera but have yet to install the software or the hookup to the USB port. Will try to get both done later today, after LittleBit wakes up and before the bridal shower for a young friend at 1:00. Which means that I need to grab my swimsuit and towel *now* and get my water therapy in and my Rx picked up and something bought for the shower. And I hope to squeeze in a visit to the local YMCA, which Firstborn tells me has an excellent yoga class at a time that's convenient for me. I spent half an hour or more this morning, entering "lap swimming" and birthdays and "knit night" into my planner through the end of May.

Why does this whole "simplify my life" objective seem unattainable?

I finished the first 28-row pattern repeat on LittleBit's sleeves for her Celtic Icon hoodie before going to bed last night. There are pictures on the camera. *My* camera! Still sounds oxymoronic. My + camera = bewilderment, chaos, confusion, and a major learning curve.

Maybe I'll have pictures for you later tonight, or after church tomorrow.

Must. Go. Soak. My. Head.

The lawyers are in charge today

Don't panic; I don't mean all over the world, just in my office. Answering my phones. Flirting with my UPS drivers.

I am dropping LittleBit at early morning seminary in thirty-five minutes and heading up to Far North Dallas for an all-day class with the rest of the support staff. This is a class on homelife/worklife balance, and for me it's rather moot, because I have one of those jobs which is easy to leave at my desk at the end of the day. But I expect to learn something from the class, and if nothing else it is a day in which I will have to answer Not Phone One, except my cell phone when class lets out at 4:30. Given the location of today's class and the location of home, I don't expect to be home any sooner than if I were leaving from downtown BigD at the usual time.

The 0000 project is complete, and I realized as I was drifting off to sleep last night that I'd sealed the components up for delivery to their future owners without taking a picture first. Bear with me; I'm still not used to the idea of being owned by a digital camera.

One of my church girlfriends brought LittleBit home after church, with three Sabbath-appropriate videos for me to watch if I was tired of napping. I watched all three while LittleBit visited with her dad and sister, who live just over the fence from our apartment complex. I can see his kitchen window when I'm at the dumpster. There's a punchline in there somewhere, but it's not even 6:00am so you'll have to come up with it yourself, sorry.

I frogged the Jitterbug sock because over the past couple of days, in spite of the cold-induced fog that is my brain, I realized that I forgot to cast on over doubled needles. So I cast on the same number of stitches last night and have started over with another pattern. I'm thinking that I'm going to frog it again and begin a third sock which has a lovely scalloped cuff that requires one more stitch than the first two.

What I really want to do is stay home today and work on the sleeves to LittleBit's cardi, but unfortunately they are locked in my bottom drawer at work. I'm afraid that if I show up to fetch them, the lawyers will tie me to my chair and go defend people.

Uh-Oh

I dreamed that I was spinning last night. Some sort of Louet-ish wheel, and a lovely bit of wool about the same color as LittleBit's prom dress.

I used to own a Louet S-10. I used to have a mail-order business selling them out of my home, about 20 years ago. I sold my wheel to a friend when we moved to the Texas Hill Country in 1991. I sold my Louet 4-harness loom to a different friend when we moved back a year and a half later.

I still have a couple of Ziploc bags of camel/tussah roving, picked up sometime between 1984 and 1991. I still have my spinning chair; it lives in front of the sewing machine that I barely touch.

I don't think any of my Sisters of the Wool [my knit night ladies] are spinners. I don't know where this dream came from, if it's wheel envy from seeing what Knitspot and the Harlot are up to, or if it's the first whisperings of inspiration, or nostalgia, or just the random synaptic firings of someone who's severely congested and quite possibly oxygen-deprived.

Mom? I'm scared!

Alarums and Excursions

LittleBit's prom dress arrived at the office yesterday. I ordered it online from http://beautifullymodest.com/. I'm including the link in case you have teenage daughters who have a need for formal wear that does not make them look like Pretty Woman. Photos of LittleBit in the dress will be posted sometime next month, but here's the dress she picked. They say it's "baby blue", but I think it's more of an ice blue. The ribbon and tulle ruffle are jet black.




Why did I not make it myself? I made last year's formal for the Military Ball, a real Barbie Dream Dress, and she's making this year's prom dress to satisfy requirements for Tech Theatre IV, but this one is for a church-sponsored alternative prom serving the youth of the greater geographical area. It requires much tweaking of a commercial pattern to get it to fit her properly, and most commercial patterns are just not modest enough to please us.

