a car in its place

In the scheme of things, this is a very minor annoyance. But one of my neighbors always parks The Truck in front of my house.

On my block, street parking space is at a premium. There isn’t room in front of most houses for more than one car. In front of my house to the left of the driveway, there’s room for 1-1/2 cars. That’s it. To the right, there isn’t enough room between my driveway and my neighbors driveway to comfortably fit a car. You can put a car there, but only if it hangs over into one of the driveways. So that’s where we put garbage and recycling on collection day.

Most people have more than one car and park them in their driveways. Although all of the garages are advertised as double car, in reality the house on the corner is the only garage that’s really big enough for two cars considering that most people, like this intrepid reporter, also use the garage for storage space. I like to park my car in the garage. It slots in nicely right in the middle, with stuff to either side. So parking another car in the driveway makes it impossible to get my car out.

When #1 Son lived at home, he parked in the garage when I wasn’t home and didn’t catch him at it, and parked in front of the house otherwise. When he moved out, The Truck took over.

I have no idea which neighbor owns The Truck, because I have never seen anyone actually drive it. Sometimes it is gone. Mostly it is there. It’s usually only a minor annoyance because visitors – and I don’t have that many – can park in my driveway.

It has, over the months, attained the status of capitalization. It’s not just some old truck. It’s The Truck. I sort of wish The Truck were a slightly more upscale vehicle (we’re talking old and well used, here). But it does give my house the appearance of being lived in when I’m away. So when I see it in front of my house, I sigh and go on.

Now #1 Son is out of town for 5 weeks and his car is living at my house. I insisted it live at my house because there have been issues with his car when he leaves it elsewhere — minor things like it being towed necessitating Mom bailing it out. Since my name is still on the title, it lives with me, now, when he is not using it.

The question, of course, has been… where to put it.

Not the driveway, because then I can’t get my car out without moving his.

Not in front of my house, because The Truck is there.

Not elsewhere on the street, because all the places on the block are taken.

Aarrrgggghhhhh

In the end, he parked it in the tiny space between the driveways, with its rear poking out into my driveway. I’m sure it annoyed my neighbors, because it meant they had to move their garbage/recycling. (Sorry about that, neighbors!) But there just wasn’t anywhere else to put it. So there it was.

#1 Son left Monday. And the game began. I watched for The Truck to disappear. Even it it was only briefly. Just long enough to move #1 Son’s car back a bit to the other side of the driveway. Just a few minutes.

Every time I went to the front of the house, I looked out the window. Was it there? Yes. Every time I left, I looked. Every time I returned, I looked. It was there. I began to think it was a permanent fixture. I started looking out only half-heartedly, knowing that The.Truck.Would.Be.There.

Late last night I looked outside. The scene looked different. The.Truck.Was.Gone!

The picture is the scene now. #1 Son’s car is parked in front of my house. Ahhhhhh… sigh of relief. And there it can sit because I’m not driving it. It looks about like his room inside — toxic waste dump.

I have not heard from #1 Son yet. But I’m sure he’s OK and got to Brazil safely. If not, I’d surely hear from the State Department or someone, right?

yum

[ed. 12/25/2007 8:21 am] Thanks to everyone who left a suggestion for how to cook the carrot pudding. Yesterday I tried just one more gourmet kitchen shop, and they had pudding molds! Stay tuned. Film, as they say, at 11 (or so).

Since I became single again, Christmas traditions at Chez PI have been rather spotty. For the first several years, #1 Son spent Christmas with the sperm donor. #1 Son and I would have our Christmas on the day before. We did the tree and decorations and presents and such, but I didn’t usually cook what would be considered a traditional Christmas dinner, although I did cook a prime rib for New Year’s (I have an awesome butcher whose specially seasoned prime rib is simply amazing).

On Christmas – the actual day – my personal tradition was to clean my oven and go to a movie. Lest you feel sorry for me, I actually enjoyed every minute and looked forward to it as a break from the normal holiday madness.

Then came a year when #1 Son would be with me for Christmas from now on. Anything you’d like to do? I asked him. He suggested travel. I asked where. He suggested Las Vegas. And thus a new holiday tradition was born. We spent several Christmases in Vegas, had a wonderful time every year, and it was great.

