Well, whatever was causing seizures in Chicken-Leg Al the Wonder Cat finally took him away this weekend. So long, Sir Fuzzbutt of Butt Harbour, bestest pal and boon companion for the last 17 years. You are sorely missed.
You know that sinking feeling you get when you think you’ve done something quite well and then you find out that actually, you messed up in a pretty big way? Yeah, that’s me right now. You see, as part of the Gift-A-Long that I posted about, I helped to put together the Pinterest boards of sale patterns. I came up with a system. I was pleased with that system. I thought it worked quite well. I may even have been a bit too pleased, because as it turns out, I missed the entire sale pattern bundle of designer Monika Sirna. And that’s a shame, because Monika’s designs are much too good to pass over. (Click each photo to go to its pattern page.)
It has been an interesting spring here in Cusserland, I can tell you. We had moving and injuries and illness and the sort of concatenation of crappiness that tests a person’s mettle and makes one profoundly aware of the difference that good, kind people can make when you’re neck-deep in it. Even knitting didn’t help. Things were dire, indeed.
Slowly, slowly, the storm waters are subsiding, and as they do, I realize that almost without me knowing it, my hands have been making things. In the occasional stolen moments — a few rows before bed, a couple of rounds in a waiting room — these projects have quietly progressed until this past weekend I knit the last stitches on three projects in as many days. Three! It felt like the sun coming out. It felt like an omen of good things to come. I may or may not have done a bit of a victory dance. What did I finish, you say? I’m so glad you asked.
This here is Chicken-leg Al the Wonder Cat. You may remember him from such posts as An Elephant in a Day, Which Inexplicably Disappeared to Some Place Called Canada, Which is Weird Because Clearly it was Mine, Lady, it’s Raining, Would You Let Me IN Already, and A Brand New Thing for Me to Sit On.
It’s that time again.
Every August (or even July), the emails begin: “It’s not too late to start your Christmas knitting!” “Five Quick Gifts You Can Make in Your Sleep!” “A Totally Not-Crazy Plan to Make a Fairisle Stocking for Everyone On Your List!” Every year, I resist. Through the chill of autumn, through the holiday gift posts and knitting magazines, I stand firm. Then, sometime in November, I lose my damned mind. “Just a couple of things for the kids,” I tell myself, “and maybe a nice hat for someone. Just a few small things.” I know this is a bad idea, and so I stop myself, and the pressure builds in that small, nagging part of my brain that thinks there are 48 hours in a day and that the whole needing sleep thing is Illuminati propaganda to keep us weak.
This really is a bad idea, though. Continue reading
We’re back from Asheville, and back to the home repairs. Asheville (indeed, all of that part of North Carolina) is just gorgeous, the people we met were delightful, the weather was at least 10F cooler than Birmingham, and the occasional rain made for many pleasant hours spent knitting on my friend’s back porch. Continue reading
Tomorrow, we head out on another road trip, this time to visit a good friend in Asheville, NC. I’m excited for all sorts of reasons: I haven’t seen this friend in a couple of years; it’s a chance to see a whole new swathe of the South (anything east of Atlanta on this trip will be new to me); my friend knits, and knows where to go in Asheville for local yarn and fibre (woo!); and the drive is about 6 hours each way. That’s twelve whole hours in the car. That’s some serious knitting time, folks. So right now, my brain looks something like this:
We’re on day 10 of the Tour de Fleece, and this is the sum total of my spinning so far:
This is the most recent colour play experiment, and I’ve got lots to say about it, but I finished it in the wee small hours of this morning, and it’s still a bit damp, so I’ll wait until I can knit some up before I bore you with the details. Continue reading
My, but it’s been a strange and tense few months. The worst is over, though, so we buggered off to New Orleans to celebrate, shake the dust off, and see if we could rediscover our mojo. Strangely, I took very few photos (or rather, I took many photos of very few things) — I was so busy just looking at everything (and tasting, and listening, and and and…). (Also, I’m always afraid that I’ll be the sort of visitor who sees a place only through a camera lens.) Here are a few of my favourite photos, though.
There were hidden places: