Going Postal

I think the post office is out to get me. I strongly suspect demonic possession.

Seriously.

At first, I thought it was confined to international postal transactions. I mean, it wasn't unusual to receive a box from loved ones across the pond that came home looking like this:

All that were holding those packages together was the tape and the good will of postal people in countries the to which the boxes had never been addressed (though they somehow ended up in places like Romania anyway).

I'm sure the postal demon gnashed its little teeth at said goodwill undoing all of its careful package mangling planning and vowed its revenge on nice people.

Because slowly, sneakily, the little imp has begun to do funny things with even Stateside mailings. It took advantage of me when I went on a bit of a yarn & supplies spree and ordered several things all within days of each other.

It didn't do it without first creating a false sense of security. It let me receive this yarn from Rikes Wollmaus in Germany for the Baby Surprise Jacket for little Lief.

(Note the German postmark and remember how far it travelled...)

Then it let me receive this bag from Spunky Eclectic

and this DVD from School House Press.

Three good deliveries in a row. I should have known it was too good to last.

It was with the Afghan and cro-hooks from Turn of the Century that the postal demon struck with its full, malevolent fury.

Bill, from Turn of the Century, does exquisite work, and when I asked about him on Rav, I received glowing reviews about his customer service as well.

I found the page of regular crochet hooks first and just sat staring at them, stupefied by their beauty. The PD took note of that; I'm sure it did. Had I been paying attention, I would have heard its little snigger then.

But no, I blithely got hold of Bill and found out that in addition to cro-hooks and regular hooks, Bill did do Afghan hooks as well (found on the Odds 'n' Ends page) and we worked out what I would need.

I tried to pay via Paypal, but the PD had obviously coerced Paypal's demon into assisting, because Paypal didn't work. Bill discovered there were some updates he needed to do. I suggested a money order, promptly went out and got one, and rather tardily sent it out (because I'm like that). Still, it was only a few days behind the Rikes Wollmaus payment, you know?

Due to my own negligence, I tried to be patient whilst waiting for my order. (And all of you who know me can quit snorting with laughter over that sentence. Because I did. Really.)

Still, Turn of the Century is in Ohio. I live only a few states from Ohio, as opposed to one large ocean and several other countries away from Germany. So when I received the above mentioned BSJ yarn before the hooks, I have to admit I sensed a not-so-divine presence at work in my life. I sent Bill a polite email. The email bounced back. Puzzled, I resent from another address. I received a prompt reply stating that he had not received my email informing him that payment had been sent (even the email demon works for PD, apparently), nor had he received the payment itself. I sent a "but I sent it!" reply. He sent back a, "but I still haven't received it, so sorry" email in return. (There were other emails--several--but as they were of a similar vein, I won't bore you any more than I already have.)

Poor Bill. Between missing emails and missing payments, I wouldn't have blamed him if he thought he was dealing with a psycho crochet hook stalker. Finally, I offered to pay via the now working just fine Paypal the next day and trust that if the money order ever appeared, he would cash it and return the funds to me. He assured me that he would.

Er, the next day I got busy. It's that prompt decision followed by tardy action bit that I mentioned above.

And the PD chortled, guffawed, and then roared triumphant laughter.

I mean, really. What a git, you know?

The next day I seated myself before the computer in defiance of the PD, determined that I would not only successfully submit a Paypal order, but that I would somehow get word of it to Bill, subversive demon network or no subversive demon network.

Then I opened my email, and saw this:

GUESS WHAT!!!!

The money order finally showed up. A bit worse for wear, but intact. I should be able to get the hooks in Wednesday's Priority Mail. I will email after they are in the mail.

So, approximately three days after I received this email (and three weeks after the yarn came from Germany) I received these (the cro-hook is in its black carrying case; don't ask me why I did took the pic that way. I just did):

And the box wasn't even dented.

Back at ya, PD.

(And for everyone out there wondering, yes, I did send the money order to the correct address. I know this because I asked Bill and he confirmed that I had. So quit laughing, J. I mean it.)

Trading One Stick for Another

The retreat didn't make me homesick after all.

True, there are lots of trees, just like in Maine. But they are different trees (well, some of them, anyway). There are more birch than I was used to in southern Maine (though farther north in Maine there are some nice stands of them). More deciduous and less evergreen. More...something. I don't know how to describe it. The best I can say is that they shared the same sense of isolation, even if they did not give it to me in the same way.

There were two cabins at the retreat. One was the main house, the other this:

I stole the newly made window seat in the above bay window for my bed

so I could fall asleep watching the moonlight on the water. And when I woke up to see this:

I knew that I hadn't chosen wrongly in ignoring the bedrooms. I let the fog lift a little, since I hadn't paddled this lake before and didn't know what to expect. Then I slipped into the mist.

The lake was smallish and comfortable.

I didn't get close to the loons, but I saw this eagle when it was in flight. (Jean took the wonderful picture of it.)