This year there is no travel. #1 Son just came back from a 1-week tour of California and is leaving for 5 weeks on New Years Eve. He needs to work to earn a bit of spending money before he goes. I have time off, but don’t feel like going anyplace, what with his impending departure and all.

So I am cooking dinner, and that is a bit of a quandary.

I know what to cook for a traditional Christmas dinner. We were a Turkey at Christmas family. Or, I could pick up one of those awesome prime ribs.

But #1 Son is vegetarian.

I scratched my head and pondered for awhile over that one. I didn’t really want to fix all the trimmings and not the main dish. Eventually I settled on what I like to call a kitchen sink veggie stew, which contains all the veggies that looked good in the store the day I go shopping: Carrots, beans, corn, cabbage, russet potatoes, sweet potatoes, summer squash, winter squash, tomatoes, celery, etc. It always tastes good. And, being a stew, has the added advantage of being serving-time neutral. I can start it in the morning, and no matter what time we eat it will be OK. I could serve it with a raisin/nut couscous (5 minutes) and a good crusty bread.

But I did want something traditional. In my family, carrot pudding was the traditional Christmas dessert. It’s a steamed pudding, like plum pudding or spotted dick. I have the recipe that was passed down through the women in my family for well over 100 years. There have been few changes over the years. I do use margarine rather than suet (thus making it vegetarian safe), but that’s about it. It is, as I said, cooked by putting the batter in a mold, placing the mold in a large pan with water, and steaming in the oven for 4 hours or so. Grandma and Mama both used a coffee can for the mold, which worked quite well.

The coffee I drink does not come in cans. In fact, I’m not sure if any coffee comes in cans any more.

No problem, I thought. I’ll just pop over to the gourmet kitchen shop and pick up a real pudding mold, and won’t that be traditional and oh-so-cool!

At the first gourmet kitchen shop, I wandered around for awhile and didn’t find the pudding molds, so I stepped up to the counter.

Nice, teenage Christmas kitchen shop worker: May I help you find something?

Me: I hope so. I’m looking for a pudding mold.

NtCksw: Like a jello mold?

Me: No. A mold for steamed puddings. Do you know what that is?

NtCksw: I’m sure I’ve had one at some time. Could you just remind me?

Me: It’s a cake-type pudding that’s cooked by steaming in the oven in a mold. My mother used coffee cans.

NtCksw: We have asparagus steamers. Would that work?

Me: Thanks anyway.

At the second gourmet kitchen shop, I wandered around for awhile until a nice older woman who worked there asked if she could help me.

Me: I hope so. I’m looking for a pudding mold.

NOksw: I haven’t seen one of those for ages.

Me: Do you have anything that might work? My mother used coffee cans.

NOksw: We have asparagus steamers. Would that work?

At the third gourmet kitchen shop, I wandered around for awhile until a nice man who worked there asked if he could help me.

Me (having already cased the store pretty thoroughly): I doubt it, but thanks anyway.

After that, I did what I probably should have done in the first place. I came home and let my fingers do the virtual walking through the internet. I found a local gourmet kitchen shop whose online site showed a pudding mold. They weren’t sure if they had pudding molds actually in stock or not, but promised to look and call me back. They have not called.

So what do I do now? If I can’t find a pudding mold on Christmas Eve, how am I going to cook the darn thing? Do you think, gentle reader, that if I pour it into loaf pans for the steaming, it will cook correctly?

starting the repairs

Thank you, everyone, for your kind thoughts and encouragement on the hole-ish disaster during the Great Green Glob blocking.

Today I picked up the GGG from Tangle. I will have to stop calling it the Great Green Glob. While still green, and hopefully great, it is no long globish in any sense of the word. But for this post, I’ll call it the GGG just for old time’s sake.

So, I picked the GGG up and brought it home to assess the damage.

By suturing with sock yarn (I’m not sure, but I think that is STR Rooster Rock), I had stopped the general hemorrhage of dropped stitches. But the repair had left a scar. The GGG still required a bit of plastic surgery to minimize the appearance of the wound.

