Strangers on a bus, knitting

Favorite Book Character Day

2009-02-22T08:17:00.000-08:00

February is reading month at my school. We celebrate on Friday by coming to school dressed as our favorite characters.

Practicality aside, here are some of my ideas:

Nikki from Jan Brett's The Mitten. I love that he wants white mittens, loses one and finds it. The mitten grows and grows and grows to accommodate a mole, rabbit, hedgehog, badger, fox, owl, and bear. The mouse who perches on the bear's nose makes the bear sneeze, so we don't knw if more could have fit.
Mrs. Piggle Wiggle. Oh man! Next year I am going to Goodwill for a wig and dress! A kind school librarian introduces her to me when I was in 4th grade and struggling in all kinds of ways.
Paddington the Bear. I already give lots of hard stares. A duffle coat, yellow hat, and battered suitcase full of marmalade sandwiches are all I'd need.
The miller's daughter in Rumplestiltskin. Any excuse to bring the fiber arts into the picture. Yes, she used a wheel and actually spun straw into gold. I could bring a spindle and some gold Angelina......
Mrs. Weasley from Harry Potter. Yep, more knitting. I'd really prefer to go as Hagrid, though. The Harry Potter stuff needs a little more time to cool off before I take it up.
I'd dearly love to be Nanny from the Eloise books, but the shoes would kill me.
I'd happily be La grenouille a grande bouche, but I don't have a frog costume. A green turtleneck and outrageous lipstick sufficed for a school reading, but is not enough for all day.
Le Petit Nicholas. I'd carry a bag of marbles, blacken an eye, and wear shorts and a blazer. Except it's winter.
I am not up for an Asterix costume this year... nor do I look like Tintin. Many of our fairy tales are originally French, though. Too bad Disney has co-opted all of them.....
Happily, I have a Halloween costume I can use. I am thinking of others for future occasions.
Twitter pals to the rescue! Annie Modesitt suggested Miss Clavell from Madeline. I am scheming how to get a white dress and cape by Friday. I just don't have sewing time this week.

I really DO like my job!

2009-01-18T18:03:00.000-08:00

Wow, from my last post, one would not suspect how deeply satisfying my job is.

I now have a lunch buddy. My classroom teachers are open and generous with praise for me. I see in others some things that make great educators. I am learning how to be a better instructor.

Yes, I still struggle with balance in the lunch room. Some days it makes me crazy. Other days, it's the Boiler Master/ Former-Bouncer who encourages me to crack the whip. He's pretty frustrated there by the amount of trash left on the floors and the general lack of respect he sees for authority. I must say, I can see his point. He's older than I am and his dad was a cop. I don't think they wasted much time when the old man told them to do something.

For all the stuff that stands out and makes for funny stories, there are some really neat kids who are super bright and totally get what's going on. I love reading their stories and hearing their answers to questions. Sometimes it's just nice to look into little faces adn see bright eyes.

Yes, the French language is pretty much giving me a swirly. If it were a person, I would sit down and tell it exactly some of the things that bug me. My daughter today wanted to call our female cat a "chatte gentille". Gramatically it's all correct, but socially it just isn't. Turns out the French language has a bias towards the male grammatical gender. Even if your cat is a girl, you call it a boy. Roll your eyes and call it dumb. I certainly have. But now, I bend my head and murmur "as you wish". Does this mean I am growing wiser or just too tired to fight?

Another Day at the Office

2008-12-04T19:43:00.000-08:00

The words of a veteran teacher ring in my ears. "In my years of teaching, I've seen it all. I just chalk it up to another day at the office." After 7 days at an elementary school, I must say it's one crazy office.

The best source of stories is the lunch room. My current schedule has me in the lunch room for 55 minutes. One gentleman wears earplugs while he is in there. I never thought I'd be grateful for my tinnitis and time in a noisy pool, but it serves me well. I am still learning when to yell at them to be quiet and they are still learning that I mean business. There is some kind of system with red tickets, but I haven't been let in on the secret.

After I reported to senior staff that one kid was giving another the finger, he told me the kid was "special." Special? Like how? Like Sunday School where we are all special in God's eyes? Special like I should handle him with kid gloves? Special like Special Ed? I think we call that EBD now. Thanks for the special insight you gave me. It really helped.

Right now I am so new I haven't made any friends. I eat lunch by myself in the teachers lounge. People pop in to heat up their food, but they scurry out. I don't know how they manage to consume whatever it was before it was the plate of crumbs that I see during my lunch. Seriously! Maybe it's because I am American and I want this gig to continue next year that I feel obliged to work while they are paying me. Last time I checked, there is not a "pause cafe" on my schedule.

It's not the plates of crumbs that make me sad, it's the inappropriate comments I dream up that would be such fun to share with others. The high school lounge was a hoot. Without anyone to talk to, lines like "Florence, I can only check one gender box. That you are in kindergarten and using the boy's bathroom concerns me. Oh, sorry. The head teacher just told me you really ARE a boy. The school called home and confirmed that your name really is Florence and you really are a boy. Maybe you want to consider changing your nickname from Flo to Lorence or Larry or something."

The awful line that is swirling in my head now is "Maybe you should ask the government to get you a new family. The one you're with now isn't doing anything for you." Is it too much for us to ask that you send us a kid who knows how to hold a pencil or knows the names of letters? Colors and days of the week I can teach. It really helps if we can use letters, though.

Does it sound like I don't like my job? I hope not. I really enjoy it. There are parts that are very satisfying and I feel like I am making a difference. Other parts of my day I consider myself well-suited. It's just that there's no one to share it with and that makes it lonely. I have been there only seven days. I am sure to have even better stories as time advances.

Fache Fache Fache

2008-11-07T04:32:00.000-08:00

OOOOOH je suis fache! J'ai ratte un entrevue hier pour un poste que je pensais je voulais. Je le voulais avant que j'entrais dans la chambre et vue huit personnes! Huit! Parmi eux etaient deux meres des etudiants a l'ecole.

Apres avoir repondre a dix questions, seulement une en francais, ils m'ont demande d'ecrire en francais. Il fais longtemps que je n'ai pas ecrit en francais. Ils m'ont pose une question pour montrer mes capabilites en francais. Malheureusement, j'ai repondu plutot a la question et ne montrait pas une bonne style.

En partant, j'ai rencontre une autre candidat. Nous avons echange quelques mots. Mon accent (qui est beau) est beacoup mieux que le sien. Cela ne servira a rien. Je n'ai que des gros mots dans ma tete!

Translation: I applied for a job and blew the written portion. I am disappointed in myself because I thought I wanted the job. On the other hand, they really asked a lot of a TA position and I thought it odd that 2 parents were part of an interviewing committee.

