Friends Don't Let Friends

Okay, so you hear it *everywhere* in the knitting world. A crafter's co-op (which does, I think, free-trade or something positive and similar) even makes a greeting card with a wee knitted swatch riddled with non-yo holes to illustrate the point: DON'T drink and knit.

Well, babies, it had been a loooong drive from New York to Chicago, and it had rained for most of it. I spent most of my time in Ohio either looking at skies like this



or hoping that I would be able to see out my windshield soon. Downpour city. However, it did allow me to get this picture during a lull--my shutter speed and the car speed turned a blurred picture into something almost impressionistic, and I was absurdly pleased with the result.



So it wasn't the storm that fostered the need for wine. I'm a Midwestern-raised girl--I can handle storms.

Nope, it was getting to downtown Chicago to drop off Thing One's stuff that did me in.

Call me simplistic, but I rather think that if I get off on an exit for Lakeshore Drive, then I should BE on Lakeshore Drive. I should not have had to scoot across 40-billion grid-locked lanes in an obscenely short amount of time so that I could get to Lakeshore, which the exit promised I would be on, rather than ending up in Chinatown, which I am sure is lovely but was not at all where I wanted to go.

By the time I got through that nifty maneuver, I was more than ready for a good red.

My host cautioned it was rather strong, but I insisted that lightweight me (who's also dropped a bit of actual weight, for which my doctor will yell at me but oh well) who had not eaten since about 11:30 a.m could handle it, even though it was now 9:30 p.m.

And bwa ha ha--to prove it, I nimbly began to knit the wrong side row of the shawl. I was smugly pointing out that look, all my little purl stitches were there, were even, were undropped, were indeed a thing of beauty, and then I looked more closely.

I had just turned the shawl into a cowl.

Thankfully, I at least had the sense not to frog it out right then. Instead, with as much dignity as a tipsy knitter could muster, I set my work down and stepped away from it.

I thought I had salvaged the situation quite well, but when I came downstairs in the morning I found this:



Methinks my friend is a cheeky git.

Yes, Virginia...

You really can knit whilst stuck in a queue of tourist traffic at a tollbooth.



I mean, hey, c'mon, it's not like I was doing 60 or something. It was like, inch forward at 2 miles an hour, put foot on break, do another fifeteen purls, inch forward (you get the picture).

Although I was purling. I mean, you don't have to look at your work when you purl, so doing 60 and knitting...OMG.

It could WORK.

(Well, as long as you're not driving in Boston or Chicago, anyway...)

I Am Handcrafted, Hear Me Roar

Dearest Stitches,

We need to talk about you messing with my head. You all, I'm sure, as you sit there on the needles, gab endlessly about ways to make your life more amusing.

I can understand it must be boring to wait a couple of hundred stitches down and then a couple of hundred back to find out whether you're going to be knitted, purled ssk'd, dbl dec'd, k2tog'd or sl1 k2tog psso'd. (Well, except you two groups of three stitches at either end. You never change. I admire your stoicism and herewith exempt you from the rest of this diatribe.)

I empathize with boredom. Really. I do.

But for the love of lace, when I've got a section with a 103 stitches, with a marker after stitch 51, then I expect 52 stitches on the other side. I'm a simple knitter. I don't think that's asking for much.

I see no humor in you pretending, then, to have 51 stitches on the other side as well. Or 48, 47, 53 or 49. And the time you made the leap down to 32 was really, really not funny at all. You knew it was a row with a lot of yos. You knew how easy it is to muck those up, and you took advantage of my apprehensions.

But the worst of it? You didn't even bother to try and hide your sniggering. Not even after I discovered all of you were there after all. Sauciness is one thing, but that, my dear stitches, was the equivalent of a battle cry.

And I have never been one to back down from a battle.

So. I went back and redid myself, complete with Chris-given nickname. I'm no longer Heidi: Handcrafted Electronic Individual Designed for Infiltration.

I have become*



Heidihun: Handcrafted Electronic Individual Designed for Infiltration, HARM & ULTIMATE NULLIFICATION.

Ponder those last words, dearest stitches. Think what they could do to your happy dreams of becoming a beautiful shawl. I know how you long to be beautifully blocked, lovingly worn, and jealously admired. But if this rebellion continues, all those dreams will be for naught.

Can you imagine it? Stop and listen. Yes. There it is. The soft sound of frogs, ripping harmfully back to where you lie trembling on the needles.

Think of becoming, once again, one long, hugely boring piece of string, wound back into a ball. No pretty patterns. No beautiful shape. No admiration of your subtle colors.