My surgical implements included a bit of left-over yarn, my cool crochet hook/dental pick tool, tapestry needles and pins. The plan was to duplicate stitch (and in some cases actually create knit stitches) with the yarn to hold the whole thing together and make it look at least similar to the non-damaged part of the shawl.

half done

The cool thing about blocking lace, apart from the general magicalness of the whole process, is that the yarn stays in the configuration it’s given during blocking. That meant that I could take the sock yarn out and even tease the stitches apart with the dental pick, and not risk more dropped stitches. The rest of the yarn just stayed exactly as it was blocked.

Taking a harder look, I think what happened was that I had dropped a stitch when attaching the border. Twice. Oops. 😳 I had two holes that needed to be fixed. I wove the piece of left-over yarn through the stitches to hold everything the way it was supposed to be. There were no stitches missing, just one or two that needed a little help staying where they were.

This picture shows one of the fixes completed. The pin is there to hold the tail of the fixer yarn so it doesn’t get misplaced. This stuff is fairly fine, after all.

Then I turned my attention to the second hole. This one had stitches actually missing — i.e. a mistake in my knitting — as well as stitches dropped. Some of the fix was made by pulling the stitches into shape and holding them there. Some of the fix was made by creating new stitches with the fixer yarn.

a little blocking

Once all of the fixes where done, I trimmed the tails of the fixer yarn and spit-spliced them to the main shawl. This merino felts if you so much as breath on it, so this was not as drastic as it sounds.

Mission nearly accomplished, I pinned out just the fixed area and applied a bit of water and steam with my iron and then left it to dry and block.

It’s not perfect. Nothing really could be perfect, gentle reader, except not making the mistake in the first place. But it’s not bad. As it dries, the patch is becoming less and less noticeable. I think that once I take the pins out it’s going to look reasonably OK.

Whew.

I will show you the results as soon as I’m home when there’s light and I can get some decent pictures of the finished product. It’s purdy. And will henceforth be known as The Pacific Northwest Shawl or The PNW Shawl if I’m in a hurry. 😉

half blocked

Anyone who wonders why I love knitting lace has only to look at this picture.

The Great Green Glob was too big to bock — even at Tangle — all in one go-round. Only half would fit on the blocking board, and there just wasn’t room for the whole thing. Saturday I showed up at Tangle and pleaded my case (no blocking wires, not enough room, etc.) to the lovely Alice, who said that of course I could block in their class room and use her wires and blocking board. I blocked out 1/2 of The Great Green Glob, knit for awhile with the local knitters — Alice has tons of new yarn to fondle, too!

Sunday, I unpinned The Great Green Glob and removed the wires.

To me, blocking lace is a miracle that never gets tired. On the left, lovely blocked Pacific Northwest Shawl. On the right, unblocked Great Green Glob. Every time I do this, I can’t believe that it will actually stay the way I pinned it out. I love blocking! So after everyone oooed and ahhhed over the blocked part, I started in industriously blocking part the second back in the classroom.

OMG! WTF!!! ACK!!!

I tugged gently on the diagonal to stretch it out.

Ting! OMG! A stitch dropped. I jumped back and then stood in abject horror. I’m usually a pretty relaxed knitter, even in the face of adversity. But I actually felt sick to my stomach.

I apologize to any Tangle patron who might have heard some rather colorful language from the direction of the classroom. Really, I’m usually more refined. I hope you will understand that I was feeling extreme angst.

I stood and pondered and tried to figure out what to do. Note, that this whole time I’m standing all the way across the room from that hole, because I didn’t want to even breath on it for fear the whole GGG would collapse into a great green pile of tangled yarn.

I took a deep breath and eased closer. OK. It looked like a dropped stitch. I know how to fix dropped stitches, even in lace. I can handle this.

emergency surgery

I started searching in my knitting bag. OK. I had some sock yarn that had been left over from some pair of socks. I had this really cool little tool that’s a crochet hook on one end and a dental pick on the other. I had pins.

