Archive for the 'Knitterly Friends' Category


Radio Silence, Terminated

Sorry for the delay in content, folks.  Not like there are hordes coming here to read, but I have just returned from a week long work trip.  I have reconnected with my family, and I am getting back into the swing of things.  School starts soon for Son, who will be in Kindergarten and so life is, needless to say, upheaved right now.  There will be an update soon with knitting content, wherein I showcase a couple first socks, the beginnings of a blanket, the progress on two more blankets, and such.  I have to get the pictures taken to be able to upload them, and we should be ready to roll.

So please, a few more moments while I collect myself and get what I want to say sorted out.  Also, I’m incredibly interested in Sock Summit stuff and have a huge list in my google reader to go through.  I missed everyone, whether I read you, or you read me, or both.  I’m catching back up.  See you soon!


Happy Birthday, America!

I’m off like a prom dress for my yearly dose of explosives and watching mud volleyball.  Have a good holiday!



Yesterday afternoon, I received a call from my husband that made me go limp and fearful to go home.  See, he hurt his ankle a few days ago and has been nursing it back to health over the last few days.  Our grass was getting out of hand, so I suggested his 9 year old nephew, who likes to cut grass, come over and cut ours for the week so that Mike doesn’t have to put the pressure on his ankle for as long as he’d need to be on his feet to cut our yard.  It’s not a huge yard, but it’s not tiny either.  So when my SIL and nephew came over to do the chore, they put our dog, Calypso, of whom I’ve promised an updated picture for the blog, in our bedroom.  This is often where we squirrel her away when we have people over.  She’s a big schweetie, but she’s also a big lug with a puppy’s enthusiasm and she’s a bit of a handful.  After yesterday, though, I may rename her Marley, after the worst dog ever.

So Mike is telling me over the phone that when he got home the grass was nearly done and things were fine until he went upstairs to free the Bumpass hound (a nickname from A Christmas Story that we often call her because of the chaos she leaves in her wake) when he saw it.

“Honey, don’t be too mad.”
“Uh oh.  What’d she do?  Pee on the bed?  Chew on a shoe?”
“She, um… well… she got into your yarn.”

My body went limp.  My yarn stash is virtually unprotected, a situation which will be remedied this weekend when I shuffle some clothes and free up a storage tub for it.  The yarn is in plastic bags under my bed, and in my closet on shelves of our closet organizer, sorted either by project or by color.  My most expensive yarns are in a shoebox on one of the higher shelves so I was confident they were okay, but I was worried first about a sweater’s worth of yarn I had stashed under the bed. 

“Who can we give her away to?” I asked Mike, only half joking.  I asked him to describe the yarns in the massive tangle, and he said it looked like three or four balls worth, and he told me the colors.  Okay, so it wasn’t the sweater yarn under the bed.  It came from a precariously perched, i.e. a big bag stuffed into a too small spot for it, bit of yarn for a baby blanket.  Mike said the yarn itself didn’t look damaged, but it was awfully tangled.  He’d put it on the bed and shut the door to keep the cat from going at it, too.

“I can deal with tangled.  I can get out most tangles.  I just want to know if the strands have come unplied.”  He said it didn’t appear so.  So at the end of the day, I was conflicted with a desire to get home as fast as the speed limit would allow and to prolong having to face the mess as long as possible.  Upon entering the room, I came upon this scene (and if you’re a knitter with an affinity for yarn, you might want to look away).

Yarn Carnage 3

Yarn Carnage by you.

That’s three skeins of knitpicks palette yarn for a baby blanket and a skein of yarn that I can’t remember its origins for a blanket I’m making Son.  While the monetary value of the yarn isn’t all that much (probably about $12 worth of yarn there) it’s still yarn, and I can’t help but hurt.  All yarn is my friend.

The accused:

Calypso 3 by you.

