This One's for Narcissa ; )

It was pointed out to me by a reader that it had been three weeks since my last post. As I wasn't aware that anyone read even quasi-regularly except the ever-faithful Needle Tart (aka She Who Must Bail Bistickual Out Of Knitting Corners By Pointing Out The Obvious), I was actually more than a little pleased that someone sounded as if they not only read, but actually wanted to read more. I mean, really? Go figure. That random comment rather brightened up an overcast--both literally and figuratively--day. Thanks, Narcissa--this one's for you!

Sooo, what I have I been doing these past three silent weeks?

Well, Thing One graduated from high school

(Pictured here with The Girl, who is continuing her streak of being loved and adored by all of us--Thing One has good taste. Oh! And there was only one other couple in our row at graduation and guess what the lady was doing? Yep, knitting! I was too shy to Kinnear her--and I had my hands full of my project--but her's looked like a cuff, knitted in the round on dpns in a very pretty shade of red.)

a cousin got married the weekend after graduation

(Does she look radiantly beautiful or what? Her new hubby's quite great as well :) )

and of course we had to celebrate with the family

(There's The Girl again...)

(The Things learn the all-important throwing of the horns from the boyfriend of the bride's sister.)

(That's one of the bride's beautiful sisters with me, and yes, it is her boyfriend corrupting my youth above.)

and then last weekend there was a Saturday night musical and a Sunday matinee for another play to attend--people I knew were in both productions.

But fear not! I have been messing about (and up) with sticks and strings.

Now, I know what you're thinking. Has she at last finished the Shetland Lace socks?

I wish. But no.

The wee scarf for Thing Four that is to go with his hat and mittens? Welllll, Thing Four is the ex's, so, you know, he's not here to measure scarf length against. Darn hard to make a scarf when your not sure how long it should be. The fact that I've made other scarves without the scarfees being anywhere near means nothing. This one is for Thing Four, and it should be tailor-fit to him. Like the hat. Remember the hat?

Ohhhh, she's finally felted her mother's uber-late Christmas Red Hat hat and bag! Um, I'm taking that out to her in July. I have plenty of time. Weeks, even.

Then she's finished the also late, done in endless, poke-your-eyes-out stockinette Christmas socks for her dad? Those're on the Christmas-in-July list as well. I promise.

Hmmm, maybe she's finally gotten with it and is crocheting that snowflake shawl for Carolina?

Er, maybe not.

Okay, okay, okay--I'll admit it. I started the Hidcote Garden Shawl by Miriam Felton. I knowIknowIknow I am badbadbadbadbadbad for starting another project, but I have an excellent reason, which I can't divulge here, for doing so.

And lord help me, I think someone needs to call Lace Knitters Anonymous and stage a massive intervention for me, because the fascination I felt when I started the Shetland Lace Socks has crossed over into full-blown obsession. Lace tempts you with emerging patterns and soft, delicate yarns. It demands your undivided attention and threatens you with a dbl dec when you were supposed to have a sl1 k2tog psso if you even try to glance elsewhere. It whines piteously if you leave it alone for too long and will not be happy until it has you up at 3:00 a.m., knitting "just one more row" (which usually ends up a lot more than one).

It's cunning, it's ruthless and it's vicious and it is taking over my life and I couldn't be happier about that, especially as I am in addict's state of denial over the unfinishedness-ness of the other projects. I can put down the lace at any time and complete that other stuff with time to spare. Honest.

And like any good addict, I have my excuses--reasons; I meant reasons!--for lace knitting. This pattern is teaching me new things! Totally new, really.

Why yes, I can prove that. Here is my extensive list.

(Well, okay, there are only two items on it, but hey, I'm only at the end of the second chart. Two lessons learned within one chart falls well within the definitional parameters of extensive.)

So, onward.

1) I am not crazy and I can actually count. For all of you who know me, shut up shut up shut up! Miriam herself told me I was not crazy. For once, it actually wasn't me arsing things up (and that's way more uncommon than anyone who knows me might think).

I was at a friend's house, sitting on the couch, knitting happily along. I finished the last repeat on R 15 and glanced at the directions--to 5 sts before the marker. I looked at my knitting. I had 4 sts before the marker. I heaved a patient sigh and ripped back.