I am saving myself hours of time, and both of us much aggravation that would result from all the tweaking involved, and the company I ordered from carries dresses at several price points. They also have wedding gowns, but LittleBit looked at me with horrified dismay when I suggested we might use these people in a few years when it's her turn to marry. "No, Mommy, I want you to make my gown, just like you did for the other girls." Fine, but all the @#$% bridesmaid dresses, and my own, will be ordered from this company, because there are now three granddaughters to sew for, as well as all those nice people I gave birth to.

I loved making Firstborn's and Secondborn's wedding gowns. I spent two and a half months beading the bodice of Firstborn's gown. I had mixed feelings when Middlest eloped. Fourthborn is planning a Renaissance wedding and designing the gowns herself. I'll be sewing her gown, and she'll probably be sewing the others. I may even be tatting some of the lace on her gown, using silver metallic thread. All of that is at least two or three years down the road; she wants to get through art school first, and she's working and saving the money for that so she won't have to go into debt for her education.

Knitting content? You want knitting content? OK, the blog hit 2000 views sometime during the week. We're definitely not getting the Harlot's numbers, but I am astounded that so many people have read me since I fired up the blog last July. Thanks, y'all, you rock!

Or how about this?



Here's my middlest granddaughter in her borrowed dress and the bolero that I knit her in Berroco's Glace. We'll try to get better close-ups for you in the near future. This picture does neither of them justice. She's already heartbreakingly lovely at thirteen; it's a good thing that her dad has some familiarity with the martial arts.

How many lawyers does it take...

To replace one intermittently humble receptionist? Nine, apparently, with one or two more for backup. What I have been doing this week, in lieu of my regular duties and/or in addition to them, is training our legal eagles to answer the phones, deal with the incoming faxes, and sort and open the mail.

Why am I doing this? About three weeks ago, all the attorneys took a one-day class to help them better balance their worklife and homelife. No attorneys in the office = much clearing of backlogs by their respective secretaries and paralegals. The attorneys came back to us the next day, refreshed and reinspired. The support staff was ready to welcome them back.

On Monday it's *our* turn. The attorneys, capable folks all, will be running the show. Which means that every hour on the hour, a new one will be sitting at my desk, doing what I do. With the possible exception of flirting with some of the spiffier couriers.

Doesn't sound all that difficult, does it?

I think the timing of this is excellent: after the powers-that-be have completed my performance review, and before we discuss the size of my bonus.

I came home on Wednesday after having trained five of them for one hour each, feeling [in the cowboy vernacular] as if I'd been "rode hard and put up wet". I only trained one of them yesterday and was actually able to knock out some of the work in my in-basket. (I also scan and clean all the discovery that doesn't come to us on a floppy or CD.) One of them bought me lunch.

I "only" have to train three of them today, one of them my managing attorney, who is truly a joy and a delight. I am nevertheless stopping off at the deli on the parking level and stocking up on Hershey's Special Dark.

Film at 11.

The 0000 project is nearing completion, and I am looking forward to working on LittleBit's cardi this weekend, since I will not be dancing or going to quilt class. And I may have a surprise for the lot of you, but no promises...

Taking comfort in the familiar

Fiberjoy commented recently that she does the K2 P2 top-down socks because they're comfortable, and familiar. I think there's absolutely nothing wrong with sticking with something that works for you. I am big on traditions, myself. One tradition that I am honoring as we speak, is my long-held one of not putting the Christmas stuff away. My folk art Christmas tree, which never quite got decorated because I was in a snit over Romance Gone Sour, is still partially blocking the door to the hallway. The wreaths didn't make it into the windows and are still stacked, slipping a little, on top of a storage box.

Some folks might think this a little weird. I prefer to think of it as charmingly eccentric.

What is weird, is how I could have gotten Ms. Knitingale's husband's cold when he's in the Greater Seattle area and I've never met him. Flo, honey, please tell him to turn his head the *other* way when he sneezes, OK? But the same wonders of modern technology have quite possibly brought me the cure: something called "cold calm" that Knitspot wrote about in her blog recently. I haven't bought any yet, but tomorrow is payday, and once I find out what's in it and if it's compatible with my Rx's, I plan to try it out.