My kid's hair

2008-10-14T09:37:00.000-07:00

We have rather lax hygiene standards in our house. Many Americans bathe every day. Some ascribe to cleanliness being akin to godliness. If that is you, call us a bunch of slightly dirty heathens, then. We tend to not smell, taking that as a late stage sign that a shower is overdue. La Croissant, not being so prone to stinkiness, needs a different reminder. We go by her hair. We aim for once a week, but sometimes forget.

School picture day meant we had to pay extra attention. La Croissant discovered that too much conditioner leaves your hair looking worse than before. After she discovered the happy medium, she was so pleased with her clean, fluffy hair. She began to stick out her lower jaw, bottom teeth showing, and make odd moaning sounds. When asked to repeat her message in English, she would only say "sweater".

Eventually, she explained that her hair was as soft and fluffy as alpaca fur and that she would like a sweater to match her hair. I have a fair number of fiber projects I am committed to at the moment, so I suggested maybe she could have a sweater as a Christmas present. That sounded OK to her, but she disliked the idea of no surprise. How the child thinks I could spin and knit a sweater in secret when I am away from the house during school is beyond me. Her mind, however, was off racing down other tangents.

I asked about colors, wondering what would suit her the best. Her father, M. Muffin, is a sucker for black suri because it looks like the family cat. Caramel colored suri makes me almost weep. Dark brown is rich like chocolate. I have lately fallen under the spell of light fawn; it's creamy with some caramel in it. Sort of like the foam on a latte. Mmmmmmm.

Finally she announced that maybe she could get some "washed fawn huacaya to match her hair" for Christmas. I asked where she would get this, thinking we know some alpaca farmers and a fiber store, she could use her allowance, and so on. She turned her eyes up to me and said simply "From Santa. Then you could spin and knit me a sweater. Maybe you could leave some yarn for Santa so Mrs. Claus could knit something for him." I think it's time to introduce her to men who are involved in the fiber arts. I know one. No, two. My weird uncle used to knit.

So that's why I have wanted to cry.......!

2008-10-03T09:25:00.000-07:00

Today is my day to tackle the house and Mount Washmore. After cleaning the kitchen, I thought I'd make myself a little cup of tea and write down a few project ideas that were floating around in my head. I had been keeping them on my PDA, but I liked the idea of moving them around physically. Maybe I would match equipment to projects so the looms would be best used. I could make little piles by priority and then truly know that whatever I was working on was the right project for the time.

Here's what happened.

And that, my friends, is not all. Oh, no. That's just where I ran out of index cards! There are also 2 skeins of commerical yarn begging to be used. Worse, only 1 has a card here. I won't mention the socks that need just a few more rows to finish, the frogged gloves from handspun. Oh. I guess I just mentioned them. Is this whining or a serious reality check? I am hoping for the latter.

I am overwhelmed by opportunities. I have started working at a fabulous yarn shop, and am very excited. I fear, though, that the owner has a secret plan to keep all our money by stocking such irresistable stuff that we wind up paying her to work there. "Employee discount" is just another word for "enabler," my friends.

I met some awesome alpaca ranchers who are psyched about fiber and hand products. Darn, I really hate working with alpaca. It's so scratchy- not! We are all new at this, so fiber trading seems to be how we are going. They give me fiber, I make yarn and keep some fiber. I can do what I wish with my fiber: sell, trade, make stuff, make more stuff to sell. I fear the overwhelmed by fiber situation. The stuff on the table isn't even all of it. That was just the accessible stuff that was nagging my brain!

Let's look at some of that stuff closer, shall we?

First, we have the knit for my loved ones projects: M. Muffin needs a hat to match his scarf. La Croissant has worn holes in her socks, and was promised a Dragon Sweater. I felt up to the challenge of knitting (a) careless homespun (b) in unknown quantities (c) with crazy gauge differences (c) a top-down formula-instead-of-pattern sweater. That's why it's for her. She is a loyal guinea pig. Cooler weather means it's time to think about Christmas. I have a new loom and thought maybe dishtowels. Now I am thinking the Christmas Truce (Don't make me shop for you- I have no resources to even create for you!). I am wanting some fibery love for myself and we all need warm feet this year. I am thinking wet-felted slippers because knitting means buying yarn and then knitting it.

Then there is the whole alpaca explosion. Think of all the cool stuff I could make from alpaca. handspun, millspin, or commercial? Holy Crimp! Lots to explore there.

What about that new to me loom I was jumping up and down about? Oh yeah. I have a twill towel on there. Very cool, but a little too fine to see progress. Also, setting it up means no dining room table. A stand would be good. Or a fibery hidey-hole.

Don't I owe those people from Shepherd's Harvest something? Who? Oh, the people who gave me a big ole bag of wool and started me down the path of hand-prepared fibers. Yep, it's October and they are open for farm tours. I need to finish up some stuff for them to (1) repay their kindness (2) use up the stuff I spun for that project (3) clear the loom for other projects.

On top of that, I was hoping to kiss up to Syne Mitchell enough that I could get published in her very cool WeaveZine. Blame that flaming desire on CraftSanity's Jennifer Ackerman Heywood. her podcast is so very inspiring. After listening to all these cool people, I want to join their ranks. I want to be cool enough for her to interview ME! I have ideas galore of stuff I would like to design and share. Being published is the kind of stuff I go crazy for. But publishing means finished product. Sometimes with revisions. Weaving project means not portable. That means using house time productively.

Did I mention my burning desire to teach fiber arts? I have opportunities through fiber demonstrations on weekends. The Weavers Guild is formalizing their teacher training, and Borealis seems pretty cool about throwing stuff at the wall and seeing what sticks.

The voices in my head lately have been the guy from South Park with a mechanical voice. I am hearing a lot of robotic "Holy Crap!" It makes me laugh and summarizes the situation perfectly. What are your voices saying?

OK, so I looked at the pictures and the post. Two different things, apparently. The photo was meant to capture that I have a lot of cool fiber to process. There is more cool stuff hiding, but this was just waht was most accessible (i.e. on the table and desk and needs a proper home). I have stuff in all stages from dirty, off the beast to washed and greasy to dyed locks and roving.

Then there's stuff to spin- again, lovely roving waiting for sweater inspiration to strike and that alpaca waiting to become useful. Don't forget the glorious colored stuff from my class at Shepherd's Harvest! (Lovely hand-dyed stuff and techniques for spinning color)

Knitting takes up a fair amount of projects, as does weaving. I think we mentioned that both looms are occupied and I really want new projects on them.