I knitted. I had 4 before the marker again. I sighed more heavily and ripped back again.

By the fourth time, I wasn't heaving lady-like sighs anymore. I was swearing in a manner that would have raised eyebrows in the foc'sle of a whaler.* My friend being the sort of person he is, though, didn't even bat an eye. Um, perhaps I should think about the company I keep--hmmm?

*And yeah, I stole/paraphrased that line from the brilliant P.G. Wodehouse.

Finally, I did what I should have done after rip back number two. I counted the number of stitches listed on the pattern to make sure they came out to 49, as they were supposed to do.

Huh. They did.

Then suddenly, a new idea dawned on me. Now, don't laugh, but I decided that maybe I should count the number of stitches being used to create the 49 stitches. Blindingly, painfully obvious to all, I'm sure, but to wee knitting me with the dyslexia that falls firmly within the realm of mixing up numbers, it was nothing short of a Divine Revelation. (And I didn't even have to eat any funny mushrooms to have it bestowed upon me.) I went back over R15, omitting the yos and counting out all the stitches in the dbl decs, k2togs and ssks and guess what?

I needed 48 stitches to create those 49 stitches, but in R13, I ended with only 47 stitches.

I emailed Miriam (still more than half-convinced I'd messed up somewhere) and she immediately emailed me back, stating I wasn't crazy (I've kept the email for proof), that it was the fault of one missing yo and that the pattern should read *yo, k3, k2tog, k3, yo,k1, yo...instead of the *yo, k3, k2tog, k5, yo, K3 that I had. Knock out that extra knitted stitch (back down to needing only 47 stitches again) and add in that extra yo and I was finishing--happily--the row out in no time. The fact that she'd sent me a completely updated pdf of the pattern was quite appreciated as well.

Miriam, like Marguerite, was so kind and helpful. Aren't nice designers who are patient with clueless people just lovely to have around? I can't wait to knit up some of their other patterns. (I think the Blessing socks are waiting in the wings. Well, unless they get crowded out by Eleanoras or the Basketweave Ribbings...)

2) Patience. I know, those of you who know me in the real world would be shocked that this is not an attribute which I already possess, but Row 23 on Chart 2 has taught me that perhaps I could do with a bit more zen-like acceptance in my life.

I'm not sure what it was about that row. Miriam's directions, as always, were clear and easy to follow. It wasn't an error in the pattern. I redid all the math I did above for Row 15 , and all the numbers were as perfect as could be. Miriam reminded a Designing Goddess Divine. But still.

I was supposed to have 57 stitches on both sides of the center stitch. I had 58 stitches, which meant something had gone awry 100 and some stitches apart. And it turns out that both errors I made were both located in approximately the same place--one near the beginning of the first half, one near the end of second half, which put them both near to either end of the shawl.

A symmetrical screw-up--how me. I would like to pass on my newly-acquired wisdom by pointing out that when doing a sl1 k2tog psso, it's helpful to do the *#^%&%!# psso part if one wants to get the correct number of stitches so that one's lace doesn't end up looking like a yarn interpretation of a Jackson Pollock painting.

See? Lesson learned, amid much swearing in my office during lunch and break-time while picking up a million and one dropped stitches as I tinked back along the row. Note to all: circulars from Knitpicks, which I love, are also a bit springy and it's best not to lose your grip on them if you only have a few stitches on the right-hand needle. Picking up a drop in lace, especially a yo, is a real bitch. Still, I managed to do it without leaving any gaping dropped-stitch holes.

(Ever notice how glaringly obvious those holes are when compared to the regular holes in lace? I did, which is why I spent more time than I am willing to divulge squirreling around with the yarn and trying to make it look like normal knitted fabric again. I succeed in that, nominally, anyway, and it was out of the patterned zone, so I didn't throw that off. Thank God that section lies up against the neck, and let's hope that I never run afoul of an old lady who'll actually inspect my stitching through bifocals that magnify everything by 200%.)

All that said, I would like to thank R 25. Row 25 knitted up perfectly, in about (it felt like) 5 seconds flat, with no dropped stitches and all numbers counting up as they should.

I will love R 25 to the end of my days.

Meeting Franklin Habit

Or, The Uber Tardy Blogger Catches Up Again...


Clearly, I am using my kids with four different nights (weekdays)/days (weekends) of activities, getting ready to take a new craft class (basket weaving…shh, don’t tell my hooks and needles about the new packing tools I had to buy…), zipping back across half the the nation to get a new car and work (yes, I even do that occasionally) as an excuse for being behind on the blog.

I know. Me. Behind on the blog. Shocking.

Ahem.

Anyway, I seriously can’t believe I’m behind on this one, because I got to meet Franklin Habit and spend a delightful few hours immersed in photography when he hosted a class at The Purl Diva. I found out about the class totally by accident. I was in Yardgoods, buying…um, looking, I mean looking at…yarn and was peeking at Franklin’s book while by the counter. One of the ladies informed someone had been in to buy the book so Franklin could sign it when he did his class in Brunswick in two weeks.

Class? Brunswick?? I immediately went home and caught up on the Panopticon, then checked out Purl Diva’s site, telling myself that the class would probably be way too expensive so there was no harm in just looking at the course information, gasping and going about my regular business.

But it wasn’t. It was well within even the single-mom-on-a-budget budget. And I had belated birthday money that had just been sent to me, with instructions to splurge on myself. (Like the sender really had to twist my arm on that one.)

Great. Now that I knew I could afford the class, it was probably full. Still, I emailed Ellen, as I am stupidly optimistic like that (said trait explains how so many of my dead-end relationships kept going around the cul-de-sac, but that’s another story).

Ellen emailed back that it had been full, but since it was two days after Christmas, people had cancelled and if I wanted, there was a spot available.

If?


I immediately signed up and smiled happily to myself. After all, I had done the preliminary car shopping and would certainly have a vehicle before the 27th of December.

Or not. My parents phoned. They had found a minivan in the same age range as what I had been shopping for, but for about 3,000-4,000 cheaper than the prices here, depending on how well one dickered (and my dad can dicker, believe me). So wouldn’t I reconsider the idea of purchasing one out there and saving myself some money?

Well, yeah. Stupidly optimistic I am, but I hope I’m not stupidly stupid (well, no more than average, anyway).

The problem arose when I realized that the week between Christmas and New Year’s Eve was very critical to our retention team. I wouldn’t be able to get the car until after the 1st of January.

I was stumped. What should I do? Rent a car? Grab a bus and arrive 8 hours later at a destination that was less than an hour away, having paid well more than twice the amount of the class to get there? Set out heroically early and hike the back roads to Brunswick in the predicted snowstorm? Only the first sounded remotely palatable.

And then I remembered. Someone else in my general area was taking the class too…

I emailed Ellen, who emailed the person, who emailed me, and on the very snowy morning of the 27th I met



Gina (a nurse) and Cathie (a doctor) who graciously let a complete stranger carpool with them. Besides introducing me to gelato after the class,



it was heaven to be in a car with two people who did not find talk of which level of needle pointiness one preferred, master knitting classes, and books like Shear Spirit strange. I added a bit here and there, but mostly I just listened, enjoying the almost exclusively knitting talk and Gina’s steady-in-moderately-bad-snow-conditions driving until we arrived.

Ellen’s shop is just beautiful, laid out with a true artist’s eye. It pulls you and practically beguiles you into having one of those falling-down-and-swiping-your-credit-card-on-the-way-out accidents that the Yarn Harlot occasionally mentions. Which explains (along with the birthday money prodding me) how I happened to leave the store with this



(because I have been wanting to learn to spin and so can’t afford a wheel) and this




my very first ever purchase of yarn without a project in mind. I think that naturally colored alpaca in toffee, chocolate brown and warm cream a good choice. I’ve always loved the color brown. (Hey, I’m a Midwestern farmer’s daughter. ‘Nuff said.) I’m not sure I even want to knit it up just yet. It’s so soft and so beautiful and I don’t want to muck it up making it into something it is not supposed to be.

So, I and my debit card were pretty well history in the five minutes we had to wait for Franklin to set up, even though I managed (barely) to hold off purchasing until after the class.

Oh, yeah, the class. You were wondering when I was going to get to that, weren’t you? Me, too.