I love living in a time when there are so many different therapies available. I've never needed acupuncture, but I'm open to the idea. I've had three massage therapists that I rotated through: one I still see who does the whole lovely Swedish thing with aromatherapy and soothing music and quiet conversation, and another woman who does sports massage, and a fellow who does shiatsu when I've let it go too long and basically need to be broken apart and put back together. I saw him for the first time about a year after my mother died, and it felt as if he were scooping living fire out from under my shoulder blades.

I had my first baby in the hospital and the other four at home using a midwife. I take Chinese herbs [ba nguyen] for my fall allergies. Work has been pretty tense this week, and while I would love to take the time for a full-body massage, I think I'd be equally happy with a me-sized fondue pot filled with almond oil, and I could just fry my troubles away and get a tan while I'm at it.

I begged out of a church meeting tonight because of these sniffles. I am bagging the dance tomorrow night for the same reason, and I called Firstborn on the way home from work to ask her to pick up LittleBit's and my quilt blocks on Saturday. She owed me an equivalent amount of cash for some incidentals I picked up for the granddaughter's dance a couple of weeks ago, and it's been too crazy around here to get together since then, so everybody wins.

Unfortunately, it's been nearly two months since I last saw Secondborn and BittyBit, but I see no sense sharing my cooties with them, particularly since Secondborn is pregnant and taking classes and quite sick enough already.

So what did I do tonight? Grabbed a movie on the drive home and watched it while working on the 0000 project. I didn't catch it in the theatres before Christmas, and I saw a trailer a few weeks back while checking my email. "Stranger than Fiction". Will Ferrell has a gift for playing men who are smart and well-meaning and about half a bubble off level. I loved him in "Elf". I'm probably going to watch this one at least once more before I have to return it. The only major character whose work I hadn't seen was Maggie Gyllenhaal, and I liked her, too.

Will close with the inscription I saw on a T-shirt at Wal-Mart way too early this morning. "You used to be my type ~ but I got help." Sadly, it does not come in my size, or I'd get one and wear it to the next church singles dance. The sisters, at least, would find it amusing.

If you can't dance, "Jitterbug"

I needed something mindless to work on before a church meeting last night. I grabbed my Crystal Palace 0's and the "Jitterbug" that I bought with a gift certificate after Christmas .

Cast on 63 stitches and worked 14 rounds of K2, P1 ribbing as for the Prodigal Sock ["Child's First Sock" from Knitting Vintage Socks]. Thumbed through the book before church this morning and decided on a variation on "Oak" from the same book. Worked another round of ribbing and began the pattern. At round #5, decided to try the interrupted rib that I'd used for LittleBit's Baby Cashmerino Mitts that I unvented a couple of months ago. Essentially, a purl round every fifth round to produce a garter stitch bump in the knit columns. Liked it on the K4 part, not so much on the K1 part, so grabbed my crochet hook and meticulously turned each single purl bump back into a knit stitch. I'm now 11 rows into the leg and liking it.

Love the yarn, so far. I won't know until the socks are done and I've worn them at least once, but I think I might end up liking this yarn even more than I like the CTH from my first pair. It makes delicious, plump, non-skewed stitches that glide from one needle to the next.

Yeah, I know, again with the no pictures. What are you gonna do, take away my DP's?

In celebration of my sisters

One of my friends sent this to me. If you know who wrote it, let me know so that I may attribute it properly. Thanks!

"Time passes.
Life happens.
Distance separates.
Children grow up.
Jobs come and go.
Love waxes and wanes.
Men don't do what they're supposed to do.
Hearts break.
Parents die.
Colleagues forget favors.
Careers end.
BUT.........

"Girl friends are there, no matter how much time and how many miles are between you. A girl friend is never farther away than needing her can reach.

"When you have to walk that lonesome valley and you have to walk it by yourself, the women in your life will be on the valley's rim, cheering you on, praying for you, pulling for you, intervening on your behalf, and waiting with open arms at the valley's end.

"Sometimes, they will even break the rules and walk beside you...Or come in and carry you out.

"Girlfriends, daughters, granddaughters, daughters-in-law, sisters, sisters-in-law, Mothers, Grandmothers, aunties, nieces, cousins, and extended family, all bless our life!

"The world wouldn't be the same without women, and neither would I. When we began this adventure called womanhood, we had no idea of the incredible joys or sorrows that lay ahead. Nor did we know how much we would need each other.

"Every day, we need each other still."

[And then follows the request to pass it on.]

I'd like to know where it says that it's against the rules to walk alongside a friend in need. I much prefer the counsel in Mosiah 18:9 "Yea, and are willing to mourn with those that mourn; yea, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort, and to stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places that ye may be in, even until death, that ye may be redeemed of God, and be numbered with those of the first resurrection, that ye may have eternal life—"

I am thankful for friends who have walked with me in the past, and do walk with me at present, and will yet walk with me in the future. Most of them [no big surprise here] female.

I'm off to attend the Saturday night session of our stake conference. I've spent the afternoon knitting with John Wayne. Time that I do something of more eternal import. Have a blessed and peaceful Sabbath, y'all!

I foresee lots of these in the immediate future

Here's the link: http://www.blyberg.net/card-generator/ and my thanks to the folks at Mason-Dixon Knitting for more fun than I've had all week, except when the yarn came from the online auction that I won. Nope, no pictures yet, I'm just teasing y'all mercilessly.

You'll remember the clapotis, knit from a little something that LotusBlossom ~ http://myworld.ebay.com/lotusblossom ~ whipped up. I now have four hanks of sock yarn in sundry colors and am waiting for the mohair I won from Jo. No idea what I'll make from that.

Incremental progress on the sleeves to LittleBit's "Celtic Icon" hoodie. None since before breakfast on the 0000 project. I think it's time to pop in "Ocean's Twelve" and pick up the sticks and the string... LittleBit will be home in an hour and six minutes. I'd like to have something to show her when she gets here.

0000 Oh my goodness!

Knitting for my Barbies would have been ever so much easier if I'd had 0000's to work with. I remember a pattern for really cool matching sweaters for Barbie and Ken, printed in the McCall's Needlework magazine when I was ten or so, which my mother knitted up for me to perfect gauge.

I tried to make another pair of sweaters (I'd been knitting for a couple of years by then) using the specified size 1's and fingering yarn, but the sweaters were always too long. And at ten, I really didn't understand why until Mom explained it to me. My refusal to wind the yarn around my fingers ~ it felt as if they were strangling ~ made my gauge too loose. And in the little Western town where we lived, anything smaller than a 1 was unheard of.

I am currently working on a project that requires 0000's. And, crazy woman that I am, I am liking it.

Please send chocolate until this feeling passes. [Has anybody else tried the Mayan Chocolate from Haagen Dazs? Oh man! Almost as good as dancing, and way better than that cake that's called Better than You-Know-What.]

We are almost to the 2000 point on this blog. That in itself merits a chocolate celebration!

I see that some clarification is in order

Crochet Diva's comment, "Thank you for offering to make me a sweater like the one you have on" was entirely ironic, which you can't hear in my previous post. I'll be working away on one project or another, and she will come into the break room and say, "For me? You shouldn't have", and I'll grin back and say, "I'm not."

She is one very accomplished crocheter, so her compliments mean a lot to me. I've offered to teach her to knit, and she's not interested.

Ergo, no bargain offered, implied, struck, or otherwise-verbed, though I am a fast knitter and could easily replicate my red shrug in a week or two. Plus, I am utterly uninterested in designer handbags and accessories (with the possible exception of a few bijoux I've seen at the Brighton store). Although I know that what she offers in return has a generous fair market value, even used, there's no appeal for me.

Now, if she were to offer me one or more pairs of Dansko clogs, which are coin of the realm as far as my feet are concerned, I might be persuaded.

It's 9:03 on a crisp Thursday morning. There were a few brief flurries of snow when I took LittleBit to early morning seminary. I've taken the day off ~ tomorrow as well ~ and am taking a breather after an hour and a half of blissfully mindful knitting. Three more rows and then the shaping begins for the upper sleeves. I hope to be done with the actual knitting by noon.

AARP's online Sudoko is calling my name. More later.

OK, it's officially "later". Roughly 5:30. Both sleeves are done, and I have about an inch of I-cord worked for the trim around the bolero and the sleeves. Good thing, too: the dance is *tomorrow* night. Good thing I took two days off, LOL. Will be fitting the pieces to the granddaughter tonight after a bit of church stuff, and will be blocking them overnight.

I explained to LittleBit that nobody gets in trouble if we send back the aubergine yarn for her hoodie and exchange it for royal purple. "In that case, yes, please," says she. As I noted in my response to MsKnitingale's comment, below, this is Texas, where we have two seasons: February and summer. And February is half over.