What in the name of sanity are those books doing on my table?! Do I think I am ready to take on a fine gauge madly cabled hooded sweater? Apparently I thought I was. Excuse me while I pull myself aside for a little "chat" about priorities.

Ouch. I am back. OK, so no more fibery books are to come into the house for a while. Also, my surfing time needs to be sharply curtailed. I have a love/hate relationship with all the lovely designers out there who generously share their work. It just adds to the madness, but isn't there some line form Hamlet about sweet insanity? Must resist urge to look up eloquent quotes.

The cherry on my sundae of spiralling away from goals is we are hosting friends for dinner tonight. I had lofty housekeeping goals. Seriously, I did. I also thought I would be returning to the basement to make progress in creating my fibery hidey-hole. I think we will have to save that for a subsequent update. Now I need to work on clearing off the table so we can eat there!

Fiber on the hoof!

2008-09-28T20:51:00.000-07:00

Oh yeah. It was the state Alpaca Open Farm tour this weekend. We went "like a family" on Saturday and I demonstrated spinning on Sunday.

I got some kids introduced to fiber arts and the wonder of cardboard weaving. i got some adults to touch a wheel and possibly make friends with their "heritage wheels" that came over from the old country, but now sit unused. I got some awesome people to make lovely yarn. I almost cried, it was so beautiful.

Because it was an alpaca event, wool was kind of contraband. I snuck in some handwarmers I made from greasy wool. I was thrilled with them because I took fiber straigh off the sheep and made something I can wear. Not just hand spun, hand knit, but hand processed! I love them, but yes, they are scratchy. Alpaca is soft and fluffy. It does not stay in nice ropes like wool; it just comes apart. Somehow, this didn't stop my amazing spinners.

I learned that non-spinning spectators should be warned that if they make suggestions to the new spinner that I will invite them to sit down and show me their mad fiber skillz. Yeah, I thought so. Chicken. Seriously, there is a lot to put together when you are taking on a wheel. There are fingers, fiber, feet, and a wheel. That's a lot to put together. It really doesn't matter if the wheel starts going the other direction. The spinner will figure out something's wrong. We need to be quiet so the fingers can feel when to move. So the yarn snapped? Big deal. We just start again. It's OK to start the wheel with your hand. It's also OK to stop the wheel to catch your breath. Best of all, it's OK to take home your awesome soft alpaca yarn and say you like spinning.

I am soooooooo getting business cards so these people can stay in touch with me. What's better than the joy of spinning? Passing it on so someone else's eyes can light up as the fingers learn to make yarn. That is heady stuff.

Look! That scarf is mine! It has a ribbon on it!

2008-09-11T08:32:00.001-07:00

I am such a little kid about public recognition. I guess it comes from being a twin. My mom said my middle name should have been "What About Me?!". So, when I got to the Fair I hunted high and low for my dear scarf and bag.

The scarf, Leicester's First Born, was right in front, with a shiny red ribbon. I think I yelped. Not quite a scream, but more than a squeal. I deifintely made a scene. Then I told strangers nearby about it. The Weavers Guild graciously awarded me the best first project. I am over the moon!

Here is it's "headshot", what I would use if it ever went on a magazine cover.

Actually, it kind of went on a cover. Meg of MegWeaves invited weavers around the world to participate in a virtual exhibition. I was thrilled when she chose my project for the poster. It really is worth a look.

I am thrilled by all of this and must thank my weaving teacher, Mary Skoy, for gently guiding me. She has taugt me so much more than rigid heddle weaving.

The Great Minnesota GetTogether

2008-08-30T14:33:00.001-07:00

Growing up in Madison, Wisconsin in an academic neighborhood with East Coast parents gave me a rather warped view of county and state fairs. My mother forbade me to go. If a boy suggested it as a date venue, we all knew he was "the wrong sort" for me. In her defense, my mother was right to worry about me and carnies.

When I moved here for college, no one talked about the Fair, it had happened before school started. I had heard coworkers talk about it, but it didn't sound too compelling. My world was limited by where I could go on the bus, and I didn't care to find out. Finally I had a terrific Minnesota boyfriend who thought it would be a hoot to go.

We took the bus and started snickering at all the odd types. When we got there, we were overwhelmed by the different types of food on a stick. We took a lot of pictures of food and people and were snide. We wasted money going into the Snake Zoo and bought a button for the bragging rights. It added up to a hot, greasy, expensive day.

Fast forward a couple of years. That boyfriend became my husband, we had a kid. I spent an unpleasant day at the Kidway with a Fair veteran who had a long list of food must-eats. She claimed to be able to tell the difference between brands of mini doughnuts. She was thrilled with the Miracle of Birth Center. I thought it was a smelly crowded room of hot pregnant animals. I still wince at the memories of feeling hostage to her Fair agenda, feeding my small child really greasy, sugary food.

What saved the Fair for me and my family was the library summer reading program and a note posted about stock dog trials. The Sidekick scored a free ticket, and the librarian took sympathy on me and gave me an extra ticket. We found out the date for stock dog trials and made a day of it. We started early and stayed late, exploring the animal barns at great leisure. We watched sheep get harassed by eager barking dogs. We heard those dogs get yelled at by their owners. We ate sparingly, drank free water and of course, the $1 milk. We watched people spin in the sheep barn and in the Creative Activities building. We looked at things our neighbors had knitted and learned about beekeeping. The husband explored grain displays, seeing up close the different kinds of grain he tracks in his day job. It was like seeing a Sears Roebuck catalog of farm stuff come to life.

Hang my head, I now have a Fair agenda of my own. Heaven help you if you have a different plan. Mine includes Stock dog trials, beekeeping demonstrations, $1 milk, free water, animal barn, but NOT Miracle of Birth. Yardsticks are optional. My visit(s) include a fair bit of time in the Creative Activities building. I love to look at the knitting and see what my neighbors are up to. This year, I also had to look at weaving. The field is so much narrower, I knew almost all the ribbon winners. Including me. Yep, I won a ribbon at the Fair. So next year's agenda include demonstrating for the Weavers Guild.

Loom ex Machina

2008-07-23T08:54:00.000-07:00

I adore the Greek tragic theatrical term deus ex machina, literally "God from a machine." The play would be at a standstill and the suddenly, the resolution would be delivered from the sky in a basket. Remember the "You must pay the rent/ I can't pay the rent" Snidely Wiplash kind of stuff? Instead of Dudley DoRight showing up, the rent would appear in a basket. I remember it more romantically as an answered prayer falling (or being carefully lowered) from the sky. I recently became the recipient of such benevolent fortune.

