Today is Thanksgiving in the USA. This is a day when families and friends traditionally gather to celebrate together, eat turkey with all the trimmings (my family’s recipe for Candied Sweet Potatoes is over on the Freebies page), watch a game or two on TV, and be thankful.

Of course there are other traditions that are uniquely American — for readers outside the US, there’s probably a U-Tube video somewhere of how to make a hand print turkey…

And, if you are wondering what to do with all those leftovers, you are welcome to my recipe for Post-Thanksgiving Turkey Shepard’s Pie.

I try to start every day by calling to mind something that I am thankful for. I will admit that some days it’s not easy. But it’s good for me to remember that even when things look blackest there is usually something that makes me glad.

Today, I am thankful for many things:

#1 Son, you give me so much blog fodder! But I am so, so thankful that you are part of my life.

My family — wonderful, quirky individuals all. We are spread from coast to coast and do not see each other often enough. But I am so thankful to know that you are out there.

All of my friends. How could I ever get by without you? How blessed I am to have such good friends in my life.

My knit-buds and fellow knitsters and sisters/brothers of the fiber. Those at Tangle, who put up with a lot from yours truly. The PDX Knit Bloggers. (I can’t believe that the PDXKB has been a going concern for less than 6 months. I could swear I have known you all forever!) The wonderful knitters I have met at retreats this year. All of my friends (and I do count you as friends) who live far away but touch me through your blogs and through comments and emails. Knitting has brought such richness to my life.

And I am thankful also for the more mundane things: I have a good job that I almost always like, a nice roof over my head, food in the pantry, a warm bed to sleep in surrounded by my fur kids.

I’m thankful for the cat companions: for Phoebe who keeps me warm at night, for Kidd who is my special buddy (and a little wacko), for Moo Cow The Queen Of The House…

I am not thankful when Moo eats my yarn, or the leaves off my silk plants. I do have to draw the line somewhere.

I hope that your Thanksgiving Day — even if you are not celebrating it — is wonderful and warm and filled with many things to be thankful for.

a rainbow of yarn

Thanks to everyone who posted great places (i.e. yarn shops) to visit in the Boston area. I will try to hit at least a couple.

I have just a tiny bit more yarn pr0n to show you before I go.

I didn’t actually possess this yarn the last time we spoke, but it had been calling to me for months. Every time I went to Tangle I visited it, and petted it, and it talked to me and said take me home, Judy. But I had no project in mind for it, so I was strong and resolute and I put in my earplugs and didn’t listen.

It was hanging on a wall rack with the other lovely, wonderful Blue Heron yarns. Always it hung towards the back of the rack, like a slightly naughty child. But I could always pick it out from across the room. And I would eventually wander over and give it a little pat and say not yet… (You talk to your yarn, don’t you?)

Yesterday, as I plopped down in my favorite Tangle chair and started knitting, I glanced over to the Blue Heron rack.

It wasn’t there!

I felt a momentary twinge of panic. Did someone buy it? Alice had said that many people looked at it and commented about it, but then left it. Maybe it talked loudly enough and went home with someone else! Ack!

Then I breathed a sigh of relief as I realized it was still there. But it was an omen, I decided. So it came home with me.

I don’t know yet what it wants to be. But eventually I will see just the right pattern for it, and then it will be there ready to go. It’s a cotton/rayon/metallic in a colorway called Shadow. I have 425 yard of it, which is enough to do something nice with it. Or it may become a striking edging. We shall see.

Moo Cow the fiber junky
(gratuitous cat picture)

Someone else at my house was interested in it too.

Today the kitties headed over to the Cat Bed & Breakfast for a little fun whilst I trek across the country. I’m not sure how pleased they were. I take that back. I do know. They were not pleased.

Usually I either leave them with tons of food and water, if I’m not going to be gone very long, or I have #1 Son come over and take care of the kitties while the neighbors water the lawn if it needs it and pick up the mail. But #1 Son is on tour and if he is delayed getting home the kitties would be in dire straights. And the Cat B & B is a nice place, as such places go. The only really tough part is rounding them up to get them over there.