V-Day and other madness

I finally managed to assimilate something like unto the proper holiday spirit. Ordinarily, I make Martha-esque handmade valentines for everybody in the office, and one to go into my scrapbook. Not this year; all my energy that's not going into knee-mending is going into my granddaughter's bolero. So this year they got an e-card, with Word Art and one simple sentence. I got some great responses and one lengthy exchange with a woman in the office who crochets as well as I knit, and who has a weakness for designer bags. As you shall see...

Thank you, individually and collectively, for being the best part of my workday.

Crochet Diva:
Thank you for offering to make me a sweater like the one you have on. As you know, I'm not fussy about color :)

Me:
You may not be "fussy" about color, but you are extremely savvy about it!

Crochet Diva:
If you give me your red sweater, I will give you my Vera Bradley purse and matching wallet (the large wallet w/lots of slots & compartments)

Me:
Very kind of you, and I appreciate the offer, but I'm happy with the status quo, LOL.

Crochet Diva:
Man, do you drive a hard bargain…. I'll throw in a Louis Vuitton make up bag :)

Me:
Likewise very kind, and most impressive, and still no deal. I made it with yarn that I bought from my friend Brother Stilts when he moved. I'd coveted the mohair (40 year old vintage mohair, no less) for several months before he was willing to part with it. Every time I wear this, I think of him. No deal!

Crochet Diva:
You could make me one with 6 month old vintage from Walmart, and I will think of you everytime I wear it :)

She's good, isn't she? And she still isn't getting my red shrug (the one I modeled so mischievously at Thanksgiving). As the seagulls in "Nemo" were so fond of saying, "Mine! Mine! Mine!"

My KnitPicks order came today. This is the Telemark for LittleBit's cabled hoodie. I also bought "Inspired Knits" at significant discount; it contains the pattern for the hoodie that's featured on the back of the KnitPicks catalogue. It has been on my to-buy list for about six months. I was kindof hoping it wouldn't come until tomorrow, because I'm taking the next two days off to finish the bolero so the granddaughter will be un-hoochified for her dance on Saturday night. If the yarn is at the office and I'm not, then there can be no possible distraction from finishing the project, right?

Except maybe the hank of "Anne" that I bought at lunchtime for a future project. There will be no small amount of yarn patting tomorrow, in between milestones and stitch markers.

Stupid Cupid...

[Stop Pickin' on Me.] Not one of my favorite songs. *Much* prefer Sam Cooke's lovely, mellow "Cupid, draw back your bow" but am not in the mood to sing that one, either.

Valentine's Day is ordinarily one of my favorite holidays, even if I don't happen to be dating. Which I don't usually happen to be, but ordinarily it doesn't bother me.

Thanksgiving is *not* one of my favorite holidays -- I don't like being told to be thankful at 2:00pm on the fourth Thursday in November. And I'm not wild about touching raw poultry or blowing what used to be a week's food budget on one meal. But last year at Thanksgiving I had rather more than usual to be thankful for.

And this year at Valentine's Day, while the status has returned to quo, and I ought to be used to it by now, I'm just a wee bit cranky. It's all about the attitude and mine, frankly, stinks! My kids are healthy, my leg is mending, I still have oodles of terrific female friends and three stalwart male friends, and I seem to have most of my marbles.

*B*U*T*

You knew there was a "but", didn't you?

*But*, because I am so disappointed in the formerly-dear Brother Abacus, my last conscious thought before duking it out with the Sandman last night was [edited for the Sabbath], "Cupid can just kiss my grits."

LittleBit's threatening to print it on a T-shirt for me and give it to me on Wednesday.

Obligatory knitting content:

Three rows to go on the second Lola sock before I start decreasing for the toe.

Thirteen rows to go before I start binding off at the underarms of the fronts on the granddaughter's bolero. I had one of them ready to bind off at the shoulder on Thursday morning and compared it [all too belatedly] with the completed back and realized that my gauge on the front was *way* more loosey-goosey than on the back. To the frog pond we marched, and I've been working both fronts simultaneously and measuring them diligently against the back. I hope to finish both fronts before bedtime, and my sock.

No nap, as they say, for the weary or the wicked or the whatever. I am ever so thankful that said granddaughter is willowy and that we are putting short sleeves on this puppy and not the long ones the designer had in mind.