It began so innocently with a cousin's wedding. I wondered what we could give her which would be memorable, yet not exorbitant. I cherish my wedding china and silver and think fondly of my mother-in-law and parent's friends generosity. Every high holiday as I set the table, I think f them and the wonderful shared meals of yore. I have not shared many meals on fine china with this cousin, who is roughly half my age. I am a new weaver, and there is a weaving pattern called Swedish Lace. I decided to make her a pair of place mats in this pattern.

We share a Swedish grandmother who delighted in her status as a Mor Mor (mother's mother) of little girls who lived in the same town. She is my father's mother and I grew up in a different time zone. These little girls were her daughter's daughters. Grandma (as she was known until the little cousins showed up) went nuts over them. She sewed them Swedish national dress costumes! I was the lucky recipient of a quilt of scraps of clothes she had made me and my brother, and three other cousins, but no Swedish regalia.

Every Christmas, we were showered with long-distance-love in the form of cookies. There were many kinds- sugar cookies with an egg wash and colored sprinkles, sandbakkels, chocolate icebox cookies, and the spritz. Spritz usually came in S and O shapes, but at Christmas, the special prize was a bag with the letters of your own name.

I used to wonder at the significance of S and O in Swedish culture, but my aunt explained my grandmother piped long lines of dough and these shapes were the fastest to form. I suppose long strips were a little dull in her eyes. Maybe they looked a little stingy? We all went nust over her cookies. We even had a taste test of spritz recipes. Naturally, her recipe won. Oh, did I mention that these cousins could distinguish my grandmother's pumpkin pie from other bakers who followed her recipe? Sorry, Aunt Margaret, it's just not Mor Mor's.

Now that I have told you some of our beloved grandmother, who was also an accomplished needle worker, I return to weaving. Swedish Lace is woven traditionally on 4 shafts, but can be simulated with a rigid heddle (2 shaft) loom and a pick up stick. For you non weavers, let's just say I could swing this, but it would be a little putzy. I had planned to do a standard checkerboard border, but it seemed too mundane. It was suggested to a fellow student in my Beginning Rigid Heddle Project class. It would be fine, but didn't feel special enough to me.

I read more about Swedish Lace and learned that really it needs 4 shafts, which meant a lot of work to duplicate on my trusty rigid heddle. We're talking 4 pick-up sticks, which really slows down the process. A very similar look can be achieved with only 1 stick, but it wouldn't be real Swedish Lace. I doubt that any of my family would be accomplished enough weavers to be able to distinguish it, but I felt uneasy about deception. The women in my family are mad knitters, quilters, and seamstresses, but I am venturing in to uncharted waters as a spinner and weaver. Still, fudging on a wedding present felt wrong.

I was twisting and squirming, and wondering what to do, when I stumbled upon an ad for a 4 shaft table loom. It was really a very good deal. Had I been employed and free to spend money as I wished, there would be no hesitation. However, right now, this was an exorbitant sum. never mind it was 25% of current retail value, included shuttles, books, and a huge warping board. It was local, and made of cherry. Oh yes, current models come with a cherry shuttle, but are made of maple. How could I not get this? On the other hand, how could we afford it? I was considering donating plasma. My husband very graciously consented. Thanks, honey!

So now our family had 4 looms; my 20" rigid heddle, Ned Ludd, the Sidekick's 10" rigid heddle, Luddy Pants, the husband's Hearthside rigid heddle (unnamed as of yet, and unexplored), and the Leclerc table loom I call Rachel, after Jacob's wife. I am crazy about Jacob sheep.

Rachel is now warped up with what I think is a Swedish Lace thread plan. Rigid heddle thread plans were pretty simple and obvious- hole or slot. On Rachel, I have a reed with uniformly spaced slots and then 4 rows of movable wire heddles with holes in them. It's bad if the threads cross or go in the wrong holes. This means I have to be more careful in exchange for having more complex capabilities. I have absorbed what I can from books and now have to get my hands moving to learn more. Then I get to find out if my idea for a border will work. I am filled with trepidation and exhilaration.

Can this Warp be Saved?

2008-07-23T08:53:00.000-07:00

OK, really almost everything can be saved in weaving. There are some lessons to be learned along the way, though.

I forgot to mention in my post about Rachel the 4 shaft table loom that after I brought her home I took a shower and went to my bedroom to read up on this new thing. OK, the bedroom was air-conditioned and I was hot and sweaty. But still, after the incredible joy of getting this cool new tool, my next reaction was fear.

Rachel came warped up with some nice soumak on her, and I tried to figure out the threading. It was a 1-2-3-4 straight draw. Turns out there's a lot you can do on that. So I tried some basketweave. That was fun. Kind of. It would have been more fun if I had a lot of heavy junk yarn in the house to explore with. I used some experiments in hand spun cabling, but not a lot I wanted to use up. Plus, I need to make something in Swedish lace by September. Eeek!

I cut the stuff off the loom, read Debbie Chandler and Peggy Osterkamp (Who loves the Textile Center library? Oh yeah!). While Peggy seems brilliant, Debbie was easier to follow while my hair was standing up (remember the Saturday Night Live "Scared Family"?). Debbie suggested a small warp of 2 yards. I got out the monster warping board and measured it out. Seemed pretty small, but she said it was small.

I threaded front to back because Debbie said to try both methods at least 3 or 4 times so you can see what works for you personally. She mentioned wrapping over the front beam a couple of times to create tension. When you got to the knot at the end, you would know it was time to tie on to the front apron. Sounded good enough, except my warp was so short, I couldn't wrap it over the beam. I used some twine and made do. Happily threading my way along, so proud of my bravery. I finally realized the disconnect. Debbie said 2 yards. I had measured 2 FEET. In the rigid heddle world, 2 feet was a fair bit. There is almost no loom waste on a rigid heddle. I never understood why we had to add in 10 inches or so, when I could see it was about 4- if I were really wasteful. OK, so I needed a longer warp.

Peggy Osterkamp has a whole book devoted to tying on new warps and warping. Alas, she suggests tying on from back to front, assuming there is tension in the front. I had just tied on in back. So I took a deep breath and tied on in front. And discovered my second warp had only half the number of threads I needed. This was a rough learning warp, not a true project warp, so it's slightly more understandable. I counted the wraps at the wrong place. Back to the warping board.
So I was cranking along, winding the back beam when I discovered this. You don't have to be a weaver to recognize that one sad loop is shorter than the others. A lot shorter. I had made a wrong turn on the warping board. Sigh. Total newbie/ careless mistake. I also recklessly added a different kind of thread to the warp. Now I read that I will get something like seersucker, that puckery summer fabric.

I heard that it's good to take a class early in your weaving because there are infinite mistakes you can make, but a weaving teacher will help you not to make them all on your first piece. I also read a wit in Handwoven who said you can't weave with your mouth (meaning just talking won't make cloth appear. Back to the beams.

