Rockin Girl Blogger

Yesterday I learned that Maia of Maia Spins has tagged me as a Rockin’ Girl Blogger.

I’m really flattered, because I love Maia’s blog. She spins and knits and knits to spin and we get to see it all – plus lovelies and goodies from the garden and maybe a furry friend and a bit of real life tossed in for good measure. Her sock design tutorials make me wish I had a design process even remotely as well thought out and put-together. I always want to just sit down with Maia over a cuppa java and pick her brain.

And I know that I’m now supposed to pick five other rockin’ girl bloggers. And I’m going to totally wimp out on that. Because how can I possibly pick only 5 (or 7 or 10 or 50) out of all of the wonderful blogs that I read every day? I’m terrible at making that kind of decision. I often can’t even choose between yarns (thus my stash size)!

So… my head is bloody, but unbowed. Since Maia’s reward to me came at the end of such a sucky week (my previous post only scratched the surface), I think I will reserve my 5 picks and bestow them at times when a rockin’ girl is having a not-very-fun time of it and maybe needs a bit of a boost. So stay tuned.

Not much knitting this week, due to previously mentioned suck-ness. I finished one repeat on the dragon skin, snake scale, whatever-they-want-to-be-named socks. And I’m ready to start knitting away on the fish part of the Great Green Glob. Progress is being made in tiny increments.

There’s an interesting discussion on Ravelry (get in line for an invitation if you haven’t already!) right now about use of the term Muggles to refer to non-knitters. There are those who don’t see any harm in it, and others who find it offensive and demeaning.

I’ve use the term a time or two, in what I hope came across as a rather fond way. There are people to understand the love of fiber and there are people who just don’t. I don’t think that makes me better or them less, it’s just a different point of view. There are many people who think whacking away at tiny little balls with big sticks while strolling around on a very big lawn is just the best thing since sliced bread. I, however, do not see the attraction. Before I get a lot of nasty emails from golfers, I say if that’s your passion, go for it. Just don’t ask me to whack along with you. Would I be offended if a group of golfers referred to non-golfers as muggles. I don’t think so. I’m pretty secure in my non-golf-ness. I’m also pretty certain that if I picked up golf equipment and asked for a little help (not going to really happen, OK?), my former non-golfing status would be quickly forgotten and I’d be right in with the golfing crowd (except maybe the exclusive clubs, but I digress).

As humans, we have a tendency to split the world up into me and not-me, like-me and not-like-me. So… knitter and… what? Non-knitter? Person-who-doesn’t-get-knitting? Person-who-doesn’t-like-fiber? Non-fiber-enthusiast? Non-pointy-stick-wielder? Muggle? We will always find some term refer to other. That’s not to say that knitters as a whole are not an inclusive group. If a person-who-doesn’t-knit picked up pointy sticks and some string, most knitters would be happy to help them learn. I see this happen all the time in the LYS.

Some people also object to the label muggle simply because it originated in the Harry Potter books as a term for people who don’t do magic and don’t even realize magic exists.

What do you think, gentle reader? How do you refer to not-like-me?

My day started early, because the fur kids wanted their breakfast. Cats, as the saying goes, do not have snooze alarms. It is impossible to sleep through three cats who are alarming rather than snoozing.

After silencing the kitty alarms with nice full bowls of kibble and getting the coffee perking, I started to get ready to head off to work. I opened the drawer where I keep my unmentionables.

My still-foggy brain slowly grasped the fact that, no matter how late I got home last night, I really should have done that load of laundry. Because there was no way that I would be getting dressed until at least some laundry was done. I glanced at the clock. I checked my calendar.

I have an old Palm Pilot. The orderliness of reality depends on my Palm Pilot. It contains my brain. You think I jest, gentle reader, but I am serious. Were anything to happen to my Palm, the universe would implode because all known laws of physics would cease to exist. And I would be even later to appointments than I already am. And my hair would turn grayer faster out of sheer panic.

Oh, wait. That last has already happened. But, thanks to Carla the wonder-stylist, I can exist in blissful denial. Actually, Carla says that I have hardly any gray. It’s all white. Since I would look like a ghost with white hair, Carla takes care of that. And I have beautiful, magical, color. (I feel a Disney song coming on…)

But I digress.

I checked my calendar and determined that I could handle the morning meeting from home, show up in person at noon, and take care of the stuff that really required my actual bodily presence after lunch. That would give me time to take care of the aforementioned laundry issue, thus allowing me to actually get dressed some time before noon, etc. I could pick up lunch from the burrito cart near work, and I’d be all set.