Random question of the day:
Has anyone else noticed that Zantac 150 is shaped just like the profile of a brilliant-cut diamond? Which led me to warble to LittleBit on the way to early morning seminary one day last week, "A kiss on the hand may be so Continental, but Zantac is a girl's best friend!"

Edited to add that while I was trying to find a picture of the Zantac to insert for you antacid-muggles, I learned that it may make me more susceptible to pneumonia. Charming. Guess that means that I'll need to budget for the pneumonia vaccine this fall. On the other hand, pneumonia would guarantee me lots of knitting time, right? Decisions, decisions.

By the Time I Get to [Be a] Phoenix...

With apologies to Jimmy Webb.

Blame this on ladylungdoc.

You Are a Phoenix

Driven and ambitious, you tend to acquire material success easily.You have grand schemes - both for your own life and for changing the whole world.You are a great leader, and you have no problem taking the reins.However, you aren't all business. You also have great talents for performing and visual arts.

What Mythological Creature Are You?

Hey, I thought I was a phoenix because I keep getting burned by men! [Yes, you may safely assume that Brother Abacus is a few beads short of a bottom line and has been neatly and quietly deposited at the curb.]

I took the liberty of correcting their spelling.

Still waiting for the material success, LOL; I'd be quite content to achieve solvency on a consistent basis. On the other hand, would I really want to have Britney's problems?

And I'm not all that into changing the world; too busy trying to pull beams out of my own eye first. Beginning with a tuneup of my "Nonsense" Detector.

If you like cheese enchiladas, getting caught in the rain...

Seriously. I saw that on a billboard tonight as I drove home through several forms of extremely audible precipitation. One of the local TexMex restaurants, with a really great ad team. I snickered for several miles thereafter.

I think I have the "walking with three legs" thing down pretty well. I'm actually picking up speed, at least compared to two weeks ago. And I treated myself to a new tip for the cane. It's quieter than the tissue-paper snippet of black rubber that capped it originally, which is a good thing considering that I work in a restored historical building in downtown BigD, and the floors are hardwood, and there's an atrium in the center that makes every hiccup sound like grand opera. So I'm no longer sounding like a gatling gun slowed down to 33-1/3rpm.

LittleBit's purple socks are done. Picture? You want proof? Sorry, you'll just have to trust me.

Red Scarf Project opus is done, all but the weaving-in of the ends, and given my present energy level we'll pretend that I really meant to make it for *next* year. Yes, I'm quite clear as to what is paved with good intentions but you'll just have to roll me there in my handbasket, as I'm not currently in the mood to walk that far.

First sock from my Schaeffer "Lola" is done, and I cast on its mate this morning. Used the broken rib from Sock Wars, the slip stitch heel from another pair, the more gradual gusset decrease that I should have used for LittleBit's socks but didn't, and a three-needle bind-off at the toe.

What's next? Middlest grandchild has a Valentine's dance and needs a bolero. Have a pattern to modify and am thinking two or three featherweight yarns knit as one so she can keep it on and remain modest without carrying her own portable sauna on her shoulders. And also so I can knit it up in a couple of days and get back to destashing.

...Mama needs a new pair of socks...

Update on the knee

The MRI was a far more pleasant experience than I had been warned it might be. When they repeatedly ask you if you're claustrophobic and all you can say is, "I don't know, let's find out." ... Doesn't bode well. But they only rolled me in about hip-deep, and they gave me headphones and the local country station, and other than the fact that my toes immediately wanted to go dancing and take both knees with them, it was not bad.

Oh, and there was no place to put my arms except on top of my stomach, which meant that my fingers kept going to sleep because the blood was draining down into my elbows. But I did learn a new skill: raising the arm that did not have custody of the panic button and waving it gently back and forth in the air without moving anything south of my navel, then switching hands.

I think the only 45-minute span of my life that has been longer, was when I was pushing Firstborn out and had no idea how to get that particular piano out of the transom [and may God bless Fanny Brice for the metaphor]. But the staff at the facility couldn't have been more pleasant or reassuring. Do I ever want to do this again? No. But if it's necessary, I want to go to them.