Ice Cream Man!

2008-07-09T20:26:00.001-07:00

Is there any better sound than the tinking bells of the Ice Cream Truck?

I know the products are over-priced and inferior, but there is something about the Cap'n Crunch coating on those strawberry bars that takes me back. Not straight back to childhood, mind you, but back to all the times I snagged the ice cream truck.

I have pretty wicked tinnitis and have trouble hearing people if I am in front of running water, or the speaker is in a different room, but I swear those bells are on a different frequency and I can hear them like dog whistles. When I hear those bells, I go running like a dogwith my tongue lolling.

Why do I respond this way? I don't really know. I love the randomness of ice cream trucks and quite frankly, the pursuit of elusive quarry thrills me. The fact that you need ready access to cash makes it even more fun. Shoes are always optional.

I remember the thrill one summer after college of having the magic combination of cash, keys, and a ground floor apartment. I was taking a graduate level summer course and feeling pretty bruised emotionally. There was a magic tinkling outside and I was there like a shot! I might not have mastered the finer points of teaching ESL or why my relationship had not worked out, but dammit, I knew how to get ice cream from a truck!

While I was living in Japan, I discovered they have watermelon trucks instead of ice cream trucks. There's an old guy who croons over a loudspeaker "Won't you buy my watermelons? They are most delicious I most heartily assure you!" Early one morning, I heard Camptown Races on bells and an airy woman's voice merrily promising delights. My apartment had traditional shoji, wood framed paper screens. I eagerly yanked open the screens on the one external wall. Argh! Frosted glass windows! Locked! If I delayed much more, I would miss the chance for ice cream! I unlocked the windows and shoved my wild-haired pale-skinned head out the window. No ice cream truck. Neighborhood women were out on the street with clear plastic bags of garbage, but no children running for the novelties. Puzzled, I pulled my head back inside and thought about this. It was early in the morning in the fall. I saw a garbage truck and people bringing out their trash. The music and voices must be telling the Stepford Wives of Sendai something about refuse. A few weeks later, the sweet potato man came down the street with his steam whistle skreeing. I ran out to see if it was a home made civil defense system. He was angered by my anxiety. I bought an expensive steamed yam and went back inside to have a cup of tea and contemplate the wisdom of signing up to stay a year in a place so different than my home.

Back in the US last summer, I thought I heard the truck on the next street over. Curse those extra-long blocks and fenced-in yards of my neighborhood! There were ice cream novelties nearby and they were getting away! I tried to estimate the direction of travel and possible flight path. I shouted directions to the spouse and sidekick to head down the opposite street and meet me there. We chased longer than we had anticipated and were tuckered out. The ice cream wasn't that good, but the whole event was fun. I copied down the guy's phone number in case we should ever be so close to catching him. God love those modern conveniences, cell phones. I can just see myself calling him up: "Hey Mr. Ice Cream Man, could you make another run down Piglet Lane so's I can get me some of yor ice cream novelties?"

I suppose it's no wonder the Sidekick fell under the spell this year. We had long dinner conversations pondering his schedule and how we would randomize to maintain suspense. On the other hand, routine had its rewards. We contemplated just how many good hours were there as an ice cream man, given the price of gas and the recession. Did he consistently go across the city, or just to neighborhoods of softies like ours? We get a fair number of drive-by trick-or-treaters, who have pegged us as good pickings.

We were getting too cosy with the Ice Cream man and his weekly visits. The Sidekick was getting pretty comfortable with racing out of the house in her bare feet. The Spouse said he saw the truck slow down in front of our house once. Last time he was by, I made the Sidekick pay for her ice cream with her own allowance. He gave her a deal. I'm not sure she understood what that meant, and profit margins and all, but it was very sweet.

De-Decorating the Basement

2008-06-19T08:50:00.001-07:00

Sigh.

We are the third owners of our house. The previous owners bought it when I was 2. Given that the place was built in 1939 or so, we expect to be here until we are too feeble mentally or physically to stay here.

There are some wonderful things about this. For a while, we were the new kids on the block. We used to say we live in the Cheetah house. (Their name was some variation on that, but I always thought of the big cats). Adults live near the houses they grew up in if not the house itself or the basement. I tell La Croissant that she must move away before she comes back, but I love the idea of her being happy enough here that she would want to live in Mittenhead, our house.

For all the wonderful things, there are some not so great things. Like the fact that the previous owners lived here forever and raised a passel of kids here. That translates into deferred maintenance, which is oblique realtor talk for letting the place go to the dogs. Also, once the joint showed no traces of the previous owner, why change it? That was a lot of sweat of your brow- from a combination of your paycheck and your elbow grease.

When we went to vote, a former neighbor who was an election judge asked if our kitchen was still blue. We were puzzled until it came time to take down the wallpaper. There it was, robins egg blue walls. Now the counters and floor made sense. The blue was hiding under some panelling, which I suspect was courtesy of Mme. Cheetah No. Deux. The cupboards were dark wood and there was some sofit which just took away useful cupboard space. As part of marking my territory, I "updated" the cabinets. This is oblique realtor talk for I could not afford new cabinets, so I sanded and painted the doors, changed the hardware, and paid to have the frames painted. It's good enough for me, but there are some spots where the paint is chipping, or I didn't fill a gouge well enough, or I changed paint brands and therefore, shades. It's good enough for me, since it is dramatically different than before.

Now that I have the summer to fill, I asked La Croissant what she would like to do. Her response was work on the basement so we could walk there without tripping over things. God love her! I am going after the mold which has been building for the 10 years we have been here. It is a lot of work to clear the crap out and then yank down the panelling.

Yep, panelling. Nice plywood stuff from the 70's. When you touched it, you could hear the rustle of paint falling behind the wall. A very disturbing sound in a place which smells musty. There was a corner we could not put anything on the floor because it would smell of mildew. Oh well, we just put a lot of junk down there and did not look back.

Now I am demo girl, taking out my frustration down there. I have discovered cracks in the wall, styrofoam insulation (WHAT WERE THEY THINKING?!) rotting wood, and, wait for it...... Robins Egg Blue Paint! It is bubbling, peeling, falling off the walls.

I get a sense of history repeating itself here. The kitchen was robins egg blue, then panelling, and the basement is the same. What color was I planning to pain this cold, dark hole? Why Pleasing Peach or Gentle Tangerine, of course! I can't remember the name, but it's the same color as my kitchen. Am I crazy? I am doing another half-assed job here, just like my predecessors.

