Sadie’s Sweater

Okay, since coming off of that college high, I’ve been able to get something done. It  goes without saying that I define “something” as something besides pacing the house and spontaneously starting to skip while singing show tunes. What this something is, well, it would happen to be of the knitterly variety. Here is a picture of the Sadie’s sweater taken in the shitty light because it is really cloudy now, and rainy, and towards the evening time.

 

I assure you, it doesn’t glow in real life

(As an aside, I have to tell you that a friend once told me that the cloudiest place in the United States is Medina County, where I live. I don’t know how much I believe her, but I looked it up online, and Cleveland is pretty high on the list, and it does feel like it’s very cloudy. I blame, as per usual, all the Republicans. This place is lousy with them, with more popping up all the time.)

What I’m doing now is applying I-cord all around the edges of this thing, making buttonholes as I go, and contemplating a pocket. Sadie wanted a pocket on the inside, but do to the construction of the thing, an afterthought pocket is impossible. (Come to think about it, I don’t know how I would do one of those on the inside anyway, without it showing on the outside.) Anyway, I’m starting to think about how to do it. I’m thinking something that involves picking up stitches along one side of it, knitting it together at the bottom, and then sewing it along the other edge, with some short rows to make the bottom wider than the front. (If you don’t knit, don’t worry about all that stuff, it’s not really as complicated as it sounds, at least to me.)

I just saw something on TV that reminded me of something that was written in one of my books, so I think I’m going to go and read that part before I run out of battery life.

Thursday

I know how much we all hate to read this sentence on a knitting blog, but I have been pretty busy recently. By writing this, I realize that I am thereby subjecting myself to your contempt, and also suggesting that those of you who are getting a few rows done, are less busy, and therefore, less socially adept peoples. But that is not at all what I am trying to say, far from it as a matter of fact, but I merely was trying to make a point.

Here’s a picture I took of the Epaulet sweater this morning on my way out the door. As you can see, it really hasn’t grown much since we last had a little look-see at it, but, I, as a person, have grown a lot since then so bite me.

Ignore the dirty laundry if you would be so kind. That is a really, really bad picture, but I don’t really care. Most of my pictures are bad, so I’m rather used to it. And, by not posing in this picture, I am putting one less picture on the internet of me looking stoned. I’m sure you’re happy for that.

I would begin to write things about this sweater here. I would write to you about how well or badly the pattern is written. I would tell you about the yarn that I’m using, and the gauge that I am getting with it. I would be telling you moderations that I am making to it, and how much I’m loving or hating the knitting of it. I would be telling you all of this, but I’ve told you before, and I am worried about starting to sound like a broken record. You really can only say so many things about a sweater before it starts to get a little old, you know? No matter how great a pattern is you still will sooner or later run out of things to say about it.

And I think that, at least for now, I’ve reached that point on this sweater. I am certainly not a fan of “look at my two new inches” style of blogging, but I am sinking down the inevitable decline into doing so. Ah, we all have our issues. I’ll finish this off sooner or later. (My money is on later, just saying.)

 

Kent State

Well, my orientation came and went and I have to tell all of you that I have come to the conclusion that I really do believe that college is not for me, and that I’d be better, say, doing taxes for the rest of my life, supplementing my income there with a little casual waiting tables in a greasy diner. A little apartment, maybe a car, or just a large bike, no kids, no love life, and about 70 cats, I’ll be happy with that.

DREAM ON!!!

I had a great time, aside from having to sit in auditoriums for hours and hours on end, I really did enjoy myself. I was super busy, but even with that I found time to have a little fun and make some new college friends. We sat up late on Monday night and laughed and laughed, telling horrible jokes which was really funny considering all ten of us had slept about a half hour a piece.(Since Sunday morning I’ve slept about five hours.)  My roommates wheezed a lot, but I couldn’t sleep anyway so that wasn’t that big of a deal. (He snores, She Wheezes, Say housework and he freezes. Come on, I can’t be the only Buffy fan.)

I met my advisor, who really likes me and the feeling is mutual. I’m in one of those “living learning community” things, so that means that I really didn’t get to pick a lot of my classes. However that’s not that big of a deal, because it’s all stuff I had to take anyway. And, I’ll be taking them with people who live with me, mostly for study purposes.