That was Wednesday the 3rd. On Tuesday the 9th I found a message from my doctor's office on my cell phone as I was sitting at a light, waiting to merge onto the freeway and go bond with my Sisters of the Wool. "Please call back about the results of your MRI." Not good. If it's good, they leave you a chirpy message that says, essentially, "You're normal, thanks for playing." Work on Wednesday was crazier than usual, so no chance to call them for an explanation. When I did on Thursday, after much phone tag, this is what they said:

It's inconclusive. Could be a stress fracture. Could be a tear. What you want to do from here is up to you. If it's not causing you much trouble or discomfort, then we'll just see you for your well-woman later this month. If it is, then you may want to make an appointment with an orthopedic doctor.

OK, for two months I've been experiencing "discomfort" that on my personal PainOMeter is considerably greater than childbirth and slightly to significantly less than when my gallbladder blew, five years ago. More to the point, I can't dance, which is my primary form of exercise, entertainment, and stress release. Live with it? I don't think so.

And naturally the clinic whose number they gave me, is not on my network, which fact I didn't find out until midway through the appointment-making process. But I have found one who is, and a handful of backups in case I don't care for him. Maybe he can figure out if I have a stress fracture [which I think is the less likely prospect, given what my bone scan looked like last year] or a torn something-or-other in, on, around or under my kneecap.

Two of the people in my office have experience with him; he non-surgically treated one of my attorneys, and he operated on the ex-husband of one of my secretaries. Attorney says “he’s kinda goofy”; takes one to know one, so that bodes well. And the secretary says that he’s very warm and gracious. A warm and gracious surgeon? This I have to see for myself!

***

Who knew? I've been walking around on a broken leg for two months!

The problem with my knee is actually a stress fracture of my tibia and thankfully not something that will require surgery. Once the bone has healed, there may be some physical therapy to restore core strength, but for now I’m to use a cane – which I purchased on the way to work after my appointment yesterday and am trying to figure out – or crutches, which LittleBit just happens to have in her closet, and she's my height.

She adjusted them for me last night and I practiced with them, and I don't like them. I will probably just stick with the cane, as it leaves one hand free to lug my tote, my knitting, and my lunch basket.

I’m supposed to ice my knee three times a day because it is inflamed, and to find a water aerobics class, which at this time of year probably means an expensive suit from Land’s End, not a cheapie from Wally World. I think I threw away my incredibly ancient swimsuits during the last spasm of domesticity.

I did a pretty fair impression of Joe Boyle as "The Monster" from Young Frankenstein in the lunchroom at work yesterday: "Ruh ruh ruh ruh RITZZZZZZZ!"

I have a re-check with the orthopedic man in six weeks. I’m not sure if or how my workload will need to be modified until then.

Knitting content? Sure, no problem. Completed the heel flap on the second Boring Sock for LittleBit while we watched a video last night. Will turn the heel today and start chewing away on the gussets.

Next week is mammo and well-woman and my second bone density scan because Ortho Man can't figure out why my tibia is so unhappy with me.

Oh, and the PT man is easy on the eyes. That's your obligatory testosterone content for the week and about as good as it's likely to get around here until further notice.

No, I didn't just fall in somewhere

It's been hairier than usual in SingleMomLand, witness last week:
Monday: four weeks' worth of laundry and a pint of ice cream apiece
Tuesday: Knit Night
Wednesday: workshop at church
Thursday: shopping with LittleBit for fabric for her drama class Renaissance costume
Friday: dinner with my JustFriend and bagpipe concert at smoky dive
Saturday: the last of the fabric for LittleBit's costume, the rental of three videos and the borrowing of another from Fourthborn, and an afternoon spent swooning over a double feature of Jack Sparrow's adventures, accompanied by one box each of the soft chocolate caramels made by the Junior Mints people, and a small bag of popcorn each, and half a box of Girl Scout Cookies in true Gilmore fashion.

I finished the World's Most Boring Sock before going to bed, all but the tying-off of the toes, and she tried it on after church today. Fits like it was made for her. Oh yeah. It was! I would take a picture, but the camera is in FW at Secondborn's, which is 18 miles away; church was cancelled this morning because of the weather. They informed us of this fact partway into the morning announcements. We finished up announcements, everybody said "amen!" and gathered up the handouts and came home.

So what have I done with my unexpected day of leisure? Cooked up a package of ramen noodles as "dessert" for the English muffin I ate in the car while driving to church, checked my email, and taken a five hour nap. You heard me right. Back to bed about 11:00 am, and vertical but questionably coherent at 4:00 pm.

Peering into my crystal ball, I foresee not much sleep during the hours that I am normally horizontal and attempting to be unconscious. Perhaps I will make good progress on the second sock.