When we moved in, we mocked the half-assed work of M. Cheetah. We called them BobJobs. If only we knew better. The stock market bubble would pop someday. You get older, tired, and just don't need it to be Martha Stewart perfect. Will I be known as the MitWit who deferred maintenance on Mittenhead and made hideous decorating choices? Will future generations curse me and ask why didn't I just pay attention as I was filling the cracks?

Right now, I just don't give a damn. The mildew will be gone, so they should shut up and thank me.

Work Hasn't Worked Out Too Well For Me

2008-06-11T11:46:00.000-07:00

Oh the irony. I just stumbled across notes for the "illustrated piece" I was going to do on working. Let's take that term "illustrated" very very lightly, since I am stuck at the stick figure stage.

One job-hunting strategy I had was to consider people I encounter on a daily basis, ask what they do, and see what possibilities it held. My personal favorite is
"maid/ housecleaner" because my notes said I would fire myself if I could.

I am also fond of telling people how terrible a barista I would be. I have very limited short-term memory these days. If it happened before 1991, I am ON it, but you'll have to take your chances with last week. I envisioned a long line of strangers coming up to the counter and asking for "the regular"- who the heck were they and what did they want? OK, so maybe not the counter, maybe I could work the machine. Let's see. I have tinnitis, so I can't hear well. What was I saying about no memory? Oh yeah, and let's remember I don't really care about coffee and hate people who feel entitled to courtesy they do not extend to others. Stay tuned for more fun in the world of work!

Time for a new chapter

2008-06-06T10:02:00.001-07:00

I had a great 2 year run at this last gig, but it's now time to redefine myself. I was offered some incredible opportunities and have stretched and grown and shown a tenacity worthy of a gila monster, but I am just not a lifeguard at heart. I am petrified of the bottom of the pool.

Maybe if I had worked at it more consistently, I could have stayed in the mental shape needed to not freak out when I had to jump in for drills. But the scales were tipped too far out of balance for me to pass the drill. Too bad, because my stride jump is a thing of beauty. I can cover some distance and keep my head up. I can even do deep water backboarding. I am an ecellent tube-stuffer. I am great at seeing potential disaster. I can tread water with the best of them. Sadly, when it really counts, I still flip out.

So, now what do I do with myself? I have learned that rude small children and entitled parents really irritate me. I have learned to screen my potential employers for stable domestic environments; if they are emotionally abused at home, they will pass that on to me and I will put up with it. I know I really like teaching, but hate systems that allow teenagers to show up when they feel like it without ramifications. I enjoy teaching adults, but not older adults, especially not older women who have been together for a long time and who consider my voice to be an intrusion into their conversation (Oh, I 'm sorry! I thought this was water EXERCISE, not hydrogossip!). My standards are just too high for ordinary children. (Yes, I epect you to keep your hands in your lap, not in your neighbor's hair).

I have kept a list of jobs I would not enjoy. It started as a joke, a funny idea for an illustrated book, but now it's serious. Just what the hell am I supposed to DO with myself?

Almost Amish

2008-05-26T14:25:00.000-07:00

I was thinking about this fleece I have been working with. I started with a fresh-off-the-hoof fleece and wound up with mug rugs for my kid's teacher. I felt kind of bad about the water I used to wash the wool and was thinking about thinking about a rain barrel and using the grey water for the garden. The yucky wool will be garden mulch, too.

Then I thought about the energy that went into the finished product and realized most of it is my own. OK, Bernie the amazing sheep shearer worked pretty darn hard, too. Granted, I drove the fleece home, so there is gas involved. I let the stuff soak in my washer, so that was electricity. After that, though, it was all Crumpet Power. That feels kind of cool. Not very Amish to blog about it, though!

La La Crumpet, Have you any wool?

2008-05-13T05:53:00.000-07:00

LOL, yes, a big bag full. It comes from 2 Jacobs without any name, they live on a farm, just down the lane. La La Crumpet, have you any wool? LOL, yes, a big bag full!

Well, what was I supposed to do? I was at Shepherd's Harvest, they were shearing sheep, and the lady had 2 Jacobs! She called her trailer the petting zoo, and had a Rambouillet (gasp!), 2 Jacobs, and some others. I begged for the Jacobs, figuring I could get any other breed at my fiber dealer. Since they were (blush) free, I can learn on them and then decide if I will pay big money for fleece next year.

Fear and Trembling before Shephed's Harvest

2008-05-07T12:25:00.001-07:00

The day looms and I cannot stop it. I wish you could hear the weirdly appropriate music on MPR rigt now. Suspenseful, anticipatory, a little doomy...

Ok, so Shepherd's Harvest is this weekend. I am afraid I will get sucked into the Acquisitors- people who get much more than they need and damn the consequences. Then I am afraid I will miss out on the cool stuff people talk about. I am signed up for a class on Sunday and to spin on Saturday. I'd like to see the animals and watch the dogs do their stuff. They are so cool! And then there is the museum of STUFF TO BUY.

Of course I will have to have some irony-on-a-plate, a legendary lamburger. My dad has been making the yarmiest burgers since the dawn of time. I am sure they will not compare. Must sample to be sure. Not eating them would be wasteful.

I am bringing La Croissant on Saturday, M. Muffin is in school until 1:00 and I am in Fiber Sandwich. (I can't believe they didn't check my credentials before they let me in!). I have a class and the tribe on Sunday. M. Muffin's patience can get stretched at places like this, so there really won't be so much time for me to wander wantonly.

I have made rules for myself because I go bananas in crowds and have no resistance to peer pressure. I may but some handpainted roving (already have a ton at home for a specific project). I may buy 1 fleece (max $ to be determined) for the experience of doing it. I have small quantities of washed mohair and suri alpaca at home. I have some unwashed Wenselydale which cost a fair bit per pound. I really do not need anything. No tools. If I covet it, I can order it later. I just got a wheel and loom for heaven's sake!

I have unfinished knitting projects, planned weaving projects, planned knitting projects, more yarn and fiber than you can shake a stick at. Really. Instead of using up that fiber, I am dreaming and blogging. It feels so good!

Rescued from Loser Island

2008-04-12T19:10:00.000-07:00

I hate being shy. Most people who meet me would never guess how shy I am.

Ask my buddy, Megan. A few weeks before I started 8th grade at a Catholic school, I ambushed her. I ran out my front door, went straight up to her and said "Hi. You're Megan Scheckler. I'm Liz Nichols. I'm going to Edgewood this year. Can we be friends?". Yep. She'll tell you those were my words, but in my terror of facing the fifth school in as many years, I had to be efficient. I suppose it makes it weirder that Megan lives about 4 houses away from me and we had grown up in those houses. In my defense, her house was around a curve and up a hill, so I couldn't see it from mine. Also, I had just been shuttling between my hometown and Washington, D.C. And until D.C., I had gone to public school. Megan's family was kind of shy. Mine was kind of weird. So back to Megan. The poor girl was ambushed and well-raised, so she said yes. ha! She has stuck with me ever since, God love her!

