Yarn-A-Go-Go

Spring Forward

Love it! I do! It's based (very, very loosely) on Thrifty Knitter's Spring Forward Fall Back pattern. But I got a tighter gauge than her, so I recalculated the neck and just went from there.

Yarn: 2nd Time Cotton, Knit One Crochet Two (recycled from new textile waste). 180 yds per skein, I used two of each color.

I had fun taking the photos to show you.

Then Digit and I got in a little spat.

He always wins.

Blood was not drawn but it was not for lack of trying.

Luckily, there are plenty of docile animals running loose in the house to pick up and play with.

Miss Idaho is smaller than any of our cats! Tiny! Practically a cell phone!

Harriet likes the cuddling.

Clara firmly disapproves.

Outrage This

Wow. Nice email. You are upset at my "abuse of my position." You say that you have to wait on hold when you call 911. You tell me that I "should not be knitting, steeking, writing or playing around with any personal endeavor at the taxpayer's expense" and that you are finally outraged enough to email me.

Yes. It is true that if you call 911 on your cell phone, it will go to CHP, and you will be on hold for a LONG time because they are very, very busy. If you call 911 in the city of Oakland or Berkeley, there might be quite a delay in answering. Since I don't work for any of these, I can't help that. Wish they could all be like my center. At my center, one of the few accredited Centers of Excellence in the United States by NAEMD, 911 will not ring more than one ring. Usually it's only a half a ring. Help will be on the way within seconds. As one person answers your call, another person is already sending the right resources your direction. I was just voted Dispatcher of the Year for my center. And I'm proud of it.

And damn. You caught me on a really fucking bad day. I'm not in the mood. I had a whole post pre-blogged, new sweater pics and all, ready to go up in the morning, but I'm delaying that so I can address your concerns. I'm actually writing this at the bedside of my little mama who has just been hospitalized. After a night with little sleep and a migraine, I drove four and a half hours at the drop of a hat to be with her. Sitting here now after midnight. Killing time waiting for tests and doctors. Opened my laptop and found your email.

At least you're a distraction from the beeping monitors of the myriad wires/tubes she has hooked to her. You have insulted me, and while I usually let this kind of thing roll, I'm not inclined to go easy on your uneducated assumptions tonight.

In every job with long shifts (doctors, nurses, paramedics, dispatchers), we have to do things in our down time or we'd fall asleep. Rather than playing computer solitaire, I prefer to knit so I can watch the radio screen at the same time.  I do not get paid "to do" things. I get paid to know what to do. I do not work retail, so I do not have to dust things in my down time. I am not a general contractor, so I don't have to justify where I'm spending my time. I don't have to bill for my hours. Again, I just get paid to know WHAT to do. And then to do it. I know what to do, who to call, what resources to start and how to get them there when the plane goes down. When the building collapses. I know that so you don't have to know it.

But I can understand why you'd get confused, thinking I'm kicking back all the time at work. I don't really write about work that much, only mention it in passing, when I'm talking about my Other Life. The Knitting. The Writing. I don't spend time and energy griping about how exhausting it is, how busy we get. We never, ever take a break, did you know that? If you ask around, most dispatchers will agree, we don't take breaks. We can't. We don't get "lunch." You can't just get up and take five -- you don't know when the next call will ring, when the next fire will start. You have to be sitting there. Ready. Apart from walking into the kitchen to heat up microwave food and brief trips to the bathroom, we work 12, 15, and 18 hour shifts with no breaks. Our breaks are taken in our seats, with our food, with our computer games, with our books, with our crossword puzzles.

I don't blog about the days where I'm working a structure fire, a vegetation fire, and a traffic collision with entrapment all AT THE SAME TIME, in three different parts of the county, on five different radio channels, utilizing six different agencies' resources. I don't talk about the bad days, like the other day when I got five calls in a ROW of people not breathing, five elderly spousal callers who all did their damndest to follow my CPR instructions, but whose partners wouldn't have made it even with a defibrillator in the room. I don't write about what that sounds like, the pleas I listen to, the sobbing. I don't describe to you the begging, as they lose the one person they need the most. I don't tell you what a parent's voice sounds like when they find their infant stiff and cold. That's not why my readers come here.