The only problems with my schedule are, the 7:45 Intro to Literary Studies class. And it’s at the other end of campus from my Dorm room too. And I’ve got 15 minutes to go from Philosophy, to Math, and they are far from each other. I’ll be that person running across campus. However, all but one of my classes are part of the beautiful old buildings that were the original Kent Campus. They are sort of like the Greek Temples, only modern and with Air Conditioning.

(And, you may not know this, but Kent State is famous for all the black squirrels there. That is a bit of a joke around here, but it is true. You look down from the top of a hill and you can see about a dozen of them. This morning I was closer to a squirrel than I have ever been in my entire life. I was like a foot away, and the squirrel wasn’t even moving. It gives me shivers.)

There you have the highlights of my orientation. I can’t wait for this fall.

And I think it will be days before I stop having the urge to writing “Flash” in front of everything.

A Smattereing of Thoughts that Doesn’t Amount to Much

Today is a beautiful day. It’s warm, but not hot, sunny, but not searing, there’s a breeze, but it doesn’t threaten the well being of the porch cushions. In other words, the sort of weather that we get in Ohio for about fifteen minutes a year. Once I finish writing this (and cleaning the house and doing the laundry) I plan to have a little quality time with ye olde out of doors. I’ve got out the cushions on the deck, and only about half of them are wet. (It’s been a bit rainy in a lovely way.)

I’m sitting on the living room floor as I write this, with all the windows and the front door open. Why do I always end up on the floor? Writing? On the floor. Cleaning? Usually on the floor. Watching Oliver? On the floor. Various sexual acts? On the floor. Running late for work? Well, that was technically a sidewalk, but it was floor-like. (I ran into a tree, I was fine.)

My orientation is in two days, and the thought of this is making me so nervous that my reproductive organs are starting to jump back into my body. (It’ll be fine, as I remind myself for the 1,000th time as I re-read my guide to Destination Kent State.)

Well, I’ve been knuckling down on the knitting front here recently.  I went up to the library yesterday and brought home a movie, an audiobook (a small one) and a CD and have been busily at work ever since. I’ve watched the movie twice, listened to the audiobook and have certainly made progress. I’ve done most of the knitting, and a lot of the finishing for this sweater. I made the first half, and took it in the try on Sadie, and lo and behold, I’d made it two inches short on the sleeve. Damn. I was hoping that, you know, a woman’s arm would be shorter than my, a man’s, arm, but no. It was still too short, so right now, I’m working on making it longer on the first piece. (The second is having it’s first bath right now. I’ll fix it later.)

I was feeling lazy when I set down to knit up the new cuff, so instead of taking out the seam and unraveling the I-cord cast-off, I decided to embody an old technique of mine. Well, sort of. Let me explain. In the great spirit of EZ I come up with things all the time. Little tricks that I use when the situation calls for it, that I just come up with by playing around a little bit. Then, I use the whatever it is, and move on with my life. Then a while later, I’m reading a book on knitting and see the thing that I came up with. This happens to me all the time, and I always swear that I had never seen, or even heard about whatever it was. Then I ponder how much easier my life would be if I had a better memory, and wonder, if I were to write a book, how much of it would be plagiarism.

Well, in a few minutes I’ll finish off the cuff, and then work on something else, till the other end is dry. I can’t wait to be done with this one, and while I’m not going to let myself start anything new, I’ll still be able to work on something else, and more importantly, something for me. Knitting for others is fun, but often a risky business. They might not like it, they might not appreciate it, they might wash it in the machine. It is a risky enterprise. Granted, knitting for yourself is just about as risky, but at least your taking the risk for yourself. I guess it just boils down to it that knitting is a fickle mistress, and, to be perfectly frank, a bitch. But, I guess that I am just a masochist, because, really, I always go running back for more.

(Knitting as masochism? Now there’s one for the Yarn Harlot.)

(Also, I’m hoping that if I write “masochism” enough, then I’ll get some more search refers. Granted, I’m not sure that I want some creepy internet Sadist looking at my blog, but as long as they leave comments, I’ll live with it.)