Firstly, I just want to say I can see how Dolores has managed to stay around so long, despite her clearly delinquent behavior. Franklin is one of the nicest, politest people I have ever met. And not stilted, my-mother-taught-me-I-must-be-this-way-so-I-will-be-even-if-it-kills-me polite, but genuinely warm and very conscientious about giving each student time, as a good teacher should be. A person that nice will be a Dolores victim every time. Watching him instruct when talk part of the class was over was almost as much fun as trying to accomplish anything myself. He’s the most subduedly animated person I have ever met, and his reaction to stunning knitting (and from lace to Gina’s amazing ski sweater, there was stunning in abundance) was a burst of contained excitement. Hard to describe, but very neat to see.

I spent part of my time on Ellen’s computer, reading the manual for the point and shoot the ex-boyfriend had given me when he upgraded and which a friend had discovered for me online. I discovered that there was no manual setting. This did not please Luddite me, who had and a totally manual, non-digital camera when taking a B & W class and adored it (even I have my control freak moments). This means I have a choice between a flash that doesn’t do a great job of compensating for funky house lighting, no flash and having to either be totally still or to create a cairn of books to prop the camera on to get the angle I want (seldom works) or taking all pictures outside (beginning to seem a real possibility). *

The rest of the time, I tried to take pictures, but the shy gene, coupled with that stupid automatic flash that I loathe and detest, pretty much took me over. I was more comfortable watching everyone else than actually taking pictures with people around watching me. Though come to think of it, probably no one was. Shy me didn’t think of that at the time, though. Ah well.




I snapped this quick shot of Ellen and Franklin and had the double indignity of the flash and the lighting not getting along AND the auto focus freaking on me. It turned out badly (though my erstwhile fix-the-blogger's-crappy-photos-for-her friend did his dead level best to make it look better, and it looks far better than it did, believe me) and I was too embarrassed to try for another.

I also one other of the Shetland Lace Sock, though the focus seemed to think I really wanted the crockery to be the focal point of the photo; clearly it and I need to have a heart-to-heart. (And if I had been thinking, I would have gotten a shot of it with Franklin, which would hopefully shut up its whining about missing the Harlot. I felt badly that I left a photo op like that slip by, but the SLS assured me that just having Franklin point at it and discuss it was a thrill, so it’s all good.)



After that, I had a quiet discussion with Paul, and then with Paul and Franklin, on a camera a single mom could afford. They came up with the Cannon GL series, assuring me that even the older cameras with lower resolution were still dependable. Good stuff to know.

And hey, I also discovered out to make my very own, CHEAP light box (I like cheap).







See? (Oh, okay, so I played with the spinning stuff a bit.) I’m going to have fun playing with the types of lighting as well , as I can’t help but wonder what sort of effect hurricane lamp light would have on it. And Thing Two just received a camera for her birthday a couple of months back. Maybe IT has a manual setting.

Hmmmm…..

*Because of the above, you really shouldn't blame Franklin for the lack of decent picture taking. Until I screw up more, I'll never get any better. So, my dear photo guinea pigs, please bear with me. Thanks much.

Placating the Sock

The Yarn Harlot is in Boston tonight. Boston is only a few hours from where I live, but since I am new at work and already know I will have to take time off for IEP meetings and student-lead, parent-teacher conferences, I did not ask to leave early .

I did not ask, even though I very much wanted to. I'd missed her talk in the Midwest because Thing Four was singing and reciting at school and what parent wants to miss a whole program about food? Not me. Instead Thing One (chaperoning non-knitter) and Thing Two went in my stead, and the last two Things and myself caught up with the YH at the signing.

But I was proud of myself. I pulled up my big girl panties and did not whine because I couldn't go to Boston.

I can't say the same for the Shetland Lace socks. They whined enough that I began to leave them plates of cheese near their carry bag (after all, every good whine should have its accompanying nibbles to munch) .

The Shetland Laces (or rather, The Shetland Lace Sock of the Present and The Shetland Lace Sock Yet to Come) were having none of it. The Sock Monkey Butt socks had their picture taken with the Harlot. The Shetland Laces were more complex and therefore lots cooler. That slightly bigger yarn over every fourth repeat in was not their fault, afer all. Surely the YH would understand that they were at the mercy of an incompetent.

I did the only thing I could think of to shut them up.

And they are satisfied. For now, anyway.