So it's established: We can't take breaks. I don't smoke. We can't work-out on duty. Every single person relaxes in their work chair when they can grab time, in whatever way they can.

The ability to knit on duty was a contingency of me taking this job almost three years ago. During the first interview I established whether or not I would be able to knit on duty when it was slow. The manager, a big, burly rancher, said in a deep voice, "Of course. When I was dispatching, I used to do needlepoint in down time." I explained I couldn't dispatch without knitting. Management got it. And it was a deal-breaker for me -- I wouldn't have taken the job without being able to partake in my particular form of stress relief.

This slays me: You say that you'll attend the next city council meeting to make sure I am assigned other, more relevant duties, duties that you will be more satisfied to spend your tax dollars on (you forget to mention that I pay my own salary with my taxes, too. People always forget that bit). Make sure when you're at that meeting you mention those damn slacker firefighters. Some of them spend HOURS of their shift in station, doing nothing more than watching TV or lifting weights. Let's not even talk about the sleeping. I know you won't approve of THAT. Some of the firefighters (mostly women, but that could change) actually knit while watching TV while waiting for the calls that I send to them! The horror! They should certainly be practicing CPR on dummies all night or something. Starting fires in dumpsters and then putting them out. I'm sure you'll think of something good for them to do. Think big.

So, my little emailer: There's no reason for you to keep reading my blog. I invite you to unsubscribe from my RSS feed. Your outrage only makes me knit faster.

Now I'm going back to knitting in the ICU.

Edited to add: My darling readers, you are wonderful. Thank you. The ugly emailer has been labeled permanently as spam, and her IP blocked. My comment box overfloweth, and I only posted this hours ago. Mom's out of ICU and in a reg'lar hospital bed. She appreciates any spare prayers, as do I on her behalf. Darlings, I'm closing comments because I can't quite bear to read all your sweet genius notes -- they do my heart so much good that then it overflows and then I get teary, and we don't want that. If you'd like to, please feel free to email me, otherwise, please click HERE for the newest post, which I had set to pre-blog yesterday. Best defense is a good rack in a tight sweater, that's what I always say. MWAH.

Avoiding Writing

Fighting a migraine for two days now. It hasn't got me, but the migraine aura has me by the neck. Feels like someone digging their fingers into the back of my head -- not painful, but not pleasant. The visual migraine got me yesterday, which is always kind of interesting. It doesn't hurt -- I just lose my vision in one eye or the other for about fifteen minutes. I stopped picking up stitches at that point for a while.

I couldn't sleep last night. It was probably all the caffeine I'd taken in pill form all day for the looming headache. Got up and read from about 1am to almost 6am. Finally fell asleep and dreamed that a huge cat, bigger than a man, dressed like a Viking, was living in the back of our house, controlling Clara, making her forge an IronMan-like suit by breathing fire. Poor old sweatshop Clara.

Okay. I'm going to try writing on the front porch. Hopefully Lala left me some coffee. If she didn't, I'll make a latte and work on the script for an hour or two. Then I will go to Target. We use a baby-gate to keep the animals out of the carpeted part of the house. Yesterday, while speeding on caffeine, I cleaned everything, washed everything, mopped the whole house. I took a flying leap, trying to jump over a still-wet part of the floor while simultaneously unlatching and opening the gate I was trying to jump through. Strangely enough, that wasn't a good idea. As I fell, I made a conscious decision to take the gate out in my fall, rather than twisting and trying to save it. In breaking the gate, I saved my own ass. It's rather sobering to splinter a nice wooden gate, though. That's too much caffeine. That meant it was time to sit and knit.

Now. To the porch. Carefully.

Sunday

We live at sea level. Lala sent me this picture. She rode there today, training. From sea level. I'm tired just thinking about it. I think I'll have another cup of coffee and sink deeper into my armchair.

Deep in some knitting. DEEP. Finished a sweater I haven't told you about, and I LOVE IT, but I'm not photographing it until I take a shower and put on lipstick, and since it's Sunday and La's on a training ride to Oregon or something, I'm in no hurry.