It was a hectic day. I first had to pick my friend M up at the airport. She was flying in from a visit with her out-of-town family. Being the geek that I am, I had gone online and set up an email alert to my cell phone for her flight arrival. When it came, it said her flight was early. The airport was a zoo. I fought my way around to the pick-up point through a crowd of insane drivers (is it the full moon?). M wasn’t there. I went around again. No M. I went around a third time. Still no M. (Early flight?)

I drank a big cup of coffee on the way to the airport. By the third time around, I was really hoping to see M. Nature was calling louder than that yarn had. When M wasn’t there, I gritted my teeth and went around again. She was there! Yea! She stuck her head in the window and said her bag still hadn’t shown up and so I should go around again (it’s pick-up only, no parking). I said OK. And as I started off again, I said a few other things under my breath, but gently because my teeth were starting to float if you know what I mean. So instead of going around one more time, I drove away from the airport and far enough down the road that I found a fast-food restaurant where I ran from my car double-quick and ran inside to take advantage of their facilities. With my mind, and other parts of my anatomy, eased, I drove back around the airport, where M was waiting with bag in hand. But I felt a whole lot more relaxed about the whole pick-up thing, and didn’t mind at all driving over to SE Portland to this great little vegetarian Oriental restaurant that #1 Son had turned me on to.

On the way to M’s house after lunch, I mentioned that the kitties were going to the Cat B & B, and how hard they are to catch sometimes when they don’t want to be caught. Be careful not to think about your vacation, M said. Cats pick up on those things and you’ll never find them because they’ll go hide.

So all the way from M’s house to mine, I tried to not think about my vacation.

Do you have vacation coming up? Or maybe dinner? Or a good night’s sleep? Or that project you really need to get to? Try not thinking about it. Go ahead. I’ll wait right here while you give it a go.

What luck did you have not thinking about it?

Yeah.

I pulled into the garage trying to think of other things and mostly not succeeding.

Cat rounding up must be done carefully. Phoebe and Kidd both have a place they can hide where it’s not easy for me to get to them. Once I’ve grabbed one, the jig is up and the other heads for cover. Kidd, once he sees that you’re heading for the garage and so he is destined for a journey, lets go in the same way that I almost did circling the airport to pick up M. So it’s important to keep him… aimed the other direction, if you catch my drift. And all three are big cats. I only have two carriers — a big one that can hold two cats and a smaller one. It can be interesting to stuff a second cat into the big carrier while keeping the first cat still in residence.

So I pulled into the garage trying to think happy catnip, mouse-chasing, kibble-munching thoughts. And not thoughts of vacation and Cat B & B and such.

All three of the kitties were there when I walked in the door. Hmm… I carefully didn’t think… just maybe I could get at least one of them.

I bent down and scratched Phoebe’s head and told her hello, and then just picked her up. She was surprised because she doesn’t like to be held, but she didn’t argue much. It was almost too easy.

Kidd was yawning and stretching on the sofa, only half awake. I carefully didn’t think that I could maybe grab him as well and have the two hard cases wrapped up. I nonchalantly wandered towards the sofa, Phoebe in my arms. Before Kidd knew what had happened, I’d scooped him up, too. I headed towards the garage, only a few feet away.

Now they both knew I was up to something nefarious. Picture this intrepid reporter, arms full of 25 lbs of angry cats, trying to hang on to Phoebe and keep Kidd pointed the other direction while still having one hand free to open the door. If I were an octopus, it might have been easier. Only having two hands made the journey, as short as it was, interesting. I made it to the garage and tipped the big carrier up on end. I put Kidd in and Phoebe right behind him. Whew. Two down.

I cleaned up Kidd’s mess. Missed me, fortunately. And then left Phoebe and Kidd to complain bitterly (and at the top of their lungs) in the garage while I went in search of Moo Cow, The Queen Of The House. She was no longer hanging around the living room. I found her back in my bedroom with a puzzled look on her face. She wasn’t running or hiding because that would not befit her royal station. But she did seem a little miffed that I was doing something not OK with two of her minions. I gave her a reassuring pat while I walked with her to the garage and told her that everything would be just fine, appearances notwithstanding. I’m glad that the small carrier can be opened from the top as well as the side, because Moo can make herself really, really big and plant all of her paws firmly on the sides of the carrier so it’s as difficult as possible to get her inside, and once in she arches her back so you can’t close the top. Tricky is Moo.