Don’t be bamboozled by her cute face and happy disposition.  She’s a destructive force with a long list of victims, including the frame of our bed, a pair of shoes or three, a grill cover, a hose attachment, an electrical cord, the corner of our couch, the insulation on piping to our air conditioner, books, two kids pools, two wiring harnesses on our old camper that plugged into the car for the running lights to work, and now my yarn.  We’re thinking of breeding her so that she can start to pay us back for some of the destruction she caused.  Don’t let her fool you.  Behind that innocent looking face and playfulness lurks a tornado, a Tazmanian Devil intent on making the most of time spent unsupervised. 

Watch your stuff.  Yarn carnage is the least of my talents.

It took me two hours to untangle the mess, and for those of you nearly crying over the state of the yarn, you can relax.  I saved all but maybe two yards of it.  Even the brown yarn, which had its guts spilled all over like some disemeboweled blanket.  It’s now resting comfortably in a ball after its procedure to untangle it,  and the attacker has been relegated to her place in the backyard at least until the end of the weekend, not coincidental at all in relation to my putting my yarn in tubs.


Not a Knitting Blog Without…

The family pets.

This is Biscuit…

biscuit by you.

He’s looking at me taking this picture as if he’ll deign to sit still for ONE picture just so that we’ll have something by which to remember him.  He’s only three, but he’s very cool, laid back, and affectionate.  He doesn’t even run from Daughter when she comes trundling toward him on her 17 month old wobbly legs.

This is Calypso…

calypso by you.

This is actually an old picture of Calypso.  She’s really big now, and in this pic, she’s just a puppy, but now she’s almost 2.  I need to get an updated picture of her, if I can get her to sit still.  She’s really huge and her paws are the size of dinner plates.  There’s a reason we call her a horse, but she’s a big sweetie, and even though she doesn’t know her own size and loves that the kids are on doggy kiss level (which Son hates) she’s just a bumbling hoss of a dog that is full of love.  Son named her after the Goddess of the Sea, or more aptly, the one in Pirates of the Carribean: At Worlds End.  When she came to live with us, Son was quite obsessed with that movie.

I don’t have pictures of all our past pets, but here’s Chewie…

Chewie, 1997-2008 by you.

She died last year and took a little piece of my heart with her.  She was 11, and my first baby after moving from my parents’ house.  I still miss her.  I can hardly talk about her without getting sad and lonely without her to come lie next to me on the couch or burrow under the covers next to me with her nose sticking out.  Excuse me, I need a Kleenex…

This is Maximus…

Maximus 2 by you.

So named after Maximus from Gladiator, which we bought the same year we got Max.  He was with us until late 2007.  A purebred Husky, he was very much a big teddy bear.  He never jumped on people, never licked people, never bit anyone, and his biggest fault was that if he escaped the confines of our yard or house, he’d take off as is the nature of a Husky.  I miss him too, but I don’t miss his fur.  His fur got everywhere, and into everything.  He was 12 when he died.

I am a huge pet lover, mostly of dogs, but since having Biscuit, I’ve come to love him, too.  I would consider getting another cat, but I don’t like the pissy temperamental ones.  I like the ones that like to cuddle, and that like to sit on your lap and purr away the afternoon.  I don’t like the anti-social scratchers who would just as soon be outside strutting their stuff as opposed to being good family pets.  Maybe Biscuit is one of a kind, maybe not.  I don’t intend to find out until after he’s gone.  The trouble with cats is they like my knitting almost as much as I do…


Kicking Ass

I have a friend.  She goes by Kari-Mel and she found me through another blog when I wrote about wanting to invite that other blogger over for dinner.  Kari-Mel stuck around.  She didn’t have a blog of her own, and I had no way to follow her back.  She commented on my posts regularly, and shortly thereafter, she followed me on a little blogging merry-go-round when I shut one down and opened another one up.  And she kept talking.  I’d email her back.  She’d respond.  She was always so sweet and encouraging to me when I was upset, depressed, or down in one way or another.  She was happy when I had good things happen for me.  She was a cheerleader for me when I chronicled trying to regain my health from the obesity that has haunted me for years.  When I started losing the weight, she clapped louder and harder than anyone except maybe my sister and husband.  