Just...ultimate nullification.

There there, dear stitches. No sniffling. We don't want you felting together, now do we? Have you all taken a deep breath? Are we all on the same page? Can we count sensibly now?

Good. We'll begin R15 of the current chart, then. Thank you.

Sincerely,

Your knitter

*Source : http://cyborg.namedecoder.com/ (both text & picture are the property of cyborg.namedecoder.com)

What's in a name?

Okay, so I spend some time on Facebook. Just a bit. Honest. (Though ironically I spend less time on it now that I have a month off work. I'm too busy. We won't ponder the implications of that just now, all right?)

Anyway, for the longest time, I was good and did NO quizzes. None, none, none. I was there to check in on family members, to reconnect with old high school classmates I would have never heard from again otherwise--like that. I certainly was not there to be cheeky or (dare I say it) smartassical, and most DEFINITELY not there to mess about with applications. I had loftier reasons for being.

But, but...but then...this cool application started showing up on my friends' pages.

Decode your robot name

Source : http://cyborg.namedecoder.com/ (both text & picture are the property of cyborg.namedecoder.com)

Jeralyn got J.E.R.A.L.Y.N.: Journeying Electronic Replicant Assembled for Logical Yelling and Nullification.

(Logical Yelling. I mean, who doesn't want to yell in a logical manner? Seriously. Rather a rare talent, that.)

Chris was C.H.R.I.S.: Cybernetic Humanoid Responsible for Infiltration and Sabotage.

(Knew there was a reason he's always running amok with a camera and going off on those "adventures" of his.)

Fiona got to be F.I.O.N.A.: Functional Individual Optimized for Nocturnal Assassination.

(Note to self: Never sneak up on Fi whilst she is sleeping, thinking one is being clever. One wouldn't be.)

Deanna is D.E.A.N.N.A.: Digital Electronic Assassination and Nocturnal Nullification Android.

(I'm so not letting Dee hook up with Fi for a glass of wine. Who knows what those two would get up to?)

Josiah ended up with J.O.S.I.A.H: Journeying Operational Sabotage & Immediate Assassination Humanoid.

(Clearly need to vet the Thing's movie watching habits. Delusions of grandeur there.)

But delusions of grandeur and dangerousness aside, how cool were those? How could I not want to find out my cool name as well?

Besides, my name is Heidi. I was seriously curious what in the world they could come up with for H. Hardwired? Hefty? Hell-bent? Heinous? Oh, maybe Heroic? (Hmm--probably not...)

So, I did it.

Heidi has decoded his/her robot name

HEIDI, Your robot name is :H.E.I.D.I.: Handcrafted Electronic Individual Designed for Infiltration

Source : http://cyborg.namedecoder.com/

Handcrafted? Handcrafted?!?! How perfect is that for little bistickual me?

Ohhh, and infiltration as well! I pictured myself with Tunisian crochet hook in one hand, a hip pocket of dpns at the ready and a set of circs (long ones) tucked into my back pocket. (Yeah, babies, that's me--fully armed. Who needs a bo staff, throwing stars, or nunchucks?)

Holding a Knit-Lite aloft and glowing in my free hand, I would scour the world, sneaking into patterns and mastering their secrets. Color work while carrying 50 strands of yarn in a manner that would make Debbie Bliss' head spin? I'd laugh. The trickiest Tunisian? Casual, airy sigh. Lace that would make most people lie down on the dirt-covered floor of an arena and wait for a monster truck to roll over them? Piece of cake for a Handcrafted Infiltrator such as moi. It's what I'm Designed for, after all.

And once I'd infiltrated the patterns successfully, what next? Why, LYSs, of course.

Maranacook's locally hand-painted sock yarn, Purl Diva's beaded silk, Korner Knitters' scrumptious alpaca, Halcyon's unbelievable wools...

They wouldn't stand a chance. (Insert gleeful mwah ha ha here.)

Overall, I've decided that my name--which always made me feel as if I should be on a Swiss mountaintop, cheerfully gamboling along after goats until one of the little blighters did a hard right while I went blithely on ahead and dropped into 50-billion miles deep crevasse--perhaps isn't so bad after all.

You Think You Know A Person

So the other night Thing One and I were having a conversation. It sprang from some Unidentified Insect Object that I'd glimpsed from the corner of my eye.

It was a thought-provoking debate on the moral issues of bug death. Both sides cared intensely about expressing their viewpoints. I was sure, though, that my unassailable logic had carried the day.