I steeked the MomRedux sweater yesterday. I just cut. Yep. I did. I plan to handstitch the armholes before I cut, but the front steek, I just cut. Just kept snipping. Not even a drink or a lie-down after, as EZ sagely recommends.

And it worked.

Now I want to knit more, so I will. Just wanted stop in and tell you about Pandora. Are you listening to Pandora? I've been listening off and on for more than a year, but I'm really into it now. It's what they call a Music Genome Project -- they analyze each song  (all songs, it seems like), break them apart and put them back together next to songs that are similar. You tell them your favorite song or artist, and they make (FOR FREE) a radio station just for you. You can give the thumbs-up to the songs you love, and thumbs-down for the ones you don't (and those won't replay). It is the BEST way to find new music, new artists that suit you to the ground and that you've never heard of.

Lala and I love it so much that we put an old laptop into our record cabinet, so we can pipe whichever station we're into that day all over the house. I'm now in my room, listening to a station she made, Blossom Dearie.

Ooh! They have a typepad connection I just found -- it's in my sidebar, to the left. Give it a listen. Click on one of my stations over there to try it out -- you might like the Y'allternate one if you're feeling rockin' folky, or Blossom Dearie, if you're feeling jazzy. The Electro Music Radio is what I listen to while writing the screenplay I'm working on, might not be the best one to sample, but go for it if you want to. You have to register to listen, but they have good privacy policies and don't spam or sell lists. Then just jump in and make your own stations!

(Lala just sent me this, from the TOP of Mount Diablo):

Working

is what I have been doing. 15 hour shift yesterday (which is better than the 18 hour shift that loomed imminent for a while). Yawn.

So I'm at work. Boring. The most exciting thing that's happened so far this morning is that I ate my eggs. I love a good hard-boiled egg. With salt. And because I work in close quarters with four other people, I announce it when I come out of the kitchen and slice the eggs at my workstation (a whiff of eggs, without notice, can be alarming). "Eggs on the floor!"

"Eggs on the floor," they repeat. It used to be a joke, but now it's just a thing, as things go. I find the fact that we say it seriously quite amusing.

Still. Boring. Ooh! I thought I had nothing to show you, but I just remembered I DO have one picture for you.

This is the MomRedux sweater! Hers is obviously on the left, since it's all fancy with a collar and all. Mine is the darker one (that's what I get for trying to remember the color while ordering yarn online), and while I added one repeat in the middle section of dots to add a tiny bit of length (okay, that was accidental), otherwise, it's spot on. Size, width, patterns, everything. I'm really proud of it, happy with my copying-ability.

So happy that I'm kind of scared to move on. It's all done, just need to steek it, attach the arms, and make the collar/facing/button-bands.

I used a terribly sticky yarn, Jamieson's Spindrift, so for some ungodly reason I felt confident enough to make a really narrow steek. 6 stitches. First, SIX STITCHES? Why didn't I make it an odd number, so that I actually HAD a center stitch to cut down? Gah. Second, I'm not sure how I want to reinforce the steeks. I'm tempted to trust in the godlike powers of wool and just CUT away without reinforcement, because the thought of trying to machine-sew a straight line with my machine along that dark wool fills me with pre-planned frustration (and the steek is rather puckered in places -- wouldn't be easy to sew). I tried to reinforce it with crochet, my usual method, but the stitches are SO dark and small, I just couldn't do it. Man, I know I should at least machine-sew the armholes. Yeah, I can do that. That would be easier, actually, since those steeks aren't as puckered as the front one.

Anyone ever had trouble with this yarn running away after a steek? Can I just cut the center one? Please?

Also, Lala gives thanks. Yarn-related thanks! And I must mention this: last night when I got home, she was trippin' out, saying she was unmotivated and not driven enough. She said this WHILE RIDING A BIKE IN OUR LIVING ROOM. On a trainer. For an hour and half. With no one making her do it. She is crazy but very, very cute. 

Big Ole Thanks

Oh, you people always knock our socks right off. My feet, they are cold and sock-less because you are so generous. She's already (!) broken her target amount, but don't let that stop you from donating to a very worthy cause or entering the raffle if you still want to. And if you haven't read it already, go read Lala's post about her ride. She spent a lot of time and thought composing it, and I think she was a bit chagrined to find that my friends (that's YOU) just read my post and went and donated. I think she thought she'd have to talk you into it, so she makes a compelling argument. But the Code of the Knitter says Donate First, Knit Later. The faster we do something nice for someone else, the faster we get to the knitting.

Thank you. Thank you SO much.

We had a fundraising party for her this weekend -- it went well. My sister's fabulous band Deadpan Alley played, and they were great (you can hear songs here -- I'm really fond of East Coast Boy). They were followed by The Whoreshoes, who looked and sounded oh-so-fine:

    Music in our own backyard

    Camilla, Joni and Diana rockin' out

    Diana, Emily, and Lala

I'm sad I didn't get any shots of Lala playing the bass, her new favorite instrument. Since I think we might have to give away three or four of the animals to make room in our house for an upright, I'm trying not to encourage her new passion for it. But she was good at it. She really was.

Also: MUST SHARE NEW FAVORITE PARTY TREATS

Ideas gleaned from the interwebs, posted here so I can find them again.

#1 - Caprese sticks. Thread a small piece of fresh mozzarella (TJ's had tiny mozza balls in a tub), a cherry tomato (heirloom cherry toms from TJ's!), a little bit of basil, and another small piece of mozzarella on a toothpick. Do this many, many times. Place them on a platter. Drizzle with olive oil, balsamic vinegar, salt and pepper. DEELISHUS. This is my favorite salad, now on a stick.

#2 - Bacon-wrapped figs. People freaked out. No, they did. People who don't like figs freaked out. Take one package of bacon (mine had 16 pieces), and cut all pieces in half. I got a tub of black figs from TJ's. I pulled the stem off each, wrapped a half-piece of bacon around it, stuck a toothpick through it and cooked them at 350 for about an hour. Baconey goodness with a sticky-sweet middle. It was AMAZING. I want them for dinner every night. They disappeared. I will make twice the amount next time.

Now I am tired. I saw many crazy-interesting things at the Maker Faire, took no pictures, but saw nice readers (Steampunk Amy is adorable!), and left happy. Tomorrow I am on-call, so I might have to suddenly get up at 4:30am, so I should head to bed on that off-chance. So, goodnight. And thank you.

    Sister Christy and me. Half of Deadpad Alley! (Took one of myself and sister Bethany, too. She claim I never post those ones, but it's only because I looked somewhat rabid in it. She was adorable, as usual. You'll have to take my word for it.)

LIFECYCLE

Thanks, y'all, for your thoughts. We really, truly appreciate it. Besos.

But now, let's move on to happier things. Like Lala riding the AIDS ride!

Do you know how insanely crazy she is for signing up for this?

SEVEN DAYS on a bicycle, riding from San Francisco to Los Angeles. Dude, it gives me a butt-cramp just to drive that far. I'm not kidding.

But seriously, she has inspired me. I have seen her, the Queen of Sleeping-In, get up at 6:30am on Sunday mornings, week after week. And she is NOT a morning person. At all. It's like waking a hibernating bear, only the bear would be more jolly about it, probably.

It must be really irritating to her that I mock her pain by telling her how getting up at 6:30 is sleeping in by more than two hours for me. I'd want to smack me, and the fact that she doesn't is just more proof that she has been a real trouper during this whole training thing. Then I roll over and go back to sleep, and she goes and rides up and down mountains.

She has this huge dream of doing something big, something good. But during the grueling training she's sometimes doubted whether or not she'll actually be able to do it. Especially after strong winds, bad falls, and sandwich stops that fail to materialize.

But I've never doubted her ability, physical strength, or mental determination, not for one second. And this is what I can't wait for: For her to finish. Because I'll find her at the finish line and tell her I told her so.

My sweet chickens, she still needs to reach her donation goal. She wants to raise $3,000 for the San Francisco AIDS Foundation and the LA Gay and Lesbian Center. She's half-way there now -- would you like to help? 

Can I interest you in a little raffle?

A pair of handknit socks! That I will knit during the week of the ride from the comfort of some nice cushy chair. For YOU, knit by me! In whatever color you like. They'll be nice, simple socks, the kind I love to make, and they'll fit you great because they'll be made with love. (Even if you have dozens of handknit socks that you made yourself, a pair by someone else always feels different. Feels good.)