Probably the freakiest thing was being able to paddle in this:

(Well, really, the night looked more like this

but either Jean or Deanne did something cool with the filter on the shot that one of them took, so I just had to add the blue night pic as well. In reality, it was as inky black as you see above.)

There is no way you would catch me paddling on a lake in Maine in the dark, no matter how good the moonlight (Oh all right, maybe I would paddle during full moon on a lake I knew well. Maybe.).

In Maine there are these things called boulders. In the lakes. Sometimes scraping the kayak bottom if you misjudge the depth of the water when looking down into it. So night-time kayaking in Maine (for people like me, anyway) is a no-no.

The other big difference in the lakes is the amount of vegetation. The bottom of Maine lakes look like this (unless there is milfoil present)

while here I found plants like this:

and this:

and this:

and even more in the still water over by the beaver dam.*

I have to say that I actually felt pretty content to have traded this stick

for this one.

(Besides, I got crochet time in while lazing on the end of the dock in the late afternoon sun, so all is well.)

*Note to anyone paddling late at night on a beaver-inhabited lake. The loud, crashing splash you may hear while paddling by yourself on the darkest part of the lake is not the entry of a crazed moose into the water, intent upon kayak attacking, nor is the belly flop of an inordinately large bear mistaking you for a floating snack. It's simply one fat beaver slapping his tail on the water.

Little twit about scared me to death, let me tell you.

Temptation Resisted (Not)

(Note: There are some backed up blogs waiting to appear. I was on the road and then in a cabin in Maine without Internet access. So welcome to the world of blog catch up! The blog is very happy to have more to say.)

For the record, it's not breaking your promise to yourself not to try a new hook/technique until you've finished bunny projects if you think of a project for the bunny that involves the hook, right?

Right. Glad we got that cleared up.

Besides, now C's bunny will also have a fetching crocheted rectangle for a cute bunny blanket.

The fact that I've totally fallen for Tunisian crochet is NOT the main reason for making the bunny a blanket. Just because I'm finding the idea that all the crochet stitches end up on the hook






and then off the hook






totally enamoring (don't ask me why) doesn't mean that influenced my decision.


We'll ignore the fact that I love the basket weave look of the front of the fabric





and the almost knitted look of the back, because that's just a happy side effect of making C happy.






Yes, all this enjoyment and happiness is purely for C's benefit. (But for the record? Bobbles are the devil's own invention. They are evil, evil, evil and I absolutely loathe making them. The fact that all my bobbles look like knotted rats' whiskers has nothing to do with my perceptions of them, I promise you.)

Off to teacher's retreat. More later.

City Sheep & General Rambles

I don't know where this particular breed of sheep hails from, as Thing 2 sent the pictures on to me, but I sooo want some!




(Methinks you can click to embiggen. If so, you definitely should.)



But hey, these are the only sheep I can see getting past the neighbors in the metro area without them complaining that loud, bleaty animals are keeping them up nights (though they'd be quieter than a dog AND would keep my grass trimmed). I mean, I'd be cutting my coat to fit the cloth, right? Right.


And right now I should be knitting up a storm for baby/toddler presents when we go back out to Maine at the end of the month. Cecelia's bunny has only a bit of a dress done, nothing else. Lief's BSJ yarn just arrived from Germany (and not at the address at which I am now residing so must touch base and try to get it--sigh) so I've not cast on so much as a stitch and end of the month is heading up to smack me in the face right quick. Basically, much to get done.


But what am I doing? Figuring out the layout of my new classroom (in my head, mind you), attempting to avoid throwing all the knitting to the wind completely and trying out my new Tunisian crochet hooks (just arrived after a long and harrowing trip, but that's another post), realizing that now that I'm back on a good connection I really have nothing interesting to post (Irony, irony; though if I started that baby blanket with the new hooks I could. Gah! Must. Resist. Temptation.) and counting down the days until teacher retreat, which happens to be on a lake away up north. That idea is making me and my kayak very, very happy.



I don't care if the kayak has nothing to do with lesson plans. It wants to go, so it's going. No one in their right minds will be up at 6:00 a.m. to lesson plan anyway (and if they are, then I'm going to seriously freak) so the kayak and I will be free to hit the water.

Everyone says farther north looks more like home (Maine). I wonder if that will be a relief to city-bound me or if it will make me homesick?

Oh, that's a question I really don't need to ponder. Someone tell me from where those sheep hail (knowing my luck, AT & T owns them) and meanwhile, I'm back to knitting a bunny skirt...

Bloggin' Bunny Butts

When I title it that way, it almost sounds like an epithet. But knitting a bunny butt had its epithet moments, I have to say.

This is all for Cecelia, the ex-b'friend's beautiful niece. CeeCee has recently become a big sister and while her mom, Anna, reports that Cecelia seems thrilled with little Lief for his own sake, she's been less than thrilled with the shift in attention that, as the only granddaughter and youngest grandchild, she magnanimously accepted as her due. It's fine for her to love Lief, but all others are supposed to be focused on her curly-headed self. I can say, very truthfully, that she is not spoiled. I was around enough to watch her being told no by all grown-ups. What she is is enormously, unreservedly loved, as all children should be.