I am undergoing my yearly debacle with Father’s day. This isn’t your standard battle with Father’s day. I’ve got a great father, and really my problems with him are perfectly normal for the father/son relationship. (Except when he starts spouting the libertarian bullshit.) But the real problem with it is, I can never remember when it is. When is it? I’m still not 100% sure. I always want to say that it is June 14th, but I know that isn’t right. That’s flag day. (I don’t get why I confuse the two. Maybe some founding father childhood misunderstanding? I don’t really care enough to figure it out. ) Anyway, I don’t really remember when it is. I looked at my calendar and that told me that it was the 16th. Well, I thought that it was the second Sunday in June. That makes sense. Mothers get May, fathers get June? Right? Well, no. I knew that tomorrow was the second Sunday, because I did something on the first, and it was a Saturday, so the day after, a Sunday, would have been the first Sunday in June, which would make Father’s day tomorrow. But, the calendar I picked up at a yard sale a month ago (and it’s for this year, I checked) told me that it was the 16th. Well, then I must have been wrong (it pains me to admit that) and it is third Sunday in June.

Or maybe I’ll be that terrible son who forgets Father’s day. (I can remember Mother’s day, because it typically falls near my birthday, and I am far to narcissistic to forget that.)

Rainy Day Knitting

Well, I’ve got my Destination Kent State in about three and a half days, and dudes, am I ever freaked out. Like I said last night at knitting, “I’m so freaked out about this my testicles are contemplating jumping back into my body.” (Have you noticed you I sort of just say whatever I think? It’s very freeing.) Destination Kent State is what a normal, non-freaky liberal college would call orientation. (Not that I mind a freaky liberal college, I am a freaky liberal. I applied to go to this commune/college in Utah about a year ago. They said no.)

Anyway, I’m sure everything will go fine. (I’m writing all the reassuring comments for myself.) But, that still doesn’t get rid of that floppy feeling in my stomach. I can only imagine the wreck that I’ll be this fall. (I could be a barber. That would be fun.) It’ll be nice to know when exactly I’ll be starting, and more importantly, what I’ll be studying. (I really want to take ballroom dancing for my phys. ed. requirement.) And I’ll have an advisor, and a money person who essentially can tell me how very financially screwed I am.

 . . . .

It’s raining today. The world is a grey mess, damp and dreary. This morning I got up, and my bedroom was filled with damp grey grey-ness, and I wasn’t waking up in a pool of golden sunlight. (I know, I’m so lucky that I don’t have to be up at dark o’clock.) Oh, that was one of the times when I really loved being unemployed, and was able to roll over, and sleep a little more. (I dreamt that I was painting an apartment with this ex-cokehead. It was an odd dream, and he kept making stupid jokes.)

Days like these I don’t really work at my desk, but I prefer to sit on the living room floor and read knitting blogs and write books with the carpet for company. Actually, days like these I really prefer to curl up and knit while drinking coffee and watching many episodes of Sex and the City. Granted, between the rain and the coffee, all it really does is make me want to pee, and to do that really quickly. It’s also, with being cooped up in the house, and all the coffee that my ADD flares up, which means, while I think about curling up and knitting I really don’t do that, but pace around my house and wave my hands around, talking to myself. (Not really myself, imaginary people that I make up to talk to when I’m alone. I swear that isn’t as crazy as it sounds. They don’t tell me to do anything.)

In the knitting field, I have managed to, despite ADD insanity, get on to the sleeve, the last sleeve, of Sadie’s sweater. I really need to knuckle down on this one and finish it off. I am doing my best and may even stay home tonight and work on it then. (I said may.) Sleeve knitting isn’t a lot, so I reasonable should be able to finish this off in a week, but I’ve been saying that for about three weeks now, so we’ll see if it holds water. (The thing is, if I keep saying it, it will sooner or later be true.

She likes the colors, which is all that really matters I suppose because here pretty soon I’ll be saying bye-bye to this sweater. In my mind it looks like Bob Marley joined the Navajo tribe and took up knitting. But, she likes it. So, I’m working this, and I’ve already spent the money that I’ll earn for it. (I’m buying a shit-ton of cheap, but well reviewed knitting needles on Amazon.)