Every ten dollars buys you a chance, so for $100 you get 10 chances to win, for $50 you get 5 chances. For $5 you might not get a chance at the raffle, but you'll probably get into heaven. Any amount, small or large, will change lives for the better. And we know as knitters that little things add up: stitches lined up next to each other make a sweater, donations lined up together make a difference in the world.

Lala's pledge page is here (LOLCAT AND HARRIET WILL MEET YOU THERE - click for cute even if you can't give). Send me an email at yarnagogo@gmail.com to tell me how many chances to sign you up for (if you've already donated, send me a note and I'll pop you on the list), and we'll draw a name right before the ride. Then if you win, I'll knit your socks while Lala rides.

And thanks. Again.  (Also, lala blogged about it, too. That's probably relevant.)

We haz a sad.

The blog shall be silent for a little while as Chez Hehu has a big ole sad. Something important was taken away from someone we love (but someone you don't know, so we won't go into it), and it makes us very, very sad indeed. One of those life-isn't-fair moments, and I hate those. It's enough that it's true; must life remind us so often? It makes us not want to write very much. It makes us want to write with a Royal We, which we must not allow.

I'm headed south this week to take care of the little mama who's not feeling too well lately. So I'll be back in a week or so to say hello and perhaps show you a new sweater. Or not. I'm making it up as I go along and I'm not sure I understood how to do a neck steek. I might be knitting a pillow instead of a cardigan. We'll see.

Well, hello!

What's shaking?

I'm at work, and it's one of those amusing days. You know, one of those days where banter is light and coworkers are funny. Things are rolling easily. I've done some writing already, and I seem to be getting a better handle on how to write at work. (I know! Stealing time at work to write! In my line of business, 911 dispatch, you work hard when you work. But when you're not working, you're only being paid to be there sitting in your seat, ready to do what needs to be done. So dispatchers knit a lot, write a lot, and gossip a lot. It's a good J.O.B. And hey, I got Dispatcher of the Year this year! It doesn't mean much, but it was a nice thing.)

But other than that, working and writing, I'm not doing much. I'm doing a lot of both this week, 60 hour work week, and I've probably put ten hours into writing already, and it's only Tuesday. Or Wednesday. I'm confused. I'm really into a new project, and I've been leaving work, going home, feeding the critters and sitting down to write some more at night. It ends up giving me about twenty minutes of down time, from 8:10 to 8:30pm, but I'm finding when you're doing what you love, that's all right.

I'm not quite sure what's lit this fire recently. But I'm riding the mixed-metaphor wave as far as it'll take me.

And to amuse you, your weekly dose of animals. We bought Clara a dog bed, since she is now Without Couch. She is too timid to use it much, though. It has been taken over.

And Digit just about killed me with this the other day. He does NOT go on top of the fridge. That's Adah's domain. She has her bed up there, and she loves it.

Adah is nonplussed.

Sunday

I'm at home, for my one day off in nine. I'm having an unofficial pajama day -- it wasn't planned like this, but now my main goal for today is DOING NOTHING I don't want to do. Except for laundry. I'm out of uniforms, and I've got a long week ahead of me.

I'm still under the weather -- this has been the flu that keeps on giving. The latest gift it's brought is a really sore throat, which should be illegal for someone who's had two tonsillectomies in six years. (I bet most people never have the opportunity or desire to pluralize tonsillectomy.)

I dreamed last night we added two giraffes to our menagerie. They were sweet and loving, and folded themselves up onto our sofas like greyhounds.

Lala's off cycling -- 70 miles today, from Concord to Sunol and back. I can't even imagine. My butt would fall right off, I'm sure of it. So now I'm NOT going to do anything physical -- I'm going to pry myself off the computer and go knit in front of the television. A peaceful day.

Not Broken

I can smell things! Just a little, but it IS coming back, o joy. My house does not smell unclean, I am happy to report. Feliway is working SO well.