I delivered the kitties to the Cat B & B, and gave the staff all my kitty-mom advice: Don’t give Moo anything string-like because she’ll eat it but balls are OK. Don’t give Kidd anything but his regular food because it will make him sick. Phoebe likes her head scratched and sheds when stressed. I almost added wear a sweater if you’re cold, but decided they probably didn’t need that advice.

Margaret just called. Can’t wait to see her. I promised not to drag her around to every yarn store in Massachusetts. She replied You know me. I’ll shop for anything. heh heh She might not know what she’s saying… 😆

[ed. 11:56 pm] P.S. Speaking of lovely things, you must check out Fibergal’s herringbone lace socks. That stitch pattern will need to see my needles soon, I think..

That describes my mind as I try to come up with a witty title for today’s post. I’m not sure why the switch to DST should wipe me out this much. But it does.

Gentle reader, I am thinking that you may be growing somewhat weary of the somewhat obligatory UFO draped across a chair in a vain attempt to catch a little bit of natural light photos that have graced PI lately. Especially since most of those have been socks in progress, and how many ways can one display a sock?

And we all know, don’t we, how well I’ve been doing on my knit no socks resolution. Two finished objects this year. Both socks. One unfinished object holding all my attention. It’s socks. Yeah. What can I say.

At any rate, I don’t want to turn this into a look where my sock is today a la the Yarn Harlot. I could never do anything more than a poor imitation of Stephanie’s wit and humor with her traveling socks. For me to attempt it would just be lame.

But let’s face it, boys and girls… even I’m bored with my photography.

And it’s not like the weather is decent and I can run around outside and take pictures. Taking pictures outside is a serious risk to my camera. Camera + water = bad idea. This is Oregon. The rain will stop some time in late June. Until then there will be only brief, shining moments..

This is Captain Kidd. He’s a rather wonky sort of cat. He always has been. I think it’s safe to say that his parents were very carefully inbred, resulting in what we at chez PI like to refer to as a cat of very little brain. We love him anyway. But he’s a little strange. He has fortunately completely recovered from his illness last year. Physically. Mentally… I think he’s become even a little stranger.

His illness may be a good example of his interesting personality. My vet stopped carrying the oh-so-special kibble that Kidd needed to have and that was worth it’s weight in gold (or that is what they charged me). Instead they offered a perfectly reasonable substitute. It cost me a large sum of money to find out that Kidd wanted his prior brand of kibbles back and if he couldn’t get it he was quite willing to starve himself to death while tearing out his fur and eating it. The other two cats in the house loved the new kibble and grew quite fluffy while eating their share and Kidd’s.

I now travel 1/2 way across town simply to buy his special brand. Other cat parents will, no doubt, understand. The rest of you probably think I’m nuts. (probably did anyway) But he’s now a (fairly) reasonable weight, although still very slim, and all the fur he pulled out (or the vet shaved because he had to have a feeding tube for awhile) has grown back.

Kidd likes to sit on the bookshelf by my desk while I work at my computer. I have no idea why. It’s his spot. He sleeps there, sitting up. If I have placed another object there, he scolds me until I move it — note the stacks of CDs pushed carefully out of the way. When he gets tired of sitting on the shelf, he goes under the desk and curls up in the corner.

I don’t think he was very happy wearing the socks. But, if you hang around while I’m looking for something to amuse myself with… well… don’t be surprised at what happens. 😀

The socks are up to the gussets and proceeding nicely. I like Dave’s Sea-Camo-Weedy remark, and I think I will name them that.

I had lunch yesterday with #1 Son at Nicholas’. It’s a tiny little hole in the wall in an unattractive area of Portland. It’s so tiny that, after your name is added to the always-present list, you have to wait outside. There’s no room for people to wait inside. No room even to knit at the table. The proprietors have thoughtfully provided space heaters under the roof overhang, so although I had to stand on the sidewalk looking like I was maybe lookin’ for a good time (hey, sailor… wanna party?), at least I was dry (mostly) and warm (sort of) and had plenty of company. Seating is at such a premium that, although my name came up on the list, I was not actually given a table until #1 Son finally arrived. Trust me on this — it’s well worth the wait. Every time the door opened the scent of wonderful Middle Eastern cuisine wafted out. I have 1/2 of a falafel sandwich left over for dinner, along with a very creamy hummus and pita that was so fresh when served that it was too hot to pick up.

The Tangled socks still have not shown up. #1 Son professes innocence (but has yet to prove it). I did not take them anywhere out of the house unless they were on my feet. (Good thought, ~Kristie, but I have a sample sock named Bob that I use when I need to demo.) I have checked the legs of pants and sleeves of shirts, just in case. I am afraid this mystery will not be solved. I am bereft.

On a techie note, a week or so ago I completely rewrote the PI theme from the ground up. I was pretty careful to make it look the same, so you may not have noticed. I tested it in as many browsers as I could to make sure it looked reasonably OK and was stable. But I have no access to either Linux or a Mac. If you see something that looks weirder than usual or really doesn’t work, please let me know.

I can’t believe I’ve gone this long without blogging! I’ve hardly been knitting either. That’s why you get to see a picture from my garden. This is one of my favorite daylilies. I don’t know the variety. I love the way that the yellow centers just glow from inside the maroonish petals. The blossoms last for only a day or two, but the plant has so many that it’s in bloom for most of the summer.

Instead of knitting I have been spending my time buried in the mundane world of work, which has taken nearly all of my time for the last month. 24 x 7 until we’re done. Should be just another couple of weeks. It’s taken so much of my time that #1 Son had been home from the tour for three days before I saw him as anything other than a mysterious lump in his bed. (The first morning I did make him wake up long enough to give me a hug. But I’m not sure he was really conscious, having come home in the wee hours of the morning, and I leaving not too long after. I talked to him on the phone, but it’s not the same.)

#1 Son was not too happy when he came home because he computer wouldn’t boot. You remember his computer? That lovely box cobbled together out of hand-me-down parts that I barely kept running long enough to get my own back together after the great WinXP auto-upgrade debacle? That wonderful, stable computing machine that worked great as long as nobody turned it off?

I turned it off.

I had good intentions. Just wanted to save a couple of $$ on the old electric bill, y’know. #1 Son was off on tour and not using it.

He came home and wanted to use it and it wouldn’t boot. And all the king’s horses and all the king’s men, and all the tricks that his mom knows, couldn’t get #1 Son’s computer to boot successfully all the way and stay there again. I had to face the possibility that #1 Son’s computer had reached the end of it’s useful lifespan. And, while he could use mine for checking email, etc., there were some things he could do only on his own computer because he has different software loaded than I do. After working all weekend, I managed to wrangle yesterday and today off. I spent Monday assembling a new computer for #1 Son as a slightly-early birthday present. Well… not entirely new. I reused a bunch of stuff. But a new power supply, motherboard, CPU, video card, RAM and disk drives. Everything else was reused, but that’s still a new computer in my book.

So I put stuff together Monday morning. I took a short break to have lunch with M. But I was so tired and coming-down-with-cold feeling that I could barely eat, let alone carry on a conversation. I had planned to go knit at Tangle for awhile, but decided that sleeping on the Tangle sofa might not be that attractive to store shoppers. So I went home and set the old drives to cloning over to the new drives and took a nap. The rest of the day went: check progress, nap, check progress, nap, start next drive clone, nap, check progress, nap, start reinstalling WinXP, nap… you get the idea. By 10:00 PM the new computer was booting as smooth as silk and everything installed worked, and I was ready for bed. And that should be the last of the computer woes for awhile, knock on wood, because I’m not planning on any more computer builds until Vista is at least to SR1.

I feel better today. I even knit a little. Only a little though. This picture shows my entire knitting output over the last week. That’s it. About 4″ on a pair of sock toes. That’s Sock Candy in Lapis. I’m enjoying knitting with this yarn (when I get to). It’s nice and stretchy for a cotton, but not as stretchy as Fixation. These socks will be nice to wear. If I ever get them finished. I did’n’t make too much of an effort to start them at the same place in the color repeat, and so they are very fraternal. But I like them.