I learned that she was sick through a comment she left on a post about a family member of mine who was gravely sick.  Kari-Mel has lung cancer, and she started a blog to chronicle her adventures.  I ran a gamut of emotions when I learned that about this person whom I’ve never hugged or spoken to on the phone, and it surprised me, the intensity of these emotions.  I was really mad.  Good people shouldn’t get sick!  I was sad.  I don’t want anything to happen to her!  I was determined.  I’m not a doctor, but I wanted to do something for her.  I wanted to help, and being that we’re a couple states away from each other, I did the only thing I could think of.  I learned to knit socks for her.  I’m learning that when I feel helpless, I knit. 

I had only knit a scarf and a blanket when I found out about Kari-Mel’s illness.  I probably wouldn’t have thought of trying socks in my dizziest daydreams so soon after picking the knitting back up after my 20 year break, but I had a purpose.  First, I thought of a blanket for her.  Or a hat, for if she loses her hair (which she started to, and then took matters into her own hands and shaved her head.  Brave girl).  But she assured me that her daughter had her covered on the blanket front and she had plenty of hats, and planned to get a wig if her hair did indeed fall out.  But she did mention her extremities have been cold.  SOCKS!  Perfect!  Smaller project, something I could get done reasonably fast, and something that I could add in my own personal touch. 

The problem was that I’d never done socks.  Turn a heel?  Confusing.  Gusset?  I didn’t even know what that was.  Toe up or Cuff down?  Ribbing?  Wha?  Well, I’m the type of knitter (and learner) that gets my hands in it.  I won’t learn it without trying it.  I can’t read a pattern and intuit what it will do to the yarn (at least, not yet) and so I just have to follow the pattern instructions and watch and see what happens.  So I got online to learn what a Turkish Cast On looked like, adapted it to circular needles, and started even though I hadn’t a clue what I was doing.  I trusted the pattern and just went.  I did a test sock in leftover yarn that I thought would actually work if I liked the result.  But they didn’t fit over my own foot, and I know with Kari-Mel’s swelling issues they wouldn’t be comfortable for her.  That wasn’t acceptable, so it was a practice sock, and then I was ready for the real thing.  Then I found this yarn. 

Stash by you.

 Imagination handpainted yarn in Wicked Witch colorway from KnitPicks.  PERFECT.  And so were born the Kicking Cancer’s Ass Socks, with a little Wicked Witch thrown in for attitude and sass.  Just what an embattled survivor needs to shore up their boots (or tootsies) for the kicking of cancer’s ass.  

Socks in progress…

First Pair of Socks 2 by you.

First Pair of Socks by you.

Thing is, Kari-Mel thinks I did such an incredible thing for her, that I’m an ‘angel’ and that it may be the nicest thing an internet ‘stranger’ has done for her.  What she doesn’t know is that I did it because I wanted to help and couldn’t think of what to do that would mean something besides what her doctors are already doing.  I wanted to let her know her friendship has meant something to me and that I thought of her and her comfort and wanted to do more than sit idly by while she went through this.  I also may have a new knitting convert.  She told me yesterday she’d picked up the needles.  My plan to help knitters take over the world has had startling success!  Mwaaahahahahahahahahaha!

She loves the socks.  They fit her well.  And they’ll keep her feet warm, with just a little ass kicking thrown in.  I’m not a doctor, but I can picture her getting her treatments wearing my socks and I know I’ve helped a little.  Her feet aren’t cold.

(picture lifted from her blog post)

my beautiful socks!

Follow Me on Twitter

Error: Please make sure the Twitter account is public.

Save Calypso Fund

Please Help me save my dog


Pick a Day, Any Day

June 2018
« Jun    

Where It’s At

Shopping Spree!

The Loopy Ewe

Blog Stats

  • 6,806 hits