Anyway, as honorary auntie for a time, I decided that when I crocheted up Lief's blanket, I should make something for CeeCee as well. I didn't want her to feel left out. You know the deal.

I found on a cute sweater from The Natural Knitter, by the late Barbara Albright (a wonderful book; check it out). However, about the time I discovered that Anna was knee deep in blankets, I also looked more closely at the Bodacious Bunny Set and realized that Cecelia was already too big for it. And I wasn't so sure that my first sweater ever was the best time to play with pattern alteration. It's never bothered me before, but then again, those alternations were always for things like Christmas stockings. I wanted Cecelia to actually be able to wear it, if I made it.

So for Lief, I switched to the EZ BSJ with matching hat and booties (thank you Ravelry for inspiration) and decided that I would still do the baby blanket, as I want to learn Tunisian crochet in the worst way and that was a legitimate excuse to do so. (And it still is. I just need to find a blanket-less baby out there, that's all. Unfortunately, there are probably all too many of them.)

But figuring out what to do for Cecelia was harder. For some reason, the Bodacious Bunny had hopped into the deepest reaches of my subconscious. I found myself flipping through Family Circle Easy Toys: 25 Delightful Creations to Knit and Crochet, and there it was. Silly Bunny. Bodacious Bunny totally approved, as Silly Bunny was just too cute.

And I could make Silly B little outfits, thus getting my let's-experiment-with-sweaters-now phase going. After all, Silly B will be living in Maine, where mere knittedness isn't always enough to keep one warm. Well, not if that's all you're made of, anyway.

Enter the epithet moments. (You were wondering if I would get back to those, weren't you?)

To begin with, the pattern, while well-written, was the sort that assumed that one had the ability to visualize how the pieces would fit together.

The problem with that is that I'm dyslexic. (Yeah, yeah, a dyslexic writer, how ynnuf is that. I've heard all the jokes. And the rest I've made up myself).

Besides the classic problems with reading (I skipped that for various reasons and instead flipped more numbers than I did letters), dyslexics also tend to have problems with short-term memory (but look out for long-term; once we embed it, we don't forget it) and can have some problems with spatial visualization and judgement as well, which may explain my unaccountable habit of knocking one shoulder into door frames on a more-consistent-than-I-would-like basis.

Either way, I could not visualize how this bunny would actually fit together, and, as I watched two back bunny pieces come out longer than one front bunny piece, I began to get more than a little apprehensive. I mean, I know to what extent I can mess up royally. I never underestimate myself there.

I knit on optimistically (i.e. with as much denial as I could muster), but there was no getting round it. The back of the bunny seemed, to me, to have morphed into this ominous, are-you-sure-you-didn't-repeat-a-couple -rows'-worth-of-instructions-one-too-many-times bigness. Believe me, there were times when an epithet such as ,"Bloggin' bunny butts anyway!" was probably the politest phrase in my said-under-my-breath crafting vocabulary. It's a wonder the the yarn didn't leap off my needles and make a run for it when it heard all threats I muttered at it.

To make matters worse, there was one more than one fetching bunny photo, with cute little Silly B posing cutely (sometimes with a cute kiddie, sometimes alone) in its cute little overalls which cutely hid its seemingly freakishly misshapen bunny butt and other pertinent bunny construction points from me. All I had was one brief line drawing which, again, expected that I could mentally visualize to fit the bits and pieces lying scattered about me.

For most of you, I'm sure figuring out things like how bunny body parts fit together would have been a walk in the park. But for those of us like me, I beg a boon of the designers. One cute picture only, please. I mean, Silly Bunny had me at cast on 13 stitches. Really. I didn't need additional adorableness to induce me to buy the yarn.

So if you've got the extra photo op space, use it well. Show me the bunny bits. Loads of bunny bits. Give me pictures of bodiless hands holding bunny bits and showing me how to put them all together.

I finally did manage to hit visualization possibilities; I had a dim picture in my head, literally, and I held grimly onto it. It was only after I had most of the front finally knitted and I could hold each piece an physically rotate it in my own two hands, though, that I could see whether or not I was correct.

Strangely enough, I was.




Given the number of stuffed animals that have an actual heinie upon which to sit, I know it seems rather goofy that I did not realize I was creating Silly B's little seat. But there you have it. Or, more correctly, there Silly B had it. I may have clued in (may being the operative word) had Silly B not been dressed in overalls; it was hard for me to tell whether there was anything upon which the bunny could sit or if they photographer had cunningly propped the bunny up (and you know they'd do that).

Despite major bunny butt angst, I finally produced this:



(Silly B with her suitcase which will hold the ensembles I am theoretically crocheting and knitting.)



You'll be seeing Silly B a lot more when she models her wardrobe. Best not to go into bunny overkill now.

So, for the tribe of the outside the box crafters (especially those of us who aren't even sure what shape or color the box is), have mercy, oh designers.

.hcum os reve ti etaicerppa eW .sknahT