I hope everyone is having a wonderful holiday. One of my neighbors is barbecuing something wonderful that’s heavy on the garlic. It smells sooooo good! I love July 4th, but it’s tough on my fur kids. Last night all three cats tried to sit on my lap at the same time. Since all three are fairly good-sized cats, and since I already take up a goodly portion of the chair, we all just didn’t fit. But I ended up with Moo Cow on one side and Captain Kidd on the other. Phoebe had to be content with cuddling as close to the chair as she could get. I reached down and petted her frequently. Just now Moo jumped up and planted her butt smack-dab on the keyboard. I finally convinced her that it made it very hard for me to type. I love the 4th. But I’ll be glad for their sakes when it’s over.

Oh… and in case anyone was wondering… I delivered the red Fixation socks to their designated recipient. They fit perfectly, she loves them, and they actually went with the outfit she was wearing that day. It’s funny how often that happens. I give someone a hand-knit gift and whatever they’re wearing that day just happens to be a perfect match. Coincidence? Or do I have some sort of odd fashion ESP. Yeah… It’s probably coincidence. 😉

Long-time readers here will remember that one of my cats is a fiber junky. Moo Cow eats anything that is even vaguely string-like. As a kitten, she cost me $$$$$ in emergency surgery when she decided to eat the cotton drawstring from #1 Son’s pajamas and was then unable to digest it. I am very, very careful to keep all of my stash (wool, angora, mohair, alpaca, silk, blend), either in closed containers or up out of reach.

While knitting along on a project, I have been the victim of Moo’s addiction – she has neatly sliced my yarn in two from underneath my chair. It’s been an issue between us. (I love Moo, but she is #1 Son’s cat without doubt.) She’s also the most maddening cat in the world to photograph because she will not hold still for even 5 seconds. It takes a fast shutter and the patience of Job to snap a pic of Moo.

Now I’m going to digress for a few minutes. But only a few, I promise.

Way, way back in the dim past — some time in the 1970’s I think — one of my relatives started a crocheted afghan. It may have been my grandmother, or perhaps one of her sisters. They were all very crafty and sewed, quilted, knit, crocheted, tatted, embroidered, etc. They were young in an age where those pursuits were ones that women of society did. Towards their later years, each dropped many of these crafts and concentrated on the one or two that they particularly liked. My great-aunt Jose, for example, sewed beautifully. I suspect that Grandma started the afghan in question, because she liked to crochet.

The craft gene skipped my Mama and her sister. Mama had many, many admirable traits, but handiwork was not amongst them. Mama always wanted to be crafty. She tried to be. I inherited from Mama a set of pillowcases, one of which is partially embroidered (I believe she started them in the 1930’s) and a Crazy Daisy afghan kit, complete with daisy loom and acrylic yarn. She tried. But it just wasn’t her thing.

As Grandma and Aunt G (Mama’s sister), lived with Mama for years after my Dads died, there were crafty things around the house that belonged to Grandma. One of them was the afghan in progress (you remember the afghan).

Grandma, or whoever started this afghan, had branched out from the typical 70’s color scheme and had gone with black and bright red. We all thought it was quite striking and a little outre. The yarn was acrylic – Red Heart – because that was all that was available in my home town in Idaho apart from wool, which was horribly expensive and scratchy. The lovely fibers we have to work with now just weren’t around back then in semi-rural America. Grandma worked on the afghan now and then, and kept the project in process in an antique oak bucket that had belonged to my great grandmother — Mama always called it the sugar bucket. I don’t know if that’s what it really was, not being the sap-collecting type myself. But it’s a cool bucket, and it looked so striking sitting on Mama’s hearth with the red and black afghan in it.

Grandma passed away, and Aunt G moved across the country to be closer to her daughter. And the bucketed afghan sat on Mama’s hearth.

I wanted that bucket in the worst way.