What is Wrong with me?

Well, the madness has begun once more. What that implies this time is that I have once again put in my garden. My father infuriatingly calls it “his garden” which just means he tills it, and the occasionally picks some tomatoes looking proud. Guess who does the rest of the work? Probably the little fairies. That’s it, the fairies.

Anyway, all I can think of “Why did I decide to do this to myself yet again?” It really takes a special sort of person to, possessing full mental capacity, to dig holes in the dirt, put little green sticks in them, then spend thousands of hours weeding, fertilizing, and water, in the hopes of getting three or four tomatoes. It really boils down to nothing more than your garden-variety insanity. (That pun was intended.) Why do I do this to myself? Planting plant after plant after plant, and always in a perfectly straight line, because my father doesn’t have a lot of OCD quirks, but that’s one of them. I pretty much am in the camp of “They are going to grow where they grow” because they are. There is nothing you can do about it. Plants are like children, you can plant them in the right places, give them all the water and nutrition they need, but sometimes they just grow right up next to plants that you don’t want them to. It’s a fact of life.

The hours of back-breaking labor that comprising a plot of dirty vegetables is really incomparable. You apartment dwellers be thankful that you don’t have a back yard that aches to be tilled up. People around here can’t stand the thought of bare grass. They have to put something on it. Be it a shed to put the mower in (always a rider, people in the Ohio don’t appreciate the hours of contemplation that comes from behind a mower), a playhouse for the 2.3 children, a dog house that the dog will never go it, or, in our case, the raging pit of insanity that is known as a vegetable garden. It takes a “special” sort of person to grow vegetables, either that or a raging masochist. (I’m not sure which I am though. I like to think that I’m just special, because I rarely have any S+M fantasies in the garden. But really, looking at my track record, I am a glutton for punishment.)

And to those of you who doubt my record of masochism, need I remind you of that thought I had about a year ago that sounded something like “Wouldn’t it be fun to knit my way through Knitting Workshop?” I have been working on this for, as of today, 369 days, (it was a year on June first). Well, this means that I will most likely make my loose goal of having this rapped up in two years, having fourteen left to finish, less then half. Granted, you’ll have the busy college years starting in just a few months, but I still think I can do it. That’s why God made weekends. Anyway, I’m not doing that poorly, considering I’m near (somewhat) to being done with two.

Traditional (mostly Shetland) Lace Shawl

Lord this thing is going to be the death of me. However, when/if it does kill me, I love it so much that I hope it shall be my shroud.

To knit an object this large at . . . 6.5 stitches to the inch takes some . . . tenacity. (I think that’s the right word, some English major I am.) It also takes a streak of masochism a mile wide. I thankfully have both. When it’s all said and done (read: blocked) This will be taller than I am. Really taller than I am. I have been working on this since about January, but very off and on though. In it’s pithy unblocked state it still comes up to my nose. (Does anyone have a space where I could block this thing. And, I’ll probably have to pick up another 250 pack of pins. The original 250 won’t be enough.) Let me show you a shot.

 

I assure you, aside from a few coffee stains, it is all white and that shading is just the light. Seriously, this thing is big. It has more stiches then two sweaters in it. I know that because it is entirely made out of recycled yarn. You’re looking at about 1.75 extra large men’s sweaters. I don’t have enough brown for the other sides. I’m dealing with it. It was mostly knit while working at the bookshop, and watching episode after episode of Downton Abbey.

In the side of that photo you can see my Epaulet sweater sitting beside my desk. I work a few stitches on it when I’m reading something or waiting for a page to load, or while I’m trying to think of a way to get out of writing. (It is my process.) It is making slow but sure progress. I’ve knit about four rows on it since Wednesday. I’ve been trying to get a move on with Sadie’s sweater, though I’m not nearly making as much progress I would hope. Ah, well, what can you do. (Work on learning to say no, that’s what you can do. I really have to tell myself. “You’re a horrible evil bitch. It is okay for horrible evil bitches to say no.” I oddly do have a problem saying no, but have no problem with being a horrible evil bitch, such another paradox of me.)