I’m not much into memes, but this morning I saw this one over at Stitch Marker and found it rather humerous. Google “yourname needs” and list 10 results:

1. Judy needs her morning coffee. [very true!]

2. Judy needs its maintainer field correcting. [is that why I need coffee?]

3. Judy needs help. [my nearest and dearest would probably agree]

4. Judy needs no introduction. [this must be my 15 minutes of fame]

5. Judy needs volunteers! [for what?]

6. Judy needs to speak up in class. [true when I was in school. now they'd like me to shut up during meetings. you can't win.]

7. Judy thinks if you want to get by, you need to be tough.

8. Who needs coffee when you’ve got Judy? [Judy needs coffee -- see #1]

9. Judy’s sin is pretty obvious. [hmmmmmm... didn't think it was that obvious]

10. I think Judy needs some hard labor - that might get her lips moving. [about the sin?]

Why is it that nobody can seem to make the perfect circular needle?

Hey you knitting needle manufacturers out there, listen up. This is what I want, and I’d be willing to pay for it:

1) I want a soft, pliable cable like the one on the new Bryspun circulars. It’s very flexible, very soft, doesn’t pull lace out of shape, doesn’t kink or coil.

2) I want a snag-free join like on Clover Takumi or Inox Grey needles

3) I want two versions: One with long, tapered, sharp points like Bryspun or for stuff like lace, and one with blunt points like Addi Turbos or Clover Takumis for splitty yarns.

4) I want them made from bamboo, ebony or rosewood for the larger sizes (say, above US#1), and lightweight metal for the smaller sizes (under US#2).

Why is this so hard?

Ball winders and even swifts are new-fangled thingies I don’t possess. When I need to wind a center-pull ball of yarn, I do it the old fashioned way: By looping the yarn around a niddy noddy or a handy piece of furniture and winding it onto a nostepinne. I have a nice cherry-wood nostepinne that works quite well. I can usually wind a 150-yd skein of yarn on to it in about 30 minutes or so.

Recently I received a hank of lace-weight merino. 1350 yards of lace-weight merino. I figured I should be able to wind it into a ball in nothing flat. Right?

I found a handy piece of furniture that was the right size to loop the hank around and started winding. And winding. And winding.

For some reason it hadn’t occurred to me that if 150 yards takes 30 minutes, 1350 yards, or 9 times the first amount, might take a bit longer. Maybe 9 times longer. That would be… 4-1/2 hours.

I can’t stop in the middle because of the previously mentioned use of handy pieces of furniture. My house comes complete with a yarn-devouring cat. Yarn left looped around a handy piece of furniture would be seen as fair game. Moo Cow can slice through super-chunky weight in one bite. And this was lace weight. Very fine, fragile, lace weight.

So, stopping only when absolutely necessary, I wound and wound and wound and wound, and then I wound some more. I wound until my shoulder and my neck cramped, and then I wound some more. I did stop to talk to my cousin on the phone for a bit, but I guarded the yarn while doing so. And then I wound more.

You can see from the first picture that I was, finally, successful. This is the start of the Pacific Northwest Shawl. I’ve finished the first seagull chart and I’m ready to begin the second seagull chart. I’m really having fun with this lace. I can’t wait to get to the pine trees. I’m knitting it on sz US#6 Bryspun Bry-flex needles.

What I like about these needles: The very flexible cord (even more flexible than Addi’s) that doesn’t pull the lace out of shape (you can see this in the pic), the lightness, the speed at which yarn slides on them.

What I don’t like: The tips could be pointier, but they’re OK. The step at the join catches the stitches.

I haven’t neglected the Tilt sweater.

This picture shows some of the progress I’ve made. I love the way the colors in the Noro Silk Garden are knitting up. Not shown in this pic is an orange color.

The buttons are from Button Emporium downtown. They’re hard to photograph well, but you can see the swirly stuff in the center. The colors are relatively right-on, but what doesn’t show is that it’s actually chatoyant. Five buttons are for the sweater, the sixth is “just in case” because the buttons are no longer being made.

And, finally, the fair-isle fingerless gloves for #1 Son are complete.

Click on the link for the whole story on those, and to read how he almost gave me a heart attack when the gloves were about 3/4 finished.

What was it I said a couple of days ago about not getting distracted by bright, shiny objects?

I received a care package yesterday from Woodland Woolworks. It contained some needles that I wanted.

And somehow included in the box were 1350 yds of Skacel Merino Lace in a dark green and the pattern for the Pacific Northwest Shawl.

How do you think that happened?

Winter arrived last weekend. I knew winter had come because it was too cold to leave the window in the bedroom open, and even with it closed I needed an additional quilt layer on the bed. And the rain, of course.

I’m still trying to catch up.

During my childhood in eastern Idaho, the seasons were long, slow things that drifted into each other in a stately and dignified march. Spring meant weeks of anticipation as the snow began to melt, the weather warmed, and the earth woke up slowly and somewhat cranky (rather like myself in the morning). Spring gradually moved into summer, marked by the last day of school and days really warm enough to leave the sweater at home. Autumn meant crisp days scented with wood smoke and colored by leaves and pumpkins. Around the time the last leaf gave out, the first snow would come and the world would go back to sleep.

Here in the Portland metro area, seasons change fast. One day it’s 85 degrees and sunny and I have the fans going. The next day (literally) the furnace starts running, I’m cranking up the gas fireplace, and the cold rains have come. Spring comes when the rains turn warmer. And my lawn needs mowing year round.

I keep waiting for the gradual seasonal changes of my childhood. After 30 years in Portland, it has occurred to me that I’m not going to get them. But I keep hoping.