Doesn’t that sound like a simple and elegant plan?

I thought so. But that was before the battery died on my speakerphone, forcing me to balance a phone on my shoulder while typing and guaranteeing that I would have a stiff neck. And I blame the neck stiffness for the clumsy little stumble I took on the front steps at work. It would have been little, that is, except that, in trying to save my burrito (I was hungry!), I did fall over a bit more than I had really thought I was going to, and sort of jammed one finger against the concrete step so now I have a bruised, blue fingernail. And of course it’s my middle finger. So people may have thought I was not a happy camper, what with that blue finger flashing around and all, even though I wasn’t really trying to flip anyone off.

Although there was a bit of blue language, and probably some flipping off, that was directed at my computer when I turned it on, expecting to continue working on the document that I had spent four hours on yesterday, only to find it gone. Gone. G.O.N.E. Nowhere. Gone. That’s four hours, vanished into the aether. Four. Hours.

I’m a pretty smart cookie, I’d like to think. I can usually ferret out any hiding place a document tries to wiggle into. It was not there. I have no idea what happened to it.

Except that’s just the kind of day it was. The kind of day when your work goes poooofft for no reason and everything and everyone around you is in total panic mode.

Did someone ask for a do-over on Monday? Was one Monday not enough? Is the moon full or Mercury in retrograde or something?

The fax machine wouldn’t even work and it was 1:30 before I finally got to eat my (cold, slightly squished) burrito while I tried valiantly to concentrate on yet another teleconference while still trying vainly to find my document.

One of my colleagues who recognized I was having a day — probably because my hair, which had been perfectly behaving when I left the house — began to expand as I ran my (bruised, blue) fingers through it in frustration — brought me a Dove chocolate. You know how Dove chocolates have little sayings on the insides of the wrappers? This one said (I am not making this up), Get your feet massaged.

How would I have time to do that, seeing as how I lost 4 hours worth of work on a document I’m only half finished with, I’m having to deal with multiple crises and I can’t find a working fax machine? Unless a foot-masseuse shows up under my desk, it’s not going to happen.

water and bubbles

I was so glad to come home.

Because I knew that I was coming home to Scharffen Berger chocolate (dinner of stressed-out champions everywhere), courtesy of Marie. And the Great Green Glob was there to be knit on for a few mindless garter-stitch only rows (carefully, with one finger sort of sticking out).

Ahhhhh…. better.

You can see from the picture that the Great Green Glob has progressed. In the semi-stretched-out part you can see the waves, and below the waves are bubbles. Next come the fish. I am getting there, slowly but surely.

And I’m glad, because today I found this pattern and totally and completely fell in love. I have the pattern in hand, and I’m now looking for just the perfect yarn. Silky, I think. And honey-colored. And slightly variegated or hand-painted. But just slightly. I’m thinking I might find the perfect thing at Oregon Flock & Fiber. We shall see.

And tomorrow?

Tomorrow, gentle reader, is another day!

a mysterious box

Look what I found in my mailbox!

A mysterious and intriguing box that came from California.

Could this be from my Sockapalooza pal?

What could be inside?

little packages
This looks fun!

Little brightly-wrapped packages and a card with my name on it.

What can it all be?

instructions
There are instructions for opening.

OK. I will be good.

But you have to know it was tough!

Moo wants to help
Moo Cow: Can I open this one, Mommy? I like bows!

Mom: NO! Besides, you eat bows. That’s not what they were intended for.

Moo Cow: OK. I will let you open it. If you insist.

oooo…. cool things!
Look at all that was inside!

Little packages of Soak.

Highlighting tape for use with lace charts.

Scharffen Berger Chocolate — my favorite!

A picture of a whale (opened last, per instructions!).

And a wonderful pair of green and yellow Monkeys. They were wrapped in a really cool official Sockapalooza sock band that you can just see peeking out from under the socks on the far right.

You can see the socks packaged with the band right here. But I, in a frenzy of opening, missed that picture.

happy feet
And now my feet are happy! I can’t wait for it to be wool-sock-wearing weather.