I am tired. Worked today for the first time in two weeks following this flu from hell. Up at four in the morning, rather than waking naturally. Home by seven pm. Tried to write, couldn't. Too stupid tonight. Instead, I had pasta that I made a few days ago (but first smelled today, and it was GOOD), and now I'm going to bed. At 8:24pm. Life in the fast lane.

A sneak preview of the sweater I'm working on now:

It's a pattern I'm copying from a Norwegian sweater my mother had made for her in Norway in the 60s. So far so good. It's really unnerving, though, to look down on my couch and see a disembodied sleeve lying there, a replica of the sleeves that have always been attached to the sweater that my mother has worn for the thirty-five years I've known her. It's like the sweater broke.

To bed. I wish you a good night. 

Smelling Salts

I have lost my sense of smell. It's the weirdest thing. I mean, I've lost some smelling ability before, when stuffed up. But right now, between stuffed up sessions, I'm completely clear and can't smell ANYTHING.

And my superpower is my sense of smell. I can smell cigarette smoke from the car in front of me on the freeway. That is not an exaggeration. My super-nose is usually irritating. The smell of coffee actually wakes me up from two rooms away because it's so annoyingly strong. But now I would like to use my powers for good and I can't. I can't smell perfume, even when my nose is not running. I can't smell Tiger Balm. Things one should always be able to smell.

It will come back, right? Right? I mean, the strongest perfume I have, held to a perfectly clear nostril (thanks, Zyrtec and Flonase!), and NOTHING. It's kind of scary.

And at the same time, I'm fighting the battle of the cat pee. I think we're winning -- the Feliway seems to be helping, and I moved things around -- the couch they were peeing on (now cleaned) into the front sunporch, where Digit likes to hang out. Digit is good with the peeing and hasn't marked the wrong spot in years. Thank god. So I don't think he'll be tempted to mark. But right now I can't find where the little cats are peeing, if they are, and I'm completely let down by my broken schnozz.

I'm a little worried that this new pretty configuration of furniture in our house would not be so pretty if I could smell. It DOES smell nice, doesn't it? (And Lala's superpower is to make BART leave -- her sense of smell is not so great for some reason, so she's not much help there.)

But I'll show you what I moved around.

There used to be a small sofa where the chairs are, a sofa I bought on Craigslist probably seven years ago and haven't been able to sit on for two years because that's where Clara liked to chew her kongs and deposit her fur and drool. No more of that.

But what's that in the far, far right of the picture?

Oh, it's just dead Clara. So sad.

More dead animals. (I hope other people make that joke. Otherwise I just sound creepy. They're alive. But sleeping. If you know what I mean.)

Willie ALWAYS falls asleep like this. BONUS: Little Miss Idaho in background. New couch-cover courtesy of Target sale (also the fabulous pillow on the green chair which rings the same bell in my head).

Okay. Now I will rest. I might have done too much for a recovering Rachael today. Oh well. The other day, while still VERY sick with the flu, I made artichokes, a buttermilk pie, chocolate cupcakes, and a spicy garlic/olive pasta. I couldn't stop talking, even when it was midnight and Lala was trying to go to sleep. Even though my throat was sore and I had coughing fits. I finally realized I'd taken Sudafed that morning, so basically I was ON SPEED ALL DAY. I hate Sudafed. But man, it makes me productive. I've knit two arms and part of a body of a colorwork sweater. This week. While I was sick.

I need a nap. And my sense of smell back. Please. Thanks.

ETA: and if you like cats, you should watch THIS. Really. Omigod, I just watched it again. That's the funniest thing I've seen in a long time. Make sure you get to the yodeling part.

Still Sick

This flu is kicking my ass. And I've found a new thing I like to do: lie in bed with the computer, planning new projects. Like rejoining the CSA and freezing/canning/dehydrating the leftover veggies.

I'm pretty bad at using leftovers. This is probably not a good idea. But it's good sick daydreaming.

Also, this just in: We have a lot of animals. Especially when they all want to sleep on you when you're sick. It's just so nice, UNTIL IT ISN'T.

Gah

I have the flu. Fever, aches, all of it.

But I did get the chance to read Candy Girl (Amazon link to right) by Diablo Cody, the writer of Juno. I adored Juno (who didn't?), and I loved this book. She really IS a good girl who chose to walk on the dark side. For fun. While being a copy-editor. Strong writing (if a bit self-conscious), funny as hell.