Landladies and Designers and Mothers, Oh My

Or, In Which the Hands Figure Things Out While the Rest of the World Blurs Together

I should be sleeping right now. But I'm not (obviously). Instead I am up in defiance of unpacking and new jobbing and going to the storing (Why the hell did I throw out so much stuff in the last two moves? It means I've got to buy it all again, and I never remember all it is I need until after I get home from what I was sure was the last trip.)

First on the list of only slightly knitting related is that the very nice house that wasn't available until the end of October became available earlier, because the landlady moved early so she could have us as renters.

The Things are thrilled. Acres to play on and trees. Especially the apple tree with some of the best fall tart/sweet apples we have ever had.

I am thrilled. Because of the house, yes. But mostly...well, mostly because when we were unpacking, I found a lost treasure.

I'd had a nice set of Lantern Moon dpns for sock knitting. I managed to maim and mortally wound two needles in two days on the mad, cross-country, Stanley-infested job interview some months back. Jedediah, stalwart friend that he was, did emergency tape surgery, but knitting was sluggish every third needle. I had them replaced, though sadly, the two new Lantern Moons were not as pointy as the fallen LMs. I sighed, decided I could not live in the past, and knit (sporadically) on.

And now here we were back in the state we love and staying with friends and looking for houses and one of the kids knocked my knitting off the table in my room and a needle went MIA. One of the last of the two pointy needles. Of course. We went over the room with a fine tooth comb when we moved everything out, and still no needle. I substituted a Clover, but it wasn't the same. The yarn made a raspier sound as it moved along the needle.

Then, as I was unpacking a Styrofoam cooler of bathroom odds and ends (don't ask) I decided the best thing to do would be to tip the random cotton balls and Q-tips that had escaped their boxes into the trash. Something thin, brown, and beautifully pointy came rolling out too, and my hand caught it before it hit the bin; before my eyes had told my brain what was happening, even.

What other omen does a bistickual crafter need? This will be a happy home. Thank you, dear landlady, for moving early. I don't think I would have survived another two weeks of mismatched needles.

But the hands were doing double duty for me even the week before we moved. I mentioned how my brain and my hands were at war over the Shetland Lace socks. My solution was to (timidly) email the designer the following very confusing query:

Hello!

I'm knitting your pattern for the Shetland Lace socks and have loved it so far. Very well-written!

I have a quick question though, as these are only the second pair of socks I have knit.

I'm knitting on 3 dpns (because I like imitating a porcupine) and have the stitches even distributed with 20 on each needle, and that pattern had me consider the stitch marker as the center of the heel. With my last sock pattern, then, I moved stitches so that I used only one needle while doing the heel. This meant moving the end stitches from the heel needles onto each of the other two needles so that I had the correct number of stitches for the heel and the instep.

For your pattern, however, will I have to do it differently? Especially since you specify that the purl stitch needs to be moved to make the 29/31 split. With the last socks, I did basic ribbing so there wasn't any worry about altering the pattern. But with the lace, I want to be careful that I do not alter anything if it will effect the look of the sock.

Sorry that this is not very clear. I'm relatively new to all this and kind of knitting in isolation, though I did just find a great LYS where I moved to, so as soon as I get unpacked... Thanks for your help and for creating such a beautiful pattern.

Best,

(well, me, of course)

Somehow, from that maze of confusion, the designer, who should be sainted or knighted or at the very least be gifted a lifetime supply of warm cookies, responded quickly and clearly:

Oh how I wish we could just sit down together for a minute or two. It would be so much easier than trying to explain.

Well, here goes. If this still doesn't make sense, we can try again.

In the pattern, one circular needle is the instep and the other is the heel.

The easiest way to convert this to double points is to use two needles for the heel and two for the instep instead of splitting it into thirds like you have it. With four double points you can pretty much follow the pattern as written using 2 dps = 1 circular.

A second option using three needles, when you get to the heel, put the heel stitches on one needle and the instep stitches on two needles.

The purpose of the 31/29 split is to center the lace panel down the instep of the sock. Knowing that should help you figure out stitch placement.

Marguerite

Reading that should be quite clear, but the minute my brain tried to envision, it began to second guess itself, a sure sign that mental lock down would be commencing. My hands came to the rescue once again. They quietly hushed my brain and, using the pale Clover needle to advantage, inserted it into the knitting directly after needle number one. They slipped stitches from one needle to another, splitting the numbers evenly, then slipped the last stitch on the left as called for. My eyes and brain blinked, then thought, "Oh, that's it? Why didn't the hands tell us earlier?"