Thanks, Marie! I love everything, and the socks fit perfectly. 😀 What a great Sockapalooza Pal you are!

ah… that’s better

I decided that trying to make diagonal heels was an exercise in futility. There’s probably a reason that many knitters smarter than myself have been knitting heels the way they are usually knit for probably thousands of years. D’ya think? Sometimes goofs end up producing something interesting and usable. Sometimes they don’t. That’s the way the stitch drops.

So… I knit the heels again using plain, old heel stitch. I did one modification to fit the pattern: The scale on the back of the heel matches the scale on the front of the leg. I also continued the heel stitch up the leg until the side scale met the back scale. I think an abrupt transition to plain stockinette would have been too jarring.

I’m really happy with the way that these heels turned out. So far the socks fit well and I love the color. But every time I knit on them, the same song starts running through my head: The George Thorogood and the Destroyers version of Who Do You Love:

Snake skin shoes baby put them on your feet
Got the goodtime music and the Bo Diddley beat
Who do you love?

I’m afraid these socks have been posing with pretensions of dragonhood and are fated to be named something rather snake-ish. I’m OK with that. I like snakes. Very interesting and often beautiful critters.

I’d also like to clear up something that may have been misunderstood. I receive no monetary compensation from the sale of Cat Bordhi’s new book. I honestly think it’s a gorgeous book or I wouldn’t mention it — my name in it or not.

In fact, I receive no compensation from anything on this blog with one exception: If you follow one of the Amazon links, like the one above for George Thorogood, and then actually buy something, I get few pennies. In all of the time I’ve blogged, I’ve managed to amass enough filthy lucre to get two free books. We ain’t gettin’ rich from blogging over here at chez PI. And I’m OK with that, too. That’s not why I’m here.

heel gone wrong

A bit of truth in knitting — not every experiment has a happy ending. Some are downright, er… heelish.

It started out innocently enough. I wanted a two-stitch band in the center of the heel to flow into the scale pattern where the heel joins the leg. And I wanted a scale on the heel to match where I was in the scale pattern on the foot. So I started wondering what Eye Of Partridge stitch would look like on the diagonal. Then I thought it would be cool if the EOP swooped around the scale and followed its shape.

See how quickly things can get out of control?

The red line follows a column of EOP stitches as they swoop up around the scale at the top of the heel flap. It looks sort of cool, but doesn’t have enough diagonal-ness. The color changes caused by the EOP slipped stitches obscure the directionality.

And then there’s that weird bump caused by the increase/decrease pair that starts the scale.

And then there’s that wonky corner caused by the decreases that force the EOP to run diagonally.

Ick.

a Simpsonized #1 Son

This heel is making its way to the great frog-pond in the sky, while I try to decide what I really want to do here.

I might try a regular slipped-stitch heel-stitch. It would be more strongly diagonal. And if I pulled it up into the ankle until the next scale started on the leg… that might look cool.

I’m not sure about the weird bump and the wonky corner. But they may block out. Or maybe I just need to have a more strongly vertical stitch or two at the side.

Hmmm…. must think about this…

On another note, I was having so much fun Simpsonizing myself, that I decided to Simpsonize #1 Son, too. No word yet on whether he appreciates my efforts.

And on a completely different note, New Pathways For Sock Knitters, Cat Bordhi’s new book, appeared in my mailbox last night. Gentle reader, you need this book. I promise to do a proper review soon, when I can carve out time to do it justice. For now, I will say that the book is gorgeous, and Cat’s new architectures are wild and cool and I now have socks running all around in my brain, and if I didn’t have such a hard-and-fast rule about finishing pairs of socks, the dragon scale socks and their heelish wonkiness may have found themselves instantly abandoned.

And I, being a total dork, keep peeping at page 22. I haven’t seen my name in print since I won honorable mention in a poetry contest I didn’t know I’d entered in the 6th grade, and the local paper printed the winners (and thus I found out I’d entered). I’m so honored to be included in something so beautiful.

A new Springfield resident?

Thanks to Duffy at FiberQat, who thoughtfully provided this link, I’ve been Simpsonized.

I’ve never thought that yellow was my best color.

Matt Groening grew up in our lovely metro area, and it’s common knowledge around here that Springfield is actually . . .

Beaverton.

Yeah. I know. You thought I was going to say Springfield, Oregon. But I saw an interview with Mr. Groening where he admitted that a lot of the inspiration for Springfield was a little closer to home. But I do believe that Springfield, OR should have won the rights to host the opening night. I mean, really!

So, go thou gentle reader and get Simpsonized. It’s a lovely and fun little time sucker. 😆