And I discovered the source of The Smell in the living room -- Willie has taken to peeing on Clara's couch. Good goddamn. While I'm washing everything right now (just what you want to do while you have a fever), I hold little hope for a cure. Once you're marked, you're marked. I see that couch out on the street, in the Big Trash Pick Up. Which is fine, because it really was ridiculous that Clara had her own couch. We won't go into that. And we can make it into a nice little spot, two wingback chairs maybe? A nice reading/knitting spot?

But the irritation. The worry that this is the start of something worse. He uses the litterbox, yes. Loves the litterbox. There are three of them in the house, and they're all clean, and he uses them all regularly. He just likes to piddle on fabric things, for fun, it appears. I will NOT have my house smell like cat piss (yes, using Nature's Miracle, and it's never been THAT much of a miracle).

Only I'm too sick to REALLY care. Just wait till tomorrow.

But because you've been so nice to listen to whinge, a photo or two from a better day:

At Hearst Castle last week, in the library. The doors reminded me of spinning wheels.

And us, in front of the GORGEOUS water. I've lived along the coast all my life, and I've rarely seen it look like this:

And we saw baby elephant seals.

And I'm vacuuming right now (thanks, Roomba!).

A Tale of Two Sweaters

Surprise! Two done! Finished within a day of each other. My sister Bethany expressed surprise at this, but then I explained it's like books. You may have two or three (or if you're like us, ten to twenty) books in various stages of completion -- it's just all about your mood at the time. She totally understood that.

Lush and Lacy, Baby:

Specs:
Pattern: Lush and Lacy, by Sweaterbabe
Yarn: Valley Yarns Sheffield from WEBS.com, red, 7.5 skeins
Size: XXL (42.5")
Needle: US3

Mods: I did seed stitch at the button-bands and neckline, and added a zipper instead of buttons -- I normally find that more convenient.

This sweater is DANGEROUS, people.

That is my look of terror. Then I got scratched. I deserved it. He is a snake in the Congo, not some damn America's Next Top Model.

I am kind of surprised by how much I love it. I thought it would be okay, but I didn't know it would fit THIS well, and be so comfortable and CUTE! Love, love, love.

DROPS 103-1

What's even more astonishing than the fact that I finished this is the fact that I love this one, too. It almost got frogged, and I never frog.

I made the sleeves. Then I made the fronts, but because of the double moss you can't tell what a janky-ass edge it has. Then I made the back. I told myself over and over again that someday the edge would lie flat, YES IT WOULD, and it wasn't till I was half-way through with the last piece that I realized, no, no it wouldn't. The edge would always have that AWFUL curl. People, why did none of you tell me that? Plus, I was running out of yarn in a big way.

I really have no idea why I seamed this yesterday, but I'm so glad I did. I seamed it, and the edges curled right up, practically to my shoulder blades. So I folded it under and blanket stitched it up. EVEN THAT CURLED. So I undid all the blanket stitching and added some crochet to weight the edge down.

It worked! And it looks good, too! I put the edging on the sleeves, and instead of making that high-rise collar, I just finished the neckline with a line of single crochet and called that puppy good.

It's a swingy A-line that actually works. I heart it.

Specs:
Pattern: DROPS 103-1, by Garnstudio
Yarn: Kraemer Yarns Mauch Chunky, color Licorice Snaps, 8.75 skeins
Size: XL (44")
Needles: US6

Mods:  Only two buttonholes. Line of single crochet around neckline.
Crochet edging around bottom and cuffs: Single crochet across. Turn, chain two, double crochet in each sc across. Turn, chain three, dc in second sc, ch 3, dc in second sc, repeat across.

This is NOT dangerous. And I swear, because Lala trained him like this, this is the way Waylon loves to be held. Like a baby. It's so wrong.

Blurry, but you can see the shape. Do you know the blessings of an A-line sweater? Means you can let your belly HANG out. I LOVE THAT.

Almost as much as I love these buttons, the Edwardian ones from the late 1800s that I used on my Ariann sweater, also (only two left!):

Hooray! I have to go out today, just so I can wear sweaters!