(The hands probably would have, if the brain hadn't been so pushy and know-it-all.)

But right now the hands don't have time to make the sign language equivalent of nah nah na nah nah to the brain. The hands, which have been feeling rather cocky due to their moments of cleverness and dexterity, are now paying the price for their pride.

My mother repacked several boxes, mostly belonging to Thing 2 and mostly squashed, as Thing 2's boxes included lots of airy spaces. My mum valiantly pulled boxes apart and repacked while the rest of us loaded up the ABF freight truck with other items.

Now, my mother is a woman who can pack. Seriously. She can fit things into one small space that even those sadists who squash sleeping bags and tents into coverings that a normal human can never get back over the rerolled bag or refolded tent would envy.

She's also a woman who managed to slip in a good deal of extras in her "repacking of your things, dear."

Finding the mixing bowls and measuring utensils was a lovely surprise. I adore baking, and my mother knows that. And really, can one have too many measuring spoons? I think not.

I was a bit more perplexed, I'll admit, by this:

Call me stupid, but it wasn't even the stuffed cow that caught my eye first. I recognized the Tupperware and the thermos (probably because I'd seen them at my parents for years), and stared at the mini-food processor. I hadn't bought that, had I? I mean, I was happy to have it, but still. Where did I get that?

Then a Thing passed by and said, "Cool stuffed cow. His name's Joe. " A Thingish hand reached out, then paused, considering. "I can have him, right?"

And that's when the Tupperware dropped. Only a Nana would pack a cow with kitchen stuff.

And only a Nana would stow away extra bedding for a family on a budget. She was generous to a fault. The only problem is that she had forgotten that she had done similar for me sometime between the births of Thing 3 and Thing 4. I already had a largish box of the last bunch of sheets and blankets she bequeathed me. Rather very largish.

Dust gets into boxes on long moves, and Thing 4's dust allergy is not one to brook much of any sort of dust. This meant washing. Lots of washing. And for the poor hands, folding a stack of sheets and pillowcases that came out almost as tall as Thing 4, who is slightly taller than average for his age.

So, if anyone has any ideas on what to do with a billion sheets and limited sheet closet space, my hands and I would be ever so grateful. I mean, I live in a one-story house. It's not like I could even use them to heroically lower Things to safety in the event of a fire. Given the short distance to from a first floor window to the ground, all I'd have to do is chuck them out the window.

(Note: next ramble will be lots shorter. Promise.)

Wrong

(Before I begin, I have to point out that for the first time in ages, I'm actually able to post a blog on the date for which I intended it to be posted. I'm quite chuffed about that.)

I am in house hunting hell.

Well, okay, maybe not hell. I do have a tendency toward the dramatic, I'll admit.

House hunting purgatory, then. (We'll ignore for the moment that I'm Lutheran and when Luther got in a snit with the Catholics he chucked out things like Purgatory. Think the Catholics have now too, for that matter.)

The thing about moving back to small towns is that they're, well, small. There aren't as many housing opportunities.

There are lots in the small city where I'll be working, but the Things' requests (and my own wants, too, quite honestly) are for some space and especially, for my "Learning Disabled" Things, a school small enough where they won't get lost in the crowd. After years of living with LD and of working with them, I can categorically state that all LD means is someone with an unusually high IQ who tends to think outside the box and who is totally unimpressed by conventional sit on your butt and do it this way learning. Makes me wonder why the word disabled is even part of the label.

(Anyway, little me digression there, sorry. I get like that when not in full tell-a-story mode.)

So, we've spent lots of time trucking around visiting school districts and trying to find housing in them.

The general result in School District #1 has been that houses are either 1) more than I would want to pay for a mortgage, let alone rent, especially with a heating oil winter coming on, 2) actually below what I expected to pay and therefore tiny and already rented anyway, or 3) perfectly within my range and available, but not rentable to me because the landlords generally rent to childless couples only and I am not childless. I'm not even a couple. And when you have 3 homes in category 1 and a single home each in categories 2 and 3, your options ratchet down rather quickly.