The main thing now was to do enough emergency surgery that the patient could survive blocking. Then, once I could get it home, I still have plenty of that green merino laceweight. I could repair it better at home and with it already blocked. That, at least, was my working hypothesis.

I carefully examined the hole. It really does look like a dropped stitch. To actually repair it, I’d have to unravel all of the I-cord and most of the border. Not going to happen. But, I reasoned, I could fix the holes and then, when I get it home, duplicate stitch with the same yarn. It should, I hope, be fairly unnoticeable when I’m finished.

I hope.

So here the emergency surgery is in process. I have some stitches being held by pins, some already tied together with sock yarn, and I’m in the process of closing up the last part of the hole.

blocking

Once everything was tied together, I finished stretching and pinning. I had to hurry now in order to get it pinned before the classroom was needed for the Sunday afternoon kid’s knitting class. Although they might have actually enjoyed watching me block, I wasn’t sure I was up for that right then.

Once it was all stretched out and pinned, I set the blocking board in the hall, where it would be out of the way. Note the orange sock yarn sutures tying up the wound. The already blocked half is carefully pinned up at the corner to keep it off the ground.

I could have blocked it larger than I did, had the blocking board been bigger or more room been available. I didn’t block it as severely as I sometimes do. But I do like the way the blocked part looks.

Of course, the real mystery is: how did I drop a stitch and not notice it all the way through finishing the last few rows of the shawl, all of the edging, and all of the I-cord. How did that stitch hold together all the way through that without forming a hole?

Stay tuned for updates on how the surgery turns out.

I don’t think I will ever again feel quite so cavalier about blocking lace.

Hopefully brief, that is.

Over the weekend, I was visited by some wild hare and decided I really needed to upgrade my computer. Now… my computer has been my faithful companion for three years, and there wasn’t anything wrong with it at all. But it was getting a little long in the tooth and struggling with a few newer programs I’d loaded. It was a little noisy, too, being built before quiet PCs were a good thing. Sometimes I could fancy that the fan noise almost sounded like it was breathing.

In reality it was probably gasping for breath. (Note to self: Blow the dust out occasionally, eh?)

So I decided to upgrade. With a PC of this age, that pretty much means new everything. New CPU, new motherboard, new drives, new video card, etc. I saved my sound card, my CD drive, my floppy drive, an old zip drive and a card reader. And my printer and monitor, of course. And my operating system (Win XP).

After a little research, I ran up to PC Club, where they just happened to have the exact parts I wanted. It was like fate, I tell you.

Note: I’ve done this before. I’m usually fairly successful. The things just plug together. It’s like Legos, sort of.

I got started after dinner Saturday night putting it all together. I had the old computer torn apart and the new one almost ready for a test firing when I realized that I needed a new power supply. Then I remembered that the one in #1 Son’s computer would work. So I pulled the power supply from his, put it in mine, hooked it all up, plugged it in, turned it on, and copied the old disk over to the new disk.

I knew I would have to do a repair install of XP, which I did. But then it would boot as far as the welcome screen, and then reboot, and then go as far as the welcome screen, and then reboot… lather, rinse, repeat. I didn’t know what to do. And, if you are keeping track, you will note that #1 Son’s computer wasn’t working either now, so I had no way to look it up on the internet and see what a fix might be. So I decided to reinstall Win XP from scratch, which meant all of my software, while still there on my disk, needs to be reinstalled because Windows doesn’t know where or what it is.

Note to self: Leave one working computer at all costs.

I should have just gone to bed. In the wee hours of the morning, I fried my old drive, thus rendering any kind of reinstall of the old system impossible. And I melted (yes…. melted… very exciting!) my floppy drive and probably fried my zip drive as well.

I now have two working computers, but I’m still trying to recover software. So you will excuse me because I haven’t written, I haven’t read any blogs. I’ve done a little knitting, but I can’t show you pictures because my PC still won’t talk to my camera. It’s an interesting time over hear at chez PI, gentle reader.

So far I have a nice, new, very fast, very efficient, very quiet….

doorstop.

cable crossed incorrectly

Ah… the best laid plans of knitters knitting away over and over again on recalcitrant heels. I would think that those heels were trying to tell me something, except this little issue cropped up only on the third heel iteration — the successful one.