I was rescued from Loser Island by a very kind soul. Barbara understood what it's like to face a crowd and not find an easy seat. Well, I just didn't hold back anything then. I asked to catch a ride to see the Yarn Harlot because I was sure parking would be impossible. Thankfully her car had a map, because I would have taken us all to the O'Shaugnessy at St. Cates, not St. Thomas! I was also all set to go to the old Pad Thai location on Selby. It made no sense at the time, but hten so little does to me. It just got more and more fiascoey. I leaped in line to pay parking for the wrong car, then could not remember exactly where my car was. I was even surprised to see it on the street- there was a car that lookedjust like mine! Those dear women must have thought I was drunk, insane, or just a basket case who needed a lot of extra help. Thank you Barbara and crew!

I get so revved up when I see myself being so dumb, and it spirals out of hand. I will have to share the tale of the Suburban Bus. In the meantime, I thank everyone who has made my life smoother.

Posting bail

2008-02-08T21:22:00.001-08:00

My new love needs bail posted. Right now I can only see him during limited visiting hours. He's in lock-up across the river. It's crazy how I wake up yearning to see him and come home unsated, yearning for more. Some days I can't see him at all. It's really hard to be responsible and go to work instead of sneaking off to see him in the pokey.

I am really lucky that my husband is so understanding. He supports this new relationship. In fact, he agreed to post bail- ALL of it- this weekend. I can't wait. He knows I can't live without either of them. This way he will get to see more of me.

You see, I have seen the light and now understand that spindles are just not enough. I took a class and like Sleeping Beauty became bewitched by a wheel. Yes, I said a few months ago that a wheel would be a midlife crisis purchase. I had only part of the story right. A Shact for a first wheel or even a Victoria would be vanity purchases, but a solid Louet? That's not a red convertible, that's just an upgrade from a bus pass!

I have owned 2 cars, both Saturns. I have become kind of a Saturn nut, as I swore I would not. They work for me because they are basic cars which are easy to fix. That and there was a Saturn dealership downtown where I worked, so I did not have to take a bus to buy a car. There were limited choices, which meant limited chances to agonize over features and prices. I consider my wheel to be the same. It's a good basic wheel which should last me for years without hassles.

I have even named it: Leicester, after Blue Faced Leicester, a lovely fiber, and my pal from 1st grade, Lester Gustafson, who patiently taught me all of the words to "On Top of Spaghetti". As I recall, it took a good portion of recess for me to grasp the finer points of the song, but Lester didn't mind singing it over and over and over for me. Naming a wheel after him seems like a good way to return the favor.

Sock it To Me!

2007-12-21T17:33:00.001-08:00

Each year my father trots out a quote by P.G. Wodehouse. No year more than this, it rings true "The holidays are at our throats." Sigh. I am so grateful that this year I have declared a Christmas gift armistice with my in-laws. They may be sad, but my head was absolutely spinning and I have been a wreck all fall. Next year should be better.

OK, so here's the sock connection. I am free to spend my next knitting months on personal projects. I have a zillionin mind, but am really excited about exploring socks. I have made tiny ones to explore techniques, like Priscilla Gibson-Roberts' vertical stripes and bound off heels. Now I wonder how these things wear! I happen to prefer short row plain heels, but just read a blog about how only idiots or those who do not actually wear socks make that kind. I was feeling torn between the "experts" before I realized which expert I should consult. As Miss Piggy would answer, MOI!

I want to test drive a couple of heels and toes and see how they feel on my feet. I tend to knit on the loose end for socks. They go faster, but how do they feel? Does it make a difference if you have the knit or purl side touching the sole? How does a garter heel feel?

And so, the great sock experiment commences. I may make socks with different heels for comparison wearing. I will get to explore some pretty sock yarns and will learn a lot. There are some other projects clamoring for attention. They will break up the time a little bit.

Maybe next year I will be ready to gift again. My thought now would be to put tiny knit items in a Christmas cracker. Whatever popped out owuld be what I would knit in the coming year for them. Everyone gets a surprise, including me, I don't have dreaded deadline knitting, and I can ask for fiber funds for Christmas!

Wheel? I don't need no stinkin' wheel!

2007-12-15T20:52:00.001-08:00

OK, so since I finished the luxury scarf of alpaca, slik, cashmere, merino 3 ply, I have not been as mad to spin as before. The finished spun object freed up some sock knitting time and i am now going wild exploring tiny socks.

I finally tacked a mosaic pattern and some PGR stripes that go down and around. I knit up some hand dyed handspun and had a blast telling people about it.

My spinning, though, has gotten stuck. I have a Chasing Rainbows silk hankie(s) that I wanted to explore knitting- just draft and knit, but then found a Solstice sock pattern- 1 sock is blue with yellow sun, the other is yellow with blue moons. LOVE IT, but having a devil of a time finding a gauge I like. Then there is the spouse socks which are total back burner. Sidekick wears the socks I made, but they are waaaaay too short now. I feel some guilt about this, but dammit, I need some knit love, too!

So back to the wheel. Right before I took a spinning break, I got a Spindolyn. It spins a fine thread, but I need some serious practice. I have not felt I have the mental energy to take it on when I could be knitting away some tasty little Advent socks- yes, I vision an Advent calendar of hand knit socks. I plan to hang them all over the house, not in a neat line like on the FamilyFun website (there- credit given for the inspiration point). Plus, for me right no, a wheel would be a shiny red convertible. Yep, a midlife crisis mobile.

I am often feeling tempest-tossed lately. I think I am just trying to figure out how to live this next part of my life. Looking for challenge, but not change, excitement but low risk, thrills but no spills or chills. yep, a garden variety midlife crisis. I hope to sit through it and not listen to the voices which tell me that bankrupting myself will make it all go away. How come this feels so much like college all over again?

Moral of the story: No wheel for me! Maybe a Bosworth mini after I knit up the socks and a few luxury face cloths. Oooooooh I am so bad- enabling myself!

Why am I stuck?

2007-11-22T22:50:00.000-08:00

I have a zillion ideas for knitting, some for me, some for others, some spinning ideas, many not-going-to-happen gift ideas. I can't get started. I have swatched and frogged socks too many times. Then I get stuck- follow the pattern and go top down? Yeah, but I really like toe-up. But my gauge was off and it was huge. Why was my gauge off? Well, half was stockinette, half was rib. The swatch was for all rib- so it would be tighter.