But at the end of it all, he looked at me and said, "So you mean to tell me that between having a mosquito carrying West Nile virus and a yarn-eating moth in your room, you'd take the mosquito?"

And he said it in kind of an incredulous tone. Like there might be a different answer than the one I'd given.

Huh. Go figure, right?

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.

Erm, Remember That Post I Promised Two Months Ago?

Yes, darlings. They're here. At last. (As in, really long last.)

Without further ado, we present to you...

Snow Zombies on the Catwalk.



The hip and edgy Snow Zombies of the Things, featuring Thing 1's SZ doing a mosh-pit leap onto the runway.



The classically elegant look of the mature SZs, featuring accessories which can hold two of them up, if need be, and which are craftily disguised as a walking stick and snow shovel.



And the star of this event, the Carolina Snow Zombie in a beautiful pale pink ensemble, with glittery snowflakes all about it.

They were, needless to say, a sensation that hit the snow zombie society by storm. Within mere hours of this exclusive event, we were being pelted with orders from SZs the world over (well, the cold parts of the world over) with orders for the magnificent couture accoutrements. And the Things are right on that. Knitting up a storm, they are. (Me? I'm ducking lightning bolts right about now. Let's just move along from order-processing discussion, shall we?)

The organizers of this affair would like to thank one very busy photographer for all of his work with our sometimes high-maintenance models. What do you mean, he was having to mess with Photoshopping the SZs over human models?!? What is this photoshopping of which you speak? Never heard of it. Clearly, that is a vicious rumor started by Paris Hilton, who was all in a snit because she was not invited to the show. I mean, she called up crying and everything, but what was I supposed to do when Nicole Richie said no way was she coming if Paris was coming and...(Erm. Ahem. Time to move along once again. Right ho. Back to the ultra chic world-weary tone.)

Yes, yes, you say, in bored voice. Everyone know all about the runway (runaway?) life of models. But what are they like away from the bright lights and high fashion? Enquiring minds want to know.

Enter Thing 2, who has the makings of a first-rate tabloid paparazzi already blossoming in her teenage self. She stalked the snow zombies, stealthily intruded into their private lives and now presents to us a pictorial peek into their doings.



(The fact that Thing 2 discovered that my homemade light box had been taken over by this lot had nothing to do with shoving the Thing out the door with camera and SZs in hand.)



Thing 1's SZ headed straight off to see a concert. But not Slayer. Air Supply has kicked off their reunion tour, and this headbanging SZ had front-row tickets.



Thing 2's SZ headed back to its job as a sketchy droid dealer, thus negating my idea that its hood had an EZ-Tomten-meets-Laura-Ingall-Wilder look to it and confirming Thing 2's jawa-look opinion. Sigh. But at least it's a colorful jawa look.



Thing 3's SZ bought into all the, "You look like an owl" observations and, in the words of Elbow, decided that it was perfect weather to fly. (The pictures of said flight are here withheld. It wasn't pretty, and we do have certain level of decorum to maintain on the blog.)



Thing 4's SZ seemed overwhelmed by all the green and retreated to the shade of the trees, the better to protect its precious snowball. (Though how it is going to throw the snowball when said sphere is attached to its hand is rather a circular conversation at the moment. One cannot always reason with snow zombies. Rather like men in that respect.)



The Grandpa's SZ decamped without his ever-ncessary snow shovel. (If you know Midwestern farmers, you'll immediately understand what a scandal that is. Why it's not on the front page of every national newspaper I can't even begin to think.)



Carolina's SZ enjoyed a moment with Maine wildflowers in the charmingly natural (i.e. in desperate need of a mowing) front yard before being stuffed in a mailer and posted to the Dominican Republic. (Carolina has a dear wish to see snow. The SZ was the closest we could come.)



The Mom Zom in her natural, undecorated state*, next to her favorite flower, the effervescent dandelion. (Now picked for her exclusively by Thing 4, as the others have grown too up to do so.)



And Jed's SZ? Off into the wilderness it went. Completely unlike its new owner... ;)



Thus, we at tardily long last, present the final snow zombies post. They were great fun to make, and I'm trying hard to convince myself that Marie Mayhew's owls aren't just as cute.



Sigh.



*And yes, I rather ran out of steam when it came time to accessorize my own SZ. Fun as they were, I think I may have made them to excess and ended up zombied out. I'll make the hat and scarf next winter. I'm leaning toward the Carolina SZ look, I think. Same yarn, anyway. Just a different color.