If it ain’t one thing, it’s another.

You can see it. Right there where the blue arrow is. I crossed the middle three stitches over the right-hand three stitches instead of under them. In fact, you can see it in the final picture from my last post — the I have a happy heel and red toes and I’m oh so smart post. It’s right there. I didn’t even notice.

Oops.

Monday at knit night – a knit night that I rarely get to attend but which is always tons of fun – I finished the second heel and turned blithely to the instep and knit across the first sock, turning cables as I went. I reached the second sock. I went to turn the cable.

I am sorry to report that I may have said a few rather unladylike words even though there was a baby present. I’m not sure. I really don’t remember. I only remember sitting there in horror and frustration and saying I will not rip those heels out yet again!

Can’t you just fix it without ripping? Asked Bobbie.

I admitted that I could. But not in Bella Espresso, where the lighting is coffee-house dim. So I went over to Macy’s to look for a new handbag. A little retail therapy, dontcha know. (I didn’t find one. Payback for oaths spoken where wee ears might hear.)

cable tinked back to cross

Once at home, I stationed myself in my brightly-lit kitchen. Now brightly lit, anyway. Gentle reader, have you ever noticed how all of your kitchen lights (assuming you have more than one) burn out at the same time? A couple of weeks ago (three? four?), one of the 7 spotlights in my kitchen burned out. Soon after, another one followed. I started thinking that I really needed to remember to pick up bulbs when next I was at the store. But, somehow although I could remember kitty litter and coffee and bananas, light bulbs totally escaped me at every store visit. Until I got home and turned on the kitchen light and another bulb went pop-sizzle-snap and the kitchen got a little darker. And then I’d think to myself, I really must remember to pick up some bulbs when next I’m at the store. I was down to the bulb over the sink and was cooking mostly by feel when I finally remembered. My kitchen is now a brightly-lit place, but not a place really conducive to taking pictures of shiny knit objects. But I don’t think I did too badly.

At any rate, while waiting for dinner to cook, I stationed myself in the kitchen – now the most brightly lit room in chez PI – and began surgery on the mis-crossed cable.

The first step is to carefully tink just the three mis-crossed stitches back a few rows to the row where the cable was actually crossed. Note that I could have tinked back either the three stitches wrongly crossed over the top, or the three stitches wrongly crossed underneath. I chose to tink on top because those were the first three stitches I came to when working across the instep of this sock.

cable crossed correctly

Once the stitches were tinked back and I was back to where I started, so to speak, I could cross the cable the correct way. All I needed to do was poke the stitches through the little hole that the crossing makes and pick them back up on the back side.

Well, it was a little tricky. Because this is a sock and my gauge is fairly small, I kept the stitches on a spare needle end with the point towards the right. Then I poked the stitches through to the back side, and transfered the stitches to a spare needle end with the point toward the left.

Now I had the cable crossed correctly, and the only thing left to do was to re-knit those stitches up the rows that I had tinked out. The strands of yarn for those rows were just sitting there waiting for me, so it wasn’t too tough to get those stitches reknit. Then I used the tip of my needle to adjust the gauge a little so that everything was nice and even and crossed the right way and the scarring was so minimal that you couldn’t even tell that surgery had been performed.

re-knit and all is well

Ah…. all better. The cable is crossed the right direction and the order of the universe is restored and I can go ahead and start knitting away on the ankles, around and around and around.

I could show you what happens when one picks up the wrong needle end and starts knitting with it. But maybe I’ll leave that story for another day. Because nothing like that would ever happen around here. Nope. 🙄

Thank you to everyone who commented on my last post. You gave me much to think about. Most of you talked about knitting socks. Which is no surprise because we talk about socks a lot here. Like, obsessively. Every year I make a resolution to knit fewer socks and more other objects. You can look at the sidebar to see how well I’ve done this year. Yeah. Not a pretty site.

Are you as likely to frog a sweater or scarf or hat as you are to frog a pair of socks? Or do socks somehow seem different or special?