I am working on a wearable hug for the Sidekick. Tedious now. Can I cast off, or must I wait until the end of the ball? If I cast off, can I use the yarn to make tiny socks? Went looking for Sugar Maple yarn and found a tiny sock. Yeah, Advent socks. fast, easy, great!

No, wait. Noel colors? Random colors? Same pattern? Different patterns? Unique patterns or just whatever? Bigger ones for Sundays? Only 4 for Sundays this year? Hey look, here's that cool Mobius cast on.....

I got invited to Ravelry and am soooooooo excited, but now I can just suck their bandwidth while I dawdle and ponder and am stuck. I can feel my jaw clenching while I surf. It used to relax me. Did I mention there are cool patterns for ice scraper mitts and we had a nice snow today? My sister-in-law just lost her gloves again. Maybe I could knit some... but look, there's that pile of Chasing Rainbows silk hankies I was hankering for. Weren't we going to draft and knit that? Yeah, and there's that new Spindolyn I promptly gave up on. It spun fine and I wanted bulky for the luxury scarf (or so I told myself). Hey, I could use fine stuff for tiny socks. Remember that cool Advent sock idea? Neato- Cat Bordhi has a necklace of tiny socks and there are real openings! Cool! I could use that for handspun..... And I could practice self-striping dyeing with that.... and I could dye my own handspun from the Spindolyn!!

Do we see how it gets to be 1 AM and I am too tense for bed?

I love Thanksgiving now!

2007-11-22T16:43:00.001-08:00

Well, the feast is done and I am so grateful. Everything went very well, especially me!

I used to be very worked up about making everything just so. I used to cook up a storm hoping to please my crowd. Now I just please me and my cooking partner.

We had perhaps our best feast yet. One vegetable dish will be invited back next year, the other not. I have tinkered with stuffing recipes. I have not ofund one yet which makes me go crazy. I may become a cornbread person!

I used to be so hung up on Thanksgiving as my time to commune with my mother who died 25 years ago. My father remarried quickly and it was often difficult. I mourned not only the loss of my mother, but also my childhood traditions. I clung fiercely to those memories and foods. Then my stepmother died and I was free to entertain at my home. I would trot out my sacred foods and those I believed were sacred to my in-laws. Now, no foods are sacred. I still enjoy rituals like setting the table. I think of the people who gave us silver and china. These are the people I celebrated my childhood with. I remember them and thank them for being still a part of my Thanksgiving. But this, too, may change.

My child set the table this year and may be in charge of napkins next year. We had liquid starch in the house, so I tried it instead of spray sizing. Those things were so stiff, next year I could be the Flying Nun. Liquid starch may not be my choice, but it makes for great napkin origami.

I am so happy that Thanksgiving is no longer a day of secret mourning, but rather just a day to gather and celebrate connections.

The Kindess of Strangers

2007-11-17T17:59:00.000-08:00

Lately I have been struck by the kindness and generosity of fiber mentors.

I recently met a knitting rock star (published her own books!) has patterns in really cool coffee-table-worthy, on-my-wishlist books. She looked like an ordinary person at a school event. I asked about her project. I said some stupid things and she was gracious. I had no idea she was a rock star, and then I confused her with a couple of different ones! She was still gracious. She shared some small books she had made and told me how self-publishing changed her life and that more people should consider it. Wow.

A few weeks later, I saw her again and pestered her about some things I had read in one of her books. She was STILL gracious. (Note to self: do not become yarn rock star. Am not patient enough to handle annoying public. Second note to self: Don't worry about becoming yarn rock star- not amazing enough. Third note to self: The original rock star would take me to task for second note. One of her rules is no saying things about yourself you would not want to hear your daugter say about herself. Man, that woman rocks!)

Today was a tough day at work. I have been burning out on the schedule, and feeling like I am 13 years old. I am not seeing my strengths, only my shortcomings as compared to others. I am discovering limits to what I am willing to give. I now say I will not throw myself in front of that train because it won't stop the train and will just leave a mess. I came home and read some blogs of people I have met in real life. It was nice to virtually connect and be able to drop a note.

I finally was able to tell someone that I made usable yarn. Not just usable, but enough of it that it was knit into usable objects for people I love. Remember that this is beginner yarn and the finished objects are going to people who love me back. It is still usable yarn, and not even too "arty", unlike the stuff which came off this kind woman's wheel in July. She firmly and kindly told me to keep it and make something from it. First yarn is something to be celebrated. What a gift!

It was really nice to realize that I have learned a lot and made a lot of improvement in something. Something which matters to me a lot and will stay with me. Maybe I don't have to feel 13. Maybe I can just breathe through this and knit away the anxiety.

I am not a number, I am a real person!

2007-11-16T19:32:00.000-08:00

Ha ha ha ha! I am really #48311. However, there are only 875 people in line in front of me! I hope it's not like old Russia.

My friend, Nancy studied there for a summer and came back wickedly thin. She told a tale of food lines. When you saw a long one, you joined it because there was probably something good at the end. She was in a line she heard was selling fruit. She was about 3 people away from getting some nice fresh bananas (Bananas, mind you! She hadn't seen fresh produce since she got off the plane!) when the vendors packed up and said there were no more. She got angry, exclaiming that she could see them. No. No more bananas today.

Well, if there will be no bananas or Ravelry for me, I can take solace in the fact that there are 10164 eager souls behind me.

By hook or by crook, we will........ join this community

Ravelry Anticipation

2007-11-07T12:53:00.000-08:00

There are now more people behind me in line than in front of me at Ravelry!

Now ONLY 5,900 more people to go before I can join the ranks. This is a pretty big deal, since I am #48311 and I signed up October 24th.

Last night at my overflowing knitting group, they were talking about sub-groups. This only whet my appetite further.

Sometimes ordinary genius astonishes me. Hats off to Ravelry!

Strangers on a bus

2007-11-07T08:34:00.000-08:00

Blogs are so unusal. So personal, yet public.

Why do we do this? It reminds me of when I was suffering a wicked case of re-entry shock after 3 years out of the country. I was eager to make connections and re-form a social network, but had no idea how to begin.

I was so desperate, I almost tried talking to strangers on the bus. That just reminded me of how isolated I was. The only ones who wanted to talk to me, I didn't want to talk to.

So why am I now reaching out again?

Well, it seems the thing to do while I am waiting for my Ravelry invitation. I wish I had jumped on the list when I first heard about it, but thankfully joined when I did. A few hours after signed up, there were 58 eager souls behind me in line. Now there are a couple thousand.

So many other knitters out there are graciously sharing their work. I appreciate their efforts and would liek to join in. Let's see where this bus takes us, shall we?