But first it's time to refuel. Good thing I made that 11:00 pm dash to the grocery store last night for more milk and cookies...

An Insight into Guy-think

I found myself in a situation where I needed to apologize to a fellow I know through the singles who sometimes returns my calls, and sometimes doesn't. [One reason why Other Guy and I will probably never have the quality of JustFriendShip that Brother Sushi and I do.] I left a VM on Other Guy's cell phone during the drive to work one morning saying "I'd like to apologize, if you have the time and the inclination to receive it. We'll talk later." And I called Brother Sushi on the drive home to say that I'd done so, and that I wasn't sure the guy would call back, and maybe I should just drop him a note.

Pregnant pause on the other end of the line. The sort where I slow down and pay attention, because I know that Brother Sushi is going to rummage around in the closet of his accumulated wisdom and hand me a new tool for my toolkit. I never know if it's going to be a monkey wrench, a scalpel, or a sledgehammer. Sometimes it's a laser level that whistles "Yankee Doodle Dandy". I may not need to use it often, or more than *once*, but it's always the right tool for the job at hand.

Amazing.

So when he said, "I wouldn't," I almost stomped on the brakes, which would have been a mistake because the light had just turned green. And I would have found myself picking a Hummer out of my trunk. Which would have made me late for Knit Night.

"Oh really? Why not?"

"The offer to apologize *is* the apology. You did it. You're done. Move on."

And then I explained to him that if I apologize to another woman. it's a whole lot more complicated for that. First I have to say that I want to apologize. Then I have to describe the behavior and why I'm sorry that I did or said it, and then I have to actually say that I'm sorry, and then we both hug and sniffle a little, and then we eat some chocolate and all is forgiven. Unless of course the other woman gave up forgiving others several Lents ago.

The offer to apologize *is* the apology.

Explains a lot, doesn't it?

OK, back to your regularly scheduled knitting content. LittleBit picked out easily the most boring pair of socks in Knitting Vintage Socks. I am knitting them in purple Essential Tweed and am about halfway to the heel flap. This is my first pair using, more or less, Magic Loop. I tried two needles but only had 32"s instead of 24"s, and it was way too similar to when I took GLM [graduated length method] ski lessons back in 1973. There was just too much dangling going on; I could have been teaching participles to eighth-graders. Enough metaphors. I am not enjoying this sock at all, and I can't wait to finish it and its twin and get back to working on my nice Crystal Palace DP's and lace or cables or *something*.

I'm heading out the door to (A) have the oil changed on Lorelai, (B) have the locksmith fix the lock on my trunk so I can stuff Earl back in there, and (C) find out how much it would cost to have them pull my CD player and extract the CD that I know is in there but the player says is not, because I got impatient and forced it into someplace other than the intended track.

I foresee lots of reluctant, cranky knitting in the next couple of hours. Then a trip to the place I call Planner Heaven for more of those cute truncated extra diary pages and maybe some stickers and other papery toys. I not only turn over a new leaf this time of year, I embellish it and calligraphy it.

And maybe a massage this afternoon. We'll see. It's officially Be Good To Myself Day, having survived my first MRI [of the line dancing injury to my knee]. I hear my last piece of Russell Stover's calling my name...

A Vente Cup of Latent Hostility, to Go, Please

It's the first day in a shiny new year. It would also have been my parents' 71st wedding anniversary. And I am celebrating -- how?

The mate to the Prodigal Sock is done, all but the weaving-in of the ends. I will probably wear them to the movie this afternoon, which I'll be attending with friends from the singles program. To be followed by dinner and maybe a food fight, depending upon my general attitude and how cathartic the movie turns out to be.

My son-in-law fixed my brakes.

I rented "John Tucker Must Die" and watched it with LittleBit. I am thinking of all the good women out there who get played by guys who haven't outgrown that mindset, and I'm wondering if enough of us got together, if we could humiliate them en masse. Probably not; probably just better to forgive and forget. I don't think the national debt would cover sufficient ink to tattoo "player" on all those foreheads.

[LittleBit hoots "Dude, that would be AWESOME! I have a couple of names you could put on that list."] Yeah, me too.

But first, there is a hank of "Anna" that is begging to be wound up and turned into a variation on the Socks of Doom. Yes, I am taking my knitting to the movie. And I am poking *anyone* who talks during it.

She who knits, regains her wits...