School District #2 has a house. A lovely house on 8 acres. A lovely house on 8 acres in my price range with enough square footage for all our furniture and for furniture I don't even own (like a couch) and a terrific propane fireplace (which I would soooo use) and a prospective landlady who really wants us to have the place because, as she said in an email, she thinks we would take good care of her home, and that means everything to her.

It's a lovely house that is not available until the end of October. This would mean driving the Things from the town we are in to some sort of before school drop off each morning, driving into work, driving back up to get them from some sort of after school, then driving clear back to where we currently are. If you are at all familiar with Maine's "you can't get here from there" road system, you would, as I did, quickly realize that what should be about 20 minutes of driving on straight shot road between the three towns (if said straight roads actually existed) is more apt to take an hour. One way. Besides, although my hosts would say stay, I don't want to impose that long. And it's not like there's a handy extended stay hotel to live in for a few weeks either. Small town, small city. Sigh.

So, the perspective landlady who really wants us is racking her brains trying to figure out how to get out of her home earlier so we can get into it, I've emailed a friend who has a mother with a large home in a great school district father south down the road (but at least it's interstate driving; interstates are pretty straight shots, even in Maine) who was seriously considering looking for someone to move in to help pay for oil (she and I are very sympathetic on views on politics, religion and kid raising and she adores my Things so we get on like a house afire) and we go today to look at a place 20 minutes north up the interstate, which has a dean from work in the same area with whom I cold commute, and also has a fireplace and at least an acre of land, but which is more along the modular home build which will mean not lots of insulation.

(And yes, I realize that that last sentence-which-is-its-own-paragraph is the sentence from hell, but I believe it is punctuated properly enough to not technically be a run-on AND it perfectly illustrates just how quickly my brain is slamming together options so you're stuck with it. Mea culpa.)

The last house is at least the perfect excuse for lots of sock knitting. Really warm, thick socks, like the Frankensocks.

Not that the socks I am currently knitting are warm or thick. (Yes, I'm actually going to talk about knitting on a knit/crochet blog. I know that seems odd given the last few posts, but please bear with me.)

I'm knitting Shetland Lace Rib Socks from Stitches of Violet with the purple Trekking sock yarn that knocked the Frankensocks out of the running awhile back (we won't discuss just how long awhile back that was, okay?). The socks are my first go at lace, and I am loving the idea that regular mistakes (i.e. holes! Holes in the knitting!) could create something so beautiful.

Well, for real beauty, go click on the link. My stitching isn't that perfectly even yet, even allowing for the blobby lace look the Yarn Harlot talks about and the fact that I have a tiny point and shoot digital camera. (I so want a rig like Deanne has. Nice camera. Nice price too, I am sure. Sigh.)

And I've come to an interesting bit in the pattern. I'm getting ready to do the heel. Heels have never bothered me. I learned short row heels while knitting Christmas stockings and have had fun turning them ever since. But my old sock pattern (the first and only pair I'd made up until now) had me consider the stitch marker/first stitch as the center of my heel. This made sense to me, because it's where everything began. (If that's completely illogical, don't tell me. Dyslexic brains move in their own logic sphere.) To do the short row heel then, I simply slipped an equal number of stitches off of each side of my first needle and onto the other two dpns, then knit happily away.

If I use the same process here, though, I will mess up the lace patterning when I return to knitting lace; each repeat is a set of ten and I need to keep that set together or I will have an off-kilter foot. I'm off kilter enough as it is, I don't need twisted feet.

One bit of my brain says, "The sock is a tube. Therefore, you should be able to split the stitches as needed and the tube can't do a thing about it. It can't even run home to its mommy crying because it hasn't got one. Just do it." The other bit says, "Yes, but it's a tube knit in the round, which means you're knitting a spiral. A spiral might care where you say the middle is."

The rest of my brain has told both bits to shut up. Some days, there is nothing more fun than being a house-hunting, dyslexic, beginner knitter with not another knitter in sight. I wonder if Maranacook Yarns is open right now? After all, it's fine to be out driving; all Tropical Storm Kyle is doing is dropping rain that sounds comfortingly heavy as it hits (that's due to a frontal boundary and upper-level trough that's pulling Kyle this way; I should mention I'm a bit of a weather geek too). It's only in fall that rain sounds that way, have you noticed?

Oh, and Arthur? Does this blog answer your question?