I lobbied Mama incessantly every time I got a chance every now and then. I even worked on the afghan when I went home for a visit. To show that I was interested, you know. Actually, everybody that visited Mama worked on the afghan. She insisted. It’s a simple afghan-stitch pattern that isn’t hard to learn. Here, Mama would say when visitors came. Work on the afghan while I make some coffee. I have no idea how many hands worked on this project.

By that time Mama had forgotten the afghan stitch, and wasn’t that interested in learning it again (I offered to teach her). Yes, it would be nice if the afghan got finished some day. But didn’t it look nice sitting on her hearth? So striking with the black and red in the sugar bucket.

Yes, Mama. It really does look great. You know… I’d love to have that bucket some day.

I’m sure you would. But you don’t have a hearth, so where would you put it?

This was said with a smile, but just a little smugly. And there the conversation stopped, because Mama was right. I didn’t have a hearth. Or even a flight of stairs where the bucket could be strategically placed on a landing to be glimpsed from the entry. Or even an entry, for that matter. I lived in tiny apartments and small houses that had no place suitable for an antique oak sugar bucket, complete with unfinished red and black afghan.

And then my ex and I built a house. And it had a hearth. (And an entry way and a landing, for that matter.) So I stepped up the level of my begging lobbying. Just a little. But the bucket looked so nice on Mama’s hearth, she hated to give it up. And then Mama decided to move to Portland, to be nearer her grandchild (#1 Son), and incidentally both of her children. I will not bore you at this time with the tale of Mama’s packing, which took Bro and I a week, it seemed, and included many trips to Good Will and the dump – and this was after several garage sales.

You know, Mama, you’re moving into a small apartment. You won’t have a hearth….

All right. You can have the sugar bucket. But you have to take the afghan, too!

No problem! And that was how I came to have sitting on my hearth a little piece I call antique oak sugar bucket belonging to my great grandmother, complete with 1/2 finished red and black crochet afghan worked on as a communal project.

Since then I have become single and changed houses. But I still have a hearth. And I still have the bucket sitting on the hearth. And the afghan is still in it. I haven’t worked on it for years – not since Mama passed away – and I don’t ask my guests to work on it. But it looks so striking sitting on my hearth.

Our tale now circles back to Moo Cow. You remember Moo, the fiber junky? Moo, who will eat anything even vaguely string like? Moo who will seek out and destroy my stash if allowed?

Moo has never touched the afghan, or displayed more than a momentary interest in it, even though there are skeins of yarn there for the taking, and even a whole single strand of yarn leading from the skein to the afghan. She sniffs it every now and then. And then she walks away uninterested. You can see her in the picture sitting next to the bucket (she doesn’t mind sitting still for pictures she’s not supposed to be in). Moo who will devour my (wool, angora, mohair, alpaca, silk, blend) stash if not watch closely.

The afghan is made from acrylic yarn, remember.

Could it be that the lovely Moo Cow is not only a fiber junky, but also a fiber snob?

OK. I meant to finish the Sockapaloooza socks. But I got just a little distracted.

#1 Son, you see, will be traveling to cold climes in a couple of weeks. He lost one of his gloves awhile back. But I can’t let him go off with cold hands, can I?

So I started a new pair of gloves. You can see them towards the back of the basket. Same snowflake pattern, different colors. The yarn is Frogtree Alpaca sportweight. The colors are natural and undyed.

Don’t worry, sock pal, it really doesn’t take that long to make a pair of gloves. I promise. There’s still plenty of time left to finish the socks.

And you can see from the picture that I’ve turned the cables on the socks for about the bazillionth time and I’m well up the ankles. About three more turns should do it. Then the ribbing. And done!

In the other good news department: Kidd has been de-Borged (i.e. no more feeding tube), lost his accoutrement (i.e. a lovely blue Elizabethan collar), and is back to being a real kitty. He looks pretty sad, since one side was shaved when the feeding tube was put in and the rest of his fur is very skimpy due to stress and malnutrition. In fact, he sort of resembles a very large naked mole rat. But he’s eating like a pig and yesterday I caught him guarding “his” food dish (there are three that are available to anyone) from Phoebe (who could stand to lose a pound or two). He hasn’t done that for quite some time. I think he’s on the mend.