The Naughty Knitting Box

Spring has finally come! Gone are the 15 foot high snowbanks, and icy death traps! Now the sun has started to stay a little longer each day, drawing out the plant and animal life. Aside from all the roadkill, it’s fantastic.

Puppy feet make the world go 'round.

Puppy feet make the world go ’round.

All this new growth (and a desire to use up my wool before it’s 95 degrees outside) has encouraged me to work my way through my knitting WIP (work in progress) box. I mostly refer to it as the Naughty Knitting Box. It’s filled with things that I lost interest in, dropped a stitch on, or the things that simply had to think about what they had done for a few months.

One of those projects was Inga Hat by Sheila MacDonald.

Mmm cashmere.

Mmm cashmere.

The entire color chart was well put together and easy to follow, but Christmas 2012 (yeah, I just said 2012) I made a mistake on the 40th or so round, and didn’t notice it for 23 more rounds, on top of that it had about a million and one ends to weave in. So it was put away, moved from Las Vegas to West Michigan, and after a lengthy and painful surgery with a rug hook (the unsung hero of knitting repairs) it was finished, washed, slightly felted and blocked two days ago.

hat

It was just chilly enough to put to good use this afternoon when my dog demanded a play session. But now I have some more knitting to get through, the sooner all my wool disappears the sooner my husband will look past a new fiber purchase.

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Puff Piggy

Eloise

When you become a 20-something, a couple of your friends will announce that they’re expecting their first child – and then it spreads like H1N1. Many of the people I know are pregnant, have newborns, or are adding to an existing number of children. Which leaves me, the gifter who never likes to simply buy you something, with the need for quick and adorable knits suitable for baby showers and first birthdays.

That brought me to the Big Pink Pig by Purl Bee. I didn’t knit it nearly as big as the original, opting for worsted weight yarn and a size 9 needle instead.

Eloise

No pig would be complete without a curly-q tail.

The Marital Bed

For as long as I can remember my grandmother slept in the downstairs living room of their tri-level home. That part of the house was originally constructed to serve as an apartment. Along one wall was a stove, a sink and cupboards, a small bedroom was accessed through the sitting room. Upstairs was the family room. This was for company, the couch where I spent my teenage weekends had been purchased the year they moved in. My mother was 6.

For 30 years the two spent their evenings downstairs. While the family room saw birthday decorations and seasonal changes, not a thing deviated below. Even when the television developed a thin white line in the middle of the screen my grandmother refused to replace it. In her opinion, it still worked just fine.

While she fought change, my grandpa delighted in it. By the time he retired the world had smartcars, smartphones and smartwater. Continue reading

The Psychology of Spinning

It’s my birthday today! Rather, it was. It’s past midnight for some of you, or an entirely new day. In my book, a new day doesn’t start until after I’ve gone to sleep and woken back up

My absence over the last month hasn’t been due to a lack of things to talk about. April was a challenge that put getting through a record setting winter to shame. On the 2nd I was in my first car accident. I’ve sat down several times to write this post, working out a paragraph or two before ripping out the page or trashing the document. The words never felt right.

Continue reading

On Getting Even

As some of you may know Fred Phelps, the infamous (or famous, depending on your point of view) leader of Westboro Baptist Church died on Wednesday at the age of 84. And true to their reputation of face melting hypocrisy – the Westboro founder’s son then released a statement saying that anyone that tried to picket his father’s funeral would be sued. Except he didn’t say “anyone,” he went out of his way to say “fags.”

Any fags that wanna come out and protest my dad’s funeral better be ready for a lawsuit.

No fags better show up with signs thinking that they’re being clever either. Any fag caught protesting this great man’s funeral will get sued. This is their only warning so I won’t be repeating myself anytime in the near future

It also included this line:

Show the man some respect on his well-deserved journey into Heaven.

Continue reading

Midnight Musings

The law of conservation of energy states that energy cannot be created or destroyed. Instead, it gets turned into something else, potential to kinetic to potential again, an endless cycle of the birth and rebirth of energy.

Which leads me to my late night thought of the day: Is that how death is? Do we, in fact, possess souls, some energy or source – the very perfect mix of yet undiscovered particles – that when freed from this physical potential energy suit can then find another? Created nor destroyed?

Maybe that’s how astral projection works – we don’t necessarily need to die for that aforementioned soul to burst free for awhile. Perhaps it’s possible that some pieces can break out for a short time– like the water pulled from the air on a cold drink in summer, gone again back into the wind in time.

Who knows? But there’s a part of me that likes the thought, or maybe that’s just the human fear of death and sleeping pills talking.

A Rock and Another

There they sit
a rock and another

And the years
they pass
And the storms
they come
And the rocks
…they sit

Under a million million moons
while winds and rains smooth and shape
There they sit
while not much changes

And the years
they pass

Under a million million suns
while their edges smooth and sag
They do not look back or question
they simply watch it happen

And the storms
they come

Under a million million wings
some others roll by
Around them life rises and falls
and rivers run dry

And the rocks
…they sit